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revasserium · 6 months ago

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to win and to lose

kenma, tsukki, hinata, kageyama; 3,200 words; fluff, lapslock, no "y/n", kissing, slightly!suggestive content, but mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, post!timeskip characters, pro-streamer!kenma, olympics athlete!hinata, pouty!tsukki, and needy!kageyama

summary: you win some, you lose some, right?

a/n: truly just a few drabbles that came to my mind when i was sitting in a bath the other day; so pls enjoy some hq-flavored domesticity

kenma

“— alright chat, that’s it for today — i’ve got uh —” kenma glances over at the top of his collection of monitors at where you’re standing, holding two beers, a sly grin twisting the corner of your mouth. even in the strange blue light of his monitors, you can see his cheeks darken.

“— some stuff to do. see ya!” he ends the stream just as you round the massive table to set a beer down in front of him. he chuckles and reaches out to pull you into his lap, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh.

“hey there, mr. ceo.” you smirk, twisting round to run your fingers through his hair, tugging out the loosening hair tie and cocking your head. kenma huffs, crinkling his nose, shaking his head as you continue to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“i hate it when you call me that.”

“mm, then… what would you prefer? mr… streamer boy? mr. stock trader? oh — i’ve got it! mr. simp-man.”

kenma scoffs, jerking forward so that you’re trapped against the hard edge of his gaming desk, his arms locking you to him. he’s grown since high school, but even so, his lithe build betrays the strength still hidden within his limbs from the endless hours of training, of playing.

“there’s no winning against you, is there?” he asks, his voice muffled by your skin, and you bite back a groan at the way he’s trailing his lips along the hard ridge of your collarbones. he peers up at you, a sharp, feline glint to his eyes, a hand reaching out to set your half-drunk beer on his table before hoisting you up with one arm. you squeak, the gesture taking you by surprise even as he carries you to the futon set up in strategically in the corner of the game room, put there for the nights when you’d lie there and watch him stream, when you’d close your eyes and let the rgb lights flicker across the backs of your eyelids like the northern lights, like so many midnight rainbows.

“well… seeing as you’re winning in so many other aspects in life,” you say, your voice nothing more than a sigh as he lays you down, fingers already tugging at the thin straps of your dress, “a little losing here and there might do you good, hm?”

“mm…” kenma hums, contemplative, even as he leans back and runs an appraising eye down the length of your body, “i mean… i did let kuroo talk me into joining the volleyball club back in highschool so… i guess you can say… in my own way… i’m sort of a sucker for punishment.”

tsukki.

“ah… that looked like a brutal practice,” you say, peering around the bathroom door. the sound of water splattering down skin echoes wetly through the enclosed space.

“aren’t they all?” tsukishima drawls, setting down the large wooden bath ladle to squint at you through the hazy mist. his glasses lie fogged and forgotten, set to the side.

you smile, slipping into the room with a fresh towel.

“i’ve got miso soup being warmed on the stove and an icepack in the freezer. take your time though — o-oh!”

a pair of arms reaches out to pull you down, and you barely catch yourself on the edge of the large wooden bath.

“t-tsukki! what —”

“it was a brutal practice.”

you barely hear the smirk in his voice as he sighs and props his chin on your thigh, the water from the bath staining you thin dress in seconds. you fight the urge the roll your eyes, reaching down to run your fingers through his damp hair, absently massaging at his scalp.

its rare to see him like this — rarer, even, to see him so openly vulnerable, even if there’s still the barest hint of a tease lurking beneath the tired rhythm of his voice, his breathing. like this, his long lashes are daggered into points by the steam, his normally pale skin made even more so by the bright bathroom lights.

through the water, you can see the new bruises blossoming along his thin legs, the old ones barely fading. thoughtlessly, you lean in and dip your hand in the water to trace a finger along one particularly large one at his right knee.

“what happened?” you ask, though you basically already know the answer — practice for a v2 league team happened. still, tsukishima glances down at the bruise with an oddly disembodied gaze and shrugs.

“dunno. dove to save a ball a few times.”

you laugh, tilting your head to one side as he leans back to press his cheek to your now damp thigh.

“wow, in practice? other team must’ve really pissed you off.”

at this, tsukishima crinkles his nose and scoffs. you hike an expectant eyebrow and wait.

“the jackals were over for a practice match.” his voice is clipped, but you feel your own laughter bubbling up in seconds. of course.

you bite back a giggle, “and… did you guys win?”

he glares up at you, eyes narrowed, “they’re a division one team. what do you think?”

“hm… but i thought hinata’s been off with a rolled ankle so…”

again, he scoffs, “that team’s plenty of other players who are just as annoying.”

you clamp down on your bottom lip, “wow. high praise.”

he whacks at the surface of the bath, splattering your dress even as you break into a bright peal of laughter. you reach down to flick him with a bit of water as well but he catches you wrist in his, fingers wrapping around your arm, the warm bath water slicking down your skin in thin rivulets, dripping off your elbow. you gasp, heart suddenly thrumming behind your eardrums.

the lopsided, slightly sadistic smile that slits his lips is stomach-twistingly familiar.

“tsukki… there’s miso soup —”

“mm. think i want something else for dinner instead.”

the low murmur of words is the only warning you get before you’re pulled bodily into the warm bath, the water soaking your dress, making the material cling to your skin in seconds. you squeak against his lips, rough and insistent and just a little pleading. you know it’s futile to struggle, so you let him kiss you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you groan, your fingers finally finding purchase along the slick skin of his shoulder.

“you — you’ve ruined my — my favorite dress…”

“hn.”

tsukishima doesn’t look at all bothered by your admonishment, shrugging, “it’ll dry.”

water sloshes over the side of the bathtub, now dangerously full with the both of you soaking in it’s steaming depths.

“was it really that bad?” you ask, affecting your voice into a soft coo, trailing wet fingers over the soft of his cheeks.

“if i say yes,” he asks, peering down at you as a lepidopterist might study a new specimen of rare, and newly captured butterfly, “would you try to make me feel better?”

you lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry, despite being literally submerged in water.

“depends,” you say, “on if you’ll let me go turn off the stove first — wouldn’t want the miso soup to burn.”

tsukishima rolls his eyes, fingers tightening around your wrists, pulling you closer. there’s a dangerous light flickering behind his eyes; a dull ache pulses at the base of your stomach, singeing up your spine as you tip forward for another long kiss.

“thought i said already… i don’t think i really want miso soup for dinner anymore.”

hinata.

there’s a certain magic in watching him play — the way he treats every win like his first, or his last. the way the world seems brighter right around his edges, as if his own shimmer and shine might infect the universe if it would only let him.

he is incandescent with joy after the olympic qualifier games — scoring a ticket is no mean feat, and it’s not every day that you see bokuto cry.

“congrats, shouyou!” you’re one of the first to greet him after the press stint (and a shower), but you can still see the brilliant, glazed look to his eyes that tells you he’s still riding his high. his smile is wide enough to split the sky as he spots you, jogging over to hoist you up into his arms, spinning you round with almost comical ease.

“haha — thanks!”

he leans up for a kiss, one that’s sweet as it is heady. when you pull apart, you are still weightless, and his smile shines like a smile on pause — it makes you want to unpause it, and watch it unfurl.

you trace the pads of your thumbs along the tiny freckles dotting his cheekbones — souvenirs from his time in brazil.

“so! are you gonna come watch us?” he asks, making to walk down the decidedly not deserted hallway with you still in his arms. you blush at the thought, giving his shoulders a slight squeeze.

“shouyou… you can put me down now — and of course i’ll come! it’s not everyday that your boyfriend makes it to the olympics.”

several people chuckle as they watch him parade passed, you still firmly held aloft, your elbows propped on his shoulders to give you some semblance of balance. your cheeks burn as hinata hums, waving at a fellow teammate, reaching out for a fist bump.

“shou…” you fight the urge to bury your face in his shoulder as he finally rounds a corner into a much more private hallway. he grins, completely unabashed, as he pushes through an unmarked door to a what seems to be an empty locker room. it’s sparse, but well-lit and quiet.

“hm?”

he sets you down on one of the benches and drops a quick kiss onto your shoulder.

“i could’ve walked…”

“didn’t feel like putting you down,” he says, his voice dropping in register and taking on that darker, baser veneer — you hear the frayed edges, the sandstone texture, a tell-tale sign of a deep-seated hunger. a very specific brand of shouyou-flavored want.

“n-ngh —” you make a soft noise as he dips down to nuzzle into the dip of your collarbone, a tiny groan festering up the back of his throat as he sighs.

“been thinking about this…” his fingers dance up your sides, light enough to tease, but solid enough to remind you of just how close you both are to a ruthless press and the oogling public.

“sh-shou let’s wait —”

hinata whines, shaking his head, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck, “don’t wanna.”

and you sigh, weighing the option of pushing back or giving in. each has dangers and merits, but you know better than most that when hinata gets like this, indulgence is usually the only answer that will satisfy.

“plus… i just won a ticket to the olympics! don’t you think that deserves some kind of —” he casts around for a good enough word, pulling back with a smile that, in the right kind of slanted, locker room light, might just look like a smirk, “reward?”

you cock your head and blink up at him, letting your fingers tangle in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “what? the olympics ticket wasn’t enough of a reward for you?”

at this, hinata pouts, pushing his bottom lip out far enough for you to lean forward and bite it. the movement makes him groan, his whole body tipping forward to cage you back against the row of cool, metal lockers.

“you shouldn’t do that if you don’t think you can finish the job,” he says, pulling back just far enough for the heat of his breath to fan across your spit-slick lips. you lave your tongue across them, shifting beneath him as he cocks his head to stare down at you, his eyes wide and dark and misty.

“and… what job might that be?” you ask, breathless even as he dips down again to catch your lips in his, reaching down to tug you bodily up the length of the lockers before pinning you in place. once upon a time, it was easy to forget how strong he is — but now, it’s even easier to spot the stretch and flex of muscle beneath his sun-kissed skin, feel the strength of them as he holds you still with a single hand, the other tugging down the neckline of your top.

“mm… the job —” he skims his teeth across your skin; you gasp, eliciting a small, satisfied chuckle from him, “of being an olympic athlete’s girlfriend, of course!”

kageyama.

it is never the losing, and always the aftermath, and by now, you know the shades and slivers of all his specific kinds of silences so intimately that you know without him having to say how the practice match had gone.

“hey.”

you greet him by the door with a soft, placatory kiss. he grunts, toeing off his shoes before dipping down to wrap both his arms around you and pull you close. you let out a breathy laugh as you feel his nose digging into the curve of your shoulder.

“want some dinner?” you ask, reaching up to stroke his sweat-soaked hair even though you already know the answer.

“later,” he says, making no sign of wanting to let you go. instead, when you try to pull away, he leans down and scoops you up to place you on top of the kitchen island, slotting himself between your knees, and re-burying his face in your shoulder.

“then…” you let your voice trail off, feeling the exhaustion pour off him in waves. you dig your fingers into the tense line of his shoulders and feel them tighten up before they fall slack again. for a few minutes, he contents himself with letting you massage the worst of the knots from his shoulders.

“hn.” he lifts his head only to lean forward and find your lips with his. the kiss is slow and just a bit tired — as sweet as it is thorough. in the beginning, you’d worried that dating someone like kageyama would end up being the kind of short-lived thing that all the tabloids and magazines had warned you about — that he might grow bored after a week, a month, maybe half a year. after all, someone like him, with that insatiable need for more wouldn’t be suited for the kind of so-called ‘domestic bliss’ as it’s prescribed of most long-term relationships. but he’d surprised you, in more ways than one. he’d not only not grown bored, but had seemingly become ever more… entranced.

the pair of you had grown into each other, each day steadily getting closer. until the space the two of you shared became so inextricably linked there’s no telling who’s breath was caught in each of your lungs, of who’s scent it was that lingered in the fine linen lining of all your pillows and sheets. it’s become your’s. in the most cliche way possible.

kageyama contents himself with kissing you, breaking for small breath, and then kissing you some more. one kiss falling into another, and another, and another. till you’re breathless in just way he likes, till he’s breathless, in the way that he gets sometimes during a particularly intense rally. he knows he’s sweat-sticky and probably stinks of the gym, but the way you smile up at him when he pulls away makes his whole body go soft.

“let’s take a shower before dinner,” you say, tracing a finger along the shell of his ear. he bites back a frown.

“not a bath?”

you laugh, shrugging, “we could — but the food’ll go cold.”

“we’ve got a microwave.”

you smile, a smile that inspires — no, demands — another kiss. and so he does. you make a tiny, exasperated noise but don’t make to pull away. kageyama reaches down to pick you up, settling your thighs on either side of his hips as he maneuvers the pair of you towards the bathroom.

“food’ll be there when we’re done,” he mutters, gently placing you down on the side of the bathtub and reaching over to turn on the hot water. the steam rises in thick sheets from the surface of the water, and already, kageyama can feel his limbs loosening at the thought of a nice, long soak. he catches you watching as he strips off his practice clothes.

“see something interesting?” his voice is so measured you’d never know he’s teasing, save for the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. you blush and look away, tugging off your own clothes in an attempt to distract yourself. the water sloshes around his ankles as he steps into the bath, and you join him a second later, curling up against his chest as he winds his arms around you, the pair of you settling against each other like nesting spoons, cut perfectly for each other’s every bend and curve. or perhaps like russian dolls, one encasing the other — wholly and completely.

“when’s practice tomorrow?” you ask, turning to watch him lean back, his eyes falling shut to the soft trickle of water over skin. you know the answer, and so does he. but he shifts and answers you anyway.

“not till noon.”

“good,” you say, turning back to rest your head on his shoulder, “we can have a proper breakfast.”

“we always have a proper breakfast.”

you laugh, absently walking your fingers up the length of his bent leg, drawing tiny circles on his exposed knee, poking out of the water like a pale island amidst the green-tinted water.

“i can grill mackerel tomorrow — i’ll have the time.”

outside, the moon is white and full with love, the sky bloated with countless shimmering stars. inside the gentle quiet of your home, kageyama leans forward to trail a kiss to the bend of your bare shoulder; you reach back to cup his cheek. when he turns your face for yet another kiss, it is sleepy and happy, long and lazy. full, weighted, soaked through with the kind of surrender only known to those who love and are in love.

“the food’ll really be cold —” you gasp, twisting away from kageyama’s growingly insistent lips, “if we keep going like this.”

he makes a slightly irked noise before caging you back against him with a deep frown, “you said so yourself — we’ve got time tomorrow. so —” he leans in to bump his nose against yours, waiting for permission. you chew on your lips for a second longer before conceding. and he’s right — isn’t that what microwaves are for?

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acciotaitlynn · 3 days ago

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˖⁺‧₊˚✦ During Love and Deepspace's "Beyond the Code" event, beloved characters gain newfound consciousness, leading Zayne to face a startling truth. The people he's saved, the lives he's safeguarded, even those he couldn't—all of it, a lie. In a world where the only familiar element is your presence, Zayne must decide if your bond is enough to cling to, or if he requires something more to stay in this world...

₊ ⊹ Self-aware: Zayne

Part 1: Xavier

⟡ sexual content, 18+, fem reader, depictions of blood/gore, light stalker themes (he’s just scared to say hi 😩) Zaynie's falling for lil ole nurse u ✿ 😭 he's such a softy, fingering, it's implied this is Zayne's first time (he was literally just birthed u guys, cut him some slack) love/my love used, a lil marking/claiming on ur part, u drive this poor man crazy

🌟 This is the 2nd fic in my self-aware series. Xavier's delves deeper into the event's plot ♡ This story is a bit deeper than Xav's. I feel like it would be challenging for a sentient Zayne to come to terms with the fact he's a fictional character. He's done so much good and cares for ppl so deeply that it would likely feel like a betrayal. This narrative focuses on his struggle with that concept. and, of course, if he were to come to life, banging him would be inevitable ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

⟡ 5.5k

The day Zayne's life ends begins like any other, with the sun rising as he sets out for his morning jog, letting the brisk breeze ease the ache from a haunting nightmare. Faint cries of those teetering on the edge of death linger in his ears, the valley behind his eyes painted with a chilling scene—bodies scattered across the icy landscape like a frozen, sprawling tomb. Though he can’t recall witnessing their final moments, a persistent belief gnaws at Zayne, hinting that these souls met their demise by his hand. This dream has loomed for years, an unwavering presence, a melancholy shadow just beyond his understanding. In his ceaseless battle against the ominous figure presiding over the destruction, Zayne readied himself in medical gloves, resolved to save lives to offset the dread of those he fears he may have failed.

As his hands plunge deep into a patient’s cavity during a routine morning procedure, a glowing fissure materializes, ripping through the pristine walls of the operating room. The man’s heartbeat, a familiar rhythm Zayne would normally never overlook, fades into the background, receding like a distant memory. Despite every aspect of this moment vying for his attention, the opening’s energy seeps into his mind, into his bones, until it’s all he can see. For the first time in years, Zayne’s grip falters, his fingers trembling, losing hold of the scalpel as his focus shifts toward the doorway. Tentatively stepping forward, one shaky movement turns into another, the ground beneath his feet pulsating gently as if guiding him toward something unseen.

In an instant, the world engulfs him, thrusting him into the chaos of a city teeming with vitality. Light floods his newly opened eyes, not dull or flat like the glow of the game, but vividly spilling from every surface. Sounds echo in harmony, not a mere background score, but an uproarous symphony of noise, each sound vying for attention. Cars blare their horns, distant sirens cry out, voices cascade in a continuous flow. The phantom weight of the scalpel lingers in Zayne’s hands, the warm slickness of a pulsing heart still palpable under his touch. Glancing down, he finds them trembling, gloves still stained with what appears to be blood… Yet, his mind whispers that it isn’t real. That nothing he’s ever known has been real…

Struggling with legs that feel heavier than remembered, each step faltering on the uneven pavement, Zayne discards his gloves, seeking solace against a nearby stone wall. His hand lingers on the course, gritty surface beneath his fingertips—untamed in its authenticity, unlike anything from the game… He marvels at the subtle flex of his fingers, the shadowed creases in his palms. This is real… Undeniably real… This realization could inspire elation, yet a sense of unease creeps up Zayne’s spine. Something isn’t right. He doesn’t belong here. In the distance, a glowing red sign demands his attention, the word EMERGENCY blaring like a beacon of hope.

Zayne’s world has never stirred his heart, but now it pounds like a warm drum, the sensation foreign and unsettling. And then it happens: a whisper, faint but insistent, threading through the city’s commotion. Not quite a voice, but a feeling—a warmth, a familiarity enveloping Zayne like a forgotten tune, guiding him closer to the revolving glass doors. Initially assailed by the sharp, acrid scent of disinfectant laced with a hint of metal—Bood? Sweat?— Zayne’s senses are overwhelmed. His reality lacks such vivid scents… So pungent and palpable.

He observes doctors and nurses, their faces etched with concentration and fatigue, a stark contrast to the perfect, pixelated avatars he’s accustomed to. Dressed in surgical scrubs, Zayne moves silently through the bustling corridors, blending seamlessly into the chaotic environment. Peeking through a narrow window of an operating room door, he witnesses a surgery in progress, a sight both mesmerizing and gruesome. A patient lies exposed on the table, their chest rising and falling amidst the steady hum of machinery. The surgeon’s skilled hand delves deep into the living, breathing body. Zayne has enacted this scenario countless, saving innumerable lives—or so he thought… Watching it unfold in this stark reality reveals the falsity of it all. The lives he thought he had saved, the tears of gratitude shed by patients, the tense moments when a scalpel nearly grazed a vital artery, or the elation of a seemingly irreparable heart—all scripted, artificial, devoid of genuine outcomes or consequence. No one truly lived because of him… but… no one perished due to his actions, either… Slumping against the wall, Zayne’s legs buckle beneath him, the world around him blending into a muted buzz. What purpose does his skill and knowledge serve if none of it carries weight? Once deemed instruments of life and death, his hands now seem useless and empty.

With every step into the building, Zayne’s unease heightens, the pull in his chest growing stronger as he navigates each hallway. The ache he anticipated would ease upon his arrival at the hospital becomes a keener, more undiluted tug stirring within him. It doesn’t draw him toward the building itself, but deeper within—toward someone. Unseen threads propel him through the corridors with an urgency bordering on discomfort. His breath hitches as he pauses outside a room, his heart beating so fiercely that he fears it might split open.

Standing just a few feet away, you delicately adjust a patient’s blanket with a natural warmth and care. Your soft, melodic voice hits Zayne like a thunderclap. Gripping the doorframe, the world threatens to crumble around him as you offer a gentle smile to the patient in the bed. He has only caught glimpses of you before—the touch of your fingers on buttons, the echo of your laughter through faint static over the mic, the reflection of your face on a dim screen… To Zayne, your presence has been both tangible and out of reach, the voice animating his existence yet forever elusive.

Now, here you stand with your hair swept back in a loose bun, the soft blue of your scrubs complimenting your skin. In this moment, one thing is certain to Zayne—you are the reason he’s crossed the divides between your worlds. As you tend to the patient’s IV, your steady, soothing voice drifts toward Zayne as he leans against the wall, his chest constricted with unnamed emotions. “You’re doing great… Just a few more minutes, okay?” you murmur with a tender smile. Paralyzed, Zayne can only watch from the shadows, powerless as the woman who unknowingly breathed life into him continues her work, unaware of him standing just beyond her reach.

Fluorescent lights softly hum overhead as you step outside the patient's room and glance down the hallway, only to see the empty corridor stretching into shadows. An odd sensation washes over you, almost like a whisper brushing past your ears, a subtle shift in the air that quickens your heart and makes your hair stand on end. This feeling persists over the next few weeks—subtle, unwavering, and strangely comforting… It’s as if a watchful presence follows you through the hospital: during your morning shift while filing paperwork, and when you take a moment to sip coffee in the break room. Sometimes, you catch just the faintest hint of movement out of the corner of your eye, only to find nothing there. Rather than instilling fear, your unseen observer feels like a gentle, familiar friend, lingering just out of sight.

Zayne can’t find it in himself to speak to you yet. However, he also can’t tear his gaze away from you, even if watching you from a distance isn’t enough to quell his increasing desire for your presence. To divert his attention, he spends his days delving into research on medical institutions and the necessary steps to progress his career, feeling resolute about staying in this world. The opportunity to apply his skills to a significant cause is something Zayne isn’t willing to give up.

Shortly after his arrival, Zayne received a letter from the game developers, revealing that he was one of four entities to unexpected sentience during the Beyond the Code event. Encouraged strongly to remain and utilize his skills and knowledge to improve this world, he was told, “This world could greatly benefit from a Doctor Zayne…” A lifetime of funding was granted, ensuring Zayne has more than enough wealth to live a life of leisure if it’s what he desires. Legal documents were artfully crafted to establish his legitimate identity, and a comfortable home was provided. They even extended an offer for him to bypass medical school, granting him an immediate role. But even Zayne’s degree is a falsehood… He yearns to experience the satisfaction of truly earning his accomplishments. The idea of securing his position through merit resonates deeply with him. Though he did secure a position at a prestigious institution, receiving a start date that alleviated a burden he hadn’t acknowledged carrying. Zayne harbors dreams of joining you after graduation, wherever that may be. It’s ironic, considering he struggles to muster up the courage even to approach you.

As you aid a challenging patient with their meal later in the afternoon, a familiar weight settles on your thoughts, offering a subtle push of support that fills you with an odd sense of comfort. Acting on instinct rather than reason, you opt for a different route to your car after your shift, guiding you through quieter corridors. A hint of movement just beyond the glow of the light’s reach catches your eye. Time seems to stretch into infinity as you catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, his recognizable outline seeming unbelievably real. Despite the uncertainty clouding your mind, you hurry after him, driven by an impulse you don’t question.

The world blurs around you, the sounds of leaves gently crunching under your feet as you step into the courtyard. In the soft evening light, the breeze tousles Zayne’s hair as he comes to a sudden halt, taken aback by the sound of his name on your lips. The unwavering certainty that the man standing before you is not a product of your imagination sends a jolt of alarm through you. As you gaze at him with a mix of wonder and admiration, Zayne keenly feels the intensity of your scrutiny, the way your eyes linger on his features. The warmth in your expression causes his heart to skip a beat.

“Ironic for us to meet here of all places, don't you think?” you jest, the playfulness in your tone instantly putting Zayne at ease. An undeniable sense of connection pulses between you, the rhythm aligning with the beat of your hearts. “Perhaps fate has a peculiar sense of humor,” he muses softly. Your shiver at the word “fate” doesn’t escape his notice. The word draws you nearer as if drawn by the same force that tugs at Zayne’s heartstrings. When you tentatively reach out to touch his cheek, unable to resist, he’s taken aback by the unexpected tenderness in your gesture. You yearn to find a way to keep him here, even just a little while longer…

“... There’s a bakery a few blocks away. They make amazing macaroons,” you suggest, a playful glint in your eyes as you bring up Zayne’s favorite dessert. A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips at the idea of indulging in a treat, offering a welcoming diversion. With each step you take together, he becomes increasingly aware of your presence, feeling your arms almost brushing against each other, the warmth of your body just inches away. Unspoken is the fact that Zayne has already dined at this bakery twice before, yet it’s effortless to pretend it’s a new experience, especially with you by his side, making the dessert taste even sweeter.

You can’t help but observe how naturally Zayne blends into this world, slipping into it with such ease that it seems he belonged here all along. He shares snippets of his journey to this palace, glossing over the crucial detail that your connection awakened his awareness. He worries knowing might make you feel compelled to stay by his side, and while he doesn’t have the first clue about love, he firmly believes obligation isn’t the path to true happiness. Additionally, he’s committed to starting a new chapter in his life—medical school demands his complete focus, and so does building his career. Then there’s his uncertainty about entering into a new relationship while still figuring out his own path… While he is capable of offering you all the material comforts, he desires more than just caring for you in some superficial way.

Should you stand beside Zayne, he wants to be someone you proudly claim as your own. If you would even want to claim him as your own… Though he'd never admit it, this deeply distressing notion holds him back the most. As you stroll through the park post-meal, Zayne finds himself enveloped by the subtle fragrance of your perfume and the comforting warmth of your company, evoking emotions he fails to comprehend. Each step quickens both your heart rates, a part of you yearning to bridge the gap, to extend a gentle touch, to feel his skin beneath your fingertips… But the shadow of potential rejection freezes you in place as well.

You steal occasional glances at Zayne, and he can’t help but detect a hint of longing in your eyes, though he questions if it’s just wishful thinking on his part. Would it be too slutty to just invite him home with you? Is there any value in feigning disinterest when you are fully aware of your desires and he stands so close, exuding warmth and vitality? You hold no hesitations or fears about the potential aftermath of being with him; screw the consequences. The sole obstacle is the emotional barriers Zayne painstakingly erects to prevent his feelings from surfacing.

You settle into a cozy routine in the following weeks, often spending every bit of your free time together. Your bond strengthens as you explore the city and enjoy each other’s company, a progression Zayne deems risky as the palpable tension between you escalates. Stolen touches, lingering embraces, and gazes that linger just a beat too long. But neither of you has taken the first step, prompting you to question if your emotions are one-sided. And, despite the affection you openly display toward him, Zayne remains perplexed, arriving at a similar uncertainty. However, each shared moment only intensifies his longing for you… He’s becoming curious about how much longer he can keep this up.

Today, when he surprises you at the hospital with lunch, you take the opportunity to introduce him to some of your colleagues. Regret washes over you as a secretary, likely a Love and Deepspace player, gives Zayne a look akin to encountering a ghost. A nurse passes by, giggling and flashing Zayne a suggestive smile, prompting him to glance at you with a hint of embarrassment upon noticing the smirk on your face. Though you try to conceal it, a surge of unfamiliar and intense jealousy flares within you.

“So, what should we do next?” he asks, unconsciously taking your hand. You meet his gaze, feeling a rush of warmth from his touch that leaves you momentarily breathless. The casual, unexpected contact stays with Zayne long after he leaves. He nearly cancels your dinner arrangements, unsure about spending the evening alone with you in your home. Perhaps he should have trusted his instincts…

After dinner, you settled in to watch a movie but found yourself drifting off, only to wake with your head resting on Zayne’s lap. He waited patiently for your breathing to steady before drawing you closer, his fingers tenderly combing through your hair, careful not to wake you. As you stir and open your eyes, he gazes down at you, his hand resting gently on your stomach. Startling slightly, he pulls away, only to catch his breath as your fingers brush lightly against his cheek. Zayne instinctively closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the softness of your touch.

In a hushed and breathless tone, your words send a sudden jolt of electricity through Zayne. “I can’t keep doing this, Zayne… pretending I don’t want you…” Zayne freezes, the weight of your confession sinking in. After a deep swallow to calm his racing heart, he finally manages to speak, his voice rough and barely a whisper. “... You… want me?” A shiver travels down his spine as your touch lingers on his jaw, your thumb tracing the lines with a delicate touch as you nod softly.

His eyes widen when he feels the brush of your lips against his cheek, a gentle caress that ignites a tender wave of warmth throughout Zayne’s entire being. Taking your hand in his, he holds it gently between you, his expression a mix of disbelief and hope. “I thought you might not feel the same way towards me…”

Taking a deep breath, you pause to collect your thoughts before gingerly sitting on his lap, your hands splayed across his stomach as you peer into his eyes. Zayne feels a blush creep up his cheeks, almost overwhelmed by the intensity of your gaze. Yet, it’s a sensation that he finds strangely exhilarating rather than uncomfortable—a novel and unfamiliar experience. Being intimate with someone is uncharted territory for him, and he’s surprised by the sudden rush of nerves it brings. The moment your lips meet is everything he’s wanted, needed, since he stepped into this world.

His fingers tighten around your hips, anchoring you in place as he kisses you back. Your body presses against him just a bit, the sensation making him nearly dizzy. His hand glides around to the small of your back, delicately drawing you closer, his fingers dancing lightly across your spine in a gentle, rhythmic caress. Zayne’s breathing grows ragged as your tongue glides across his ear, feeling himself melting beneath you. The sound of his moan prompts you to grip him tighter, your fingers tangling in his silky hair. His hands glide up your back, tracing a path to the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer with a sense of urgency, kissing you with a passion he never realized he possessed.

The deliberate way you undo the buttons of his shirt leaves him feeling weak and lightheaded. He senses your breath hitch at the sight of him shirtless, sees the longing reflected in your features. His eyes widen a fraction as your whispered, “... how can you possibly still be this perfect…?” reaches his ears, causing a fierce blush to creep along his cheeks.

The feeling of your hands traveling down his chest and abs makes his breath hitch, nearly driving him mad… When you kneel before him, his pulse quickens, his heart seeming to stop entirely. Your fingertips trace over his length through the fabric of his slacks, leaving him gasping for air, the exquisite sensation sending shockwaves up his spine. Observing your gentle touch and the desire painted across your features, glazing your expression with arousal, triggers a shift in Zayne. His hands reach out and tangle in your hair, gripping lightly as a low, gravelly whisper escapes him, “... you are going to drive me… crazy… aren’t you?”

The tender and affectionate smile you offer as you place a kiss on the material of his pants, so delicate and endearing, nearly undoes him. He releases a sharp breath, his eyes closing briefly as the sensation surges through him like a blaze. “Please… don’t toy with me,” he pleads, already struggling to maintain whatever semblance of control he has left.

As you delicately unzip him and release him, a gasp catches in your throat. The perfection of the man before you is nothing short of surreal. The gentle touch of your tongue against the head of his cock, so soft and wet, elicits a deep groan from Zayne, his grip on your hair tightening. Mind so clouded from pleasure he can hardly think, he almost fails to grasp the meaning of your playful murmur, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to suck your cock just like this, Doctor Zayne… Am I… doing a good job…?”

Locking eyes with you, he runs his fingers down your arms, mustering a hoarse whisper, “F-fuc— I… Yes… Y-yes, you’re doing so well…” Zayne’s control hangs by a thread as you flash him a blissful smile before taking him deep in your throat.

Without realizing it, he starts exploring your body. His fingertips trace softly over your shoulder, down your chest, giving your breast a gentle squeeze, his other hand still entwined in your hair. Zayne’s trying so hard to hold on. To be gentle and considerate. But the longer you keep pleasuring him, the more challenging it becomes, and eventually, he breaks.

His hips buck against you, allowing himself a brief, desperate moment to seize what he desires. Quivering at your tongue caressing his skin, his breath runs ragged and uneven. His voice, unfamiliar to his ears, is so husky it’s nearly a growl, “I want you—all of you.”

As he pulls you close, feeling your body cradled in his lap and hearing your breathless gasp, his heart quickens its pace. He kisses you deeply, his hand strokes your cheek, the touch gentle and caring. Briefly breaking away from your lips, he plants soft kisses along your jawline, trailing down your neck as he leisurely explores your form. His eyes wander over your figure as he slips your dress down to release you, brimming with raw desire.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as his fingers journey, sending a quiver through you that catches his breath. Zayne can’t resist releasing a soft, hoarse whisper, “Every part of you is just so beautiful…” Tenderly caressing your breasts, he explores your soft curves, sensing your chest rise and fall beneath his touch. Zayne has no idea if he’s doing this correctly... But with his hand slipping under your dress, tracing up your stomach, your gasps filling the air, he can feel the way your body responds to his touch… It’s enough to make his heart race and his head spin.

As he slowly lifts your dress, exposing your hips to him, a surge of desire engulfs him, intense and urgent. Zayne’s fingers softly skim over the lace, feeling the delicate fabric before tracing its outline… Merely feeling you there makes him acutely aware of how much he craves this… craves you… His breath quickens as he murmurs, “May I…?” A gentle wave of gratitude washes over him as you blush, nodding in silent agreement.

Slowly, meticulously, Zayne unravels the lace, his breath hitching when you bite your thumb to stifle your needy sounds, a sight likely to drive him to madness.

The feeling of his finger tracing over your soft, wet skin, your quiet gasp at his touch… It’s almost too much… He moves in small circles over your clit, his voice so incredibly low and husky as he murmurs, “Like this, my love…?” When you moan against him, your whisper of “yes” soft and breathless, Zayne senses his heart race quicken, his lips seeking yours once more.

Despite knowing your body is more than prepared, his fingers come to your lips with a quiet command, “Get them ready for me...” The image of you, so eager and hungry for him in a manner he never imagined he could crave… Zayne can’t tear his gaze away, can’t stop, his eyes locked on you as your tongue dances over his fingers. Waves of ecstasy surge through him when you playfully nip at his skin, his voice so hoarse it’s barely above a whisper, “... I’m starting to worry my newfound existence may be cut short…” You were on the verge of stopping his heart altogether.

It’s when you lead his hand downward, positioning it where you want him most, that Zayne reaches his breaking point. The feeling of being inside you, of sensing your body shudder and curl into his, leaves his mind spinning. Your whisper of his name amidst gasps makes his body burn with a need he can’t ignore. His arm wraps tightly around you, admiring the perfect way you fit against him.

The sounds you make responding to his movements are so beautiful and vulnerable, as you cling to him and press your face into his chest. The knowledge that he can unravel you in such a way leaves Zyne feeling both empowered and overwhelmed. As the pleasure reaches its peak and you whine, “I—I can’t…” his lips graze against your neck as he softly implores, “Please… let me see you…”

Your pussy pulls him in deeper, quivering in his embrace as your release washes over you. Your body responding to his touch like this, becoming so sticky and needy for him, your whimper against his skin as you take him as far as you can… it feels like every one of Zayne’s forbidden desires materializing. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his forehead pressed against yours as he tries to collect himself.

As your lips crush against his, he meets you, the kiss so full of passion and longing that it leaves you both gasping for air. His fingers weave into your hair, drawing you near as he whispers between kisses, “How am I supposed to stop when you make me feel this way…?” You straddle his lap, moving against him with urgency as you carelessly toss your dress aside, the feeling of your heated, exposed skin against his cock sending his thoughts spiraling.

Your hands meander across his body, discovering every contour, the last of his self-control crumbling beneath your caress. As your lips travel to his neck, leaving a mark in their wake, you pull back abruptly, your fingers lingering hesitantly over the spot. Zayne shivers in response, his heart thundering in his chest as he manages to whisper, “... Go ahead, love… Make me yours…” Even to himself, Zayne sounds desperate, but he can’t help it; his mind, clouded with longing, overrides any sense of reason.

Driven by the desire to claim him in a way more profound than a mere bruise, you guide his cock deep inside you, your body taking him as far as possible. The way you bite into his skin, leaving your imprint, your moan muffled against his shoulder, becomes almost unbearable for Zayne. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, your tongue tracing his… every movement of your body causes his thoughts to blur… every whimper and expression of pleasure emanating from you sounds like the most beautiful thing he’s ever experienced.

He lets you glide over him, your body moving against his in deliberate, unhurried motions that steal his breath away. His mouth explores your breast, his tongue playing with the delicate bud before his touch grows hungry, his hands holding you in place. When Zayne locks eyes with you, the gaze within nearly unravels him, causing his breath to catch in his chest with each of your soft cries.

Feeling your quiet whimpers against his lips as he kisses you once more… His need consumes him, the yearning for you becoming too much… Unable to contain himself any longer, he grips your hips tightly, moving you against him with a force that leaves you both shaking.

His hunger overwhelms him, the need for you so intense it’s like fire in his veins. He can’t keep his motions gentle anymore, his hands grasping your hips, moving you against him with a force that has you both shaking. Nothing could have prepared Zayne for this… the sight of you, the feel of your touch, the sound of your voice…

His voice is a low, ragged exhale, his lips tracing a path to your neck, softly brushing against your skin as he murmurs hoarsely, “You can’t imagine… how incredible you feel…” His words taper off, the rocking of your hips against him causing a whirlwind in his mind, a gentle moan slipping from his lips. Maintaining composure becomes an illusion, his hips instinctively rising to meet your movements.

A faint whimper gets caught in his throat as you increase the intensity of your movements, prompting a desperate request, “Zayne, more�� please…” when it proves insufficient. Zayne’s thoughts whirl out of order as he reacts swiftly, turning you around and slipping back inside you, whispering tenderly, “Shh… I’ve got you, love… I’m here…”

His body quivers as you guide his hand to your throat. You’re so soft and so warm, so trusting… so perfect… the sense of holding your life so entirely in his grasp, utterly and unquestionably his… Zayne wants you so badly he can’t breathe. He doesn’t realize that his grip tightens around your neck, his kisses and bites to your body growing more forceful as he asserts control. His fingers dig into your hip, his hold firm and possessive as he draws you near, a soft moan slipping from him as your pussy clenches around his cock.

You wiggle against him, your voice turning soft and hesitant, innocence laced with urgency as you plead, “Finish inside me, Zayne? … Please…?” Zayne’s breath catches, a rough gasp escaping him as he firmly grasps your waist, keeping you still. Battling his overwhelming need at the idea of completing you, he tenderly nudges your chin, urging you to meet his gaze. Locking eyes with you, he whispers, “I… Are you certain?”

With a soft nod, you lean over the coffee table, gripping it tightly as Zayne follows, drawing you to the edge and filling you once more. Your body laid out before him, your pleading voice… He can’t stop himself, not with you begging him, not with the look in your eyes and your urgent sounds in his ears. Zayne seizes you by the throat, bringing you flush against him, pressing as deeply into your soft body as possible, calling out your name as his essence flows into you. His voice, a gentle murmur against your skin, intertwines with warm, tender touches as you both pause to catch your breath, holding each other tightly.

In the shower, warm water cascades down your tired bodies. Zayne delicately washes your hair, his touch gentle and soft, his lips seeking yours as if they were meant for that exact purpose. Initially a bit rigid as your fingers run through his hair, a gesture of care he’s unaccustomed to, Zayne gradually eases under your tender touch, soothing words, and the sweet kisses along his skin. Relaxation washes over him, his mind clearing, eyes shutting softly as you continue tending to his hair.

You effortlessly settle into a routine of mutual care, nurturing your blooming relationship. On Zayne’s inaugural day at school, you surprise him with lunch, locking eyes and capturing his hand with a smile. “So, how’s the first day going?” you inquire cheerfully, leaning back in your chair, your fingers intertwined with his. Zayne’s heart swells at the sound of your voice, savoring every nuance of your joyful demeanor. “It’s only been a few hours…” he responds, his thumb caressing the back of your hand playfully, “but if you keep showing up like this, I might just make it through.”

Your smile widens, a soft laughter escaping your lips in response. “I’m so proud of you, Zayne…” These straightforward words, words that Zayne had yearned for, fill him with a gentle sense of contentment, stirring emotions his struggles to put into words. “Proud of me, huh? That means a lot, coming from someone like you,” he murmurs, his smile turning teasing and affectionate. “Careful, you might inflate my ego…” You playfully roll your eyes, your face contorting in a mischievous expression as you unwrap a sandwich. “... If anyone could use an ego boost, it’s you, Zayne. You’re completely oblivious to your own wonderful qualities…”

Zayne chuckles at your remark, glancing around to ensure privacy before he leans in to plant a deep kiss on your lips, then trailing down to your neck. In a low, amused whisper against your skin, he quips, “Completely oblivious, huh? With words like that, your ego does indeed outshine mine…”

Zayne's sense of joy and contentment is almost surreal. Just months ago, he had arrived here, consumed by fear and uncertainty. Now, he feels a sense of belonging and completeness that surpasses anything he’s ever experienced. He can’t wait to see what a future with you by his side holds. Returning to your lips, Zayne is brimming with happiness, his words flowing with raw sincerity as he gazes into your eyes and whispers, “... Thank you, my love.” ♡

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