#zayne lnds

It’s hot, too hot, and not even Zayne’s Evol can keep up, sweat making long black strands stick to his forehead, dripping down his neck and back as you claw against every ripping muscle there, incoherent, burning up from the inside as you beg for more and more and more. 

You were a mess already, undone by an hour prior of tortuously delicate touching, Zayne’s tongue giving unwavering attention to your clit and nipples, building you up until you practically ripped his pants off and demanded that he be inside you. Not that he could ever refuse you. 

Now you think it might have been a mistake, feeding an insatiable beast. 

You’ve already cum on his fingers, and yet you feel something build again, a pressure that feels more like a complete loss of control, intense and overwhelming as you gasp into Zayne’s neck, scrambling to push him off even as his hips fuck into yours. 

“Wait,” a moan, muffling yourself into your palm as Zayne’s thumb goes to your poor abused clit again, misreading your blabbering as an indication you’re close. “Wait! No, no, it’s not. It feels different, just–” 

Finally, he freezes. Pulls out, and immediately drops to his stomach, large hands pushing your thighs to your shoulders, tongue already at your cunt. “Don’t stop me.” 

The please at the end of his sentence is swallowed by a guttural groan as he tastes you again, rich, heady, intoxicating. His eyes, half-open and lovedrunk, were locked on your face, never leaving, drinking in your unraveling expressions with terrifying devotion as you writhe and arch desperately into his mouth.

“That’s it, love,” he leaves a kiss on your shaking legs before forcing you to hold them up yourself, his fingers immediately curl inside you. The horrible pressure in your stomach coils tighter, threatening to explode. “That’s it, good girl. You’re doing so good for me. Fuck.” 

And then his tongue joins his fingers, gently circling your clit as his fingers mercilessly piston in and out of you until they hit a spot that makes you scream. Everything inside you convulses, a violent, helpless shudder that rips a delirious sob from your chest as something bursts. You feel it even as the world spins, thighs and ass slippery and filthy as the obscene sounds of skin on skin are magnified, covered only with Zayne’s low, guttural moans, swallowing everything you give him. 

He can’t stop, panting against your cunt, leaving kisses and licking the spray of your release up your abdomen before he’s hovering atop you once more.

“Again.”

Zayne flips you over, hands bruising your ass and waist in ways that make your eyes roll back, a moan ripping from you as Zayne’s hand pulls on your hair, forcing your limp head off the pillow and back, lips meeting yours in a wet, sloppy kiss that has saliva and sweat running down your throat. You think you might be losing consciousness or maybe just your sanity, but gods, you never want this to stop.

“Give it to me again.” 

“ugh. zayne! you’re a heart doctor, not a hip doctor or whatever! i’m fine,” you snap instead, cheeks heating at his tone.

he tilts his head, that small, knowing smile tugging at his lips like he understands exactly why you’re flustered.

“right,” he says, soft and teasing. “because i definitely need to be a hip doctor to know that twisting your spine every night is a bad idea.”

before you can protest again, he shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. the mattress dips under his weight. “tell you what,” he murmurs. “we’ll compromise.”

you watch interested as he eases himself down beside you. one arm slips around your waist. “you want comfy? we’ll do comfy without ruining your back.”

he gently guides your bent leg, lifting it just enough to rest it over his waist instead of having it twisted outward. his movements are unhurried, practiced, like he's done this a hundred times already.

“see? same idea. less strain.”

you gulp.

he was right. of course he was.

the subtle shift in your expression and the slight tension melting away from your frame, makes his smirk grow into a proper smile.

his hand is still on your leg, fingers tracing slow, absent paths along the underside of your thigh. the motion is soothing, almost absent minded.

“told you,” he murmurs. “you have to listen to me more, sweetie.”

you give in begrudgingly, “okay doctor zayne...”

he chuckles, low and warm, tugging you just a little closer.

“that’s better,” he teases, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“only took one lecture this time.”

you huff, but don't pull away. he knows it means you’re giving in.

he grins, lips grazing the top of your shoulder, as he adjusts your leg slightly, shifting it so it rests more comfortably over him. his other hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing gently into the tenser spots.

“see?” he hums softly, massaging the sore spots carefully. “much better.”

it’s easy to sink into the touch, his movements are familiar, his hands so warm that you close your eyes, a small noise escaping you.

“mmh... i won’t lay like that ever again if we can do this every night,” you say breathily.

the gentle kneading of his fingers on your back pauses just long enough for him to respond.

“oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. “i was planning on doing this anyway.”

he punctuates the remark by pressing firmer, his hand running along your spine, finding and relieving the most stubborn knots.

“that means we—ah—both need to get home early from work from now on.”

“mmm,” he hums in agreement, working his way down your back to the small of it. “which means,” he continues, voice low and teasing, “you might want to be a little less stubborn at the office.” he finds a particularly tense muscle and rubs it gently, drawing a small sign from you. “you know you can't keep working till midnight every day.”

you gasp dramatically, “says you, doctor zayne!”

he grins, unbothered, fingertips tracing lazy circles.

“exactly,” he says, more smug than he should be. “this doctor prescribes both of us earlier bedtimes.” leans down, lips brushing your shoulder again. “with benefits.”

“oh...” you breathe out against his shoulder. “and what do these benefits include other than laying like this and a massage?”

he chuckles again. the sound rumbles through his chest, sending tremors through you.

“you want a more benefits?” he murmurs, lips tracing along your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

his thumb slips under the hem of your top, tracing a slow, languid line against your bare skin.

you sigh shakily.

“stop teasing, husband.”

his hands continue moving slow, as if to spite your demand.

“oh sweetheart…” he hums, his touch trailing across your thigh now. his fingers dip lower, teasing the edge of your sleep shorts. “do you think i could ever resist teasing my stubborn little wife?”

you try not to let the words get a rise out of you because you want him.

and you want him now.

“is this position still good for my hip alignment?” you smile coyly.

his gaze darkens.

“oh hah. i’ll show you a position good for your hips.” your breath hitches as he shifts, above you, hooking both your legs around his waist. “this?” he murmurs, voice dropping low and rough. “spine and hips aligned and stable... very good for your body.”

and then he crashes his lips onto yours.

it’s hard and urgent, full of weeks of suppressed desire—the two of you hadn't been able to make love for weeks, after all. too tired after getting home from work, schedules unaligned.

you feel his grip tighten on your thighs as he drags you against him, his touch almost desperate. he kisses you like he needs to touch every part of you, to consume you completely.

your hands find their way into his hair, pulling just enough to earn a low growl from deep in his throat. “zayne-” you gasp out, breath mingling with his. “please.”

he groans, giving in completely—mouth trailing down your neck, hands sliding under your top to peel it off.

“god, i’ve missed this,” he mutters between kisses, skin now flush with heat.

he leans back just enough to pull his own shirt over his head, and when he lowers himself back over you, the warmth of his bare chest sealing any space between you.

“tell me what you want,” he whispers against your lips.

you groan, throwing your head back in frustration, gripping at his muscled back. “don't make be beg.”

you attempt to grind against his bulge, and he hisses.

he rolls his hips against you but he still wants to hear you say it—to admit how badly you've been craving this as much as he has.

his lips brush the sensitive skin below your ear, voice low and ragged.

“why not?” he teases. “you know how much i love it when you beg.”

“fine...” you whine, “please- please just fuck me—”

he grunts, the sound igniting a fire inside you. he leans forward, lips brushing your earlobe, his free hand drifting along your waist.

“there you go. that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

and then he's peeling off your sleep shorts.

the sound of the material hitting the floor seems far too loud in the quiet of the room, but it's a distant thought as he kisses his way down your body, taking his sweet, sweet time.

“missed this so much.” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin, fingers skimming across the sensitive flesh of your stomach.

he hooks your knees over his shoulders, lips curving up in a smile as he looks up at you. “missed you so much.”

“ngh—zayne...”

you watch with half lidded eyes as he presses a kiss to your soaked panties, making you jolt.

he grins up at you, enjoying the sight of you trembling.

“hmm… this position is even better for you.”

you can only moan softly.

“so beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes dark with desire. “all mine.” he slowly drags the fabric down your legs, watching your expressions, loving the way you squirm in anticipation. “don't worry,” he drawls, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your inner thighs. “i’ll take care of you first.”

a soft hum vibrates through you as he finally, finally tastes you. he goes slowly, as he tongues you like he’s savoring every second.

“zayne!” you cry out, back arching off the bed.

he doesn’t stop, doesn’t speed up. his tongue traces slow circles onto your throbbing clit, one hand pinning your hip down to keep you from bucking too much.

“shh,” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick, “let me love you properly.”

you want to respond that he always loves you properly anyway, but the retort dies when his tongue laps at you with maddening patience, each stroke drawing out a whimper.

“so sweet,” he breathes between kisses along your slick heat. “always so ready for me.” one hand slips up to pinch a nipple through your bra, making you gasp. “tell me how close you are already.”

“ahhn! so— so close! fuck-”

his eyes gleam with satisfaction. he loves getting you flustered, loves seeing you lose yourself like this.

he doesn’t say anything now, just focuses on you, making you come undone. his lips tease, tongue flicking over your sensitive nub before gently nipping it.

“want you to come for me, sweetheart.” he murmurs, his nose brushing against your clit as he laps at your entrance.

you can sense the urgency in his voice. he wants to please you, wants you to feel good. he wants it. needs it.

his tongue slides lower, swirling at your entrance before circling back to your clit—finally faster now.

“come for me,” he growls. “i wanna taste it.”

and when you do, it’s with a cry of his name and trembling legs he holds tight in his grasp.

he takes his time licking and kissing you through your orgasm, his movements gentling as he helps you ride it out.

only when you’re boneless and trembling does he pull back, lips glistening with you, a satisfied smile on his face.

“you okay?” he murmurs, fingers tracing along your flushed cheeks.

“mhm...” you nod vigorously, already aching for him all over again. “fuck me now, please...”

he chuckles.

the way you're looking at him—dazed, wanting, and needy—sends a pulse straight to his already hard cock.

“i believe the correct expression is make love, darling.”

you bite your lip and he licks his.

he leans over you, pressing a kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him.

“you really can't wait, can you?” he murmurs against your mouth, pushing his bottoms down and already guiding himself to your slick entrance.

one slow thrust and he’s inside. deep, hot, and perfect.

you gasp his name like a prayer.

“that’s it,” he groans, burying his face in your neck.

you can feel him everywhere, every part of you connected. the stretch feels even bigger after the long weeks. your arms wrap around his neck, legs tightening around his hips as if you’re scared he’ll pull away.

“zayne,” you moan his name into his ear, nails digging into his back. you don’t usually ask, content with the pace he sets, but now, in this moment, you need him more than anything.

“harder. please.”

he complies immediately, each thrust driving you deeper into the mattress, your cries muffled against his shoulder.

“god—you feel so good,” he grits out, one hand sliding under you to lift your hips higher, taking him even deeper.

your body trembles, already coiling tight again, he's hitting your sweet spot just right like he’s never left it.

“zayne— i’m-” you start to warn him but he silences you with a kiss that steals your breath.

“come for me again,” he demands softly against your lips. “let go.”

you shatter around him, a silent scream on your lips as your body clenches tight, wave after wave crashing through you.

he holds you through it, his thrusts turning erratic, almost desperate.

“mgh— i can’t—” he chokes out, burying his face in your neck as he follows you over the edge, spilling deep inside with a low groan.

for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing and racing hearts.

then he rolls to the side gently, pulling you with him so you're tucked against his chest.

“i love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “don't ever forget that.”

“i love you, too,” you breathe. and then you smile, after a moment, still dazed but coming to your senses. “thank you for the corrections doctor.”

he snorts softly, actually snorts, burying his face in your hair.

“you’re insufferable.” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in his tone.

he pulls you closer, one arm wrapped around your waist, putting your leg over his waist the same way this began.

“anything for my favorite patient.”

masterlist | open taglist!

"I know! I had a mission." You took a small step sideways, positioning yourself between her and the hall. Just in case. "A successful one. Very successful. But something came up and I need to drop something off at the Association right now."

Your hand pressed against your pocket. The Protocore was still there, solid and cold through the fabric. A white one. Pulled from a Wanderer less than an hour ago, which meant you were standing in the middle of Akso Hospital smelling like smoke and looking like a mess.

"Look. I'm ok, I don't need this appointment, when I get home, I ice whatever needs icing and I'll come back Thursday looking normal and healthy and I'll let him do his little checkup and everyone goes home happy." You pressed both palms flat on the desk. "Nobody has to know I came in today."

Yvonne folded her hands on top of her keyboard. "And if he asks why you cancelled?"

"Tell him I'm—" You paused. "Tell him I have food poisoning."

Yvonne's expression changed.

"I can't let him see me today"

"And why is that?"

"Because." You shifted your weight and immediately regretted it, a dull throb moving through your left side but you kept your face neutral. "He's going to look at me and know."

"Know what?"

"That I'm slightly—" you tilted your hand back and forth "bruised."

Yvonne's eyes moved to the tear in your sleeve.

"It's fine," you said. "I'm fine. I can still move around and I'm not bleeding from anything important. If Zayne finds out he's going to do the thing." You straightened slightly and squared your shoulders, dropping your voice into a flat imitation of his. "'This is not a minor concern. Your body is not a tactical asset you can simply override with willpower. Sit down and don't argue with me.'" You let your face go back to normal. "And then the staring. Yvonne, you know about the staring."

Yvonne pressed her lips together and very slowly raised one manicured finger to point it over her left shoulder.

You frowned. "Don't try to redirect me—"

She gave you a look. Wide eyes, like something was happening behind her that she could see and you could not.

"Why are you making that face," you asked "Are you okay? Is something wrong with your neck?"

Yvonne covered her mouth with a manila folder.

A chair in the corner moved.

It rotated slowly on its base. Dr. Zayne had a tablet on his knee. Coat perfect. Hair perfect. Expression completely neutral.

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

"That was a fairly good impression," his voice was exactly as low and measured as yours had been when you were doing it. The similarity was hideous. "But I don't rush my sentences."

Yvonne made a noise behind the folder that she converted, poorly, into a cough.

"Dr. Zayne." Your voice came out very small. "How long have you—"

"You are twenty three minutes," he said.

You looked at your watch, trying to avoid his stare "My watch says twenty one."

"Your watch is wrong." he stood and looked at you the way you'd been specifically trying to avoid being looked at, unhurried, starting at your torn sleeve and then back up to your face without any change in expression.

"You mentioned a mission"

"Yeah"

The folder was covering Yvonne's entire face now. Her shoulders were shaking.

He turned and started down the hallway toward his office at a pace that expected to be followed. "Since you're already here," he said, not looking back, "leaving would be wasteful."

"I have somewhere to b—."

"Yes and you are already 24 minutes late."

He didn't check over his shoulder. He simply walked, because the possibility that you wouldn't follow had apparently not entered his mind as something worth considering.

You stood there for a moment. The exit doors were fifteen feet to your left. Glass. Automatic. You'd be through them in four seconds.

You thought about what happened last time you ran. He'd shown up at your apartment forty minutes later with a medical bag.

Yvonne lowered the folder from her face. Her eyes were wet from the effort of not laughing. She mouthed something at you that looked like I tried.

You pointed at her and she gave you a small, apologetic wave before you followed Zayne down the hall. "You could at least slow down," you called after him.

"You could have been on time," Zayne said, without breaking stride.

Yvonne's laughter followed you all the way to his office door.

------

Today the silence in Zayne's office was not peaceful. In the Association's building it was always loud, always some radio crackling, some door slamming, someone having a crisis in the corridor and normally Zayne's office functioned as a kind of sensory decompression chamber. White walls. Clean air.

Today it felt like a holding cell.

You sat on the edge of the exam table and the paper underneath you crinkled every time you moved, which was constantly because you were not capable of sitting still when your face was this hot. You had tried, approximately forty seconds of total stillness before your left knee started bouncing. Your cheeks felt warm and that meant they were the color of something embarrassing.

Getting caught did that to you.

Getting caught specifically in the middle of mocking the way Zayne talked and telling Yvonne about his terrifying doctor stare.

He had his back to you. You had known him long enough to know that the silence didn't necessarily mean anger.

He turned around. Stethoscope already hanging around his neck "Deep breath"

You inhaled so fast it was almost a gasp and the metal of the stethoscope hit your skin. Cold. It was always cold. Years of checkups and you had never once successfully braced for the temperature.

Upper left. Upper right. You tracked the movement of the chest piece. Clinical. Impersonal. You were a patient, he was a doctor and this was a routine checkup and not in any way the specific recurring experience that had convinced you it might be safer for your general wellbeing to simply never be examined by Zayne again.

"Your heart rate is elevated."

Obviously.

The top button of his shirt was getting very familiar. Dark navy. Very professional. "It's just... adrenaline from the mission."

He made a sound. You did not look up.

Penlight next—he checked your pupils, which meant he was close again, you dealt with it by focusing very hard on the anatomical chart of the circulatory system on the wall behind him. You had extensive, unwanted knowledge of that chart at this point.

"Reflexes are fine." He moved to his tablet. "Lungs are clear. Aside from the laceration on your sleeve and your ongoing commitment to arriving late, you appear intact."

"Wonderful." You were already moving "Great news. Really good appointment, always a pleasure, I'll just—"

His hand appeared and he placed his palm against your upper arm—barely any pressure—and pushed you back onto the table. Your spine went straight and you looked up at him.

His brows were drawn in slightly when he set his tablet on the rolling tray.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

The question landed so far outside your expected conversational territory that your brain rejected it for a moment. "What?"

In the years you had known him, if you counted childhood, you had never heard him phrase something as though he was uncertain of the answer. Uncertain was the wrong word too. Zayne was never uncertain. But something under that question had an edge you couldn't name.

"I reviewed your appointment history," he continued, and your stomach did a slow drop because you knew where this was going and there was no good exit. "Over the last six months you've attempted to reschedule or cancel your routine checkups more than any other patient under my care."

"I've been really busy—"

"If my manner as a physician is— if the history between us makes it difficult to have a professional doctor-patient relationship I can make some arrangements. Dr. Hale handles several Hunter Association cases. She's thorough. Given your condition, I would need to remain as your cardiologist, which means you'd still see me on a reduced basis, but your primary care wouldn't—" something behind his eyes changed. "You wouldn't have to find reasons to avoid it."

"Zayne, stop."

You had never heard him ramble before.

"You're not making me uncomfortable." The words came out faster than you meant them to. "I don't want Dr. Hale. I don't want to be transferred to anyone." You looked for somewhere to rest your eyes and found nothing that worked. "Can we just— can we not do this right now?"

"You were negotiating with Yvonne to have your name removed from my schedule."

"I know what I was doing."

"Then explain it." he held your gaze, looking for a lie.

The honest answer was "because you make me feel like my ribcage is a bad fit for everything inside it, and I think your stethoscope is going to eventually give you evidence of something I have been working very hard to hide"

What you said was "Because of this."

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the Protocore. Held it up between you. It sat in your palm, throwing off a strange light.

"Look."

Zayne's gaze dropped toward your hand and you became acutely aware of how close he was standing. His shoulders blocked the rest of the room. If you inhaled you would be breathing air that had just come from him.

You could see the shadows under his eyes. He'd probably worked late again. The small shift in his expression wasn't something you could have described to anyone else. Just a slight draw of his brows and a tilt of his head that changed the light across his eyes.

"I've never seen one in this color." He extended one hand, long fingers open. "May I?"

"Yeah"

His fingertips touched the protocore.

But they touched your palm too—the side of your hand, just the briefest contact before the sound arrived. Not through your ears. Directly inside your skull, high and sharp and then the air was simply gone. Your lungs understood immediately that there was nothing to breathe and reacted accordingly in a moment of absolute panic before the wind hit.

A vacuum, pulling from every direction at once, until the ground disappeared and you hit something in a dull impact that rattled every thought out of your head.

You lay there for a moment and let your sense of direction reconstruct itself piece by piece.

Zayne was already on his knees beside you "Are you alright? Did you hit your head?"

"Fine," you tried to sound fine. "I'm fine. What happened—did it explode?"

"No." He stood and pulled you up in one clean motion "The room is intact, but—"

You looked up from the elbow you'd scraped on the way down, and looked around.

It was his office but the light was different. The clean white fluorescents were off, replaced by the warm amber glow of a single desk lamp. The air felt different too. Warmer.

There was a plant on the windowsill. A real one. Green and clearly watered with intention and care. In a space where Zayne usually kept a strict anti allergen policy.

His office felt wrong.

On his desk there was a picture frame. You leaned down to look.

It was a garden in winter, stone paths, bare trees, frost on the ground. Zayne was in a dark wool coat you'd never seen, a gray scarf loose around his neck, looking at the camera with a smile on his face. A real smile. One you had seen once or twice over the past few months.

You were in the picture too. Standing on your toes. Your arm looped around his neck, mouth pressed to his cheek.

You straightened up. You had no coherent thoughts. The inside of your head was filled with white noise, like a radio station that had lost its signal.

"Look at this."

Zayne was by the coffee table, staring down at something.

You went to him on autopilot. He was pointing at a newspaper, his finger rested on the top right corner.

"That's two years from now."

"Yes."

"Zayne," you panicked. "What do we do? How did this—"

Footsteps in the hallway. Two people, maybe three. Coming closer, not going away.

"My future self," he explained, "could walk through that door any minute."

He moved. Across the room in a few long strides, your wrist in his hand before you'd felt him reaching for you. He pulled you toward a tall wooden closet in the corner, pushed the door open with his shoulder and guided you inside, then he stepped in after you and drew the door shut.

The closet had not been designed for two people.

It had been designed for lab coats and medical encyclopedias. You pressed back into the hanging fabrics to give him room.

"Stop moving" he whispered.

"I'm sorry" you whispered back.

"The protocore," he said, dragging you back to the problem "We need it to go back"

"I don't know where it is"

He tilted his head toward the gap in the door and the motion brought his face closer to yours "I see it. Near the left leg of the desk."

"I'll go," you breathed. "Quick. In and out. He—you—whoever is in the hallway won't even—"

Your hand was already reaching for the door when his fingers closed around your wrist and brought your arm back.

"No"

"Zayne—"

"Listen."

The office door opened and footsteps moved through the office.

Future Zayne came in first.

He was the same but he looked like he hadn't slept in days, dark circles pressed deep beneath his eyes. He was holding himself together. Just barely, and visibly.

Behind him, softer footsteps followed. You.

She crossed to the window without rushing and stood there with her hands loosely clasped, watching him. Waiting.

"I was worried about you and you didn't care."

She said nothing.

"You were supposed to be gone a few days." He moved to his desk "I understand the mission was classified. I understand you couldn't give me details but you don't get to lie to me about your health."

He reached up and pulled his coat open, then pushed both hands through his hair "I've lost count of how many times I've been close to losing you. I'm trying my best to protect you and I can't... not when you're the one I'm fighting against." He exhaled, slow. "You have no idea what that does to me."

She crossed the room slowly and sat beside him on the edge of the desk, close enough that their arms touched. She reached over and covered his hand with hers before he turned his head and looked at her for a long moment.

Your throat tightened and he took her face in his hands to kiss her.

Inside the closet, Zayne's grip around your wrist went tight enough to hurt.

Outside, Zayne pulled back just enough to breathe and then went back in, slower this time, one hand sliding to the back of her neck. His coat came off. Hers followed, dropped onto the floor of his pristine office.

He moved behind her, his mouth finding the side of her neck, both arms wrapped around her.

"I missed you." Rough at the edges. Almost unrecognizable. "I've been going out of my mind for weeks."

His hands moved, her shirt came down off one shoulder, her bra with it and his fingers found her hard nipple and pinched , her head dropped back against his shoulder with a sharp hiss.

Beside you Zayne was losing his fucking mind. He turned his head away from them and his eyes found you instead.

The sounds outside filled the silence between you, her breath catching, his low exhales against her skin. Zayne was trapped between watching his future self handle you like a starving man or staring directly into your eyes while listening to the filthy moans leaving her lips outside.

You were completely speechless. Your mouth parted to say something—anything—but no sound came out. Your face felt like it was on fire.

"You have to stay quiet," Zayne murmured against her ear, his thumb moving in slow circles around her nipple. "Can you do that?"

Her answer came out soft and shameless"Yeah"

"Can you take your punishment like a good girl?" Another low murmur. His hand moved to her hip. "I'll reward you if you behave."

Present Zayne closed his eyes.

"Here?" she asked.

Future Zayne made a sound low in his chest. "I can't wait."

The Zayne squeezed beside you stopped moving. His face was flushed so red it looked ready to explode, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck were standing out like steel cables.

She turned around and sank to her knees in front of him. She reached up, slowly pulling down his zipper to let his thick, fully erect cock spring free.

The sound that left present Zayne was barely audible —a short, compressed exhale, like all the air had been taken from him at once. His free hand went to the wall beside him.

"Zayne," you whispered. "you have to breathe."

You grabbed his hand on your wrist —before he could do something catastrophic —and pressed your fingers through his. He held on.

"Do I need to fuck the brat out of you again?" future Zayne's voice sent a wave of dizziness straight to your head.

"Mmm..." she hummed against his bare flesh. She didn't argue. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss right to the weeping tip of his cock, before sliding her lips down and taking him deep into her throat.

He reached down and fisted her hair with a grip so firm and aggressive it looked painful, forcing her to take him all the way to the base. She made a choked, muffled sound around his cock and your eyes fluttered shut.

"Are you sure about that?" he growled down at her.

He began to fuck her throat, hips rolling forward as he took complete control of her mouth. The wet, filthy sounds of her choking, swallowing, and taking every inch of him filled the office.

"This is a serious violation," present Zayne started, barely a whisper "Of medical protocol. Multiple protocols. I am — this is gross misconduct. If the board—"

"Zayne—"

"I don't speak to patients like that." his eyes were fixed on the ceiling of the closet. "I am an attending physician. I do not use that kind of language. I do not call patients—"

"Zayne. Stop talking."

He couldn't stop. But despite his horrified, clinical rambling and the deep blush radiating through his skin, you couldn't help but notice the prominent tent straining against the front of his trousers.

"Good fucking girl" future Zayne praised her as he petted her hair while ruining her mouth. "Taking it so well for me... such a sweet, obedient little mouth..."

Every word of filthy praise made present Zayne flinch. The heat coming off him had nowhere to go. Neither did yours. You were both standing in it, hands locked together, not looking at each other, listening to every sound from the other side of the door.

Zayne kept the same deep rhythm, she had tears running down her face but not from distress because her hands were still gripping his thighs like she was holding on by choice.

He reached down with his thumb and wiped one away. Carefully. Gently. Like he was checking on a patient.

While doing what he was doing.

The contrast was so specifically him that you almost laughed. You didn't. Mostly because of what he said next.

"Look at you. Are you going to behave from now on or do you want me to collect every one of these—" his thumb dragged beneath her eye again, "and use them—fuck—to stroke myself in front of you next time you decide to be difficult."

You became aware of several things simultaneously. The heat moving to your pussy. The fact that your teeth were in your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The motionless presence of Zayne against your shoulder.

You did not look at him this time. You were not going to look at him.

"I —" His voice came out hot against the side of your neck. "That is — the use of lacrimal fluid — I would never —"

"Jesus " you whispered.

"He's threatening to use ocular secretions as —" his brain was clearly trying to cope with what he'd just heard.

Outside, she was nodding. Enthusiastically.

Something against your hip moved. You were both pretending it wasn't there but that pretense was getting less convincing by the minute.

Future Zayne pulled out of her mouth slowly. "Up"

He got his hands under her arms and pulled her to her feet "Let's see," his hands moved to the hem of her skirt "if you're as desperate here."

Patterns of frost trail from Zayne's hand and then dissolve against the heat of his skin.

"He's going to—"

"Yes."

"On the desk."

"Yes."

"My desk."

He pushed the skirt up to her waist, his thumb dragged up her inner thigh and stopped half an inch from where she needed it and then said, very quietly, "There she is, my pretty needy pussy"

He worked her open with his fingers, watching her face the whole time. "Tell me what this is"

"Zaynie—"

"Use your words."

"It's yours, It's—please—it's yours—"

"It's mine," he agreed. "And it doesn't go four weeks without me because you decided to be a brat. Understood?"

"Yes—god—yes—"

"Good." He pulled his fingers back and she made an absolutely destroyed noise. "Then ask me properly."

"Please, Zayne. I need you to fuck me. Please."

He looked at her for one more second and then pushed inside.

One deep thrust that drove all the air out of her lungs and moved his desk two inches.

"Four weeks," he said again, each word landing with a thrust.

She was past words, only making sounds.

"This is what you get when you think your care is optional."

Her eyes rolled back.

"Eyes on me" he ordered "You're going to look at me the entire time and the next time you think about lying to me—" a deep, grinding roll of his hips made her sob, "you're going to remember what I'm giving you."

"Yes—Zaynie—please—"

"Please what." Still moving. Still that same rhythm.

"Harder—"

"You want it harder?"

"Please—"

"You don't deserve harder. What you deserve," he pulled back until only the tip of his cock remained inside "is to feel exactly how much your body missed me and think about why that happened."

"I know why—I know—"

"Tell me."

"Because I was—because I didn't—"

"Because you were being a brat," he said simply, and drove back in, hard.

Crack. A slap to her pussy.

The sound was loud enough that you actually jumped.

Zayne's hand left yours. His palms hit the closet doors. They swung open and he walked out.

You stepped out behind him and the four of you looked at each other.

Future Zayne looked at present Zayne. The two of them stared at each other with an expression you could only describe as mutually horrified recognition.

Present Zayne spoke first.

"You need a haircut," he said.

Future Zayne blinked. "I — what?"

"The back. It's uneven."

Future you, still on the desk, raised her hand slightly"What the fuck?"

Everyone looked at her.

"Are you—" she pointed her finger toward you and Zayne.

You tried to explain. "It was a protocore, a white one. We touched it and ended up here. We were in the closet."

She stared at you. "For how long?"

"A while."

"How long is a while?"

You looked at the floor.

"The whole—"

"The whole thing," you confirmed.

"Including—"

"Yes."

"And when he said the thing about the—"

"Yes."

"Great, that's great."

Present Zayne looked at future you. "Are you ok?"

"I'm great" she said, very flatly. "Do you mind?"

"Right." Present Zayne looked at his hands briefly like he was checking they were still there. "Can I ask one thing, just one?"

Future you looked at him.

"Is this— do you—"

The White Protocore pulsed from under the desk. You grabbed it and then grabbed his leg. Looked at your future self still sitting on the desk looking at him with an expression you recognized as pity?.

"She's going to be just fine" she told him and you held the Protocore tighter.

White. Wind. Gone.

You landed and stayed on your knees for a moment. The protocore dissolved the moment it hit the ground.

Zayne was on one knee beside you, one hand still on the floor where he'd caught himself.

Eventually you sat back on your heels.

Zayne straightened up. Slowly.

"We're back"

Brilliant. Very useful contribution.

"We are"

"Are you okay," you said.

"I'm fine," he said. Instantly.

"Okay."

"It would be helpful to have some time to—"

"I'm gonna go"

He looked up.

"I have to head back to HQ" you said, getting your jacket, moving toward the door because if you didn't he was going to combust and you were going to watch it happen.

"Right, yes. Can we—"

You turned around.

He was looking at his desk. Ears still bright red. "It's nothing, drive safe."

The door clicked shut behind you and you stood in the hallway for a few seconds.

Then you walked to the elevator, pressed the button, stared at the doors and tried not to think about a future version of you getting railed on his desk.

You thought about it the rest of the day.

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The shift in angle makes you arch, nails digging into the flexing muscle of his back. He groans, a sound ripped from somewhere so deep it’s almost pained, and his forehead drops to yours. His eyes are squeezed shut, dark lashes fanned against flushed cheeks, and his composure has been frayed thread by thread until all that’s left is the raw, desperate man trembling inside you.

You can feel the tension coiling in him, the desire to keep you close. The telltale hitch of his breath, the way his rhythm stutters and then catches, harder, needier. His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, hitching your leg higher around his waist, and the new depth punches a gasp from both of you. He’s talking now, a low, breathless litany against your skin—my love, my darling, you’re everything—and the words are so saturated with reverence that they feel like prayer.

Then his mouth finds the shell of your ear, his voice a ruined whisper. “I can’t—I don’t ever want this to end. I need you. I need you forever. Please, will you—”

He breaks off with a sharp, stunned inhale, but the words he’s already let slip hang in the humid space between your bodies like a struck bell.

Marry me.

You freeze. He freezes. For one suspended heartbeat, the only movement is the involuntary clench of your body around him, and you watch, dazed, as the reality of what he’s just moaned into your ear crashes over him. 

Zayne’s eyes fly open, wide and glassy with pleasure that is rapidly being eclipsed by outright horror. The flush that was already painting his cheeks and chest deepens to a violent, boyish scarlet, spreading down his neck and over the tops of his shoulders. His hips have stopped moving entirely, though he’s still buried to the hilt, and the sudden stillness is almost unbearable.

“I—” he starts, and his voice cracks. Zayne, whose voice never cracks. He looks utterly, catastrophically wrecked—hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen and glossy, pupils blown so wide there’s only a slim ring of hazel left. “That was not—I did not intend to say that out loud. Not like this. Not while I’m—” he makes a small, strangled gesture between your bodies, as if to indicate the absolute indecency of the circumstances. The movement shifts him inside you in a way that makes you both suck in air.

You should probably help him. You should say something. But the sight of him floundering in the aftermath of his own accidental proposal is so endearingly human that you can’t quite stop the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. Your chest feels impossibly full, a honey-warm bloom of affection tangling with the lingering heat low in your belly.

“Zayne,” you grin up at him, but he flinches like you’ve just pronounced his death sentence. “Did you just propose to me in the middle of—”

“Yes,” he cuts in, voice strangled and mortified. “And I am terribly, acutely aware that this is not how one is supposed to—there were plans. There was a restaurant and flowers. A ring. I’ve had the ring for months—” he groans, dropping his forehead to the curve of your shoulder, enveloping you in the heat radiating off his skin. “Months, and I ruined it because I couldn’t control my own mouth during—during—”

“Really, really good sex?” you offer, unable to resist.

He makes a wounded noise against your neck. “Please don’t say it like that, my love.”

You laugh, breathless and a little wild, your fingers coming up to card through the damp strands of his hair. He shivers at the touch, still buried deep inside, still half-hard and thrumming with a tension that has nothing to do with lust now, or so you think. “Zayne. Look at me, baby.”

It takes a moment, but he lifts his head. The expression on his face is a war zone. Embarrassment, frustration with himself, and underneath it all, a raw, quivering hope that he’s trying valiantly to hide. He looks so devastatingly beautiful like this—vulnerable and stripped bare in every possible way—that you feel your heart clench right alongside the rest of you.

“Ask me again,” you nudge softly. “Properly.”

His throat works up and down, your eyes tracing the movement with hope and excitement. The flush hasn’t faded, but something in his eyes steadies. He shifts his weight to one elbow, freeing a hand to cup your face with a tenderness that makes your eyes sting. His thumb traces the arch of your cheekbone, so softly it makes you melt even more under his touch. 

When he speaks, his voice is still a little shaken but steadier, every word with purpose behind them now.

“I love you,” he confesses. “I have loved you so long I don’t remember what it felt like before. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up with you and have you steal my shirts and drink my coffee and interrupt my charts with doodles in the margins. I want everything. Every argument, every quiet morning in our home, every messy, inexplicable, wonderful moment of being with you. Will you—” he gulps softly, a ghost of his earlier fluster flickers across his features, but he pushes through it, earnest and achingly sincere. “Will you marry me?”

The answer is already spilling from your lips before he’s finished. A whispered, fervent yes that he catches with his mouth, kissing you with a depth of emotion that steals your breath away. The kiss turns heated almost immediately, the suspended passion roaring back to life, and when he finally rocks his hips again, you both moan into the space between your mouths.

Afterwards, tangled in sheets and each other, he buries his face in your hair and mutters something that sounds like I can’t believe I proposed to you mid-coitus, and you laugh until your sides ache, pressing kisses to his burning cheeks while he tries, and fails, to maintain any remaining shred of dignity.

It is, you decide, the most perfect proposal you could have ever imagined.

© zaynessbeloved 2026. please don’t copy, repost or translate my works. thank you!

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