summary: Your boyfriend wallops you at Kitty Cards one too many times and you've officially had enough. Zayne has just kittied his last plot.
wc: 2.8k
tags: boyfriend!Zayne x gn!reader, fluff, embarrassing defeats, sore losers, hurt feelings, and maybe happy endings, wink wink nudge nudge?
excerpt:
"I am going home by myself," you clarify. "I'll see you in a few days."
"Don't we have another date tomorrow?"
"I will see you," you repeat, your teeth gritting again, "in a few days."
"... I see," he says, and this time you believe he does. "So you don't want to play anymore?"
"No, my most precious snow angel and the delight of my eyes," you reply, hoping that reminding yourself that you adore him will keep you from murdering him outright, "I do not want to play anymore."
You know you're not going to win this one. You are 28 points behind with only two open cups on the board, both colorless. Even if you had two sixes (and you don't), you've lost. Badly.
His frozen assist turn is over and you used up your last Meow This card blocking his Kitty Plot in the previous round, trying to grab the final color cup.
It did not work. Blocking it was all you could do and that turned out to be useless.
Of course you won't forfeit. You never do. You play to the bloody, bitterest end every time, presumably because you're a masochist, but really it's that you're just as competitive as he is, only he's way better than you. Making him work for his inevitable victory is your one, terribly unsatisfying means for revenge.
The role luck plays in his wins (or your losses) only adds the bitterness of defeat. The cards just like him more. It's maddening how he seems to have at least two sixes at any given time and all of his assist cards just give him MORE assist cards, whereas you get 'play two number cards' when you don't even have one, and now...
Zayne changes your only matching cup color on the board. You are now behind by 36 points.
You clench your fist and your stomach churns with rage.
"My love," you say through gritted teeth, suppressing a wild urge to pull a gun on him, "why did you have to do that?"
Zayne is unmoved by your evident displeasure.
"I should the play the cards I have, no?"
"Not when you've already won!" You hiss, trying not to cause a scene.
You do this to yourself every time and every time you regret it. Just don't play with him anymore, you tell yourself, but Zayne actually likes this stupid game (you did too, once) and no one else will play with him (you can't imagine why not), so here you are.
You've tried to consider it compensation for all the times you've dragged him to the arcade to watch you attempt to win plushies he could easily get for you with his Evol (to be fair, sometimes he does). You've tried not caring if you lose, slouching in your chair, making pointless moves and putting cats wherever, but then you'd look up and see his disappointed face. At that point you'd sigh, sit up straight, and try to get into it.
He would then proceed to reduce all your points down to zero in one turn and seem immune to your death glares while he did it.
Sometimes you've even tried to win. If you used Zayne's strategy against him and the cards were with you and it was a full moon on the second Thursday of the month, you could eke out a win over the course of six or seven games. Two wins, if the Kitty God took a break from cursing your very existence.
You made the most of these occasions with a little gloating (okay, sometimes a lot of gloating) in an attempt to savor the fleeting high, knowing that he would make you pay next time.
Now is that next time. And it's the last time.
You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and stand up from the table.
"Are you going to get another coffee?" Zayne asks, daring to sound innocent as he looks up at you.
Your eyelid twitches and a muscle in your jaw jumps.
"No," you reply. "No, I am not."
This is absurd. It's absurd to get this angry at the love of your life over a silly game, a fact that only makes you angrier.
"Where are you going?"
You want to stick your thumbs in his beautiful boba eyes.
That's another thing too. Zayne never gloats. He may tease you a little for losing, but he is a gracious winner, more or less. He can afford to be. Because he always wins.
You hope your nails now digging into your palms will allow you focus on keeping what remains of your dignity.
"I am going to the restroom," you say, speaking as evenly as possible.
Zayne nods and returns his eyes to the game.
"And then," you add, "I am going home."
He looks back up.
"You've finished playing?"
"Yes, Zayne. I have finished playing. In fact, I've had quite enough."
Now Zayne perceives that your tone is rather sharp. Like a razor that, from the look on your face, you wish to press against his throat.
"Alright," he says with a little more caution, "allow me to clean up here then. When you return, we can-"
You hold up an open palm towards his face in the universal sign of 'please stop talking immediately or I shall scream.'
"I am going home by myself," you clarify. "I'll see you in a few days."
"Don't we have another date tomorrow?"
"I will see you," you repeat, your teeth gritting again, "in a few days."
"... I see," he says, and this time you believe he does. "So you don't want to play anymore?"
"No, my most precious snow angel and the delight of my eyes," you reply, hoping that reminding yourself that you adore him will keep you from murdering him outright, "I do not want to play anymore."
Zayne surmises from your excessive terms of endearment and the lack of contractions in your speech that he has, as you would put it, royally fucked up.
"Ah. Understood."
Satisfied that you've made yourself clear, you take another deep breath, exhale slowly, and tug on your shirt a little to straighten it, just for something to do with your hands that makes you feel like you're back in control of yourself.
Zayne says nothing, but you don't dare look at his face. If he looks unrepentant or even neutral, you fear you might behave in a manner unbecoming of an adult (or a child, for that matter). If he appears chastised, you'll feel bad, and haven't you suffered enough? You deserve to wallow just a little after being viciously mauled by tiny cats at the hands of your beloved.
You hold your head high as you walk through the cafe to one of the single occupancy restrooms to throw just the teeniest, tiniest little bit of a tantrum. You feel you've earned at least one after the many times you've been publicly and gratuitously humiliated, even if it was only at a card game. After that you will leave. You will go home. You might even calm down enough to uncancel your date. Maybe.
The door slams behind you. Must be an exceptionally heavy door, you suppose. Your iron grip on the handle and the tension in your arm is purely coincidental. (In fact, all the doors to the bathrooms in the cafe must be exceptionally heavy. This isn't the first time patrons and staff have heard them slam.)
Once inside, you handle yourself with aplomb. One silent scream, a couple of fist shakes, a few choice four-letter words, and that's it. You barely curse Zayne's name at all, that monster, that criminal, that-
Someone knocks politely on the door.
"Sorry, occupied!" You call in as light of a voice as you can muster. No reason to punish a stranger for Zayne's crimes.
They knock again. Your tantrum flares up once more.
"I'll be out in just a moment!"
Another knock. You finally snap and whip open the door.
"I said-"
You look up at the tall figure in the doorway and your eyes narrow.
Zayne is unfazed as he slides a hand around your waist to guide you backwards and swiftly steps inside, closing the door behind him.
It doesn't slam this time. Weird.
"What is it?" You ask, stepping out of his grasp and resisting the urge to turn your back to him. You cross your arms and give him your shoulder instead, staring at the wall of the bathroom instead of his face. "I don't exactly need your help in here."
Zayne stands dangerously close to you, considering the hostile way that you excused yourself from his company.
"I wanted to speak with you in private," he says. "I have a suspicion that you might be a little cross with me."
"Noticed that, did you?" you say to the wall.
"Call it a hunch."
Ooooooh, you son of a...
You turn and glare at him.
"Don't be cute," you snap.
But he is cute. You hate that. You turn back to the wall.
"May I inquire as to the nature and severity of my crime?" He asks.
"You may," you reply. Like the card game, you're not going to let him easily win you over just because he's good at it.
You expect him to laugh, which would be infuriating but understandable. (He wasn't supposed to walk in during your rather childish hissy fit.) He doesn't laugh though.
"Nature?"
"Unnecessarily cruel, degenerate, and frankly unsportsmanlike behavior."
"Severity?"
"Extreme."
You pause for a second and shift your weight a little, looking down at your feet for a second or two.
"... considered to be extreme," you amend. "Perhaps unreasonably considered. Maybe. Somewhat."
Zayne absorbs this information and you can almost hear his mind dissecting it, working through possible solutions.
"Sentence?" He asks.
"Banishment." You respond, cutting your eyes at him.
He raises his eyebrows at this declaration.
"Temporary banishment then," you huff, annoyed. Against your will, your bottom lip purses just a little.
It's a pout. You're pouting now. Great.
"Ugh, nevermind," you say, dropping your arms in surrender and turning to face him. "I'm sorry, Zayne. I know it's just a game, it doesn't matter. I got myself too worked up over it, that's all. We can still go out tomorrow if you want."
Zayne doesn't respond to any of this, even when you look up at him.
"Are you truly angry with me?" He asks after a pause.
The question is not even slightly accusatory and he meets your eyes with a steady, open gaze.
He's being sincere.
You don't know how to answer him without lying or embarrassing yourself. Because you never lie to him, you choose the latter.
"I was a little," you admit. "Or a lot. Briefly. But it's not important. It's not your fault that I'm not as good at Kitty Cards as you. To be honest, I don't understand why you even want to play this game with me in the first place."
"I like to play it with you," he murmurs in a surprisingly quiet and vulnerable voice. "Do you... dislike playing with me?"
The question stuns you and your embarrassment is joined by a very unwelcome dose of shame.
"Well... that is..."
You swallow and touch the back of your neck, unsure how to phrase what you want to say next. It's moments like this that you almost wish you could lie to him.
"I suppose it's not always... pleasant," you confess, trying to be gentle, "the way you always have to beat me by as many points as you can. Even when you're already winning. Every single time we play the game."
Zayne appears to take this news stoically at first. He lifts his hand to his face and rests his fingers against his chin, lowering his eyes. Yet as you watch him absorb your response, you recognize his little signs of unhappiness: his brow wrinkling, the corners of his normally stern and straight mouth slackening ever so slightly, and those big, round eyes becoming triangles of concern.
You did not expect this turn of events and grasp for anything that might ease your guilt.
"It's alright, really!" You insist. "It's like when you come with me to the arcade. It's fine even though you don't really like it, right?"
"I do like it. I may not enjoy catching the plushies as much as you do, but I like being there with you. I tell you that often."
Crap, he does.
"Well, I like being with you in the cafe too!" you say, which is true. "It's just that sometimes I don't like the part where we, um, actually play the game... as much."
That is also true.
You end that last sentence with a long-suffering sigh and close your eyes for a moment, exasperated with yourself. Hurting your boyfriend's feelings in a Kitty Cards cafe bathroom was not on today's checklist.
"I suppose," Zayne says after several horribly uncomfortable seconds, "this would explain why I saw Dr. Greyson and Yvonne at another card cafe across town last week after they told me that they were no longer playing."
You wince.
"Maybe changed their minds and just forgot to invite you?" you offer, "Or it was spur of the moment?"
"Maybe," he says. "However, I invited them out for a game earlier that day. They told me they'd had made other plans."
You wince again. Zayne looks discouraged for a moment, but then perks up slightly.
"If I sometimes let you win, would that help you to enjoy our games more?" He asks, lifting his head up like he's suggesting an experimental treatment plan.
"Well, no," you admit. "It's also not fun if I know you're letting me win."
It's not exactly constructive feedback, but you've committed to the truthful route, you might as well see it through.
Zayne looks even more discouraged now that his proposal was rejected. Unable to bear his distress any longer, you step forward and wrap your arms around him.
"I don't mind losing to you," you say, pressing your face against his chest for a moment. "I promise it's fine. I'll lose to you a thousand times if it will make you happy." (You've probably lost that many games already at this point, but you don't say that out loud.) "But could you maybe not completely ruin me every time when you don't have to? Just sometimes!" You clarify when Zayne looks deeply scandalized by the idea of not pouring 1000% of his effort into something. "You can ruin me occasionally if you want. If the situation calls for it."
There's a hint of something else in his expression when you say this, but then he looks down at you and contemplates your suggestion. You give him a solicitous smile, hoping to soothe him and bring some joy back to those unforgivably beautiful boba eyes.
How were you ever mad at him?
After thinking it over for a moment, Zayne nods. Light returns to his eyes, his mouth straightens, his brow smooths out, and you sigh with relief.
"I apologize for being unnecessarily forceful with my strategies," he tells you. "I assumed that using all of one's cards before the end was how the game was played."
Your caring smile turns into a skeptical one.
"... did you, though?"
Zayne avoids looking you in the eye.
"Well..." He clears his throat. "Perhaps I didn't look into it like I could have to confirm that was the case."
"Mmhm," you smirk, "an accidental oversight, I'm sure."
"Of course," he nods with the smallest of chagrined smiles. "Does this mean my sentence is deferred?"
"Your case is entirely dismissed," you grin. You stand on your toes to kiss his cheek, but Zayne leans in first and turns his head towards you. His lips brush your ear.
"Entirely? That's unfortunate."
"What are you talking about? You want me to be mad at you?" You pull back a bit and see a familiar and rather indecent glint in his eyes.
"Maybe not too incensed," Zayne replies, lifting one of your hands and pressing a slow kiss on the back of it. "However, you do look very lovely when you're angry."
He strokes his thumb back and forth across your knuckles. You blush.
"Zayne..."
Undeterred by your non-objection, Zayne nuzzles his face against your hand and then kisses your palm. Then the inside of your wrist.
Your heart rate begins to creep up. You try saying his name again, but you find your breath is shallower than it was a few seconds ago. Zayne notices this and smiles at you in a way that indicates his degenerate behavior isn't quite finished.
"Before we go," he says, placing your captured hand on his shoulder, "Perhaps we could..."
Now he has your waist in both of his hands, bending down to your level. Your mind blanks as his lips find your neck, and then it barely returns as the sound of his voice floats into your ear.
"... discuss other means of restitution."
You're both startled when there's a knock on the door.
"Wrap it up in there, you two!" A staff member calls. "There's a five minute time limit on resolving private disputes!"
You smile and for a moment Zayne looks extremely perturbed, but then he chuckles.
"Shall we go home together this time, my love?"
You cock a sly eyebrow at him.
"Will your restitution take longer than five minutes?"
"Significantly longer," he smirks.
"Are you going to ruin me?"
"I believe the situation calls for it, yes."
Your degenerate smile now matches his.
"... let's forget about clearing the table."
***fin***
a/n: I'm working on three (yes THREE) different Caleb smut fics at the moment, so of course here is some Zayne fluff because screw it.
I wrote it a while ago because Zayne beating me at Kitty Cards was making me so irrationally angry and I know how stupid that is. He is a collection of pixels powered by AI, but I'd be glaring at my phone like "if this man pulls out another Kitty Plot on me when he already has enough points to win, istggggggg 🤬🤬🤬."
I eventually started quitting matches before they start for the chocolate and coins and as soon as I get all the Meow Badges for him, I am ONLY playing with Rafayel. At least we're on about the same skill level.
Sylus always talks such big talk at the start of Kitty Cards, but the second I start to not do so hot?
That man is sticking his 6 cards into wrong color cups, giving me opportunity after opportunity to draw more(better) cards, and handing over all his 4’s and 5’s and 6’s - I don’t even have to cheat or ask! He’s the one offering.
I think last week he actually took one of my 5 cards during a trade and my MC pouted about it. The next turn, he immediately offered to trade me two cards for one again. LMAO it was so cute. He always wants our scores to be close (in normal mode at least).
Idk, I just think it’s really sweet. It’s like how he’s always hacking onto our comms or showing up in person the second a mission starts going awry or we get hurt. Like, you just know he’s keeping an eye on our other missions too - he just doesn’t let on that he was there because they went smoothly and he didn’t need to show up. He’s overprotective but he tries to be subtle about it.
