I would love a little fic about MC sitting on Zaynes lap for the first time in the beginning of them dating each other, like him being shocked or caught of guard at first or something like that 🤔. I'm so sorry if this request sounds weird it's been on my mind for months 🤣😭 I suck at writing, and your fics are just chefs kiss!
my shaylaaa, he would be so cute trying to hide that he's flustered 😭 ohh i will eat him alive
p.s. not proofread
You hadn’t meant anything by it.
That’s what you told yourself anyway as you crossed Zayne’s living room with the throw blanket in your arms and your socks whispering against the hardwood. He was on the couch, glasses low on his nose, reading something dense and medical-looking.
The sight of him there, soft and home-clothed and yours in this new, breakable way, made your stomach flip the way it had been flipping for weeks now.
Months, really. If you were being honest. Possibly years, if you wanted to spiral about it.
Which was the problem with dating your childhood friend.
You’d known Zayne since you were six. You’d fallen asleep on his shoulder during long car rides, pressed bandaids onto his scraped knees, swiped macarons off his plate without asking. Touching him had never been a thing you had to think about.
Until nineteen days ago, when he mustered up the courage and kissed you on his front porch and politely, devastatingly asked if you’d consider being his girlfriend.
Now, every gesture had a different gravity and weight behind it.
You’d been keeping count of the kisses like a fool. Four. You knew you were ridiculous for doing so, but you simply didn’t care.
So when you reached the couch and he looked up at you with that half-soft, half-questioning expression, the blanket felt like a flimsy excuse for what your body had clearly already decided to do.
You climbed into his lap.
Zayne went perfectly, completely still.
You felt it instantly, the way every muscle in him locked, the page frozen between his fingers. You settled your weight against his thighs, draped the blanket over both of you, and tucked your head under his chin like you’d done this a thousand times before, even though you hadn’t.
You daydreamed about it, though. Wanting to finally take matters into your own hands before you could chicken out.
“...Hello,” he managed to say after a long beat of silence, voice a full octave lower than usual.
You tilted your head back to look at him. His ears were red. The tips of them, just barely, but you saw it. His glasses had slid down further on his nose. His hand, the one not holding the book, was hovering in the air beside your hip like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do, or if he was even allowed to touch.
The realization slid down your spine warm and slow. He was flustered. Doctor Zayne, ice-cold composure, hands-steady-in-surgery Zayne, was sitting beneath you with his entire body locked up like you’d hit pause on him.
You felt yourself smile slowly, a little bit wickedly and delighted at the outcome.
“Comfortable?” you asked sweetly, settling your weight a little more deliberately into his lap.
His jaw worked, voice dry as bone, “Was the couch full?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. There he was. Even flushed and short-circuiting, his timing was unfairly good.
“Mhm. Didn’t seem to be as comfortable.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
“I see.” His hand set the book down on the armrest with the precision of a man defusing a bomb. Maybe for him it really was that serious. You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop but find him utterly adorable. Red as a tomato, he might as well be the bomb in question.
His hand finally landed on your hip, warm and a little too gentle, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed yet. “And the rest of the house?”
“Naturally.” his thumb stroked once, experimental, against your hipbone. You felt his exhale against the top of your head. “Then I suppose I can allow this. I can’t have you feel uncomfortable in my house, now can I?”
You laughed into his throat, and felt him relax beneath you in increments, the tension melting out of his shoulders, his arm sliding properly around your back to pull you flush against his chest. His heart was beating slightly too fast under your ear. So was yours.
“Zayne,” you murmured, fingers playing with the seam of his collar.
“You know,” you said softly, tracing slow patterns over the fabric, “you could’ve just told me to come over here. You don’t need to be embarrassed if you want to hold me, Zayne. I am your girlfriend after all, am I not?”
He was quiet for a moment before you felt his hand spread warm across your back, certain now, no more hovering.
“I’m aware,” he murmured into your hair. “I was working up to it.”
“...Approximately nineteen days.”
You smiled into his throat, warm all the way through.
You had a feeling it won’t be the last time you find yourself in your boyfriend’s warm embrace.