#I’ve been playing around with the idea for a while

[jaeminvore]

Credit Card Baby | Z.CL

“Who do I gotta fuck for barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter around here?”

PAIRING: Chenle x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Four days, three broke girls, two possible outcomes, and one solution. What are you willing to sacrifice in exchange for a night seeing a long-awaited Juno pose five feet away from your eyeballs? Your dignity, probably because it just so happens that one (1) Chenle Zhong could be the solution to your current girl problem. Only, you don’t really do well with charity. Nothing in life was free and everything had a price, but Chenle likes to think differently—that he's simply helping a friend out. Like the many times he did before. There should be sugar-daddy-sugar-baby joke around here somewhere.

alternatively: ‘three dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyyy’.’ — ‘A sugar-daddy (kinda) au with no age-gap, but with a financial gap that no one asked for’.

WORD COUNT: 15.5K

NOTE: first Chenle fic kinda nervous but also excited because I've been wanting to write for pookie for a loooong long while!! So I gathered all the remaining brain cells I have and came up with this hot garbage (affectionate). This is legitimately the most unserious piece of fiction I’ve written so far, so if you’re in the mood for some fun and entertainment centered around vibes n mild-horniness you’ve come to the right place! The title comes from a song with the same title which is funny to me because the song itself (Credit Card Baby by Wham!) is the complete opposite of the story I'm telling here LMAO

CONTENT TAGS & WARNINGS: mildly suggestive themes (as in, there's very little implication to sex and masturbation here if it bothers anybody. Just to put it out there so proceed with caution), crude jokes and language, crack treated seriously, comedy, college au, fluff, friends to a secret third thing, sugar daddy au (kinda), Chenle majors in business, MC majors in architecture, everyone yaps a lot... for some reason, Chenle’s also a micro-celebrity (streams and posts on TikTok), brief discussion of OnlyFans, but I am in no way encouraging it.

DISCLAIMER: none of this is meant to represent anyone in real life. This is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

According to an article you’d come across, an OnlyFans creator earned an average of one-hundred-eighty dollars a month. Multiply that four or five times, you’d have enough for one ticket.

“Alright,” you sighed, bringing your knees up as your eyes glued to what laid out in a neat pile right before you and the girls you lived with. “how much do we have all together?”

“Twenty-seven dollars and thirty cents. One banana flavored condom. Three sticks of gum—a chewed piece of gum, ew—a crumpled tissue and a… hairball.”

Jesus. This was getting ridiculous.

“Fantastic!” You clapped, looking at both girls with a wide smile and desperate eyes. “Anything else?”

“A maxed out credit card,” Minjeong sniffed as she threw the offending piece of useless plastic onto the pathetic pile. “That’s all we have to our names combined. We’re broke as shit.”

No, really. You had everything you needed for a flourishing career of flashing your nether regions to the world behind a paywall.

A laptop with a webcam. A pretty face. A small collection of toys. Very small. A pink two-in-one vibrating dildo the girls had gotten you as a gag gift for your birthday still in its packaging type of small. Vaguely resembling a swirly ice pop you’d get on a hot summer day, and you had lovingly named it ‘Pinky’ before it had gotten shoved into the depths of your drawer, never to be seen again.

Your imaginary audience probably wouldn't mind, right? So long as they’d get an eyeful of a pretty girl playing out starved men’s depraved fantasies.

Then again, the idea didn’t seem too hard in theory considering how far gooners were willing to throw a couple of dollars for a  five seconds long clip. They wouldn’t even notice the difference between an overexaggerated moan resembling a cat’s mating yowl and a genuine moan of pleasure, far too busy jerking it until their keyboards were dank from their own mess. You’d be earning enough to broaden your pathetic sex toy collection.

Simple-minded people were easy customers and you sure had no problems capitalizing off of that.

It was a good plan. A perfect long-term plan even, if it didn’t earn less than minimum wage and if you weren’t racing against time.

“This sucks,” Yizhuo whined, throwing her head back and staring forlornly at the ceiling. “Where the hell are we gonna get that kind of money in four days?”

Minjeong raised a groomed eyebrow. “Can’t you ask your parents? Say it’s an emergency or something.”

Yizhuo’s head lolled to the side, frowning at her. “They still have me cut off, remember?”

And the thought wasn’t just devastating to Yizhuo who, up until a few months ago, had been living the life of a spoiled princess with the world right in the palms of her dainty, never-worked-in-her-life hands. Naturally, being the closest to Yizhuo where you all were practically sisters, you and Minjeong were tangled up in the punishment as well. That meant leeching off of her and her unlimited access to her parents’ money was ineffective until she learned her lesson. 

After all, she was the reason why you and Minjeong had a roof above your head because apparently buying a house out-of-pocket was much more cost-efficient than renting, leaving you girls the responsibility of paying for groceries and sparing you just enough to spend for personal items. Yizhuo handled the rest as she had become somewhat of a sugar mommy.

“Apparently Daddy thought I was being very irresponsible with their money.” Yizhuo rolled her eyes. “Whatever that means—that I spend most of my time shopping rather than studying, which is so stupid when I already know the business like I know Daddy’s card details by heart! Why should I go to university when I’m set for life?”

She had gotten a job a week after spending what was left of her savings in a fit of panic. Lavishly, one could say, where the amount of clothes, bags, makeup and accessories had your eyes bugging out at the exorbitant prices printed on each receipt. Minjeong hadn’t been responsive all throughout. You didn’t think she was breathing either when she stared hard at a receipt from Prada.

Lucky for Yizhuo, Minjeong’s job at a thrift store had recently let go one of their former employees after her boss had caught them doing lines in the break room.

It was perfect for Yizhuo, low effort as she’d be manning the cashier and would occasionally keep the racks in stock. And best of all, she won’t be alone. She’d be with Minjeong which also came as a relief to you since it was a huge adjustment from not lifting a finger all her years on Earth thus far, to suddenly contributing enough to keep your mouths fed for at least twice a day.

“Wow,” Minjeong drawled, “your life must be so hard.”

“Ugh,” Yizhou groused, crossing her arms as she leaned against the foot of the couch with a moue reminding you of a spoiled child being told ‘no’. “You don’t even know.”

Judging by the look on Minjeong’s face, she was not having Yizhou’s tone-deafness in the slightest, and while you silently shared the sentiment—that the youngest of the household could have refrained from flaunting her privileged life, you didn’t want any casualties that could potentially turn into a court case. Because as sweet as Yizhuo was, she could be just as evil and vindictive to anyone that wronged her in some way.

“At least your parents let us keep the house,” you joked, patting Yizhuo’s knee with a smile. She at least appeared genuinely apologetic by the situation. “Any ideas on how we could get at least fifteen hundred dollars for three barricade tickets in”—you glanced at your calendar app—“four days?”

“Girl, you are asking for a goddamn miracle,” Minjeong sighed, “even Jesus took three days to resurrect.”

You nodded sagely and added, “took him six days to create the world,” which got a confused noise from Yizhuo.

“I thought it took seven?”

Minjeong shook her head. “No. He rested on the seventh day. Didn’t you go to Sunday School?”

“Not really. I barely lasted half a day.”

Well, all of you were definitely losing the plot here, quoting holy scripture, or whatever, but Minjeong was right; none of you were divine beings capable of pulling miracles out of your proverbial asses in time when the goddamn concert was in four days.

One could argue that you were given a long enough timeframe to save up for pre-sale, but when you had a friend like nepo-baby heiress Yizhuo Ning who had connections everywhere, it was guaranteed that you'll get the best seats at a concert of a big-named artist with her influence regardless of the limited time frame. Perhaps backstage passes if Yizhuo liked them enough. And she liked this one. A lot. She could never resist Sabrina Carpenter’s big blue eyes and bouncy blonde curls.

So, no. None of you had the forethought of pulling out the ‘Saving Up For A Concert For Dummies’ manual. Not when you had Yizhuo and her endless pockets full of hard cash to fall back onto.

Then she lost access (temporarily) to the Ning family vault, with barely anything saved up from her job because her spending problem wouldn’t vanish with just a snap of her father’s fingers, apparently. Now here you were: sitting in a circle on the plush, mauve, floral embossed carpeting that must have costed a fortune with crumpled dollar bills and junk you found deep in your purses like you were all trying out a crude summoning ritual for fat wads of cash.

Nothing could get worse than this. You’ve been through worse than this.

“We could sell feet pics?”

“Hell no. Feet freak me the fuck out,” Minjeong shivered.

You plucked the condom from the pile and lifted it up at face-level. “Would a used condom sell a lot to some weirdo freak out there?”

“Maybe,” Yizhuo replied the same time Minjeong said, in absolute disbelief that one of you would ever think of something so unhygienic, “I wouldn’t know, I’m a lesbian.”

“Yeah, no.” You wrinkled your nose. “You would not catch me pulling out a condom with some guy’s jizz in it from the trash. Ew.”

“How about a sugar daddy?”

“Eh. I’m not really into older men.”

“You saying you wouldn’t let the guy who played M-C-U Bucky Barnes hit?”

“Oh sure,” you said, sarcasm dripping thickly with each word that followed, “let me just hit up my buddy, my pal, Sebastian Stan on Instagram. Maybe I should call his phone number too! Y’know, the number that I don’t have.”

“Okay, sheesh. You don’t need to be so mean about it,” Minjeong mumbled.

“Oh! OnlyFans!” Yizhuo suggested with reverence as if she figured out how to attain world peace, earnest as her eyes rounded with excitement. “I’ve heard plenty of success stories. It can’t be too hard for any of us.”

A beat of silence, and then—

“Not it!” Minjeong exclaimed, touching the pad of her index finger to the tip of her nose.

“Not it!” came Yizhuo’s shrill voice a close second, copying Minjeong.

“Not it—fuck!” you wailed, half from being the sacrificial lamb and half because you smacked yourself in the fucking face from momentary panic which the girls didn’t seem to catch, too busy shrieking and hugging each other in relief. “No fair.”

“Oh, I think it’s plenty fair,” Minjeong shrugged, pressing her cheek against Yizhuo’s. “You were just slow.”

“And if anything, this’ll be easy for you!” Yizhuo cheered.

“Easy? okay—this“—you motioned wildly to your own body—“isn’t for the masses.”

Minjeong snorted. “Oh, sure. Tell that to the three guys you keep on rotation.”

“They’re just three guys. God forbid a girl has a healthy sex-life,” you whined. It was either wither away when you weren’t agonizing over your Architectural Design course—any of your courses, really—or fuck around with the guys you’ve met through mutual friends as your mode of relief.  “and why does it have to be me? I’m sure either of you could pull off being an O-F model.”

“One,” Minjeong raised a finger, “don’t ever call me that. Even if it’s in a hypothetical sense. And two, the thought of men being the majority of my audience unnerves me. I don’t think you could make it so only women could see me, so fuck that.”

“Fine. I’ll allow it.” You turned to Yizhuo with an expectant look. “What about you?”

She returned it with an unimpressed one, bordering on disbelief the longer you stared at her, waiting to say her piece.

“You’re kidding, right?” No, you were not. Was there a joke hidden in those three words forming a question? Not that you knew of, so you gestured for Yizhuo to get on with the program. “I’m like, the last person you should send to the wolves.”

“Why not?” You pouted. “You’re like, the most charismatic of us three. Got a pretty face too, if that wasn’t obvious enough.”

“Uh-huh, yeah—calling me pretty won’t change my mind,” Yizhuo said, firm and that meant she won’t tolerate any more of your pushing, yet the pretty blush tinting her cheeks told you enough that you almost got through her. “I’m an heiress to one of the largest Chinese conglomerates back home. How’d you think that would look for me?”

Bad, I’m guessing, and you knew this first-hand. 

There was an approximate six-thousand mile distance from where Yizhuo was brought up to where all three of you resided, yet that didn’t stop the Chinese media from getting their updates on how Yizhuo Ning was faring as an international college student.

You had a few run-ins with the paparazzi just dying to get dirt on Harbin’s sweetheart, fought with some too which had caused quite a buzz on both Weibo and Xiaohongshu when pictures of Yizhuo stumbling down the stairs of a frat house, looking drop-dead gorgeous were shared. No one could tell she was barely clinging onto sobriety. Or that she had already emptied her stomach twice in one of Sigma Chi’s bathrooms and a plant that surely had seen better days being under the care of jaunty frat boys who barely knew the concept of photosynthesis.

There was also a handful of you elbowing one of the paparazzi in the face when they had gotten too close. Your face, thankfully, had been blurred out. Same with Minjeong’s who had been trying her absolute damndest to keep you from getting aggravated assault charges while being tipsy herself.

If they had somehow caught wind of Yizhuo being involved in something so obscene—and you knew they would eventually—her life would be over. And yours. And Minjeong’s, because God forbid her parents might as well treat you as their own children with how often their darling daughter talked about you during their weekly check-up calls.

“And my parents would literally kill me if they found out their only daughter isn’t as virginal as they thought!”

“But you haven’t been a virgin since sophomore year.”

Yizhuo rolled her eyes. “They don’t know that, obviously.”

“And so that leaves me to be the breadwinner of this fucking household,” you said, heaving a conceding sigh. “God I hate you rich people.”

“I know you do. You say ‘eat the rich’ at least three times a day like it’s ‘grace’.” Yizhuo didn’t even sound remotely annoyed by your diss, basking in the relief of not taking your place and sacrificing her dignity. “It’s just until we get the tickets. Then you can be boring and gate-keep yourself until we have to slut you out again.”

“My body is a temple,” you said, feigning offense as you crossed your arms, cupping your breasts in a protective hold while Minjeong cackled. “Besides, OnlyFans might be easy on paper, but executing it? Four days won’t be enough. There are many factors involved and engagement won’t be that easy from how oversaturated it is. I’d be a no name. It’d probably take me months to get the amount we need and Miss ‘have you ever tried this one?’ would be in Europe by then.”

“And you did the math for that?”

“Only since we took all the shit out of our purses.”

“Right, because you always do the math for everything.”

“It’s a reflex.” You shrugged. You could even say it had been ingrained in you, haunted by the fact you almost failed Calculus I. You struggled less with it now, spending all summer drilling numerous Youtube tutorials into your brain and electing one of your classmates as your tutor. “How do you think we’ve survived this long without your parents’ money?”

Yizhuo shrugged. “Fair enough. Nerd.”

She gets a pillow to the face for that.

“Well,” you said with a clap. “If that’s all, I gotta go in”—you glanced at your watch and then panicked as you scrambled to get up—“five minutes ago. Fuck, I’m gonna be late!” The pop in your knees made you wince when getting on your two feet, making a bee-line towards your bedroom and stumbling over Minjeong’s thighs in the process.

“For a dick appointment?” 

“If you count AutoCad fucking up my chances for a four-point-oh, then sure.”

So maybe you had lied about the dick appointment, but in your defense, you actually had shit to do.

It just so happened Renjun also majored in Architecture, and that you shared all of your classes with him because if you were walking into five years of hell, you sure as hell weren’t going to suffer alone. You were simply hitting two birds with one stone.

If only those two hypothetical birds you hypothetically murdered coughed up fat wads of cash enough for three tickets, then you’d be set.

You let out a defeated sigh. “I need fifteen hundred bucks.”

Renjun, who just got back from a shower, blinked at the bold request.

“Say that again? You need how much?”

“Fifteen hundred bucks,” you repeated.

Renjun's face twisted as he stuck his pinky into his ear and wiggled it around. “I’m definitely hearing things ‘cause there’s no way.”

You rolled your neck to blankly stare at him. “I can say it again in Mandarin, if you want.”

“Please don’t,” Renjun shook his head, not minding that you were trying really hard to set him on fire with your eyes. “That’s like, using what I taught you for evil.”

“Well that’s too damn bad,” and you repeated what you said in near flawless Mandarin.

The conversation should have ended there. He just had the most underwhelming orgasm to-date due to whatever weird headspace you were in throughout your—ahem—session that made it less passionate and more robotic, but getting blue-balled was considerably worse than having to act as your last-minute financial adviser.

He simply could ignore anything that had just left your mouth when your attention was set onto the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling, but the unfortunate thing was that Renjun was nothing but indulgent at the moment. 

Dregs of lust in his brain prevented any of his usual no-nonsense approach and it certainly didn’t help that he could never say no to a girl—a pretty girl, no less—no matter how insufferable they were. Specifically you with his sheets wrapped around your still naked body. Renjun was still a man, and his IQ could still lose a few points if a girl so much looked his way.

Since you were both things, a girl and pretty, he calmly graced your dilemma with an answer.

“I can only give you orgasms, I’m afraid.” He said with a pout you knew was meant to be patronizing, mocking almost, especially with a detached lilt to his voice.

This wasn’t new to you as it was one of his methods to get under your skin. He knew you hated it, and you could definitely tell he’d prefer to discuss something else. Or nothing at all, but he had already poked the bear which meant he had to listen to you whinge until you either 1.) get it out of your system yourself or 2.) or he did something about it, and Renjun knew exactly the choice he made, yet that obviously didn’t work.

“What’s the fifteen hundred for anyway?” he conceded, barely tampering down the reluctance of circling back on your current financial struggles while rubbing his hair dry.

“Barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter,” you said shifting onto your side so you could face him properly. “VIP too if possible. For me, Ningning and Minjeong.”

He closed his eyes, jaw clenching. Saying other girls’ names post-coitus should be considered an act of violation or something, but he digressed.

“I thought Yizhuo got you tickets already?” His eyes snapped open to regard you with a lost look. “Before the whole cutting her off from her parents’ money fiasco?”

“Well, no one was really expecting her to go broke. She didn’t think it was a priority when she could just get the tickets last minute.”

“And since they took away access…”

“No money for us until further notice.”

Both of his eyebrows rose at the sheer ridiculousness of Yizhuo, self-proclaimed number one Sabrina shooter who could not go one day without singing Feather as much as her lungs could take, not being able to cop tickets. “The concert is in four days.”

“Oh don’t I know it.” When it rang like a giant alarm in your head, it was hard to not think about it. “I’m thinking of taking out a loan from my bank.”

“Absolutely not,” he snapped and tossed his damp towel onto your face. You shrieked and clawed it away because, ew, gross. “No way in hell are you going into debt because of a concert. Are you fucking crazy?”

“It’s not like I can ask someone to buy them for me either!” 

Renjun just barely resisted the urge to groan at the fact your persistent yapping almost ruined your then stellar bed chem.

“Like, who would be dumb enough to buy me a ticket? Let alone three?”

It’s surprising how you were able to come up with coherent sentences aftergetting your brains fucked out, but Renjun had always thought you were a weird one. Stamina on good days, yet a common cold could have you acting like you were knocking on death’s door.

“I’m sure I can name at least one person,” he said, thoughtful.

“Does this person have two-toned hair, perchance?” you wheedled, rolling onto your stomach to cup both of your cheeks with your hands looking like a flower in bloom for him. “Is his name Renjun Huang? A-K-A my favorite guy in the whole wide world?”

“You’re cute,” Renjun snorted, sitting on the foot of his bed. “But no.”

Your bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “You’re no fun.”

“There’s Jaemin,” he offered.

You grimaced. “Too needy.”

“Haechan?”

“Too mean.”

“And you still go to that asshole?” Renjun asked, incredulous. 

“He’s a good lay?” you offered, sheepish almost under the glare of his disbelief and the full force of his eyebrows. “C’mon, at least one ticket for your best girl?” you cooed, laying it on thick with a flutter of your eyelashes. “The other two can probably work something out.” 

Minjeong and Yizhuo were your girls. No one could ever doubt the love you had for them, being housemates for two years and counting, but desperate times called for desperate measures. It’s every man (well, woman) for themselves and if there was an opportunity right in front of you, might as well take it.

“Yeah…” he trailed off with a wince and you already didn’t like what he was about to say when he glimpsed at you and then at some random spot behind. “about that—“

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” you ground out.

Renjun pretended like he hadn't heard you. “Someone from the student association gave me a ticket.”

“And you’re going?” You hoped he wasn’t.

As if he read your mind, Renjun’s mouth parted in offense. “It’s Sabrina Carpenter. It’s a great opportunity to clout chase.”

Oh he was definitely going to be insufferable on Instagram, talking about it for days on end. Just like you would be.

“Seriously?” you exclaimed, both hands covering your face, muffling your scream. This felt way worse than the time you almost didn’t meet the deadline of a plate submission that made up a large chunk of your grade. “Is everyone and their goddamn moms going except me?”

“Guess so.”

You peeled your hands away to Renjun scrolling through his phone in mild interest.

“Can you at least pretend to feel sorry for me?” 

Renjun let his phone drop in between his crossed legs. “My condolences that you won’t get to see Sabrina do her Juno pose five feet away from you.”

“You’re the worst,” you groaned, sitting up and holding the blanket tightly to preserve your modesty. “I’m literally out of options and you’re already kickstarting the FOMO.”

“And what were your”—he waved absently to the air—“options exactly?”

“There was the OnlyFans route—and before you say anything else,” you gave Renjun a look that was sharp enough to make him think twice about his needling. He said nothing, thankfully, but his pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows said a lot. “yes, I did the math and we all agreed—surprisingly—that it would be impossible to earn that amount of money before the concert. Then Minjeong suggested a sugar daddy, but I’m not really up for being a geraitric’s pretty play-thing. What if he dies mid-sex—”

You got cut off from Renjun doubling over with laughter. “Sugar daddy? Why don’t you just ask Chenle then?”

“Why should I ask Chenle?”

“Why shouldn’t you ask Chenle?”

“That’s why I’m asking you,” you quipped back.

Renjun laughed again. A rich, belly-deep equal parts loud and grating. “You cannot be this dense,” he said as he calmed down. “I just mean—you guys are close, right? Close enough that he bought you a replacement T-square.” He watched you, amused, as you considered the question. Renjun can almost see the gears turning in your head, chin resting in his palm and using his leg to balance his elbow.

“It was an emergency,” you stressed with an eye-roll, though you didn’t exactly fight the fond smile settling on your lips at the memory of Chenle getting rung up for a new sixty-four-inch long acrylic T-square while you perused the rows upon rose of cute stationery. You hadn’t meant for your old one to snap cleanly in half, but when there was a guy who didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer and, well, there was a reason why the running joke of a T-square doubling as a weapon was still relevant to this day.

“Doesn’t he pay for you guys when you hang out?”

Renjun snorted. “Sure. If you count him demanding us to Venmo him later.”

“Huh. He usually just pays for us both.”

Actually, now that you’ve thought about it, his housemates hadn’t ever gotten the privilege of Chenle covering for any of their expenses, much less a cheap meal from a well loved hole-in-the-wall restaurant. You didn’t think it was favoritism either. Was that a thing in friendships too? You had no idea, and you never had to ask when Chenle never thought twice to remind the waiter or waitress that he was paying for two. For me and her—he would nod his head towards you—only and leave the rest to settle their shared bill among themselves.

“Huh.” you repeated.

“Yeah-huh,” Renjun echoed with one corner of his mouth lifted up in a smirk. “Seriously, if you’re that desperate to see Sabrina up close, I’m sure he can work something out for you. What’s fifteen hundred gonna do?”

You both knew the answer to that. Nothing, because although Chenle wasn’t as high profile as Yizhuo and her family was, you had a vague idea on how deep his pockets ran if he barely spared a glance at his receipt from Gucci for a track-suit set he’d been meaning to get. He might as well have slapped you in the face with a thick stack of one-hundreds.

It would have invoked the same feeling of being too poor to even breathe inside the store and it had been a relief you thought of dressing up that day too despite the fact you’ve pulled an all-nighter to complete a handful of plates for design class the night before. You were at least spared from any judgment from the sales reps.

Still.

Renjun clicked his tongue, sensing your mental turmoil. “Just ask him. If he says no, then there’s your answer.”

Just ask him. Easy for Renjun to suggest when he wasn’t the one stewing away in a puddle of anxiety. He already had a ticket! Of course he’d think nothing of it. 

Walking into Yizhuo’s obscenely large living room, you were once again reminded how excessive it was.

There was a grand piano in there, for fuck’s sake, in the far end after the actual living area with the plush seating, yet none of you could play any elaborate musical pieces except for Twinkle Twinkle Litter Star. Right next to it was a sunken conversation pit with a modern fireplace built into the large concrete column and there were a series of floor-to-ceiling windows and glass sliding doors encompassing the pit.

Other than overlooking the luscious, grassy backyard, the doors led straight to the deck where a round pool resided as its main attraction. There was a goddamn fountain just beside it, too. Who needs a fucking fountain in this economy anyway?

Actually, everything about the house was ridiculously extravagant for three college girls to live in. Your bedroom included. Yizhuo ended up giving you one of the bigger rooms and you were sure the drafting table you bought off of a grad student for cheap would do its job and cramp it up, but you knew the saying about gift horses and Mom raised you better than complaining about convenience being handed to you on a silver platter.

The round floor table of the conversation pit was vacant, though there were scattered papers, notebooks, textbooks and all sorts of pens on top of the reflective glass surface. That meant either one of the girls was home. Or both, as Minjeong’s and Yizhuo’s voices grew louder by each step towards the kitchen.

“Guess who might have found a solution to our ticketing problem!”

You slid onto the cushioned seats of the breakfast nook—a breakfast nook, Jesus—right across from Minjeong sipping her to-go cup of thai milk tea. She wordlessly slid on towards you. You took a generous drag of the stuff.

“Actually, it was more of Renjun’s idea—which I am effectively stealing.”

Yizhuo, who was in the middle of plating a hefty amount of pad see ew, looked like she swallowed something toe-curlingly sour. “Oh so you were with Renjun-ge.”

An easy smile curled on your lips as you lifted a shoulder to shrug, sweetly batting your eyelashes. “What can I say? The guy gives good head—” (“I did not need to know that.”) “—anyways, my idea.”

“Mine was probably better.”

“Oh yeah?” you drawled, egging Yizhuo on. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Breaking into the thrift store and stealing everything from the cash register.”

“What?”

“She claimed if her parents found out about her crimes, they’d have to bail her out from prison and then restore her money privileges,” Minjeong glared at the youngest who simply whistled to Espresso as she carried on with the food. “Then I had to remind her of her reputation.”

“Good thing you did ‘cause that’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” you said and you made sure it showed on your face as Yizhuo wilted underneath your tangible disappointment that she would even risk an integral part of her privileged life when she had used it as a counter-argument to the whole OnlyFans thing. “So we’re going with my solution to our broke-ness—Chenle Zhong.”

Yizhuo did not look pleased whatsoever. “What does Caillou have to do with Sabrina Carpenter?”

You ignored Minjeong shrieking with laughter. “Chenle’s got money,” you said as if you were talking to a toddler barely getting a grasp on words having their designated meanings. “And do you know what we need to get tickets? Money, and Chenle has a lot of it.”

“It took Renjun for you to realize that Chenle could be our solution?” Yizhuo exclaimed in disbelief, head in her hands. “Oh my God—it took Renjun telling you, then you telling us that he could be our solution? How could I’ve been so stupid?”

Her head jerked upwards, ponytail swishing along and gave you a look so sharp and abrupt that you jerked in surprise. You fixed your posture so fast that your grandmother would have been proud. For once. “You’re definitely asking Chenle.”

“Uh—first of all, why me? Don’t rich people have, like, some sort of kinship with one another? Like, hey, can I borrow ten-thousand dollars? I’ll pay you back with five-percent interest.” That definitely wasn’t how deals between rich people were made, but whatever. “Second, why not you, money bags?”

“He’ll never say yes to me,” she said brusquely, clicking her tongue. “I kicked his ass a bunch of times in PUBG and he’s still bitter about it. It’s not my fault he sucks absolute balls. There’s like, a compilation of him complaining on stream about how I was cheating”—Yizhuo made air quotations—“on TikTok. It’s so funny. Actually, I’ll send you the link—”

You turned your gaze towards Minjeong for help, eyes widened a fraction for an added pathetic flair as the younger one focused on scrolling through the damn app.

“Don’t look at me. Chenle’s just cheap with everyone—actually, maybe except for you,” Minjeong pointed a long, black almond tipped nail in your direction. “the favorite.”

“You say it like it’s an insult.” You slurped your milk tea at an obnoxious volume, shrinking in your seat. “Maybe he’s just nicer to me because I’m nice to him unlike you two.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Minjeong said, eyeing you curiously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She moved her gaze elsewhere. “Nothing.”

You squinted. “Uh-huh.”

“Anyways,” she said, pointedly keeping her gaze forward. “He started it. I asked him if I could borrow money for my Lyft and he laughed in my face.”

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from laughing too because, yeah, the image was a little funny. “You’re exaggerating,” you said evenly.

Yizhuo made a half-wince, half-smile sorta thing with her face. “Are we though?”

“Lele’s not that much of an asshole,” you defended. “He drives me home. You could have hitched a ride with us is all I’m saying. And if I can remember correctly, he still gave you more than enough for your Lyft.”

“He didn’t have to laugh at me, then.” Minjeong looked like she was heavily debating whether she should smack you upside the head, or not. “For someone smart, you’re real stupid.”

You frowned. “Hey.”

The argument still carried on deep in your weekly ‘everything shower’.

“Face it, babe. He’s like your personal A-T-M.”

“Chenle doesn’t always get me things.”

You were aching in places you never knew existed as you passed the foamy loofah over your skin, yet the girls had denounced what it meant to have boundaries, making themselves at home in your bathroom to prove their joint points.

Yizhuo scoffed from where she sat on top of the closed lid of the toilet. “The shampoo you used earlier? That was imported from Japan.”

“So? He noticed I ran out the last time he was here. It’s just shampoo.”

“From Japan,” Yizhuo countered.

You pulled a face. “Is that supposed to mean anything? It’s fucking shampoo.”

She just threw her hands up in the air, visibly annoyed.

“And the body wash you’re using? From Chenle.” Minjeong piped up from the separated bathtub, pointed at the towels hanging on the towel warmer and added, “The bath towel set? Chenle.”

“Alright, fine, maybe—”

“The year’s supply of assorted sheet masks in the fridge we use?” she offered.

“The gargantuan tin of tea leaves you’ve mentioned you liked.”

“Okay. I get it—”

“A new backpack because your old one ripped at the seams.”

“Your underwear—”

“Hah!” You pointed triumphantly in Minjeong’s direction. “No, he hasn’t bought me any.”

“Not yet,” girl-in-bathtub emphasized, resting her chin on top of her arm propped on the tub’s edge. “Shit, he probably bought everything you own.”

“Okay, now you’re definitely exaggerating.” You snorted, walking into the spray of the shower to rinse off the suds. “I’m not that broke.”

“Should I also mention that if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have met us? Or that you would have been homeless?” Well, yeah, and you would have figured something out eventually, but you weren’t expecting Yizhuo to bring that up to one-up you in an argument.

“I can’t believe you would use the ‘you would’ve been homeless if it weren’t for me’ card against me.”

“If it weren’t for Chenle, you mean,” she corrected, propping her cheek on top of her bent knee. You glared at the needless addition, though the usual effect wasn’t as strong with warm water sluicing down your face. To Yizhuo, you were definitely doing an almost perfect rendition of ‘wet cat’. “You can’t be this stupid. You’re literally his favorite. I doubt there’s another guy out there that would willingly—again, listen—willingly spend money on you.”

“Does Jaemin buying me a pack of gum the other day count?”

“Oh my fucking God, you’re hopeless.”

Minjeong shrugged. “Maybe he was lowkey telling you your breath stinks.” (“Ex-fucking-scuse you?”) “Didn’t Chenle buy you a ring that looked like a bent nail?”

“As a gift, yeah?” Your wince was immediate the moment Yizhuo gasped at your confirmation.

“That was Cartier!” She whipped out her phone from fuck knows where and showed you the website and its price. Did she have that tab open all this time just for a ‘gotcha!’ moment? Jeez, she scared you sometimes. “Look—Juste un Clou ring. Classic model. I would’ve given you rose gold, personally, but the white gold looks pretty too,” she mumbled, nodding approvingly. “He knows his stuff, at least.”

“Viola!” You turned to Minjeong making jazz hands with flourish. “If he can blow three grand on you without blinking, fifteen hundred would be nothing.”

You let out a heavy sigh, rinsing the loofah free from the suds. “How sure are we that there are any tickets left? Last I heard, three nights sold out.”

“It’s Chenle. He has connections everywhere. He’ll probably end up tracking scalpers too if he could help it.” She weighed her own words for a moment. “As long as you’re the one asking.”

“If you say so,” you trailed off, still not entirely convinced even by her radiating certainty.

“Uh-oh.” Yizhuo promptly sat up. “That’s not good. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just—I feel kinda weird. Asking him. Like, I’ve never really had to ask him for… stuff before.”

“What,” the girls said in a way so dry that you most likely would have broken out in sweat with how serious their faces were right now. Thunderous even.

“What do you mean by ‘not having to ask him’?” Minjeong asked, deathly calm.

“Just as I said. He just does it on his own. Without me telling him.”

In hindsight, Chenle might have been an option right from the very start if the thought of simply asking for help financially didn’t bother you in the slightest, but that’s the thing. The idea did bother you to your very core because, again, it wasn’t like you were broke. A victim to capitalism? Absolutely.

Once you broke the news to your parents and brother about your acceptance to one of the top universities in the state on a full-ride scholarship, they had insisted on a monthly allowance. They hadn’t minded extending a helping hand at all, and it was the least they could do to lighten the burden with the condition that you should be devoted to your academics.

Consequently, you were also good with multi-tasking, so you’ve managed a healthy work-play balance so far. What your parents and brother didn’t know wont hurt them and you hadn’t given them a reason to not trust you on your own, miles away from home, either. Not yet at least.

Deciding for a part-time job was after the realization that majoring in architecture was a bit heavy on the pockets from the consistent need for materials and printing out your designs brought to life by the handful of software provided by your department. The café pay was decent, you were tipped just as okay, and you wouldn’t say no to some cash on the side. Adding that to the remnants of your monthly allowance, it was enough to buy a thing or two at the end of the month as a treat.

And then came Chenle, guns ablazing, with no qualms swiping his card on your behalf.

You never really had to ask him.

Literally.

He would already have it taken care of before you could even pluck your wallet out and split the cost. You couldn’t remember if you had a time where you outright asked (begged) him for a few bills, and if you did, you always always promised to pay him back.

That being said, Chenle wouldn’t let you fight him on it either. When his mind was already made up, it was like talking to a brick wall, standing tall and impervious to almost everything. A losing battle when you’re up against someone headstrong yet so goddamn stubborn.

That’s where your hesitation had stemmed from, because it could either go two ways: he could say no and you could kiss your chances of brushing hands with Sabrina Carpenter goodbye, which would be the best case scenario, or he’d say yes, and once he said yes, there was no turning back. A yes from Chenle was law—signed and sealed that not even expressing the preconceived regret of asking a favor would shake him.

This was entirely different from Chenle just doing whatever the fuck he wanted with his own money without any of your persuasion. You never had to ask him for anything before and the fact of the matter was, you were damn terrified of asking if Chenle could be a bro one last time and drop what was equivalent to the price of a newly released iPhone for you.

Asking him would literally be so detrimental to your conscience that you would probably go insane with guilt and you couldn’t afford getting thrown into the nearest psych-ward when you had tons of deadlines to meet.

Minjeong leaned back to stare forlornly at the ceiling. “Lord, I see the luck you’ve bestowed upon this girl so stupid.”

“Hey!” You whined.

“Congratulations on getting a sugar daddy,” Yizhuo said, dry. “Can you ask him for tickets now?”

Oh God, you thought with abject horror. What if Chenle is my sugar daddy?

Technically speaking, though, you both fit the description. Minus the ‘sugar’ part so, quasi-sugar-daddy then?

Okay, no. That’s definitely not a can of worms you’re gonna open, like, ever. Chenle just happened to be there whenever you had to go out and buy shit. Just happened to be faster whipping out his wallet than you were. After all, he’s the spry athlete while you were five cans of Monster Energy away from keeling over.

What you’d like to get into now was how this conversation developed backwards where you had to be naked and wet to get some sort of pep-talk. Was this even considered pep-talk? This was somebody else’s form of nightmare for sure.

“This is really weird,” you said, neither confirming or denying Yizhuo’s so-called congratulations as you glanced between the two girls unabashedly staring at you in your birthday suit, expecting. “Can you guys leave?”

“Nothing we’ve seen before.” You met Minjeong’s eyes for a second before they strayed to your naked breasts and back up again. “Bet Chenle would love to see you right now.”

For whatever reason, Yizhuo mirrored Minjeong’s sentiments as she bobbed her head so fast you would think the idea was exciting for her. “Only right for you to give him some sugar, too.” 

“Or—get this—I don’t do that?”

“Why not?” Minjeong frowned. “You fuck anything that moves.”

“Correction: I do not. I’ve only been with, like, five guys my entire life,” you said, brandishing one hand so they would get the picture. “And Chenle’s my friend! We’re like this”—you crossed your fingers, shaking them for emphasis—“tight, y’know? Literally everything’ll change if I go… do that.”

“You and Renjun are also”—she copied your crossed fingers—“like this, but you’re still fucking.”

“Well… that’s—that’s obviously different! He doesn’t count!” you said with each word increasing in pitch.

“Oh pray tell why you wouldn’t sleep with Chenle Zhong,” Minjeong goaded. “I may not like guys, but looking at him through an objective lens, he’s one of the good ones.”

“There’s no risk with Renjun because it’s strictly casual and platonic, and I know I wouldn’t get attached and develop—” you quickly clamped your mouth shut. Shit. “Uh—um—you’re breaking up,” you blurted, closing your eyes as you stepped into the heavy downpour of the rainfall shower. “I can’t hear you,” you said, though that likely sounded like incoherent blubbering. You were sure you’ve got your point across with that piss-poor save anyway.

“We can literally see you.”

You turned your back to them. They could talk to your ass if they wanted. Out of sight, out of mind. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

You hoped that was the end of it, though it was made clear time and time again that the girls weren’t satisfied with your hedging. A growl was heard, followed by the quick plap plap plap of feet against the cold tiles. As the glass door squeaked, the brief water prison you’ve enclosed yourself in stopped soon after and you opened your eyes to a hand retracting from one of the knobs.

There was barely a second for you to complain before an undignified yelp was forced out from your throat when you were spun around to find Yizhuo’s dour face, her hands clamping down on your shoulders.

“You’re just admitting this to us now?” she said, incredulous, and a little surprised that you’ve managed to keep a crucial detail from them for this long. 

“It wasn’t like an immediate thing I needed to resolve!” you argued, “but the thought was always there, I guess. Just sitting in the back of my mind until you brought up sex with Chenle. And I’m busy, in case it wasn’t obvious enough to you non-architecture majors. Never had the chance to explore it, y’know?”

Busy was the biggest understatement of the year. Your life revolved around sketching, drafting, rendering—hell, even printing your designs on sheets of paper almost (more or less) half your height had never been this stressful. Adding a part-time job to that? It was a miracle you were still kicking.

With all that combined, you didn’t have the time to give a damn about relationships running deeper than casual, less emotionally charged flings. Those were easier to manage without the messiness of feelings involved. 

“Well, Dora the Explorer,” Yizhuo tendered as she handed you your heated towel. “you better start explorin’ because you’re gonna fuck him either way.”

You swiped the towel from her. “No I’m not.”

“No you’re not,” Yizhuo agreed, and maybe the shrewd glint in those beady eyes of hers was only your imagination, toweling yourself dry and wrapping it around you once you were less damp. “but at least keep it as your trump card if he gets difficult—which I’d doubt, really.”

“You guys’re that confident he’d say yes?” you mused, pushing past Yizhuo to grab the other towel for your head. “It’s gonna be so embarrassing if he says otherwise.”

“To the tickets? Or the sex?” Minjeong then heaved a dramatic gasp, eyes wide as her voice dropped to a staged whisper. “Or worse, your alleged feelings.”

You puffed out your cheeks, ignoring the rush of warmth blooming onto your face. “Now I’m hoping he says ‘no’.”

“Oh, girl, trust me when I say ‘no’ is the last thing he’ll say to you.” Yizhuo said, looking very sure of herself. “So. How soon can you get to him?”

“God I hate you rich people.”

Yizhuo beamed. “I know.”

Well, it wasn’t like you were a stranger to testing your luck.

You: wyd

Lele: ? Lele: I’m not one of your groupies Lele: need something?

You: wanna get groceries with me? :D

Lele: be there in 15 Lele: need to grab Daegal’s kibble too

You: ur the best ✨✨

Lele: i know i am

You: girl whatever.

Lele: ❤️

“You know, when you said groceries, I was expecting personal stuff—like skincare or some shit,” Chenle said loftily. “Pads? Tampons? God forbid a menstrual cup—“

“How do you even know what a cup is,” you muttered. “and my period ended a week ago.”

“I know.” You looked up from your work to Chenle squinting down at his phone. He caught your eye and beamed, pocketing the device. You were too afraid to ask what that was about. “We could have gone to Sephora after.”

Oh you definitely could have if you had been more specific with what groceries meant, but you simply said to take both your asses to the nearest H Mart. Cute as the thought was, you weren’t exactly in the mood to watch Chenle try and figure out which products were on your current rotation. It would have made good content for him though, a sure hit for his predominantly female fanbase, yet the looming three days left to secure tickets above your head kept you from suggesting that.

“Well, I can’t exactly cook you a five-star meal with hyaluronic acid now can I?” 

He blinked and answered with a bland, “I have no idea what that is.”

You squinted at him, taking in the way he’s got his head tilted at an angle where the lighting hit one side of his pale face just right. No texture whatsoever, like a smooth, almost blank canvas marked by a singular mole on the cheek.

“‘Course you don’t,” you grunted, envious of his near perfect skin.

Chenle’s gaze slid towards the pot on the stove, then to his wooden chopping board where a humble spread of your additional ingredients had been neatly organized in small piles with two open noodle packets. “Also, that’s just your classic Shin ramyeon and some crab balls.”

“Well damn, Chenle, I’m no Gordon fucking Ramsay,” you snapped, swatting at his arm. “So ungrateful.” An elaborate recipe was out of the question when you were too busy panicking about how the hell you were going to pull this off.

(“The one thing you’re gonna ‘pull off’ is your top,” Yizhuo instructed as she followed you out the gargantuan front door. “You know how guys are with boobs. They’re like catnip for them.”

“Please don’t compare my tits to catnip.”)

He cackled, tucking himself into your side with an arm thrown around your shoulders in a side-hug. “Thank you,” he cooed, and like a cat, rubbed his head against yours. “You didn’t have to do all this, but I’d never say no to food.” You couldn’t exactly see his face like this, but you could hear his appreciation. Your heart squeezed at the press of his cheek against your temple.

See, it’s little moments in time like this were what jump-started the on-going betrayal you would never expect from your own beating heart, and Chenle made it extremely hard for you to not entertain any straying thoughts formed by the casual intimacy between you. It really didn’t help that Chenle was physically affectionate, and it especially didn’t help that you spent most of your time with him despite majoring in vastly different programs.

Starting the day with Chenle waiting in his car to take you to school, ending it with him driving you home and everything in between was a sure gateway for neutral feelings to gradually do a one-eighty. Reaching that level of comfort where you felt safe with him was just as inevitable, too. Chenle was safe. Always has been.

But for both of your sakes, it had been a conscious choice of burying yourself into your work—letting yourself get fucked over by the workload you had to do. The minor breakdowns you’ve had every time your calculations went wrong, or when color or material swatches didn’t seem to go together than you’d originally thought saved you from overthinking every single interaction with him.

You wouldn’t risk it. You couldn’t risk it.

“What’s the occasion?” Chenle prodded. Still there. Still close. Still trying his hardest to weld himself to your side that he would soon figure out something was up the moment you went stiff in his hold, but you were just as quick coming up with some bullshit excuse to save your own ass. Though it begged the question whether it will hold up against Chenle’s incessant need to stick his nose into anyone’s business.

The longer he stayed quiet, the more your nerves fried. His house—house because Chenle was a loose cannon with money like Yizhuo—was always set to a cool temperature and you wore an outfit that wasn’t meant to cover up much at all, yet you could feel yourself break into sweat the moment he pulled himself away from your space. You still stood there frozen and the pot was taking too long to fucking boil.

“No occasion!” you exclaimed, spinning on your heel to face him with the sweetest and most disarming smile you could muster at the moment. A drop of sweat trickled from your temple down to your cheek when all Chenle did was wrinkle his nose as he took a step back. “‘was just in the mood to cook… something. For you—uh, for us. I was craving ramyeon.”

“You were craving Shin ramyeon,” Chenle echoed, not looking at all convinced. “Shin ramyeon that Yizhuo has stocked in her pantry.”

“That’s why I asked you to get groceries with me,” you replied in haste. “We were running out.” 

Which wasn’t a lie. Technically.

The three of you used to gorge on whatever there was in the kitchen, fridge or pantry, or DoorDash when any of you craved something specific. Key words were ‘used to’ because snack options had been limited to cheaper alternatives and what was cheaper and filling than a packet of noodles that took less than five minutes to cook? Really, it was like you were back in your freshman dorm, living off of instant noodles.

“Running out.” The more Chenle repeated whatever you said, the more you started to realize how deep of a grave you had dug for yourself. “You bought just enough for two people to eat.”

“Right.” You drawled, snapping your fingers and hitting him with the finger-guns. Might as well make yourself look even more like a jackass than you already are with the dogshit lying. “Right—so no plans later? I could use another H Mart run.”

Chenle cracked this time. “You’re a shitty liar,” your name tapered off into laughter. “You want something, don’t you? You’re never this nice to me.” He simpered with a certain type of fondness you’d usually see in people witnessing a puppy scaring itself with its own bark—he should really stop that. You were already kind of a mess from the way he’d freely insert himself in your bubble like he owned the space. You didn’t need the ooey-gooey, cavity-inducing stares to go with that too.

This was all clearly very amusing to him—you stumbling over your own words picked out from throwing darts at random in an attempt to gaslight him. He shouldn’t find any humor in this, really, but Chenle had always been chill like that. Marching to the beat of his own drum or however the saying went that the ease of falling into character, the jester to his court, wasn’t surprising.

If it made him that happy, then you’d continue shaking your fool’s cap for him. As a friend, of course.

“What? Me?” you said, guileless and with a hand flat on your sternum, eyes rounded with that faux gleam of innocence for the full effect. “I have never wanted anything in my life.”

“Anything?” he pressed and received a firm nod. “Not even barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter?”

You gaped at him, stuttering out words that weren’t even qualified to be in the English dictionary until you settled with a broken, “who told you that.”

Chenle smiled serenely in kind, not at all fazed by your brain blue-screening in real time. “Renjun.”

The mention of a name sobered you up in record speed.

“That snitching bitch,” you seethed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I only told him because I was hoping he'd help me think of options, or buy me a ticket himself. The girls could figure something out.” You paused, absorbing the situation as your hand fell back to your side. “Less work for me, though. I've been shitting my pants since, like, yesterday.”

“Yeah?”

You huffed a short laugh. “Oh yeah. There’s this theory going around—not that I believe it—that it’d be easy convincing you.”

“Easy,” he huffed, amused.

“Easy as in���I just have to ask you.”

Chenle tilted his head, considering you for a moment. “Alright. Ask away.”

You balked, grasping straws for a response.

“Ask away?” Nod. “Just like that.” Nod. “I’m not asking just for me, y’know? I’m also asking for Minjeong and Ningning. Since we’re broke and desperate girls who just happen to love the same singer.” Chenle only raised an eyebrow, slowly nodding in a way that said, ‘yeah. I know. What are you trying to say?’.

“Are you not worried how much it’s gonna cost you? Even just a little bit? I’m already feeling sick just thinking about it.” You grimaced.

“Not really, no.” He shrugged, slanting an easy smirk.

You pursed your lips. Right. Okay. So maybe you had severely underestimated how disposable money was to him, then. It didn’t seem like he minded at all, barely showing any negative emotion sans the boredom slowly coloring his features.

You, on the other hand, were already knee-deep in a bog of guilt and regret that you could honestly spit-up today’s lunch from how nerve-wracking this was; standing in front of him while carrying as much audacity a human being was allowed to and asking for something so expensive.

“You’re insane if you actually say yes. I don’t know about you, but if someone asked me for a thousand bucks and told me, ‘oh, bee-tee-dubs, I’m not gonna pay you back. Like ever.’, I’d consider suing the hell out of that person until they have to file for bankruptcy.”

“I mean, money’s never been an issue so I don’t see why my attorney should be involved.” The fact that he actually has an attorney (or a full-blown legal team. You never know) at the ready did not bring you comfort in the slightest. Chenle still tried though. You could at least appreciate that. “I wanna circle back on your so-called theory, though.”

“Don’t look at me.” Both of your hands raised in defense. “I’m not the one who came up with the ‘I’m Chenle’s favorite’ theory. The girls did.”

“Did they?” And for some ungodly reason, he looked delighted by the claim. “Well, can’t say they’re wrong.”

“Chenle,” you warned with a tone so biting you would think it’d have him think twice with this blasé approach.

Though maybe there was something on your face that betrayed the annoyance you’ve vocalized when all Chenle did was smile genially as the syllables making up your name passed through his lips in smooth succession.

“I’m not a charity case,” you muttered, flexing your fingers then curling them into fists. You weren’t too sure if you were pleased hearing it from the source. That you were Chenle’s favorite, confirmed by the man himself. Whatever that meant, or more annoyed that he really couldn’t care less about the money he’d wasted on you because you were his favorite. “You know I don’t take charity as well as normal people would.”

“Why do you think I never let you argue?” He said cheekily. “It’s easier and faster that way. And it’s no big deal! Seriously,” Chenle emphasized quickly at the sight of your deepening frown.

“But it is to me! If there’s one thing I know, it’s that nothing is ever just free. People these days are always expecting something in return. Maybe not right away and what if you’re just letting me rack up enough debt so you could ask me for my soul, or something.”

Chenle snickered. “So this is an exchange, then. Your noodles for concert tickets. You drive a hard bargain,” he wondered with an impish quality to his words, giving you a once over. Twice. It made you a little self conscious, shifting from foot to foot the longer sharp, cat-like eyes passed over your form. “Is that why you’re dressed like that? In case your cooking didn’t make a good bribe—oh, sorry—exchange?”

“Like what, exactly?” You asked, a little offended that he wouldn’t completely fold—or at least crease—at the first bite of a dish that earned its Michelin stars back in Yizhuo’s kitchen. Or that your chosen outfit wasn’t creaming any pants.

“Didn’t you wear this exact outfit when you skipped class to meet with Haechan that one time?”

“It was a different top, I think.” A top that was just as fast to remove too, so you understood the confusion. “How do you even remember that?”

“I remember lots of things,” he clarified, closing the distance until you could make out the top notes of his five-dollars-per-spray perfume with each inhale. “Like how you dress differently whenever you meet with one of your guys.”

“Gee what a coincidence. I wonder why I’m dressed like I am about to meet with one of my guys while in your kitchen.”

This time it’s Chenle who got the surprise of a lifetime, eyes almost bugging out of his skull as those lips you had once imagined yourself kissing just to see how they’d give under the soft pressure parted in a delicate ‘o’. He was quick to recover though, with a sly uptick of his mouth replacing the initial shock of finding out that, yes, you’d probably sleep with him if it came to that.

“Didn’t think you’d be that desperate for tickets.” He’s closer now, too close for comfort that you backed into the edge of the kitchen counter. “Is that how you’re gonna repay me?”

“It’s charity work,” you answered blithely, emboldened by Chenle’s interest because, fuck, might as well. “Fuck knows if you’ve been getting your dick wet or not. I’d literally be doing you a favor.”

Chenle didn’t seem to take offense to that as he threw his head back in raucous laughter.

“Charity for charity.” He grinned. “Seems fair.”

And the words had never sounded sweeter until they came from Chenle’s mouth. You could already hear yourself screaming with the crowd filling up the arena, with your girlfriends who you absolutely did not resent for essentially pimping you out to the one guy who could arguably make your dreams come true—

“I’ll think about it.”

Both Minjeong and Yizhuo were dead to you.

“Think about—” you paused, taking steady breaths until you were calm enough to start talking again. “Chenle. Lele,” and out came the big guns, being sweet to him and using the cutesy nickname the girls from the Chinese Students and Scholars Association would croon to get at least five seconds of his attention. Watching that play out from the sidelines always left a sour aftertaste, how they all would go as far as touching him when they decided holding eye-contact wasn’t enough to fuel their delusions. 

You’ve soon come to realize that it was jealousy that caused your eye to twitch when Chenle’s capitalistic smile turned honeyed towards his junior. Because there wasn’t a day where you were short of his attention.

Perhaps the thought was a little unhealthy, but what if you said it was what you were used to? Can anyone fault you for being a little catty after that interaction?

Calling him Lele worked, you thought. Or so you hoped. You weren’t sure rendering him silent was a good thing, actually. Silence never bode well with larger-than-life Chenle Zhong whose entire personality was being loud, especially with eyes as expressive as his. Dark as shots of espresso you’ve brewed countlessly at work laced with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“The concert is in two fucking days! There’s no time to think—you know what? This was a bad idea. I don’t know how Ningning talked me into—” you shook your head, pressing the back of your hand to your cheek with a heavy sigh. “We can just eat the goddamn noodles and forget all this. I’ll just tell the girls they were wrong, and you said no—”

“Oh, no no no,” you would never admit to making such an undignified sound when Chenle pulled you back by his steady grip on your wrist. “you can’t make that offer and leave just like that, c’mon.” And he had the audacity to whine on top of it.

“Well that’s before I—what are you doing.”

“Making sure I am getting something out of this,” he murmured, crowding in on you further where all you could see right in front of you was Chenle, and whatever you could see over the slope of one hoodie-covered shoulder.

Which by all means wasn’t a lot to begin with, him being taller and broader than you. And Chenle wasn’t even super tall. You knew plenty of people that exceeded the one-hundred-and-eighty centimeter mark, like that Jisung kid who hung out with you both on occasion. Wasn’t even built like a brick shithouse like Jaemin and his friend, your on-and-off tutor, Jeno.

Yet the way he had you cornered, hands planted firmly on the polished quartz countertop boxing you in, kind of screwed with your perception—made him appear bigger than he actually was. Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze, pinning you down with deep pools framed by gradually thinning rings of brown the longer this stare down went on.

Coupled with the heat radiating off of Chenle, from standing so much closer where it totally crossed the limits of what it meant to be platonic, something just as heated unfurled beneath your navel.

“What—whatever you want,” you stuttered, swallowing thickly when the soft material of his jacket brushed along the strip of skin left exposed by your cropped top.  

“Whatever I want?” Chenle’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he studied you. “Even outside of sex?”

It was really hard trying not to not stare at his mouth. “I think being your errand girl will get you your money’s worth than a regular pump n’ dump.”

“The mouth on you.” Chenle cracked a lipped smile, wide enough that a hint of teeth peeking between the soft rosebud pink of his lips. “‘My girl’ does have a nice ring to it.”

Warmth creeped up your neck. “You forgot the word ‘errand’.”

“I know what I said,” he murmured, coming in closer that the tip of his nose gently nudged yours. “Kiss me.”

Your breath hitched, eyes growing into saucers because kiss me could imply anything. Everything.

“What—“

“You said whatever I want,” Chenle pointed out. “and I want you to kiss me. Or I want to kiss you, actually. Real bad.”

Words, apparently, weren’t enough to prove how much Chenle could want something as simple as a kiss.

Slender fingers splayed themselves along your waist, just marveling that you’re allowing him to touch you like this—with reverence. Palms cooled by the counter and the calluses earned from years of basketball raised gooseflesh along your skin when dragging them along the expanse of your stomach. The dips of your waist again—like he couldn’t resist how softer you were there—your back, until one of Chenle’s hands settled beneath the curve of your spine, the other just shy under the side of your breast. 

Chenle was impossibly closer now and your body’s natural response was to arch into him and—oh, he’s hard. So hard—straining against the fly of his jeans pressed against your stomach, and you’ve barely done anything except letting him feel you up, leaving phantom brands of his touch along the way.

“Feel that?” Chenle said, voice low and gravely, delivered like it was a secret only you two should know. He pushed his hips further into yours causing him to groan quietly as you gasped, your hands laying flat on his chest to steady yourself. “You’re definitely getting your tickets if it’s the last thing I do.”

Somehow, out of everything Chenle said, that knocked the breath out of you. The utter conviction. How positive he was in his own right that he will get those tickets for you, one way or another.

Frankly, you couldn’t care less about them now, nor what you had to do in exchange for what was essentially overpriced pieces of paper. All you cared about was who you were getting them from: Chenle, his mouth just a couple of centimeters—all yours for the taking, how secure his hold was around you as if the mere thought of you drifting away any second unnerved him, and the fact that he wanted to kiss you.

Because maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t at all one-sided. Maybe what Minjeong and Yizhuo had been speculating held some substance that, yes, it wouldn’t be too hard if it was you appealing to Chenle’s sweeter side. Maybe the notion was that gratifying to your dwindling self-esteem because how could you deny his simple request? 

So with a breathy, almost breathless, “just—just shut the fuck up about the tickets for a second,” you cupped his face with both hands and yanked him down for a kiss.

Chenle’s kisses were syrupy-sweet, if not purposely drawn out as though he was savouring a once in a lifetime opportunity; uncertain if he’d ever get the chance again. The most surprising thing about kissing Chenle, other than the act itself, was the unhurried pace. So unlike the man you would see loping over with this restless energy ready to leave him bursting at the seams, harrying his friends (anyone, really) to play ball with him. 

It had been near impossible, forcing him to sit still when all Chenle knew was to keep on moving. Keeping close at his heels was a fixed workout you didn’t remember ever signing up for. It was only to your relief that he made sure to keep you right behind him. Beside him, rather. There wasn’t a time where Chenle would knowingly leave you behind and if that ever happened, he would always wait for you to catch up.

There was no rush, and maybe that was the point of it all. Chenle’s willingness to adjust for you with no terms and conditions applied, and you have yet to see him stop.

With each push and pull, worrying teeth on lips and a shallow press of a warm wet tongue, Chenle kissed you like he was a man starved, stumbling upon an oasis and letting himself drown after a drought lasting so long. He kept with the pace, not doing too much or too little, lips slotting together like perfect puzzle pieces. Sweet and deliberate, each movement holding intention. Chenle really wasn’t fucking around when admitting he wanted to kiss you.

You shared that want too. More than you had initially allowed yourself, but that was to be expected when you’ve basically repressed every not-so-platonic thought regarding Chenle for a long while. And you know what they said about bottling it all up.

It came bursting in a flurry rush of movement. From their tender cradling, your fingers reached up to curl into Chenle’s freshly dyed jet-black hair just as he mirrored your own growing need, lithe arms coiling around your torso as your mouths grew greedier by the second. A show of teeth pulled an airy moan out of you turned muffled the second he licked into your mouth.

From there, kissing just became a mere afterthought. Devolving into a carnal dance of tongues, lapping it all up to get your fill.

Chenle tasted just as sweet as he kissed before, like the lemon ginger candy he had stocked around his house, his car and sometimes you would catch him plucking a piece or two out of his pockets. And it was quickly becoming a problem where you just knew there was no coming back from this.

That nothing will ever be the same once you walk out of that door when all of this is over. You couldn’t go back, not when you’ve gotten a taste of what it was like swapping spit with the guy, the same guy who you had thought wasn’t worth the risk.

Fuck it, might as well risk everything, then. You’ve already kissed him, already bulldozed past that boundary you swore you would never cross. So long as Chenle wouldn’t mind a kiss, or two, or three—until he has to pry you off of him and say enough is enough, you’d let yourself crave the sensation of having his mouth give under yours.

Just like how you chased after the plushness of his lips with a meek whine when he drew back, grinning at the state he reduced you to—a needy little thing this high strung over a kiss.

Please. As if he didn’t pop a boner at the thought of kissing you.

Just as you were about to voice out the retort, one of his hands raised to cup your cheek. You leaned into the touch, feeling small under his thoughtful gaze as his thumb swiped over your kiss-swollen lips. You chased after that feeling, too, each drag winding the coil of your self-control tighter and tighter ‘til it snapped like you did, catching his thumb in between the edges of your teeth.

Chenle’s gaze darkened then, no traces of the playful glint you were used to seeing as he surged forward and kissed a searing path from the corner of your mouth, all the way up to the swell of your cheek. Then lower, and lower until the scrape of teeth under the hinge of your jaw made your knees buckle from the sensation with a gasp.

You gripped his hair tighter, though you made no move to pull him off. “That—this is more than just a kiss,” you lightly chided, voice shaky. “Greedy.”

“So what if I am?” He mumbled, mouthing his way down your neck. Your fingers left his hair and curled around his nape. “Want me to stop?”

Pulling him in further by his neck told him enough. The vibration of his pleased humming against where your pulse was at its strongest made you shiver. You could feel him smirk. Like a knife to your neck.

“Thought so.”

Staying true to his words, he didn't stop. Chenle latched onto your mouth again and you’ve quickly grown familiar with his rhythm. Only this time, his hands joined in the fray, seemingly needing more than just having you secured in his arms.

Though perhaps you bit off more you could chew. 

Like, yeah, getting fucked by Chenle wasn’t the most horrible idea you’ve had so far in your early twenties, but thinking about it was vastly different from actually doing it.

So you were definitely in your right to squeal when one of your best friend's wandering hands went up your skirt.

Chenle stilled and pulled back with his eyebrows knitted together. Your face was on fire, both from his bold move and the embarrassing sound you made.

“You okay?” He asked, the same hand that was under your skirt—right below your ass cheek—rubbing soothing circles. It was anything but soothing. When you’ve got thighs as sensitive as yours, the only thing Chenle was helping with was making you hornier.

If he moved his hand a little further up and a little further in, he would have felt just how soaked your panties were.

“I—uh—I’m not ready.”

He blinked. “My hand is literally up your skirt that’s barely covering your cute little butt,” he pointed out as his hands trailed higher and squeezed the plump flesh. “and you’re not ready.” Now he’s looking at you like you’re crazy. Shit, maybe you were. And it’s his fault. He’s just as crazy for calling your ass cute to your face, too.

“I mean yeah, that’s nice and all—your hand is really warm, um—but I may or may not have been talking out of my ass about fucking you.”

Chenle snorted. “I dunno. Your outfit clearly screams ‘fuck me!’. Cute shirt, by the way.” A stray hand wedged itself under the tight fit of your tube-top, earning him a sharp intake of breath when his fingertips grazed the underside of your tit. His touch didn’t go further than that, hand simply splayed across your ribs. “If you can call it that.”

“You bought me this shirt, dumbass.”

“Even better,” he said, delighted by the thought. “Feeling cold?” Chenle wondered, almost in an innocent, offhanded manner you wouldn’t think much of if the twitching of his mouth slipped under your radar. You caught his leering stray south, too. Just what could he possibly be intrigued by when he was quite literally sharing your breathing space?

With eyebrows furrowed, you let your curiosity get the best of you, tracing his line of sight.

You should have stayed curious.

Better yet, you shouldn’t have acknowledged the change of his focal point because of course he’d take notice of your nipples poking against the soft material of your shirt; as if they were saying ‘hi’ to the man who had come so close to giving them some attention.

Chenle dissolved into a fit of cackles. You could only imagine how embarrassed you looked to him. Why were you even embarrassed? You chose to forgo a bra in hopes of distracting him with your boobs if all else failed.

“Yeah, yeah,” you acquiesced, keeping your chin up as you blindly reached for his hands. “Hands where I can see ‘em, pervert.”

Only, you don’t exactly take his hands off of you. This was like, casual touches here and there dialed up to an eleven, right? It wasn’t a foreign concept to you, being held by him. Being friends with him for this long and counting, hugs were a thing you were frequently subjected to, and Chenle loved those, so you did your due diligence of settling his hands on your hips as a pseudo form of it.

A peace offering, if you will, for cutting the closeness short and a little because you were starting to like the warmth emanating from a more intimate touch.

Seemingly pleased by your initiative, Chenle graced you with the sweetest of smiles, squeezing you. That got him a snort and a fond shake of your head, though the amusement dimmed into contemplation as you lingered on the silver padlock-shaped pendant hanging from the dainty chain of the same metal around Chenle’s neck, not knowing where to go from here.

Eventually, you found your voice. “That better be worth fifteen hundred bucks,” you joked because if there was one thing about you is that you had a knack for making light out of an emotionally charged situation.

“I’ve spent more on you before, and you're worth every single penny so far.”

That shouldn’t have flustered you. Really, it shouldn’t have you hot in the face when you weren’t sure if he meant the dig towards you unintentionally milking him of his fortune. But Chenle’s ease of letting weighted words spill from his mouth was the sure contender here, and to deliver the final blow was the charming grin that ensured you everything was going to be just fine. He’d make sure of it.

“That’s definitely something a sugar daddy would say,” you said with a wry curl of your mouth. “Are you my sugar daddy? Because I can’t remember the last time I had to pay for my shit when you’re around.”

There was one time you went out for a bagel on your own, though that didn’t seem like a big girl purchase compared to your ergonomic chair he had ordered from Amazon. The look he had given you when you told him you made do with the many dining chairs Yizhuo had around her huge glass dining table had been the funniest thing you had ever seen. Like stiff chairs having multiple uses was a foreign concept to him.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were mostly on your feet when you had to (by hand) draft floor plans and vignettes that took up almost the entire space of your choice of paper. And the chair was comfy. Good for your back too.

“It does look like that, huh?” Chenle laughed at that, shaking his head as he did so out of endearment because you just wouldn’t get it. “What if I just like taking care of you?”

Now wasn’t that an insane thing to say out loud? Granted that you could kind of see where he came from as he did save your sorry ass a bunch of times with either a tap or a swipe of his card, this was Chenle you were dealing with. The likelihood of him just pulling your leg under the guise of flattery was great and backing down that easy had never been your forte. No matter how sweet he was being about it.

You could count the serious conversations with him on both sets of your fingers and this regularly scheduled bout of psychological warfare won’t even count.

“You just want to get in my pants,” you accused with a defiant raise of your chin.

“You almost let me in your pants,” Chenle pointed out, his fingers gently grasping your chin so he could tilt your head back at its normal angle. “My hand was literally up your skirt and I heard no complaints until you got stage fright.”

“Fair,” you allowed with a shrug. “Still not gonna fuck you though. Not now at least.”

“Whatever you want,” he said softly as he bent down to catch your gaze. “and you know I won’t do anything you don’t want to.”

You hummed, thinking Chenle’s words over. “I’ll give it a few days until you’re on your hands and knees begging to stick just the tip in.”

Chenle’s smile wobbled then turned pained. “If I have to.”

It took three whole seconds for his admission to register in your brain before you sputtered a laugh, falling forward until his shoulder cushioned your forehead. No wonder you and Chenle worked so well. There was not a serious bone in any of your bodies and you wouldn't want to change it for the world.

“Down, boy,” you teased, still cackling as you nuzzled into his neck. “Who’s desperate now?”

He huffed. “Like you weren’t trying to eat my face moments ago.”

You pulled back with a pout. “I could say the same about you.” You poked him in the chest. “Were you actually trying to suck my soul out?”

“Regret anything yet?” Chenle’s question was posed as playful, but there was undertone of uncertainty to it too and over the years, you’ve gotten good at figuring out his tells. The uncharacteristic sudden stiffness in his frame, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek (subtly as he could) and the tightness around his eyes—he thought you did. Regret it, that is, but it was the farthest from what you were feeling right now.

“The only thing I regret is not seducing you sooner.” 

And that did it. Anything that fell in the same vein of uncertainty gave way to the radiance you were much more familiar with.

Chenle looked like an absolute winner—the cat that caught the canary and washed it down with cream in celebration of his win before diving in for his prize.

Until Daegal barked at the sound of jingling keys the moment your lips were a hair breadth away from touching, her excitement piercing through the bubble and granting you awareness from beyond it; namely the pot barely having any water being left on the burner for too long. 

There was a flash of white from your peripheral as you shared a panicked look with your qausi-sugar-daddy when the front door opened, followed by one of Chenle’s housemates, Beomgyu, announcing his arrival with a loud, “I’m home!”

“Shit,” you whispered and the two of you set into motion. Harried, if anything, yet still efficient with the swiftness Chenle displayed in fixing your clothes just as you smoothed stray strands of his hair back in place.

For a quick moment, he took a good look at you, a crease in the middle of his eyebrows before he was shucking off his hoodie and urging you to wear it.

“Didn’t take you for the protective type,” you teased, yet took it without question as Chenle rolled his eyes with a gentle shake of his head, watching you pull on the sleeves; a smile equal parts warm and mischievous playing on his lips.

With the zipper in place, you glanced at him then down to his very obvious problem beneath those denim jeans. “You gonna do something about”—Chenle’s eyes blew wide in alarm and stuck his hand in his pants—“yeah, okay,” you mumbled.

His smile widened into something annoying and you quickly pushed him towards the kitchen sink, a silent command to wash his hands once Beomgyu walked right into the kitchen, surprised that you were here. Daegal trotted closely behind, her tail wagging happily as you bent down to pick her up.

“We’re going to get groceries after some noodles,” Chenle answered the silent question for you while pouring water into the pot. “Want some?”

“I’m starving,” Beomgyu groaned. “I’ll eat anything.”

“Hope you’re excited for Shin ramyeon and crab balls, then.”

Over Beomgyu’s shoulder, Chenle winked at you and you nuzzled into Daegal’s fur, hiding your smile.

In the end, after letting Beomgyu devour most of your noodles, Chenle did take you out for another H Mart run.

“Are the two carts necessary?”

You didn’t think so. One full cart was pushing it, but two? For a second, you feared he might just buy out the whole store if you dared him. Then again, Chenle wasn’t familiar with the concept of limiting oneself and it seemed like it applied to you too. Well, in a way where he showed you it was okay to want things. That it was okay to ask him for things.

Because it’s Chenle who did most of the shopping. Fresh produce, different kinds of meat that didn’t need to be cooked in complicated ways for it to come out edible—namely the humble samgyeopsal. Quick, easy and absolutely delicious—he glossed over most of the condiments seeing you still had them at home, then he absolutely went insane when it came to the snacks, ice cream and, of course, packets of instant noodles.

Chenle had another pack of a different variant in his hands, tossed it into the snack-filled cart he was pushing around.

“You’re really playing into the sugar daddy thing,” you said as you mentally calculated the amount of debt you were in now with the addition of groceries that could last you and the girls the whole month.

“Better than you starving,” he said cheerfully, grabbing a dozen of Buldak Carbonara noodles and dumping them into the cart like a dad finding out their kid’s favorite snack. “Wouldn’t want you living off of shin ramyeon and crab balls.”

You scowled. “It wasn’t that funny.”

Chenle laughed and laughed and laughed anyway because your failed seduction plan was that hilarious if he was still making jokes about two-person groceries.

The drive home was quiet. Peaceful. Less awkward than you had initially expected when the soulful drone of music filled in the spaces with you sat in the passenger’s seat, reaching over to feed Chenle the Pepero you elected on sharing. When it all ran out, you relaxed in your seat and just… watched.

Watched your best friend in his element with his hand on the wheel while the other patted his thigh along the beat of the current song. He looked good. Unfairly so. With the lights glinting off the watch that likely made up your yearly university tuition and the high points of his face, the ruffled look of his hair and the way his jaw flexed every time he sang along the melody.

All this filled you with the urge to kiss him. Reach over and plant one on him and the thought still lingered even as you drove past the house’s gates opened with an app on your phone.

As Chenle helped put away the groceries while you pretended not to notice the leering from the peanut gallery.

As he helped himself to a Melona while keeping up with the verbal spat between him and Yizhuo munching on something yoghurt and blueberry flavoured.

It was all you could think about as you saw him out the door, and if you couldn’t help yourself and acted on it—a quick peck to the corner of Chenle’s plush mouth as thanks—leaving a sheen of your lipgloss, then that was between you, God and the security camera angled to where you stood.

Yizhuo wouldn’t notice if you deleted a few seconds of footage anyway.

Late into the night and you could still feel it. Feel him—the ghost of his kiss, his touch as everything that had transpired in the afternoon played on loop in your head.

You couldn’t sleep. Not when your mind was chanting Chenle Chenle Chenle like a mantra set to summon him. Like an itch you couldn’t get rid off no matter how hard you scratched.

If only…

That night, you decided to get well acquainted with Pinky, fishing her out deep within your drawer.

Mornings like this were rare, where all of you were awake at the same time. Even rarer that you were all up before ten, quiet. Relaxed.

No sense of urgency found on anyone’s person. No school, no jobs to clock into, no not-so-secret meetings—none of you girls had anything of priority today.

There was breakfast, arguably the most important meal of the day, though it seemed Minjeong and Yizhuo weren’t exactly in a rush demanding their eggs be cooked just the way they liked. Just fine with nursing a steaming cup of whatever energized them for the day ahead as they sat at the island counter.

Your phone chimed in the middle of cooking Yizhuo’s scrambled eggs. A text from Chenle—a sent photo to be specific and—

You screamed, nearly dropping the spatula.

fine shyt: [IMG_6969]

You: WWHAT THEBFUCJ

fine shyt: got your tickets 🤓

You: YEA I SEE THAT???????????

When you screen faded into Chenle’s caller ID, a photo of him holding up Daegal, Minjeong immediately took over the cooking as you rushed towards the living area.

“You got the tickets,” you said as you accepted the request to FaceTime, half in wonder and in disbelief that he was able to nab tickets in less than twenty-four hours and a day before the concert. You really should stop doubting Chenle and his ability (see: privilege) to get whatever, whenever. “Not that I doubted you, but the first night usually sells out quick—so how the hell.”

“You underestimate how far money can get you,” Chenle laughed. He looked sleep-ruffled, like he had just woken up. This was his cutest state yet and you really wished you were with him right now. “Think you’re ready to find out?”

“As I’ll ever be.” As long as he held your hand through it, sure. What the hell. You could survive future heart attacks caused by six figures by sheer will alone, you thought. “I asked for three tickets though. Who's the fourth one for?”

“Me,” he answered, beaming. “Someone has to drive you girls.”

“What? I mean—thanks.” That was one less thing to worry about then. “But since when do you listen to Sabrina?”

“Since last night. Still at it, by the way.” he clarified, a little too happy and if you listened closely, you could make out Sabrina’s crooning of Read your Mind on his end. “An enlightening experience, I might say.”

“Good luck on memorizing twenty-one songs then.”

“Oh, Princess. I released an album when I was eight. Memorizing the setlist is light work. Bet I could sing louder than you.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll grill you on the album thing next time because what the fuck.” The ‘Princess’ thing you elected to ignore, too early and dire to suffer an aneurysm when a concert was waiting for you.

“I’ve lived quite the life,” he mused (“oh I’m sure.”) combing his fingers through his hair. “So what do we say?”

You scoffed, fond and grateful for his generosity whether you were deserving or not. “Thank you.”

“Thank you what, baby?”

Your face twisted in horror, quickly clocking what he was trying to get you to do. “Bye Chenle.”

He was cackling when you hung up, your face on fire, yet you didn’t put in any effort to tamper the giddy grin threatening to split your face.

The tickets were yours. Chenle got the tickets and they were yours. Gosh, this was probably the best morning in your life so far and nothing could dampen your mood from doing your girls proud.

“Now do you believe us when we say you’re Chenle’s favorite?” Yizhuo asked with a mouthful of scrambled egg.

You laughed, cheeks aching from how hard you cheesed at a simple fact. “I’m starting to.”

And selfish as it sounded, you hoped that it would remain that way for a long time because you couldn’t remember a life so dull when Chenle walked in with colors so bright that it sung, and because he was your favorite, too.

a/n: waow you've reached the end! Here, have a cookie 🍪 as always, thank you soo so much for reading until the end! I'd like to thank the girls: Aria, Moon and Aeriel for letting me talk my shit about this fic and help with ideas! and yes, brainstorming with them is an almost daily occurrence and it's great mental exercise imo lol! I hope you had fun reading the chaos that was this fic. I know I had fun laughing to myself writing all this 😆 and please please please let me know your thoughts! Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @gojosmojodojo @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna @spacejip @ykvdani @drunkhee @neozon3nha @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce @sunghoonsgfreal @champagne1221 @yuyita-rosier @grimlinshere @jvngw0n @nanaxwi @kissesfromdarling @peterm4rker @haechology @evergreeneyesx @bbina @nctseventeensworld (special thanks to those who asked to be part of the taglist!)

[revelboo]

(Not really an ask more of a statement)

I’m so thrilled I stumbled on your fics!! I’ve been obsessed with your takes on all my faves :), I just caught up on the Jazz one and I’m so in love (again). I also really really adore your Bluestreak, Cosmos (underrated boys fr) and TFP Shockwave one 🫧🫶🏾. I hope you continue with some of these cause they are so good! No pressure ofc just expressing my adoration 🩵🤍💙❤️

I’m glad you like my nonsense! I enjoy amusing myself writing stories

Over It Now Pt 27

Jazz x Reader

• Shifting on his shocks slightly in the sun, he can feel the heat sapping him, lulling him into near recharge while he waits. And he’s nearly out when you finally come out of the big brick building. Walking without the crutch and without that cast and a twinge of guilt twists through his spark still. Because that was entirely his fault, but it’s hard to be depressed when you’re smiling like that. Pausing right in front of him to stretch out a leg to show off the lack of a cast before sliding into the driver’s side behind the wheel. “You think you can handle all this, kitten?” He asks as you grip his wheel in soft hands and he has a sudden thought that maybe he’s not ready for all this.

• Feeling him shudder around you as you skim your hands over his wheel and hear his engine rumble to life, he makes a funny growling noise when you grip the gear shift. “Can you feel everything I touch?” You ask suspiciously, trying to imagine what that would be like, someone tucked inside you touching things. “Is it too weird?” Feels like it probably is as you start to scoot over the center console into the passenger side and he groans.

• “No, no I want you to drive,” he growls quickly before you can slide yourself over his center console because you have no idea what you’re doing to him. Painfully aware of the weight of you, your warmth and everywhere those soft hands touch. “Touch me, please.” Even if it’s a form of torture as you sink back into the seat and grip his gear shift to put him into gear. “I can feel everything and I’m a little sensitive, okay, doll? No one’s touched in there before.”

• Why do you like that admission? That this is something he’s only experienced with you? Fingers caressing the stitching on the steering wheel as you drive, you feel weirdly powerful. “So what happens to your bot bits when you’re a car?” They’re obviously still there, just hidden. So his head is here somewhere. His hands. His spike. Face heating as you feel yourself fighting a grin, you rest your palm against his gear shift, thumb sliding against it.

• “Any part in particular you’re wondering about, doll?” He asks raggedly. This feels like dangerous territory, teasing out in broad daylight. “Maybe your favorite part?” And you laugh, the sound sinking into him and making him feel light. ‘You think that’s my favorite part?’ You tease back, fingers sliding against his wheel. “You like playing with it well enough.”

Previous

[bad268]

Hiiiiii

Could you maybe do smth with kimi antonelli. I had this idea where reader and him are playing mario kart and maybe she finally beats him and teases him about it. And to shut her up he just starts kissing her (if you’re comfortable writing that)

Ps: i looooove your stuff

Shut Up & Drive (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Clearly (You have reawoken my Mario Kart side-)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1171

Summary: The Reader challenges Kimi to Mario Kart and wont shut up.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

“I am aware that you race cars for a living, but I could totally kick your ass in Mario Kart.”

Those were fighting words you said while flying home one night after a long weekend, where Kimi actually scored well given the circumstances. Many of the drivers were affected by the heat, and there were a few bad accidents that took out a bunch of drivers. 

In the end, only 12 drivers saw the checkered flag. Kimi still brought home points, but you could tell he was feeling the effects of driving in the hot, dirty air for so long. 

That’s why, instead of letting him sleep on the long flight home, you forced him to play Mario Kart with you. You had chugged an energy drink too late in the day. You were wired and ready to make it everyone’s problem.

“Who are you picking?” You asked as you loaded up the screen, slightly bouncing in your seat. “It says a lot about who you are.”

“I don’t know. Is Mario good?” Kimi muttered sleepily as he gave you the side eye.

“Yeah,” You shrugged, “If you like being boring.”

“Well, who do you play then?” Kimi chuckled lightly before leaning his head back against the seat and dropping the controller in his lap.

“Shy guy, always have been, always will be,” You replied immediately as you selected your favorite colour Shy Guy, and watched him stay on the character screen without picking one. “Do you want opinions or are you just trying to waste time?”

“Sure, give me your analysis,” Kimi sighed as he rolled his head onto his shoulder to look at you.

“Well, I don’t really care about character specs, but my friends really like Link, Princess Peach and Dry Bones,” You answered, showing him the characters on the screen.

“What is this one?” Kimi questioned as he landed on your sworn enemy.

“Baby Bowser,” You replied with a grimace, “Well, technically it’s Bowser Jr., but still. Nothing against the character in this game, but I hate him in Super Smash.”

“Did he personally wrong you?” Kimi chuckled lightly at your reaction.

“Yes,” You replied seriously. 

“I highly doubt that.”

“Just don’t question me,” You waved him off by bumping your shoulder against his. “Worst case, you can always choose your Mii character.”

“I’ll just go with…” He paused, using his controller to go around the characters before landing on one, “Luigi.”

“Hot, okay,” You joked as you confirmed your own character and moved to select your karts. “I like motorcycles, but that’s just me. Pick whatever you want.”

“Hey, this one looks like my car!” Kimi chuckled, selecting it immediately as you moved into the course selections. “What is the easiest one?”

“Baby Park,” You answered, going through the courses to find the specific one. You found it easily after playing it so many times and clicked to load it up.

“So, is there a reason you selected Big Blue?”

“Because I never lose Big Blue.”

“I see how it is,” Kimi said under his breath as your two characters lined up for the race. “Are you scared I’ll win?” “Nope,” You said, popping the ‘p’. “I’ve never lost Big Blue.”

“Well, get ready to.”

“Yeah, right,” You scoffed as you got a boost off the line. Before you even reached the first row of boxes, you went from 12th place to the top five while Kimi was still down in 9th. “Are you even trying? Oh my gosh, you suck.”

“It’s the first corner,” Kimi defended with a smile, “We have-how many laps is this? Three or five?”

“Why would it be five laps?” You scoffed as you threw a couple of red shells at the characters ahead of you and got up to second place. “It’s always three laps. And you better start getting better because there is not a lot of race left.”

“We’re not even done with the first lap,” Kimi said under his breath as he got into the top five.

“You’re not,” You cheered mockingly as you crossed the line for the first lap. “Y’know, this type of dominance could really bore fans.”

“We’re not even doing this with an audience,” Kimi muttered, stealing a glance at you as you focused on the game. “Should I be concerned?”

“You’re just jealous of my skills,” You teased, “You can admit it.”

“That’s not it,” Kimi trailed off as you moved into the third and final lap. Kimi had moved up to second at this point and was harbouring a red shell, but he didn’t have the heart to throw it at you when he saw that all you got were coins.

“What did I say?” You exclaimed accidentally, slapping a hand over your mouth when you remembered you were on a commercial flight. You cleared your throat before apologizing and dropping to a whisper as you shook Kimi’s shoulder, “What did I say? I told you! I don’t lose Big Blue! Never have, never will!”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Kimi chuckled as his character crossed the line in second.

“I don’t care if you are a professional driver or not! I am just too good on this track!” You continued boasting as the leaderboard appeared on the screen. “You should really take a few pointers from me. Like, don’t get rid of all of your items as soon as you get them, or maybe don’t fall off the side sometimes.”

“Okay, I get it,” Kimi sighed, but still looked at you with a soft smile on his face as he listened to you rant. 

“Or maybe hit the gas and use the exit boosts! I can show you how to drive a manual!” You continued enthusiastically. “It’s crazy how you never used a speed boost once. I am like a master at it, so I can give you a few pointers.”

“Oh, can you?” Kimi teased lightly, but you missed it completely.

“Or maybe you just need more practice!” You gasped a little louder than you had previously. “We have a super long flight back home, I know you don’t have anything to look over or do work or school-wise, and we can just play the whole time! I can show you shortcuts and teach you the ins and outs of all of the circuits, and -”

The next thing you knew, you couldn’t talk. Your eyes widened as your breath had been taken away by Kimi’s lips on yours. It took you by surprise, but it was never an unwelcome surprise to be kissing your boyfriend. It only took you a second to react, closing your eyes and melting against him. 

You dropped your controller on the tray table with your switch, opting to reach for Kimi’s hand instead when he pulled back with a cheeky smile.

“Are you going to shit up and drive now or do we need to do that again?” He asked lowly as he leaned to whisper in your ear.

“I wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2025. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[miewriteswoso]

Rules are meant to be broken

Jill Roord x reader

Warnings: age gap (5 years)

Summary: You just want some alone time with your girlfriend on camp but that doesn’t go as planned.

Word count: 1k

A/N: don’t know how I feel about this one but anyway

Dutch is in bold

You hadn’t forgotten the rules your sister gave you, you just didn’t care about following them. You were only 23 and this was your first international camp. Your sister had been to many international camps so she gave you some rules on the dos and don’ts. One of those was ‘don’t date your teammates’. Yeah, you weren’t planning on following that one. See, your sister didn’t know but you had already broken that rule

You had moved to Manchester City two seasons ago after playing at Lyon for a year. You weren’t necessarily a shy person but you needed some time to adjust to a new team and a new country. That where Jill stepped in. Jill was a few years older than you but she took you under her wing and helped you adjust to Manchester. She showed you around town and offered you her spare room while you were looking for an apartment.

You started to have a crush on Jill, you wanted to be more than friends but you didn’t know if Jill felt the same. Lauren, one of your good friends at city, helped you. “You should just ask her.” She advised. “but what if she says no. I can’t loose her, I  live in her house.” Just as you said that, Jill walked in. “What are you guys talking about,” she said. Lauren whispered to you “just go talk to her” “fine but if this goes wrong it is your fault.” You mumbled  before signing to Jill that you wanted to talk to her.

You pulled Jill into a linen closet across from the changing room. “Why did you want to talk to me?” she asked. “Look ever since I came to city, you took me under your wing and helped me with making friends in the team and exploring the city. But lately I’ve been falling for you. I don’t want to be just friends anymore, I want to be more than that. If you are going to say you don’t feel the same just know that it was Laurens idea to tell you an-” you rambled as she cut you off. “hey, I feel the same way. I’ve been in love with you ever since I first saw you. But lets not rush things. I want to take you on a date before we do anything we will regret.”

She took you on your first date. Many followed after that and you had been officially dating for a year. All of your teammates knew. Well, all except for one, Your sister Vivianne. She had always been a bit protective over you since you were a few years younger than her. You hadn’t told Viv yet because you knew she was going to flip when she found out. That’s why you tried to keep your relationship non-existent when Viv was around. She knew you and Jill lived together but as far as she knew you two were just roommates.

Keeping your relationship with Jill a secret from Viv was easy in Manchester, You just weren’t too close or stared at each other for too long. But earlier this month you had gotten your first senior call-up for the Dutch women’s national team. You knew it would be harder to keep your relationship  hidden when you were constantly being watched by your sister and since it was your first call-up she was going to be watching you extra hard. So you and Jill made some rules on how to act. No long hugs, no staring, and definitely no sneaking around.

That’s how you ended up here. In Jill’s room caught by Viv.

It all stared when you were roomed with Kerstin and Jill with Viv. You begged Kerstin to make sure Viv was away for a few minutes so you and Jill could have some time for yourselves (even though you said no sneaking around.) Kerstin had suggested that her and Viv get some coffee, after a lot of convincing she agreed. You went to Jill’s room and lets just say that things got a bit heated, what do you expect you hadn’t touched each other for more than 24 hours. You were making out on Jill’s bed, both of your t-shirts discarded somewhere on the hotel room floor. When suddenly Viv Barges in with Kerstin right behind her. “What the hell is going on here!” Viv screamed. “I am so sorry I couldn’t hold her back any longer” Kerstin said.

Viv was shocked to say the least. She told you both to get dressed and she would come back to talk to you both. After a few minutes she came back in to the room. You and Jill sat on Jill’s bed while Viv sat on her own bed. “You broke my rules” She said as she looked at you. “I am disappointed but not mad.” She continued “ I assume this has been going on for longer than today” “ yes, we’ve been dating for a year” you said. “ Why didn’t you tell me” “because we knew how you were going to react. Trust me we were going to tell you soon, we were just waiting for the right moment. We didn’t want you to find out like this” Jill said. “ Look, I understand why you kept it from me but I would’ve appreciated it if you would’ve told me. Anyway im happy for you both but I will make sure you two wont room together for other camps” she said as she got up and left.

You both let out a sigh of relieve when she left. “ see, I told you it would not be that bad. You know she loves you. She just wants what’s best for you.” Jill said. “I know and I love her too but I also just want to be my own person.  ” She gave you a kiss on your temple “I love you” she whispered as you sat there for a few minutes just enjoying the comfortable silence that filled the room. “I love you too Jill”

[pamelaiscrying]

KENAN YILDIZ FANFIC

Summary: kenan had agreed to score a goal but you would have to give him one night to spend alone.

Warning: phone sex, cursing, actual sex scenes, plot with porn.

——

With kenan nothing was ever certain.

Not what you were. Not what you were becoming.

The whole thing felt like a twisted little game—equal parts desire and defiance—and both of you were absolutely complicit.

“So…” his voice dropped, lazy and laced with heat. “If I score… you’ll let me fuck you, right?”

Your eyes rolled, but a smirk tugged at your lips. Thank god the camera was off—he didn’t need to see how much you were enjoying this.

It had been a while since you two last sexted, and this teasing rhythm, this obscene distance flirting, was your shared addiction.

You’d only met once, barely brushed lips against lips, it was a type of kiss that 10 year olds give to each other, yet somehow spent countless nights detailing everything you’d do to each other.

“Yes, baby…”

The word made you cringe as it slid off your tongue—not because you weren’t capable of being soft, but because with Kenan?

Romance didn’t belong here. You weren’t sweet. You were sharp.

With him, it was raw, charged, territorial. Every exchange a power play.

Your cousin’s voice echoed in your head: “Men, no matter how cold or cocky, love being coddled. Call them baby or love, and watch them melt—watch them beg.”

She wasn’t wrong. You’d seen Kenan crack under less.

“But only if you score,” you purred, then twisted the knife. “Because lately… you’ve been disappointing me. Slacking. And I hope it’s not because you’re busy fucking some random bitch in Milan.”

That shift in tone—saccharine to venomous—hit him right in the groin.

He could feel his cock stiffen under the sheets. God, you knew exactly how to work him.

It was that unpredictability, the thrill of not knowing whether you’d call him your prince or curse him out like he was nothing.

His breath hitched on the line.

“You jealous?” he asked, voice low.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, tone ice and honey. “But I like my toys loyal.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sound of his sheets rustling. You could picture it: Kenan lying in bed, one hand already wrapped around his cock, the other clutching the phone like it might shatter from the tension.

“You wanna hear what you do to me?” he asked, breath warm with a threat.

“I’m listening.”

“Right now?” he growled. “I’m so fucking hard. I’ve had this tension since the last time we called… thinking about how you’d sound when I fuck your throat. I’ve been replaying it in my head. Over and over. You gagging around my cock like a good girl, tears on your cheeks, nails on my thighs.”

Your breath caught. Your hand slipped down, lazy at first.

“You miss my voice that bad?” you asked, voice thicker now, throat dry.

“You’ve got no fucking idea. I can’t even jerk off properly anymore. I tried the other night, I swear—palm tight, eyes closed—and it didn’t work. I needed you to say it. Tell me how you’d take me.”

Your fingers slid under your waistband, heat blooming as you teased your own skin. “What do you want me to say, Kenan?”

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You smirked, breath catching.

“Nothing.”

A low, guttural sound escaped him. “Fuck.”

“Go on then,” you said, sweet and smug. “Stroke it. I wanna hear how wet I make you.”

You heard it clearly: the slick movement of his fist working his cock. Slow. Steady. Then faster.

“You’d be on your knees if you were here. Mouth open, tongue out. You’d let me fuck your throat until you couldn’t speak.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t let you come,” you teased, fingers now moving in tight circles. “Maybe I’d edge you until you cried for it. Like a good little boy.”

He moaned. Raw. Helpless.

“I’d grab your hair,” he groaned. “Force my cock so deep in your mouth you’d feel it in your stomach. You’d drool all over me, choking on it, and I wouldn’t stop. Not until you came. Not until I see that look in your eyes—fucked-out and ruined.”

You let out a broken sigh, back arching. Your fingers slick now, hips moving without thought.

“Fuck, Kenan—talk dirtier.”

“I wanna bend you over a hotel sink. Rip your panties. No teasing. Just slide my cock into you and pound you hard enough that you can’t walk straight the next day.”

“You’d break me.”

“Good.”

There was panting now. The line blurred between his ragged breathing and yours. Two animals. Obsessed. Distant. Desperate.

“I’m gonna come,” you whispered.

“Do it,” he growled. “Come for me. Fucking moan for me. Let me hear how ruined you are.”

Your body snapped. Heat flooded you. Your hand froze and pressed hard against the wave crashing through your stomach.

“Kenan—fuck—”

He moaned at the sound of your orgasm, the broken whimpers, the way you gasped his name like it was a prayer and a curse. And then you heard it—his own sharp groan, followed by the messy silence of satisfaction.

For a moment, nothing but breath and static.

Then his voice again. Soft. Dangerous.

“You're coming to the game.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve already booked it,” he said. “Ticket. Hotel. You’ll be front row. After I score, I’ll fuck you just like I promised. No more games.”

Your heart thudded.

He chuckled, dark and victorious.

“I’m done imagining. I want you under me for real this time. Milan’s waiting, baby.”

//

“I am never promising anything again.” you murmured as low as you could to your best friend Leah who barely could make any of what you were saying.

“I jokingly said it once- just messing with him-teasing while he was outside- that i would fuck him if he scored as Juventus has been shit lately and he actually made it true, not only that but my fucking dad has to attend the fucking game because Tudor fucking invites him too”

“Awww that’s so sweet father-daughter duo attending the game of the guy she talks often to get her horny off”

You gritt your teeth together with your friend who was joking with your pain, humor was her way of coping with anything.

“Fuck you.” you sighed running your hand through your hair “What am i gonna do?”

“Well, if he wins—you fuck him at night. You’ve got that separate room booked, and your dad won’t be anywhere near. If he doesn’t… don’t fucking him—wait, no, actually do it again. He’ll be heartbroken, and men fuck like animals when they’re pissed. Plus, he’s hot as hell.”

Before you could even answer, your dad knocked on the door, asking if you were ready to leave for the front-row VIP seats that they couldn’t wait. You felt your heart beat and sighed/

“Fuck me i have to leave- gonna keep u updated.”

“hope you get laid!”.

“Shut up- YES DAD IM COMING!”.

//

The match had barely started when Kenan broke through the defense like a predator, driving the ball hard and fast into the net. Goal.

As the stadium exploded in cheers, the camera caught him—eyes locking onto you in the VIP section, unwavering, intense. His hand rose slowly, fingers curling into that unmistakable flick of the wrist—his private signal meant only for you.

His gaze didn’t waver; he was staring straight at you, daring you to meet it.

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your cheeks, your heart pounding like a drum.

Behind you, your dad’s brow furrowed. He followed Kenan’s eyes on the screen, then glanced sharply at you.

“Why’s he looking at you like that?” His voice was low but sharp, suspicion creeping in.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze, words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t lie, and you couldn’t explain. The room tightened with tension, the roar of the stadium a distant echo to the fire between you and Kenan.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, trying to keep your voice steady as you force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your fingers fidget nervously with the edge of your sleeve, but you don’t dare look away from the screen. “Guess all men like a pretty girl, don’t they?”

Your dad lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving the pitch. “Not my baby, though,” he says with a knowing tone. “You know my rules about footballers—I was one. I’ve seen the way they think, how they move. You don’t just let any of them get close.”

You nod, but inside, the knot in your stomach tightens. He’s right—you shouldn’t be tangled up in this game with Kenan. You shouldn’t be caught between the thrill and the risk. But the way Kenan looked at you—the intensity burning in his eyes, the secret message in his gesture—had already pulled you deeper.

Your dad claps his hands once, ready to focus back on the game. “Now let’s see if this one can keep his head.”

The stadium explodes again with cheers and whistles. The game surges forward with raw energy—fast passes, slick footwork, the tension of every play like a live wire under your skin. You glance back to Kenan on the screen, his expression still sharp, still fierce. Your heartbeat picks up.

You sink deeper into your seat, trying to steady your breathing, but your chest feels tight—like it’s too small for all the nerves swirling inside. The roar of the crowd barely reaches you anymore; all you can hear is the relentless pounding of your own heart.

This can’t be real. I’m actually going to do this.

The thought loops in your mind, disbelief washing over you like a cold wave. You’ve talked about it for months—half-joking, half-daring—but now, with every second ticking by, it’s becoming realer, heavier, impossible to ignore.

Your fingers twitch against your jeans, restless. You glance at your phone, tempted to text Leah, needing to hear a voice or get a lifeline to sanity—but you swallow the urge. This was your mess to own, your choice, no matter how much your mind screamed otherwise.

Every time the camera cuts back to Kenan, locking eyes with you, that silent challenge—the promise—makes your stomach flip in a way that’s part fear, part something far darker.

What am I really getting myself into?

The VIP section feels suddenly too small, too exposed. Not that you didn’t like Kenan, you weren’t a virgin either but you had only said so much over phone, texts and late night facetime calls never something face to face.

//

You slipped into your hotel room, the buzz from the game still thrumming in your veins. Closing the door behind you, you leaned back against it for a moment, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. You’d promised yourself one thing tonight: if you were going to do this, you were going to own it. No hesitation.

With deliberate slow movements, you started freshening up—running cool water over your wrists, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from the excitement and nerves. Then you opened your suitcase and pulled out the outfit you’d been saving for a moment like this.

Something tight, something that indicated you weren’t a naive little girl- that you would do everything you exact said. A black slip dress, soft silk hugging every curve, cut high to tease just enough of your legs. You slid into it, feeling the fabric cling and caress your skin like a promise.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, biting your lip. If you were going to do this, you’d do it right—bold, unapologetic, and dripping with confidence.

Your phone buzzed.

Kenan.

Room 712. Waiting.

Your breath caught. The deal was on, and there was no turning back.

You stepped into your heels, grabbed your clutch, and headed out, the sound of your heels clicking on the marble floor echoing in the quiet hallway.

When you reached the door and pushed it open, Kenan was already there, waiting. The pool lights framed him, tall and solid, every inch the predator. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for the first time you really noticed how much taller he was—how easily he could take you in one step.

He smirked, voice low and rough. “Been waiting for this for a while.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, heat flaring in your belly.

He stepped closer, his eyes dark and daring. “Are you scared?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

Without a word, you closed the distance, your lips crashing against his in a hungry kiss. The heat between you exploded as your hands slid to the waistband of his pants, fingers working swiftly to undo the button and zipper.

His shirt was already off, muscles flexing under the soft hotel light, skin warm beneath your touch. You pressed your body against his, feeling the hard line of his hips as you pushed his pants down just enough to free him.

He groaned against your mouth, hands tangling in your hair as the tension finally snapped.

He pulled you even closer, the heat from his bare chest against your skin sending shivers down your spine. His hands roamed possessively over your curves as your lips moved together, desperate and demanding. You tugged at the hem of his pants, pushing them down just enough to free the hardness straining beneath.

Without breaking the kiss, you slid to your knees, your fingers tracing the length of him, feeling the smooth, slick heat as you wrapped your hand around him. He hissed softly, his breath catching in his throat, eyes darkening with hunger and need.

You took him into your mouth, slow and deliberate at first, savoring the taste of him, the slick warmth filling you. His hands gripped your hair gently but firmly, guiding your movements as you deepened the rhythm, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

He groaned low and rough, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Fuck, you’re going to drive me insane,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes locking, flames of want burning between you. “I’ve been waiting for this too,” you whispered, crawling back up to press your body against his, your hands exploring his taut muscles.

He lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the bed. Your dress slipped up your thighs as he pressed against you, his length teasing your entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed inside, the warmth and fullness overwhelming in the best way.

You gasped, arching into him as he began a steady, powerful rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of your breathing, soft moans, and the slick, wet intimacy of skin against skin.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer with each thrust, his voice a low growl. “You’re mine tonight.”

You wrapped your legs around him, matching his pace, the tension building until your bodies moved as one, the pleasure cresting in a shared, shuddering release.

His movements slowed, but the hunger in his eyes only deepened. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips — not soft, not sweet, but claiming, filled with the weight of something promised long ago.

“You remember what we said,” he murmured, his breath hot against your mouth. “That when the time came… I’d have you like this. Completely. No holding back.”

You nodded, dazed with pleasure, your heart thudding against his chest. He kissed you again, then shifted — hands beneath your knees as he pushed them up, folding you beneath him, opening you wide. His body pressed down, chest brushing yours, his hips angled to drive even deeper. The change in position made your breath catch — there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You were his, just as you’d promised.

His thrusts began again, deeper now, more deliberate — every stroke drawing gasps from your lips as he filled you to the hilt, grinding his hips against yours with primal intent. His hands held your thighs tightly, spreading you open so he could watch everything — your expression, the way your body clung to him, the slick heat between you.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice rough with need. “You said I could have all of you. So I’m taking it.”

Your hands gripped his arms, nails digging into skin, the pressure and pleasure coiling tight in your belly. His pace never faltered, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, each one a silent vow, a reminder of the bond between you — physical, emotional, unbreakable.

And when you shattered again beneath him, his name on your lips like a prayer, he followed with a deep groan, burying himself to the base as he spilled inside you.

You sighed, a soft, breathless sound of gratitude escaping your lips as the aftershocks rippled through you. Your body felt boneless, limp beneath him, a sheen of sweat cooling on your skin. Thank god you were on the pill — you weren’t sure you’d have had the strength to stop him, not when he moved like that, not when he looked at you like you were everything.

Your eyes fluttered closed, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your ears. Every breath felt thick, weighted with the intensity of what you’d just shared. It was overwhelming — in the best, most devastating way. For a moment, you thought you might pass out from the sheer force of it.

Then, gently, his weight shifted just enough to keep from crushing you, and you felt his lips press softly to your damp forehead. The contrast between how hard he’d taken you and how tender he was now made your chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse, filled with concern.

You opened your eyes, meeting his. They weren’t lust-filled now — not entirely. There was something else there too: softness, guilt, maybe even love.

You gave a tired smile, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then he leaned down to kiss you again — slower this time, more gentle.

“I am waiting for round two later..” he whispers to your ear and your eyes widened.

Boy was he about to drain the promise out of you.

[wakeup01]

IDOL

“Babe, I’m horny. Is your mouth busy right now?”

Mike was your average 23 year old football jock. The type of vapid fuckboy that peaks in high school and whose bigotry was worn as a personality trait. His current target of ridicule was Koreans, or specifically the rise and popularity of K-pop. A source of frequent frustration when the topic arose with his girlfriend. The petty insults and flagrant xenophobia made him feel bigger, helped hide his insecurities. He was a ‘man’. Something he hoped was proved by his broad shoulders and large dick. Korean men challenged that conceit. The attention they garnered from girls was like an affront to his existence. Any opportunity to insult them and the music was one he took; ‘they all looked the same’, ‘kpoop,’ ‘is that a guy or a girl?’

“Not this shit again. What the fuck are they even saying? How do you even understand that nonsense babe?” Mike yelled, while his girlfriend Jen watched a music video of her favourite boy group. She attempted to ignore his comments but he just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. “Jesus, how do you find these twigs attractive, they’re obviously all flaming homos.” He claimed, as the group gyrated their hips at the screen. A joke he thought was original and funny enough to laugh at himself.

“God, I’ve had enough of your small dick energy!” Jen exasperated through gritted teeth as she went to pause the video.

“Bro, don’t be gay…” Mike began to say before a bright light enveloped the room.

It was a remark he would come to regret a bit too late. With a flash Mike was transported to the other side of the screen, standing alone within the set he had just seen playing in the music video. Jen was nowhere in sight. It defied explanation, particularly to someone who failed college. Or ‘failing upwards’ as he called it. It was if time had stood still around him. Looking down gave a bigger shock. Mike’s once muscled body impossibly slimmed before his very eyes; his biceps deflating like a balloon, pecs flattening, tan whitening. Within seconds his body had morphed into that of a lithe 20 year old twinky Korean idol. Indistinguishable from the ones he routinely made fun of. The stereotype he had formed.

It was nothing short of a nightmare. The hundreds of hours spent in the gym to bulk up was akin to a myth. This was a body made for fashion magazine covers and social media appeal. A diet and workout regime laser focused on being slim, unassuming and feminine. His unfamiliar face had turned cute and innocent looking, freckled with smooth, porcelain skin. Large quantities of makeup covered up any hint of a blemish. Colourful and bright clothes popped out from the greys and blacks he was accustomed to. A far cry from his rather brutish appearance as a jock.

Mike shuddered at a more shameful revelation; his ass was now alarmingly large, and his tiny waist would have made his girlfriend Jen jealous. He lowered a hand to cup and feel the heft of his right butt cheek, shuddering as the warm fullness jiggled within his palm. The feeling made him feel good in a way he didn’t want to admit, like the nerves on his body had been rewired. He had never even considered his rear as something he could deride pleasure from, the idea alone disturbed his conservative nature.

Mike looked up, peering through long dark hair that pulled down and covered his eyes seductively. His tiny button nose twitched. A scent of lavender wafted up from his skinny chest. Every part of him felt manufactured to be beautiful and flawless, like a plastic doll.

“Fuck me. What the hell bro!” He shouted out, to no response. “Babe! Jen! This ain’t funny!” Mike said with uncertainty, hoping this was all some prank, or at least a nightmare. Maybe Jen was just getting her own back somehow.

The shock of his new form was short lived, as his mind began to shift, the universe course correcting in light of his altered Asian appearance. It felt like his personality was splitting in two. Mike and…someone else. There was a new voice in his head and it was getting louder with each passing second. Unlike Mike, it was peppy and enthusiastic. It sounded like him, but also not. Perverted. It made him recoil. Mike’s mind started to fill with lyrics, and not ones in English. It was the voice, it had to be; it was just there, occupying the back of his head, like a barely heard whisper. ‘바꾸자!’ 바꾸자!’ It said. Sang. To Mike’s horror, the words that should have been nothing but gibberish were making perfect sense.

“The f…f…frick? This, this…uhh strange.” Mike stuttered, his English fragmenting.

“B…babe?” The usual swears and slang he used felt inappropriate, crude. It was unbecoming of someone like him. Like him? He second guessed, before that voice - that sickeningly positive voice, agreed. Like him. Yes. Besides, English was such a tough language to speak. Wait, was that true? Wasn’t he fluent? Kinda fluent? Well, maybe his pronunciation was a bit off. But it was cute, charming. He liked to play up the ‘Engrish’ and the confusion. People liked ‘the ditz’ and his lower intelligence was honestly a selling point.

‘바꾸자!’ The lyrics pressed upon him again, this time accompanied by a beat that looped around his skull like a record. A ritual. ‘바꾸자!’ Instinctually he started to hum along to the music playing over and over in his head, the melody was immediately catchy, it was as though he knew it off by heart. ‘바꾸자!’ It was stuck to his brain like chewing gum. Appropriately, the flavour seemed artificial, short-lived. The song was expertly produced, but soulless. Crafted to an exact science. Intended only to be played until the taste was gone. Content to consume and then dispose of when something new comes around. But that was the Kpop industry, that was his role. A short sell by date with a ticking clock. Capitalise on the looks, youth and popularity while you can. Michael attempted to argue, to fight back against the notion that he had anything to with it. That he was some meaningless cog in the Kpop music machine. That he existed to just look pretty, to drain easily swayed fans to make execs money. He was a true American, the greatest nation in the world. But the other side of him was getting stronger. The voice. They wanted the fame. The silly dances, the impersonal songs with no meaning. The weird infantilising and fetishising by fans. Impressionable, optimistic and swept up with the promise of popularity. The naive belief of his group ‘making it big’. Even though in reality, they were just one of dozens of new groups debuting each year. Unremarkable.

Mike felt himself slip, naively thinking about the attention he would get. The idea wormed itself in and gained leverage on his weakening psyche. Girls would be into it, wouldn’t they. Go all gooey at the sight of him. What’s worse, dance moves and strict choreography was starting to ingrain itself into his mind - overtaking all his knowledge and dedication to workouts and sports. Those topics were unimportant, useless to his future as a perfectly engineered Kpop boy. The facade of looking cool and confident took priority. Girls like the swagger though, he reasoned, as his cock shrank. They like the fakeness of it all. His hefty balls shrivelled.

A losing battle ensued inside Mike, he was quickly losing control. He cringed slightly as his lean body naturally moved and bounced to the song running through his head. His butt had a life of its own too, jiggling hypnotically to the beat. After all, his rear was his most notable feature, everyone understood it was the thing that set him apart in the group. He had ‘the ass’ as they said. The movements were immensely embarrassing to a ‘man’ like Mike, who prided himself on being as straight and masculine as humanly possible. This was ‘girly shit’, ‘gay ass’ behaviour. And yet he couldn’t stop himself in indulging his new Korean body. A body expertly trained for one thing. To entertain thirsty girls and gay boys. Whose worth would be measured against the other members and groups. To be ‘stanned’ - a culture Michael abhorred.

As his groin shrank, his dull and deep voice rose numerous octaves; higher and higher - with a noticeable lilt, until it was an appropriate high pitched squeak that would have people hyperventilating online. The sort of voice and accent that would facilitate shallow comments such as ‘omigosh’ ‘he serving’ and ‘high pitched fem king’. And of course comments speculating about his sexuality, his manhood. Not that there was anything to speculate about of course, Mike was as gay as a shiny rainbow with sprinkles on top. And his cock was barely worthy of mention. That much was obvious when wardrobe dressed him in those tight little shorts. Mike was…sorry, not Mike - that ugly name just didn’t fit him anymore. He was 민준 or Minjun. A gay Korean bottom. The worst kept secret among the boy group he was contracted to. A frequent point of teasing from the other members, but something they were keen to take advantage of whenever possible.

‘Mike’ internally screamed as a dreamy smile grew across his pretty manicured face, images of other men flashing across his mind. The idea of a ‘girlfriend’ - of being dominant, flittered from his memories. Servility, obedience and an eagerness to please ruled his new personality, one perfectly suited to fulfilling contractual obligations. And…other obligations, ones his more experienced group members expected from him. Huge, long, throbbing ‘obligations’. He pushed out his big bubble butt, a new feeling growing down below. Centering his whole body around his rear. A feeling of… emptiness. It elicited a whiny, girlish moan from his plump, pursed lips. A stark contrast to the low timbre voices from the groups rap line, the ones that would grunt loudly while using Minjun’s hole.

The infectious melody was getting louder, taking over his thoughts, his identity. The sound couldn’t be drowned out, it was an extension of him, his body. His PURPOSE. Minjun could feel a bubbly sense of joy rising in his chest. Unadulterated happiness. The feeling needed to escape, he needed to purge who he used to be. That foul mannish thing languishing deep inside him- like some disease. There was only one way he knew how. His eyes gleamed with youthful energy. The lights of the set flashed, cameras rolled. Music faded in from speakers. His mouth opened. Opened wide and sang. “바꾸자! 바꾸자 스위치를 켜다!” The words flowed effortlessly. Any trace of ‘Mike’ was expelled. Minjun sang and danced like there was no tomorrow. Time seemingly unfroze, the other members of the boy group jumping into the scene beside him, dancing in unison. Vocals harmonised. The kpop music video continued - with him in the centre. God he was stunning. Beautiful. An idol! He was ready for the stage, ready for the publicity, the fans, the outfits, the photoshoots, the collectable photocards with his face on them, the…the…cock. The big hard cocks that would fill him up after the filming. Excited to please the rest of the group. They all had such good…rhythm. Oh gosh, he was ready for all of it.

He shot a cheeky wink directly at the camera, no doubt setting millions of girls hearts a flutter. Including Mike’s ex girlfriend, Jen, who was happily watching her new favourite member on the screen. Enjoying their new track, titled ‘바꾸자!’ or ‘Let’s Change!’. ‘Wow, he has such a nice butt’ she thought, biting her lip, as the group did a somewhat humiliatingly suggestive twerk.

Backstage, after the cameras had stopped rolling and the horde of choreographers had all left, Minjun had another performance to ace. One that equally involved the use of his high pitched vocals and rhythmic timing. His unfocused eyes flittered and stared out across the room dimly, his lips pursed. Smiling while his back was leaned over and his feet spread into position. The other members laughed amongst themselves as Minjun felt a pressure grow behind him. Their deep voices made his spine tingle and his brain fuzzy. A pair of hands landed on his rear, kneading his bubble butt like a ball of dough. The first cock slowly lodged its way into his pillowy cheeks, before a more upbeat pace took over. A queue formed behind him, waiting to prove why they were ‘Idols’. Minjin moaned, eager to please every single member of the group.

‘Ya! The fuckable one, that’s me!’ He thought, enthusiastically while his brain melted to idiotic bliss.

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

Yes And Apples (Bucky x Reader)

word count: 2.0k+

masterlist

a/n - ugh this is the most comfy bucky fic i’ve ever written, like can this man please just show up in my life and cuddle me i need that shit

You’re Sam Wilson’s childhood best friend. You’re like a random companion that is somehow in his life always, neither of you are sure how. But now that Bucky’s friends with Sam and his roommate, he’s around you a lot. Problem is? He’s catching feelings.

You have a small studio apartment not too far away from the apartment Sam and Bucky share. You also run a local business where you sell books, movies, vinyl, coffee and beer. Unfortunately, your studio apartment is directly above the business building, so from a security standpoint, it’s really not all that safe. Hence, you kind of end up in Sam and Bucky’s apartment a lot, especially if you’re nervous. 

Thankfully, they’ve got a nice apartment, so you don’t feel too bad about sleeping on their pullout couch a few nights a week. Sam prefers it that way (he has to worry about you less) and only the Lord knows Bucky does too. They both worry about you. If Bucky can’t sleep (which is frequent, because insomnia), he’ll go outside and watch an episode of a show with you, enjoying the quiet comfort of your presence. He fell asleep there once, and Sam saw you two, distanced enough that he could tell you weren’t snuggling, but close enough to tell that you had been intentionally spending time together. He teased Bucky about it for a week.  

The unfortunate aspect is that if Bucky so much as lays a finger on you, Sam will find out and possibly kill him. But he still tucks you in on the couch, does the dishes after you make dinner, and stops by your store on his lunch breaks occasionally to “drop off” something, which usually just leads to him asking if you’re staying at him and Sam’s apartment tonight and if he should get you anything while you’re at the store (the answer is always “yes” and “apples”).

Eventually, Sam brought up to Bucky gently about moving into a bigger apartment so that they could get a guest bedroom for you in case you wanted to stay there, to which Bucky replied, “well, why don’t we just buy one of those cute little southern suburban houses and ask her to move in?” Sam was shocked that Bucky was so okay with it, but he wasn’t complaining. Bucky knew from you talking that you loved any house that looked like it could have been in Steel Magnolias. 

So, Bucky went house-shopping with you and Sam after you agreed to move in, and y’all bought the house together and took separate rooms. The house was cheap because of the area it was in, but it was only ten minutes from your business and close enough to the Avengers Tower that Sam and Bucky could get to work easily. Sam likes the house a lot, but he’s also got his own room at the tower, so he often stays there, too. Bucky has a room at the tower, just like Sam, but he never leaves you alone in the house at night. He could never. You’re amazing and he never wants to miss out on a second with you, and he doesn’t like the idea of you sleeping in an otherwise empty house.

You come back home at 10:12 pm. You always leave the store at 10. Bucky is sitting on the couch when you get back. “Hey, Buck, how’s it going?” you ask casually, walking over to the couch and kissing the top of his head. 

Bucky’s heart beats a little faster at the action, but he plays it off, acting nonchalant. “Not bad. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Nope,” you inform, putting your tote bag on the barstool chair. 

Bucky gives you a look. “Honey.”

“I was busy, I wasn’t gonna eat,” you shrug. 

Bucky sighs. “Figured as much. You’re eating. C’mon.” He walks over to the kitchen and pulls out a container of eggs. You sigh and join him. Bucky knows what your favorite bagel sandwich is. In fact, there are sliced up bagels in the freezer precisely for that reason. He’s gonna eat too—super soldier appetite, and also, he knows you’d rather not eat by yourself—so he microwaves two bagels, two sausage patties, and mixes some cinnamon and granulated sugar together. You make the scrambled eggs—two eggs each, a little milk, salt, pepper, and maple syrup. Yes, maple syrup in the eggs. Trust me. 

Bucky butters the bagels and puts the cinnamon sugar on it. He puts sausage patties on both sandwiches, and you put on the eggs. He carries the plates to the table, where he’s already got napkins waiting. The two of you sit down together, and you take a bite out of your sandwich. “Damn, I was hungry,” you mutter. 

Bucky shakes his head. “You gotta take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

There is no dramatic moment. Bucky’s never told you that he likes you, and you’ve never told him whether or not you like him. But, you do live together, more than Sam lives with you, too. And late one night, past one am, you tiptoe into his bedroom. Bucky is still somewhat awake, lying silently in bed. “Is something wrong?” He mumbles the question, voice groggy.

“I can’t sleep,” you reply softly.

Bucky nods and raises his arm to lift up his blanket, silently inviting you in. You climb into his bed beside him and fall asleep with his arm draped around you.

In the morning, Bucky pretends to stay asleep until you wake up, not wanting you to wake up in an empty bed. It makes him a little late for work, and Tony teases him about his unusual tardiness, but Bucky will withstand any amount of teasing if it’s for you. Sam doesn’t know why Bucky’s late, and Bucky doesn’t tell him.

About a week later, it happens again. You tiptoe quietly into Bucky’s bedroom, he asks you if you’re alright, and you end up sleeping in his bed again. The next night, you don’t bother asking, and just climb right on in. Bucky likes having you so close, and the action becomes normalized to him for a while, that you come in late at night and sleep in his room. 

Until, that is, when Bucky sees you charging your Apple watch on his nightstand, leaving your pillow on your side of his bed, and leaving your sweatshirt on the chair. You’re basically moving into his room. To be honest, neither of you really knows how it happened, you just understand that this is now where you go to bed. And Bucky is realizing that you have moved yourself in. And that he likes that you did. 

Bucky goes to your store the next day. After you finish up with a customer, he walks up to the desk and says, “Hey, I was wondering if you wanna watch a movie tonight. Oh, and if you need anything when I’m at the grocery store.”

“Yes to movie, and apples,” you smile. “Is Sam staying at the Tower tonight, do we know?”

Bucky shrugs. “Why?”

“Just seeing if we have to factor in his movie preferences. You can just grab a DVD from here,” you gesture toward the rack of DVDs in your store. 

“You got anything you feel like?” Bucky asks. 

“Whatever you pick sounds good.” 

Bucky lingers in front of the movie rack longer than he probably needs to. He reads the backs of three different rom-coms before settling on one that Sam would 100% roll his eyes at, but that he knows you secretly love. He tucks it under his arm, grabs a couple of your favorite chocolate bars from the little snack stand by the register, and gives you a look like he's getting away with something.

“You’re gonna make me cry-watch You’ve Got Mail again, aren’t you?” you say, leaning on the counter.

Bucky shrugs. “If you do, I’ll pretend not to notice.”

You grin at him, warm and unguarded, and Bucky has to take a second to process it before he answers. “You’ve Got Mail it is.”

Later, back at the house, you sit curled up on your usual corner of the couch with your legs tucked under you, munching on apple slices while Bucky fiddles with the remote. Sam’s already texted the group chat to say he’s crashing at the Tower tonight. (“Don’t wait up. Also, don’t steal my Oreos again.”) You and Bucky both ignore the last part.

About halfway through the movie, you shift closer. Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, until your head finds its way to his shoulder and your hand settles gently on his knee.

“I like this,” you murmur, voice a little drowsy.

“The movie?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No. This.”

He swallows hard. “Yeah. Me too.”

He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t have to. Your presence is comfort enough. Later, when you both climb into his bed without a word, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Bucky knows one thing for sure:

You’ve moved in. Not just into his room.

But into him.

You crawl into bed with Bucky again that night. It’s the same as always now, and you fall asleep pretty easily. 

Sam unexpectedly comes back home—after a very late night at the Tower, he decided that he would rather sleep in his room back here with you two. He pops his head into Bucky’s room to let him know he’s home. “Hey, Buck, I— what.” 

Sam stops and stares. You’re tucked into Bucky’s side with your head half on your pillow and half on his chest. Sam looks around the room and sees your Apple watch charger, your phone charger, your sweatshirt, sunglasses, even your lemonade sitting on a coaster on the nightstand. Bucky is still awake and wide eyed now, unsure how he’s going to explain this to Sam. 

“Are y’all dating?” Sam asks accusingly, keeping his voice down enough so as not to wake you. 

“I don’t think so…?” Bucky replies. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “This looks like she lives in here.”

“Yeah, well… she kinda does.” 

Sam snorts. “You should tell her, Buck.”

“Yeah, I know.”

It’s raining the next morning, and the world feels quieter than usual—slowed down and softened by the overcast sky. You’re sitting at the kitchen table in one of Bucky’s T-shirts, legs curled up under you, sipping coffee and reading a worn paperback. Bucky’s at the stove, flipping pancakes, because you’d sleepily mumbled something about them before crawling out of bed, and he takes your cravings very seriously.

He watches you from the corner of his eye. You're home here—completely, comfortably home. And maybe Sam's right. Maybe you do deserve to know that this isn’t just about pancakes and movie nights and Apple watch chargers. Maybe you deserve more than "almost."

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, setting a plate down in front of you.

You glance up and smile. “Hi.”

He doesn’t sit right away. Just stands beside your chair for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I say something kinda stupid?”

You raise a brow. “Always.”

He takes a deep breath. “I think… I think I’ve been accidentally dating you. For a while. Without ever telling you.”

You blink. “Accidentally?”

Bucky shrugs, sheepish. “I mean. You live in my room. You fall asleep next to me every night. You make your eggs weird and I still like ’em. I think that counts for something.”

You set your book down slowly, eyes soft. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he starts, then stops, trying again with a quiet laugh, “I wanna stop pretending I don’t love every second of being yours. And if you want that too… I’d really like to officially call this something.”

You smile at him then, a little shy, but your heart is already wide open.

You reach for your fork, poke a bite of pancake, and say, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bucky echoes.

You nod. “Yes.”

He looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of this one, quiet, perfect moment. Then, he grins. “Okay. Yes.”

You chew your bite of pancake, then pause, tilting your head at him with a mock-serious expression.

“But I do have one condition.”

Bucky leans on the table, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

You point at your plate. “Keep making me breakfast. And when you ask if I need anything…”

His smile deepens, eyes crinkling. “Lemme guess. Apples?”

You grin. “Yes. And apples.”

taglist @spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13 @wpdarlingpan @puer-aurea

[rumpelree]

CW: Implied/referenced child death/corpse, disturbing themes + possible eyestrain (unsure but, just in case, since the rgb is slightly difficult to look at for me personally- idk if I like it, it’s very blurry and terribly hard to read)

💕It’s been so long since I’ve posted to Tumblr, I make so much art but only ever post it to my YT community tab aaaa- but came back here to post this since I’m particularly stoked with it

I’ve had this idea for a short little doodle comic for awhile heheheheh- before he stops visiting her and it becomes way too much for him to handle in every sense, he instead copes in not the best way and visits his child’s dead body/dead body holder like things are completely normal- but no, he’s losing his marbles. There is hardly a marble to be found. He brings her stuff, brushes her hair, talks to her, etc.

Since this idea has been in my brain so long and making me very squeamish/uncomfortable, I thought it would be perfect to illustrate. XD Not sponsored by Hostess btw, I just picked a random snack food that was around in the 80s to have William try and feed a robot while his daughter’s rotting body is just like…there right below that- he doesn’t expect Circus Baby to eat it, and she doesn’t, she’s shut off and also isn’t built to eat. He’s just playing house, so to speak.

I also wanted this to show in the dialogue, Liz was 12 when she died in my AU, obviously not a small child- but here he’s speaking as if he’s speaking to a much smaller child than a 12 year old, because while she was his baby and would be at any age, here it’s supposed to be like. He’s IMAGINING her younger, as a way to cope. It’s not something he can keep up forever though, what with all the rotting and such. Grief amirite guyssss

[charmed-quill]

Notes// G.W x Reader

Authors note at end.

Summary: She broke her arm in the first match of the season—thanks to George Weasley and a bludger to the hand. Now he won’t stop bothering her. Between bruised pride, early practices, and far too many pick-up lines, she might be falling for the one person she swore she couldn’t stand.

Word count: 2.2k

By some miracle—or perhaps sheer dumb luck—she had made it six years on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team without breaking a single bone. There had been plenty of close calls: a few bad sprains that kept her limping through Herbology, a fractured wrist after an unfortunate tumble off her broom, and enough bruises to make her look like she lost a fight with a rogue Hippogriff. But never a full break. Not until today. Not until this disaster of a match.

Of course, it had to happen in the first game of the season: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. A game everyone looked forward to—and one she’d been quietly dreading since she was named captain. Things started going wrong right from the opening whistle, and before she knew it, the match devolved into complete chaos.

It was as if the fates had conspired against her. Her beaters, Pollard and Bennett, were useless, dropping their bats at a crucial moment—who even does that?—leaving her wide open to the bludgers. Her fellow chasers, Arellano and Swanson, somehow managed to track the wrong Gryffindor chaser for most of the match, practically escorting Katie Bell up and down the pitch while Angelina Johnson casually scored goal after goal.

And then, of course, there were the Weasley twins. One of them—she could never tell which—sent a bludger hurtling straight toward her hand with an almost artistic precision, as if aiming for maximum pain. In a flash, the bat-sized ball collided with her outstretched fingers, and the snap of bone was loud enough to drown out her own gasp.

The whole disaster played out in less than two seconds, a symphony of unfortunate moments working in perfect, disastrous harmony.

And just like that, she was grounded. Their substitute chaser was out sick with dragon pox, so they had no choice but to forfeit the match. Gryffindor celebrated their early-season win with a chorus of cheers, and she was left nursing her broken arm and bruised pride.

She had only one word to describe the entire ordeal: shitshow.

Madam Pomfrey mended her arm in less time than it took to explain what happened—two minutes of wand work, a flick of Skelegrow, and not a hint of sympathy. The real pain came afterward, though, in the form of a twenty-minute verbal lashing she unleashed on her teammates back in the locker room.

“We’ve been practicing this since September! Do you have any idea how hard it is to book the pitch for Tuesdays and Thursdays? How many hours I’ve spent drawing up these plays?” she snapped, pacing back and forth like a restless lioness. Her teammates sat slumped on the benches, still in their mud-streaked uniforms, looking anywhere but at her.

“And for what? So you two”—she jabbed a finger toward Arellano and Swanson—“could follow Bell around like a couple of lost kneazles? Johnson had the bloody Quaffle!”

Swanson muttered an apology, but she didn’t let up.

“And you two!” she turned sharply to Pollard and Bennett. “I swear to Merlin, if you ever drop those bats again, I’ll personally find a way to glue them to your hands. I don’t care if it takes a Permanent Sticking Charm.”

Silence fell over the locker room like a heavy fog.

“Get it together,” she warned, her voice low and dangerous. “Or I’ll recruit an entirely new team. The only person doing their job out there was Diggory.”

Without another word, she yanked her broom from the corner and stalked out of the locker room, the sound of her boots echoing in the empty corridor. Her arm still ached—Pomfrey’s magic was quick, but it never took the sting out entirely—and the throbbing pain matched the growing frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She hadn’t made it far when she heard it:

“Hey, L/N! Wait up!”

She stopped dead in her tracks, shoulders tensing. She knew that voice. And of course, because the universe loved testing her patience, George Weasley came jogging up beside her, looking annoyingly cheerful for someone who’d just shattered her hand.

“Not now, Weasley,” she said flatly, gripping her broom tighter. “I’m really not in the mood.”

He didn’t take the hint. “Are you mad at me for breaking your arm?” he asked, easily matching her brisk pace.

She let out a sigh through clenched teeth, her stomach growling irritably. All she wanted was food—something hot, greasy, and fast—followed by about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“No, I’m mad at my team for being a bunch of idiots. Even if I was mad at you, what difference would it make?” she shot back, quickening her pace toward the castle gates.

George only shrugged, grinning like he had all the time in the world. “I feel bad.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s Quidditch. I knew what I was signing up for.”

He wasn’t getting the message. No, he kept walking beside her, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes, as if they were out for a pleasant morning stroll.

“Still,” he continued, “I know breaking a bone sucks. Let me make it up to you.”

Her patience snapped like her radius. She whirled around, nearly smacking him with the end of her broom. “Weasley. For the love of Merlin, leave me alone.”

It was rude, maybe a bit harsh, but at that point, she didn’t care. She just needed him to go away.

To her annoyance, George only grinned wider, raising his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I get it. Message received.”

Finally, he turned on his heel, heading back toward the pitch with that same easygoing swagger that made her want to hex him.

She exhaled heavily. Thank god.

---

By the next morning, she had buried herself in the safety of the Hufflepuff common room, avoiding human interaction like it was contagious. She needed space, time to stew, and more importantly, time to fix the mess her team had made.

For two straight days, she holed herself up with her Quidditch playbook, scrawling new strategies until the margins were filled with ink stains and furious scribbles. When Monday morning rolled around, she dragged her team out of bed at 4 a.m. sharp, ignoring their groans and protests. They had practice, and she was not in the mood for excuses.

By the time the sun was up, the lot of them were caked in mud, panting and limping toward the showers. She could practically feel their glares burning holes in her back.

Good. Let them be mad. She didn’t care. Early practice always put her in a good mood, and after the weekend she’d had, she needed it.

Humming softly to herself, she made her way to Transfiguration, her hair still damp from the shower and her spirits lighter than they’d been in days.

That is, until George Weasley slid into the seat beside her, grinning like a cat with cream.

---

“Mornin’, L/N,” George Weasley said with that infuriatingly cheerful grin as he leaned back in his chair, balancing precariously on two legs. His red hair was still ruffled from the wind, and a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, like someone who'd already caused trouble before breakfast.

She shot him a sidelong glare, her earlier good mood evaporating like steam rising off the dewy Quidditch pitch.

“Go away, Weasley,” she muttered, already regretting not choosing a seat farther from him.

Naturally, George chuckled. The same way he always did, soft, teasing, and just enough to set her teeth on edge.

She had caught sight of the Gryffindor team trudging their way up to the pitch at six that morning, right as her Hufflepuff team was making their way back down toward the castle for breakfast. Her teammates had been dragging their feet, faces twisted with exhaustion, but she? She had practically floated all the way to the Great Hall, feeling fresh and ready for the day. There was nothing like an early win, especially when it came at the expense of her own team’s suffering.

George gave her a sideways glance, like he knew exactly how smug she felt. “Productive morning, then?” he asked, still rocking dangerously on the back legs of his chair.

She smirked. “It was.”

“Ready for Ravenclaw next month?” he pressed, tapping his quill against the desk absentmindedly.

“Always,” she replied curtly, shifting her focus to her Transfiguration notes.

George didn’t seem ready to drop the conversation, though. She could see it out of the corner of her eye—the way his mouth twitched, words forming on the tip of his tongue—but before he could say anything else, Professor McGonagall strode into the room, her sharp gaze silencing even the rowdiest students. The room fell into obedient quiet as she began explaining the logistics of the Epoximise spell, her wand drawing neat, glowing diagrams in the air.

Y/N took the opportunity to immerse herself in the lecture, her quill scratching diligently across parchment. If she could just ignore George, maybe he’d get bored and leave her alone.

But that was wishful thinking.

“Oi, L/N,” he whispered, his voice low and insistent beside her

She kept her eyes glued to the front of the room, ignoring him.

A soft poke landed on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, determined to outlast him.

Then a piece of parchment slid across the desk, brushing against her hand. She glanced down, glaring at George through her eyelashes. He grinned, eyes bright with mischief, and gestured for her to open it.

Curiosity got the better of her, and with a quiet sigh, she unfolded the note.

“I hope you know CPR, ‘cause you take my breath away.”

A laugh bubbled up inside her, but she pressed her lips together, forcing it down. She grabbed her quill, scribbling a response in quick, slanted handwriting.

“4/10. I’ve heard better.”

She passed the note back with a smirk, enjoying the way George’s grin widened when he read her reply. He scratched the back of his head as if deep in thought, then leaned over his parchment again, scrawling something new.

When the note landed in front of her, she unfolded it with a sense of anticipation she knew she shouldn’t feel.

“I must’ve had some Felix Felicis, ‘cause I think I’m about to get lucky.”

This time, she couldn’t help it, a short, sharp laugh escaped her before she could clap a hand over her mouth. Several students turned to look at her, and even McGonagall paused mid-sentence to glance their way with a disapproving arch of her brow.

Y/N’s cheeks flamed as she slouched lower in her seat, stifling the rest of her giggles

She leaned over her parchment and wrote back quickly.

“7/10. That one was pretty good.”

George gave a triumphant little chuckle as he read her reply, clearly pleased with himself. She could feel him watching her now, waiting—probably hoping—she’d glance up and meet his gaze. But she stubbornly kept her eyes on her parchment. If she looked at him now, she knew she'd be blushing in seconds. And the last thing she needed was for George Weasley to know how charming she found him.

The next note slid across the desk, folding neatly into her hand like a gift she hadn’t asked for but couldn’t refuse.

“Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I’ll give it back.”

A grin spread across her face before she could stop it. Merlin, he was insufferable.

“10/10. Bold.”

She slipped the note back to him, her heart doing an annoying little flip when their fingers brushed for the briefest moment.

Before George could dream up another ridiculous pick-up line, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. McGonagall’s voice cut through the air, dismissing the students with a crisp, “That will be all for today. Don’t forget to practice your spells before next lesson.”

Y/N scrambled to shove her books and notes into her bag, suddenly realizing that George had managed to distract her so thoroughly she hadn’t written down anything about the Epoximise spell. Brilliant. Now I’ve got no notes and new Quidditch plays to plan.

She slipped out of the classroom quickly, hoping to make her escape before George had the chance to follow. But, as always, he was one step ahead.

She made it twenty minutes into her break before he found her again, sliding into the seat beside her at a table in the library like he belonged there.

This time, she was the one to start the game, sliding a fresh piece of parchment across to him with a smirk.

“Did you get lost?”

George’s response came almost immediately.

“Only in your eyes.”

She groaned quietly, rolling her eyes as she scribbled back.

“1/10. Predictable and contrived.”

George huffed, his quill hovering over the parchment as if he was seriously contemplating his next move. He tapped the tip against the page a few times before finally writing a single word:

“Hogsmeade?”

Her heart stuttered. She could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face, waiting for her answer. For a moment, she just stared at the word on the parchment, her mind racing.

Then, slowly, she wrote her response, her hand shaking just slightly.

“10/10, of course.”

She pushed the note back toward him, her cheeks warm as she dared to glance up at him for the first time.

The grin on George’s face was absolutely dazzling—and it was all for her.

A/n: I was going through my old doodle docs and I stumbled upon a gold mine of fics from previous accounts that I had. So I’m gonna jazz them up a bit and re-post them. If you feel like this fic is familiar it probably is I’ve had like 1 million tumblr accounts lol

[davidaltofsky]

Alan happily wrapped his arms tightly around Kurt, running his hand up and down that firm back as tenderly as he could while listening to the young man, his heart breaking a little for him as he spoke. He let his hand gently slip up so he could gently brush the back of Kurt’s hair, innocent as could be even considering how he had just been balls deep in the man seconds earlier. He nuzzled against his young love, the sweetness of the moment between them was truly something special “Well I do try, someone should always be making you feel good and if that someone is me… well, that makes me even luckier” he whispered cheekily, his hands moving down a little to rest right on the man’s shoulders as he just listened to what Kurt wanted. Just the image of Kurt fully at his mercy was enough to have him twitching with anticipation “Well now that’s something I’m going to admit, I wasn’t expecting… but I’m happy to try with you. Seeing you tied down at my mercy, I’m sure I can have quite a bit of fun with that” he whispered, reaching up to lovingly play with Kurt’s hair as he enjoyed the moment.

He took a moment to think about what he might try doing with Kurt, the list of kinks that Alan had done in his life was truly something else and he had more than a few things he’d never even bring up in Kurt’s presence since they were only for work, but as he thought about it the more he had one idea. “Well… OK, I have one but it’s obviously a bit of a big deal” eh whispered, his hand running along Kurt’s thigh as tenderly as he could “Might not be considered much of a kink by most people but for me it’s a thing that I’ve not really done since… well, since I was about your age actually” he chuckled awkwardly as he looked to Kurt “... maybe you could top me sometime. I know you’re quite the bottom yourself, I think having great asses is just a family trait at this point but… well, haven’t had anyone fuck my ass in decades and if anyone was to break that streak, I’d want it to be you” he whispered with a small smile, looking tenderly into the other man’s eyes “Does that sound like something you’d even be interested in? You can absolutely say no, just a little thought I had”

Kurt giggled. "Not completely but getting there, Daddy" he said, his nose rubbing on Alan's gently. It was amazing how after everything they had made that day, they could still be soft and gentle like that. "That's just because that powerful dick of yours squeezes it out me" he said with a soft chuckle, then carefully pulled himself off Alan's cock, but sat back down immediately to cuddle on the man's lap. "Hmm... A twunk, huh? Now that's something I never, ever thought someone would say of me. Not of chubby cheek boy no one turned to take a second look at." He chuckled, although there was a small hint of sadness in his words. Those earlier high school years were rough on his self-confidence, no matter how much he made it seem like things rolled right over him. But even then, he had always counted on Alan, his beloved father, with a kind word, a strong hot, and a lot of cheesecake to fight the blues. Luckily now he had more than that. He had the man who turned out to be the love of his life.

"A list? I'll have to think about that, although I can asure you there's no way you could ever not pleasure me, Daddy. Everything about you does, and always will." He grinned. "However, that doesn't mean every now and then we could get kinky and playful while giving each other pleasure, right?" He wiggled on Alan's lap. "Let's do something- I tell you one thing, and then you tell me one thing. And maybe we can make up a nice list, okay?" He bit his lip down, while he considered his response for a couple of seconds. "I think... I'd like to try being tied down. Being unable to move, perhaps also unable to see, while you touch me in ways that make me insane with desire..." He giggled. "Now you!"

[dr-skazka]

I’ve realised I’ve never posted this silly meme here aksksks

What if my Stanley…. But he trans…

[hrh-spinach]

ABQ BLUE

2017

dir: Kathryn Bigelow

Starring: Gary Oldman; Timothée Chalamet; Michael Chiklis; Andre Braugher; John Cusak; Charlize Theron; Rebecca Hall; Jena Malone; Gil Birmingham

[arolesbianism]

Some more team captain ids! This time with the middle layer gang 👍

[r0semultiverse]

I wanna make a new Youtube bio and things that feel less “this person just calls themselves an ally” because times have changed and language, phrases, and attitudes change too.

I kinda want to do something casual?? Like “hey what’s up I’m Rose, I voice act and just kind of post whatever I want whenever I want. If you’re here for consistency you’ve come to the wrong place! If you’re here for personality then welcome, I hope you’ve found something you enjoy and if not, that’s okay too!”

Anyone got ideas on what I should do or should I just leave it as is? 🧐

[yeonzzzn]

Heeseung teaching inexperienced reader how to ride him while he sucks on her titties wtfhsjshekwjekke

“fuck, baby, just like that.” heeseung moans against your breast, mouth wrapped around your nipple as his tongue flicks the sensitive bud. one hand gripped tightly on your waist while the other cups your other breast, “you’re doing so so good baby.”

you bite down on your bottom lip, fingers digging into his shoulders as you ride him. legs growing weak and shaky as your hips roll. the fear of you riding his cock wrong still sat at the back of your mind, but hearing heeseung’s moans and feeling his mouth switch to your other nipple shreds that fear almost away.

it wasn’t even an hour ago you sat right beside your best friend on this coach spreading nonsense chatter as you usually do as you both play video games on his tv. but somehow this idle chatter turned into a real conversation, one you were not expecting.

“what you mean you’ve never ridden a dick before?!” heeseung raises a brow at you, eyes still locked onto the fighting game you’re both playing, “you’re not a virgin, I was literally a bedroom away when you lost your v-card! and you’ve had multiple partners since then!”

you groan at the stupid memory from a high school end of the year party. heeseung dragged you to it, saying bullshit equivalent to “Y/N, it’s the end of our senior year! we are about to graduate! loosen up a bit!” then proceeded to put drinks in your hand and you somehow ended up in park sunghoon’s bedroom upstairs on your back and him between your legs after flirting with him the entire night. it wasn’t the ideal way to lose your virginity, mostly since your best friend was indeed the next bedroom over fucking the most popular girl in your class, but here we are.

“don’t remind me,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing the playstation controller onto the coffee table, “but just because i’ve slept with a few guys doesn’t mean we did anything but missionary.” which was true. you’ve had multiple partners over the last few years but they were either one night stands or quick fucks. always ended with you on your back and that’s it.

this perks and idea into heeseung’s brain, tilting his head to the side and staring up at his ceiling, “I could teach you, if you want.” you laugh way too loud. he couldn’t be serious. but you see the way he looks back at you as he too, sets the controller down, “i’m being serious, Y/N.”

you swallow, is this okay? to have your best friend teach you a new sec position? and to do it GOOD? you already know heeseung is some sex god, he brags about it all the time…so you know it would be worth it. you can’t deny and say you haven’t thought about what his cock buried deep within you felt like. and he’s practically giving handing you that pass.

“i-if you’re okay with it…” you whisper.

and god was he okay with it. heeseung didn’t hesitate pulling you into his lap and closing his mouth around yours. he could feel your tremble under his touch and fuck it was making him hard as hell. “now, just do as I say, okay?” he says between kisses, hands now cupping your ass, “but I also need you to understand at any point you feel uncomfortable tell me and we’ll stop.”

you stare in his eyes and knew, you wouldn’t want to.

heeseung keeps his eyes locked with yours as he strips you bare, loving the feeling of your hands removing his clothing afterwards. loves the swallow of your throat and heaving of your chest as you stare at his cock, mouth nearly watering at how red the tip was. heeseung has been in love with you since the day you guys met, and finally having you in his lap, naked, in his apartment was the best dream come true.

he helps guide you to where you’re hovering over him, tip pressed gently to your entrance. you clench around the small amount of him you can feel, fingers pulling at the cushion of the couch behind him. you shook with absolute fear that you’re going to be terrible at this. “slowly slide down on me,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours. you do as he says, sneaking down until he filled you completely, thighs clenching his hips as you both let out a desperate moan. you’re so tightly wrapped around him and fuck he could climax just by the pressure of your cunt surrounding him.

“now,” he breathes out shakily, “start with slowly moving your hips, once you get the feel of it you can use your legs to help shift you up and down my cock. we’ll start with those two steps.”

and fuck he was going to die right here on this couch. one slow movement from you was all it took for him to fling his head back and clinch your waist, nails leaving crescent moons in your skin.

now here you are, his mouth attached to your tits as you bounce on him. what turned into just teaching you how to ride a cock resulted into a full out fuck fest. you can’t get enough of him, and he of you. you didn’t want to stop—not with how fucking good the tip of him felt as he hit your spot, treating to break the barrier that’s keeping him from fully and completely being inside of you. you knew you’d cum at any moment, the clench of your pussy was the give away of it, and heeseung knew it too.

he released his mouth from your tits, hands placed firmly at your hips and he flings his head back, your swollen nipples brushing his chest with each rock of your hips. heeseung’s pupils were dilated and face so fucked out, he was going to burst at any moment too. and you relished in it, “you’re doing so good for me baby, taking my cock so well.”

you really don’t know what came over you after hearing those words, but your fingers were in his red hair, tilting his head further back into the couch, free hand still gripping his shoulder, “fuck I love your cock,” you whimper, “i’m going to cum—“ and heeseung bucked his hips up in time with your movements, shoving himself so deep and hard into you.

“cum with me baby,” he begs, mouth gapped and eyes locked in with yours, one of his hands leaving your hip to gently wrap around your neck, giving a small and gently squeeze. that pressure along had you climaxing on him, clenching down harder and that being enough for heeseung to spill his load into you.

you drop against him, feeling his arms wrap around you, “well,” he says out of breath, “you definitely know how to ride dick now.” you hum in response, having the confidence to do so. but sit up and look at him, knowing deep down you don’t want to ride any other cock that isn’t his. and you knew he was thinking the same thing.

[maskedbyghost]

more possessive!reader and our man Simon? hell yes!

You leave your stuff at his place like it’s your second apartment. Hair ties on his nightstand, your clothes in his laundry. That one lip balm he pretends not to use but absolutely does. He once found your earring on his pillow and sat there staring at it for ten minutes straight.

You correct girls when they flirt with him. Not rudely. Just with some subtle things. “He doesn’t like gin, actually,” with a little smile. “Simon’s more of a bourbon guy.” Meanwhile, Simon’s standing behind you, blinking like a confused dog. He didn’t even know he was a bourbon guy until you said so.

He starts dressing the way you like without realizing it. You complimented his black joggers once? Suddenly, they’re in heavy rotation. Mention his cologne smells good? He’s wearing it to the grocery store. You say, “I like when you leave your hair messy like that,” and now he’s suspiciously tousled 24/7.

You use your phone like a weapon. Screenshotting girls who like his pics. “This one again?” with a raised eyebrow. Sending him selfies when he’s out late with a little “missing you” just to make sure he’s thinking about you.

Simon tries to stay cool, tries to act unbothered. But then you say something like, “I don’t like when other girls touch you,” and he’s short-circuiting. Sitting there all red-eared and tense like his body’s trying to pretend it’s not turning into goo.

You say “mine” a lot. Half-joking. Especially when someone flirts with him in front of you. You’ll just wrap your arms around his waist, smile up at him, and go, “God, you’re so mine,” like it’s nothing, and he eats it up.

He tries to “set boundaries” exactly one time. It lasts approximately three days before you show up looking hot, acting normal, and sleeping in his bed like nothing ever changed. He doesn’t bring it up again.

He gets real quiet sometimes. He just looks at you like he’s still trying to figure out how the hell he got here, with you wrapped around him, calling him “baby” like it’s always been his name. And then he just mutters, “How the fuck did I ever think we were just friends?”

He calls you bossy. You take it as a compliment. And let’s be honest, so does he. You tell him where to sit, when to eat, what show to watch—and the worst part? He likes it. It’s the only time his brain shuts off. Just nods and goes, “Yes, love,” like you didn’t just grab him by the collar and steer him like a Roomba.

You never pretend to be casual about him. You look at him like he belongs to you. Like the very idea of someone else getting his attention is personally offensive. He’ll be tying his boots, not even thinking about anything, and you’ll mutter, “I hope no one tries to flirt with you today. I don’t feel like playing nice.”

You get real smug when he shuts down other women. Like, you knew he would, but it still hits different hearing him say “nah, I’ve got someone” without hesitation. You’ll just smile to yourself and say, “Good boy,” when he gets home—and he’ll pretend to roll his eyes while trying not to get hard.

You don’t get jealous. You get territorial. There's a difference. Jealousy is insecure. Territorial is knowing you’ve already won and still refusing to let anyone look at your prize without remembering whose he is.

And he loves it. Loves the way you don’t play games. Loves that you’re all in. Loves that being with you feels like being chosen every day.

PART 3

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@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6