HI FRIEND THANK YOU FOR THIS I AM SMILING V HARD I ALSO LOVE ACEZIALL. TBH ACEZIALL MAY BE ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS EVER TBHHHH!!!
jus for u lil beano, here’s a bit more of that NeverToBeFinished acezayn/deminiall fic re: origin stories bc i’m a sap.
warnings: glossed over sex in v vague terms - roughly two paragraphs, no description of acts or sex talk, some id confusion but 100% consensual stuffs. (pls lemme know if anyone wants to read this but is worried for whatever reason and i can cut or explain more) <3
.
The first person Zayn sleeps with is the same person he has sex with.
He meets them at a mixer the first week of uni, and he likes the way their hands reach out but don’t touch him without asking. He likes the way they ask his pronouns with an easy smile, offering their own. He thinks he would like to draw the shape of their lips with his eyes closed.
He thinks it’s high time he fucked around.
So, when they ask, soft and sweet, “Hey, you wanna come back to mine?”
He says, “Yes,” and means it.
The stairwell to their flat has boxes in it, they trip over in their flushed haze and it’s silly and nice. The flat smells nice like cinnamon and cat. It’s nice. Their hand and their mouth and their rolls and freckles and the physical feelings are all nice.
The sex is very boring.
He focuses hard on the smiles tucked into the corners of their mouth, the way they say his name, tries to keep his mind from wandering off. But it’s just a lot of slippery, sweaty kinda grossness and funny noises he wants to chuckle at but when he does they wrinkle their brow, confused.
Later, he wakes up and he thinks, Thanks, but no thanks.
There’s an arm curled over his chest, his own shoulder is slightly sore from how he’s been lying to keep it there. Their cat has come to curl on the edge of the bed and the air feels tinged with a purr.
He thinks, oh, this is nicer. This is it.
Four days later, he meets Niall at a Pride meeting on campus for asexuality, tentatively sitting in the back, too aware of the way he doesn’t even wear bi like a badge on his chest like these people talking at the front of the room literally are – they’re big and bold and everything that he doesn’t want for himself.
“Heya.”
Zayn jerks a little in his wobbly chair, looks up to find someone grinning down at him, a plain white tee and jeans, reverse snapback. He clears his throat. “Hey.”
