#from having to see the same posts again and again

[bowcard]

right i’m gonna say a couple things more based on the responses i’ve gotten to this post:

- the responses that scared me the most were the ones saying that the post helped them or eased their minds. so if this made you feel better instantly upon reading it, that isn’t good. next time you feel that way, i’d encourage you to do your own research in order to get out of the scared state you may be in. hell, i was afraid for a second too, but educating myself made me see the situation from a different perspective and allowed me to not give into the fear that a lot of people in our world want me to live in. never let your perspective be dictated by one stranger on the internet, you are very capable of doing the same as i did.

- i’m very grateful for the different responses and perspectives i got on this post, and i would highly recommend anyone seeing different opinions on this (or any) issue to broaden any perspectives. a lot of people want the same end result, but have different ideas on how to get there. however, it’s impossible to fight for what we’re all fighting for alone.

- i’ll reiterate again, please do not take time out of your day to be selfish. right now, many middle eastern countries are being attacked and targeted by people who have too much power, so if you truly want to help, lifting up their voices is crucial. i turned off reblogs on this post because people started spreading blatant and hateful misinformation, so please, do what you can to combat that by doing your part to put more hope into the world.

thank you all for listening, i’m glad i helped a lot of you, now do what you can to inform yourself and stay educated

hey guys, i’m here to relieve you of your fear-mongering For You Page, here’s what we know:

1. this is not “world war 3”. that would be insane, unrealistic, unnecessary, and would never happen immediately off of one (albeit, awful) event like this. absolutely no country wants to go to war right now lol. anyone who makes any joke or post about “getting drafted” or “we’re all gonna die” has not done a lick of research, do not engage with it. plus, we’ve been at war with the middle east for ages, so for them, the timing of this attack is a bigger shock than the attack itself.

2. people in the US are not going to get hurt. more than likely, the worst this can get is some type of gulf war with the middle east limiting access to our resources, which still isn’t ideal. the best course of action for iran right now is to control what they can, which probably means cutting off the strait of hormuz, a strait that runs to the US (and other places) and provides it with resources like oil. (at least, that’s what i predict will happen based on the research i have done, but the resources part still stands). the US military is too advanced and too strong for an attack on US soil to be a strategic move for iran (a country with a population less than a third of the US’s) because they know that whatever they do, the US military will hit back even harder (that is apparent from one of trump’s latest social media posts… that heinous bitch 😒)

3. president trump wants you to be living in fear. that’s what his entire platform has been run on, along with lies and hypocrisy that more and more people are starting to see through. whatever happens in the future, this will be a huge turning point for a lot of individuals who may or may not care about who they voted for. but for those who did not ask for this, here’s what we can do:

stop making everything about the fear in the US and do what you can to lift up the people of iran, the people who were actually attacked, especially if this situation progresses any further. if military attacks do break out, it will most likely be on iranian soil, not the US’s, so do your best to try to be selfless, even through the fear.

please for the love of god do your own research, and keep it as unbiased as possible. news articles, reports, even historical articles, anything is better than scrolling through tiktok or tumblr and making your anxiety even worse. don’t even take what i say as fact! yes i’ve done research, but things can (and will) change, so it’s best to stay updated in whatever way you can.

spread positivity, build community, and gather information. as civilians, that is our current best course of action, and our collective greatest strengths. living in fear is feeding into what our government wants you to feel like so you’re easier to control. do not let them.

this is my own pet peeve, but stop saying “we bombed iran” or “we started a war”. WE did not do anything. donald trump did. that is not the america i associate with, nor should it be the one you associate with, either.

lastly, and i’ll say this until i die, everything is going to be okay. there will be issues, of course, but it won’t last forever, i promise. take a break from doomscrolling and get a good night’s rest. stay safe 🫶

[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!)

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ 💜 anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[littlegrapejuice]

Grid Mum 7 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Kimi gets his first podium, and you're crying like you just witnessed your kid walk for the first time. Bonus: Franco being bullied on a plane.

Author's Note: I'm still so so happy ab kimi's podium, i was fr super proud and i can't wait for him to get others + for the rest of the rookies to get one in the future🤍

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part

Kimi didn’t care about what people would think. He didn’t care about how it would look when his first instinct after hugging his team was to make his way towards the sea of Red Bull employees. Because amongst those employees who were here in parc fermé to celebrate Max’s P2, there was you.

Your smile was wide, cheeks almost hurting. And as soon as your eyes met Kimi’s, you grinned harder – if that was even possible.

“You did it!” You told Kimi once his arms were around you.

“I did it!” He echoed your words. His voice was muffled by his helmet, but the happiness and joy were obvious.

Pulling back from his embrace, your hands went to hold Kimi’s helmet. The rookie noticed that your eyes were tearing up a bit, and his couldn’t help but do the same too.

“That was a wonderful race, Kimi. I’m so proud of you.” Your tone was soft, conveying how genuine you were.

“Thank you!” Kimi’s eyes were enough to express his gratitude for your support, and they showed that he was smiling under his helmet. When someone from his team called him for his post-race duties before the podium, he quickly turned towards the voice then met your eyes once again. “Bye, I love you!” Next thing you know, he was gone from your side.

It wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal that Kimi was saying that he loved you – you had been mothering him since the season had started and had supported him through his unfortunately numerous DNFs. But still, it made you feel warm inside.

You observed as Kimi hugged George once again before Max went to congratulate him as well. You obviously would’ve loved to see your boyfriend winning this race, but this would definitely be one of your favourite podiums of the year – it wasn’t everyday that one of your grid kids featured on it. And such a wholesome scene it was to watch, as Max had a wide smile on his face while spraying Kimi with champagne. The tension between him and George had dissipated despite the accusations they had made against each other during the safety car earlier. They were just both enjoying their podiums and appreciating their own success – they also had to play pretend at being a happy little family to not ruin Kimi’s first podium.

You were truly over the moon for both Max and Kimi, so you obviously wanted to celebrate with them. And despite Kimi desperately wishing he could say yes, he had been forced to refuse:

“I can’t go partying… I got homework”, he reminded you as he thought about his final exams awaiting him.

“Then we’ll celebrate later if you graduate”, Max said with a shrug.

“When you graduate”. You sent a look to Max, one that meant to be invested in Kimi’s education even if Max’s hadn’t been his focus years ago.

“Yeah… if, when… same thing.”

“It’s not!” You and Kimi both argued.

“Have some faith in me, mate. I studied hard for this”, Kimi claimed.

“We studied hard”, George added as he joined the conversation.

“You’re not the one doing the exam, though. Not sure you could even manage”, you teased him.

“Please, I could ace it.” George raised an eyebrow at you, a challenging look in his eyes. “Could you?”

“I’m pretty sure I helped Kimi more than you did. Weren’t you the one who delegated the work to the engineers?”

You and George held eye contact for several seconds, neither of you looking away. That was until Kimi intervened.

“Okay guys, please no weird tension.” Kimi waved his hand in front of your and George’s faces, thus breaking the eye contact between the two of you. “Max and George finally figured their shit out – kinda, I don’t need another Verstappen-Russell fall out.”

“Good thing I ain’t a Verstappen, then.”

Yet, Max wanted to add. Even Kimi and George thought the same thing, both of them knowing that it was only a matter of time before it would eventually happen. You were practically one already, and it wasn’t an actual change in last names or a ring on your finger that would ever affect how you relationship with Max already was.

…..

Despite you skipping the F1: The Movie premiere in NYC, it almost felt like you were there with how much the rookies were talking about you. Due to the drivers all going to the same place, it made sense that some of them would be sharing a plane. So that was how Ollie, Franco, and Gabriel ended up travelling together with Lando.

“You should’ve forced her to come with us if you were gonna miss her that much”, Lando complained. He was so close to texting you to leave Max wherever he was and to come get your kids.

“Max didn’t want to come so… whose plus one she would’ve even been?” Ollie asked. “I have my girlfriend already.”

“Same,” Gabriel said with a nod.

“I would have gladly taken her if I didn’t care about the risks of Max running me off track once the pictures would be released. Imagine this: Max’s girlfriend was Lando’s plus one at the premiere, I’m done for!”

“I could have taken her”, Franco chimed in.

“Oh trust me, we know.” Gabriel rolled his eyes at Franco's words, and leaned back in his seat.

Lando and Ollie looked at each other, not sure whether they understood what was going on.

“Are we missing something?” Lando wondered.

Gabriel opened his mouth to explain the situation, before Franco interrupted him:

“Nothing’s going on, no. You’re not missing any vital piece of information.” Franco put on his best innocent smile and tried to think of a way to change the topic.

“That’s a lie”, Gabriel argued. “See, little Franco there did the only thing we had told him not to.”

“Which was?” Lando asked.

But Gabriel didn’t even have time to reply, that Ollie immediately understood what had happened.

“You did not?!” His accusatory tone was directed towards Franco, as Ollie couldn’t believe it.

“Maybe…?” Franco looked away, not liking his business being aired out.

“When was it?” Ollie questioned both Gabriel and Franco, his eyes darting between the two rookies.

“When was what?” Lando was completely lost, and he was definitely not enjoying being excluded from the drama.

“We gave one rule to Franco before Imola,” Ollie finally explained. “Just one tiny little rule.”

“Don’t flirt with Max’s girlfriend”, Gabriel added.

“Okay.” Lando was carefully listening and nodding, showing his investment in the story. “And how long did it take him to break it? Two, three weeks?”

“A day”, Gabriel said.

“A day?” Ollie repeated. “That’s insane, Franco. Imola was…” Ollie started counting in his head, to figure out when it had happened. “More than a month ago! We should revoke any grid mum privilege you’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t have many to start with”, Franco muttered.

“Does Max know?” Lando had no idea whether he expected a positive or negative answer, just wanting to know more about the situation.

“He apparently threatened Franco”, Gabriel explained with a snicker.

“That was traumatising. I had Mad Max in front of me,” Franco dramatised.

“Now that’s something I would’ve liked to see!” Lando started laughing, imagining how Max had intimidated the young driver. “He hasn't driven you into the wall since then, though. So consider him being generous with you.”

“Wanna know what I think?” When the three drivers nodded, Ollie shared his thoughts. “I feel like Max didn’t actually see you as a real threat. Sure you tried to flirt with his girlfriend–”

“Extremely fucked up of you to do that”, Gabriel interrupted Ollie to add his comment.

“Agreed. But yeah, Max is definitely not the guy to get insecure. He knew you had no real chance anyways”, Ollie finished explaining.

“Damn… you have no game, mate.”

“Lando, please don’t bully me as well.” Franco sighed. “I have game! But obviously, it works better when I’m not going after a taken woman!”

“We have yet to see this skill of yours this year”, Gabriel teased.

“Oh God…” Franco groaned as he put his head in his hands.

The Argentinian wouldn’t hear the end of it until the plane had landed. And he knew that once Isack as well as Liam would know, those two would definitely gang up on him too – spoiler: they did.

…..

Meanwhile, in Belgium…

Max had offered you to come see him race in Spa, and you had gladly accepted to show him your support while he pursued this new interest of his. You hadn’t given it a second thought, not really caring about missing the F1: The Movie premiere. Max might have taken you if you had truly wanted to go, but he hadn’t hidden at all the satisfied grin on his face when you had told him that you didn’t want to see Brad Pitt overtake your boyfriend and win all the races that Max had actually won last year.

So while most of the drivers were on their way to New York, you and Max were currently on your way to Spa after a quick pit stop back home. You had just finished typing a text to wish Kimi luck for his final exams, when your nose suddenly started itching right before your body forced you to sneeze.

“Bless you”, Max simply said without looking up from his phone. “Hope no one’s talking badly about you.”

“It might just be allergies”, you argued.

“Or the rookies not being able to shut up about you”, Max teased.

It was honestly your allergies acting up, but Max was also not wrong to trust a silly superstition for once.

..........

Taglist: @umm-i-love-u @callsign-mirage @freyathehuntress @elieanana @suns3treading @fastandcurious16 @l3thal-l0lita @urmomsgirlfriend1 @guacala @delululeclerc

Hope y'all enjoyed this!! I'm honestly loving writing short chaps in between double/triple headers bc it's like a nice change of pace so don't hesitate to tell me if y'all like them too :)

I think isack was acc on the same plane as them (idk ab liam bc bro appears nowhere) but when i eventually noticed, it was too late to change and i was too lazy to add him🤗

Also we reached 500 followers!! It still feels insane that there are this many people supporting me and my silly fics so thanks y'all🫶🏻🫶🏻

See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx

[redwinelewis]

LIKE A MERCEDES | LH44

type social media au

pairing lewis hamilton x chinese!reader

face claim lexie liu

song like a mercedes by lexie liu

summary in which lewis' singer girlfriend is part of the f1 the movie soundtrack

warnings none i think idk

author's note super short one bcs i've been wanting to write a smau with this song and lewis ❤️

english is not my first language. all pictures taken from instagram, pinterest and twitter. credit to owners.

masterlist

INSTAGRAM!

f1 and 5 others

liked by lewishamilton, roses_are_rosie and 1,836,938 others

f1 Here's the lineup for F1: The Movie soundtrack with a special track from two more mysterious acts 🏎️ Available June 27.

#F1 #F1TheAlbum

view all 2,728 comments

user TATE????

user user ln4 x t8 agenda continues to spread we love to see it

user DOJA?? ROSÉ???? TATE???????

user who are these people

user the way i only recognize like 2 of these singers

user MADISON BEER OMFG

user wait mysterious acts?

user LEWIS LIKED

user user everyday i manifest for an xnda comeback

user i wonder if lewis produces the soundtrack as well

user user dear god pls

yourinstagram

📍 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

liked by dprian, kikagomes and 3,836,899 others

yourinstagram do me, you don’t have to do me properly

view all 4,726 comments

user RARE LEWIS SIGHTING ON Y/N'S POST

user okay freaky

user HIS BACK 🫦

yourinstagram user behave

user y/n feed your children we're starving for a new album

user i love how she brags about her bf

user user i mean it's sir lewis hamilton. i would do the same.

user user real

user third pic is so bf lewis coded

user THE DRESS OMFG

user sir lewis can u fight

flavy.barla that dress 😍😍

lewishamilton

📍 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

liked by charles_leclerc, francolapinto and 2,826,314 others

lewishamilton 與你一路飛馳緊握著方向盤

view all 1,026 comments

user ok what is up with the caption

user user a vacation in brazil and he wrote the caption in mandarin he's so random 😭😭

user user i mean his gf is chinese right

user can someone tell me what the caption means the translate button isn't working

user user "Feeling like going on a joyride with you through the night" something like that

user user .... is this a lyric?

yourinstagram not fair!!!! that's my favourite part!!!!

yourinstagram yourinstagram and i told you not to post the fourth pic lew!!!!

lewishamilton yourinstagram You used my favourite part as well. And I love that photo

user yourinstagram lewishamilton HELLO WHAT'S GOING ON??????

user yourinstagram lewishamilton are yall teasing us a new single with those captions? 🤨

yourinstagram user no (yes)

user yourinstagram AHSKSHSHSJSKSH WHAT

yourinstagram

liked by jacksonwang852g7, lilymhe and 2,733,927 others

yourinstagram but you already know what i'm about to say 👀 LIKE A MERCEDES, my new single from F1: The Movie soundtrack featuring the one and only xnda is out now 🏎️

i have always admired lewis, on and off track. he is as passionate about music as he is about racing and making this song with him has been such an amazing experience. i hope you all love this song as much as we had fun making it ❤️

view all 3,570 comments

user OH I FUCKING KNEW IT

user FEATURING LEWIS??????

user XNDA IS BACKKKKKK

user is this a dream can somebody pinch me rn

user a new xnda song in the year of our lord 2025

user user "thank you y/n" we all say in unison

user this is everything to me btw

user this song is gonna be the only good thing from that fuck ass film

georgerussell63 Hell yeah! Let's go! 🙌🏻🔥

yourinstagram georgerussell63 thank you george! ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux song of the year ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourinstagram alexandrasaintmleux i love you ❤️❤️

tatemcrae a bop

lewishamilton and xnda

liked by yourinstagram, f1 and 7,836,644 others

lewishamilton Say less

view all 6,836 comments

user KMS POSTPONED

user whoremilton is back

user user we cheer

user i'm still processing the lyrics

user user this feels like "pipe" all over again

user his gf is so lucky 💔

user user thank you

yourinstagram user 🤨🤨

user user my bad queen 🙏🏽

yourinstagram you're so fucking amazing

lewishamilton yourinstagram Right back at ya darling

user lewishamilton DARLING 💗🩷🌷🌸♥️❣️❤️💘💖💝💞💟

user lewishamilton oh to be called darling by lewis hamilton

user this is already the best song from that movie

redwinelewis producing the film about the sport he conquered AND creates a song for its soundtrack.... sir lewis hamilton everybody ✨

[mona-risms]

Not exactly a request but food for thoughts. (Though if this did give you anything to work with I'd love to see what you turn up with.)

Mirror sex with Rumi because you just have to show her how pretty she is.

She didn't like her demon marks before the movie, her insecurity may still flare up every now and then afterwards even if it's lessened by the time the movie is over. Take her braid out and let her hair cascade around her like an electric purple waterfall.

(Very sure a life-long paralyzingly severe insecurity can't disappear over the course of a couple weeks or so. Especially when your own mother figure refuses to accept that part of you and explicitly treats it as a flaw.)

Kiss her face, her neck, arms, inner thighs, especially on the patterns. Prop her up, her back flush with your front so you're touching as much of her as possible, including the 'cursed' marks (that's a given.) make her face herself in the mirror while you touch her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear about how pretty she is.

If she denies it- tease her until she accepts the praise. Edge her a couple times, urging her to tell you things she does like about herself, her voice, her eyes... Watch her mascara run, by the way, she looks cute when you're thrusting your fingers into her cunt (make her agree with that statement as well). Her beautiful brown eyes look so pretty brimming with tears. Then slip in the marks again and just reassure her that she's beautiful, and the patterns are a part of her, and you love all of her.

In less than no time you'll have her fucked dumb enough to let go of her stress, if only for a little while.

Alright, that's enough horny for me. Good night !

I collapsed onto the floor WHAT THE HELL!!! I don't even know if I have anything to add to this I'm flabberghasted

How long do you think her hair would be first of all. Like. That's a longass fucking braid, surely it'd be like Stocking-level hair length right....or actually maybe even more so considering even Stocking's hair went down to her lower back at LEAST if tied up. Either way it's Very easy to just grip her hair so that she's Really facing the mirror properly

You ARE right in the fact that there's No Possible Fucking Way that she'd just stop feeling insecure all of a sudden when she essentially had shame and body dysphoria drilled into her very core just bc she was born half demon (A* parenting, Celine 😒). Hell, the first time the both of you have sex post-movie, she'd probably start off in the dark, and even then they still glow 🤷‍♀️. One must not be shocked if she needs to stop for the moment yk

Otherwise mother of FUCK man. Even her vision would get all blurry from the tears that keep building up and running down her cheeks do she can barely even see herself anyway, all while her entire body and ESPECIALLY her legs are Quivering Like Crazy and crying at the same time 😜😜😜😜 her cunt is so unbelievably slick from the amount of times you've edged her and for how long you've fingered her until she feels everything go so fucking hazy

Her patterns would most likely respond to the emotional overwhelm asw considering it seems like they tie together—you can easily tell when Rumi's at the very edge of cumming, so you can just draw your hand back and she whines loudly but she doesn't care, not when she's putting all her remaining brainpower to listen to you and do whatever you ask her just as long as you make her cum again so hard and make her squirt pleasepleasepleasegod--

Hey at least by the end of it she'll probably be thinking more of the way you've fucked her dumb bc of how much you love all of her instead of the lingering shame of her own ancestry and appearance 🫶 so like plan successful!!!!!

[sucker4vy]

BUSY WOMAN, UNLESS YOU CALL TONIGHT .ᐟ

PAIRING: pedro pascal x actress!reader

SYNOPSIS: Pedro and the reader have been caught together multiple times, and now, all eyes are on them more than ever after she’s spotted leaving his apartment. Though she hasn’t said or made the relationship official, she finally breaks her silence at the Gladiator II premiere when an interviewer asks about the recent sighting.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, age gap (reader is in her mid-late twenties), confusing!pedro, situationship, not technically a smau but does include comments and a few posts, the media is obsessed with reader and pedro, eventual smut, no use of yn (except for posts)

WC: 3.2k

A/N: not me taking a whole other day to finish it 😶 honestly this could’ve been so much longer than it was but next time just watch i’ll make it longer

series masterlist | next chapter

Pedro rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you to the door. He twists the lock and swings it open for you like the gentleman he always is.

As you’re about to step outside, you feel his hand slowly slip away, but it pauses when you do. Turning back to him, you ask, “I’ll see you at the premiere?” Accompanied by an awkward smile.

It’s a question you probably shouldn’t have asked, and judging by his expression, it’s one he’s caught off guard by. “You’re going?” He asks.

“I have nothing else to do that day.” You shy away from him. It was a lie but it’s one that would convince him the most.

Yet for some reason, it still didn't seem to work because disbelief flashed across, quickly replaced by skepticism. “You? Not busy?” You nod curiously at his reaction. “I don’t believe it.”

“Well, believe it,” You laugh softly to yourself and you see his lips twitch, but he’s back to his serious—no, trying to be serious self.

But he can’t help it when the room is filled with silence for another second and then he cracks. He bursts into a hearty laughter and his hand glides up to your nape, guiding your head toward his for a quick peck on the lips.

“Now, I do.” His gaze lingers on your lips, debating whether or not he should steal another kiss—just one last one. You push away before he can lean in again.

Before you turn around he catches a glimpse of a little cheesy grin on your face. “Goodnight, Pedro.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he replies. You look back at him once more as you walk away ever so slowly and you catch him eyeing your body. He notices your figure shift and is quick to look around, suddenly fascinated by his apartment complex. A hand over his mouth and body leaning against the door frame, caught in the act.

You can’t help but giggle at his little sneaky act and you’re pretty sure it’s just as funny to him too because you hear a muffled laugh from behind you. You’ll definitely tease him later about checking you out.

When you step out of the building, you feel the cool air kiss your skin, and you can’t help but wish you had covered up a little more. A skirt was not the best choice for tonight, something you realized a little too late.

In the corner of your eye, you see a white flash. Your eyes widen in surprise as you turn to confront the source, only to find yourself staring directly at a phone.

You move to push the phone out of your face so that you're able to get a look at the actual source, but before you can fully get a good look at their appearance, they're unning for dear life.

In the moment, it’s funny and you scoff at their idiocy, and in that same moment, it hits you. It his you like a ton of bricks.

It feels like everything has slowed down as your mind movesq quick, a thousand thoughts per second, a million of all the possible outcomes run through your head.

Where you are, where you’re standing outside of more specifically Pedro Pascal’s apartment. That photo incriminates you and it’ll prove something that you’ve been trying to keep hidden from the media and yourself.

Behind you, you hear doors open and close, heavy footsteps on pavement, and then a hand on your shoulder. Your head spins around so fast you felt as though you were going to get whiplash.

“Woah, did I scare you?” There’s a teasting lilt in his voice but when he sees your expression, his smile dims. “Is something wrong?”

You exhale deeply to calm your nerves. “I think we’ve been caught.”

—

Different brushes glide over your face, blenders dabbing under your eye, and fingertips gliding over your nose to blend in the highlighter as much as it needed to look perfect.

Your makeup artist, Estelle, who had been all cheery and so talkative seconds ago, is now quiet, focused on her canvas, ensuring everything is flawless. She only speaks when she needs you to tilt your chin up a little or to look that way or this way.

When she’s finished she spins your chair around so that you face her, grabbing you chin gently for you to look at her. Her hand lifts from your chin and ghosts over your nose, drawing back with an unsureness, eyes squinting.

Her face quickly brightens with a loving smile. “You’re all finished!” She spins my chair back around, now facing the vanity. I meet my reflection and I admire Estelle’s work, which she killed like always. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she asks, “You like?”

“I love.” You look up at her with a smile, one that’s genuine but fragile as well.

“You know, this whole time I’ve been doing your glam you’ve been kind of tense, what’s up?” She smirks as if she knows something you don't. “It’s Pedro, huh?”

“No, no, no,” you’re quick to deny. “It’s not Pedro.” Estelle gives you a ‘are you kidding me’ kind of look because the both you know damn well that Pedro Pascal is the reason.

Estelle sighs, walking over to where your dress is hanging. “I know about that whole ordeal, honey. You can’t fool me.” She ushers you to stand up with hand gestures and pushes the dress into your hands. You don’t move from where you stand, only staring down at your dress.

It’s beautiful, bold. Designer? Alexander McQueen. It’s silk and corseted. Though it doesn't really go with the theme of the movie, it’s still a fantastic choice.

It commands attention without screaming for it. It’ll make her stand out on her own terms and possibly, hopefully, draw away attention from all the rumors going around. Maybe everyone will be too focused on her dress and forget about all the times the paparazzi have caught you with Pedro.

But let’s be realistic, you’ll be at the Gladiator II premiere, Pedro’s movie. They’ll be focused less on your dress and more on your appearance, but lucky for you, you have an excuse for that. You’ll say you’re there to meet with the director, that you’re thinking about working with him. You just hope they’ll believe it.

Walking out of the bathroom, you’re met face to face with your assistant, Daphne, whom you call Daph for short. She gives you a once-over and nods her head, looking around and saying, “I don’t know if Pedro’s going to be able to resist you this time around.”

You roll your eyes and mutter a small, “Thanks.” She gives you a thumbs-up and a coy smile.

“Shoes on?” She asks. You nod. “Hair?” Your hairstylist rushes over to you to fix a single strand, tucks it behind your ear, and then steps away. “Alrighty, I think we’re good to go.”

You turn to your glam team, thanking them for all their hard work and then you’re off to the premiere, but not before Estelle shouts, “Say hello to Pedro for me,” which gives everyone in the room a laugh.

You let out a giggle. “Bye, everyone.” And they all give a bye in return, some shouting, “Have fun!”

—

In the car, Daphne is helping you prepare for interviews. You’re sitting one seat over from her, not really paying attention since she has probably been over this a million times within two days.

When she first found out you were going to attend the premiere, she was baffled. “After all the rumors going around? Are you kidding me?” She had said.

You had told her it would be good for you, that you had come up with a reason that makes you look like you are strictly there for business and definitely not because you want to be one of the first ones to see Pedro Pascal in a gladiator costume, possibly all sweaty, and looking criminalally good. You could not pass up this opportunity.

It’s also a chance to clear up any rumors, or at least try to. You’re just really just trying to help your publicist who’s already way too stressed, but you just keep making things worse.

Sunday morning, you had woken up to a phone being pushed into your face, an article with the headline in big bold letters that read “FAMOUS ACTRESS SPOTTED OUTSIDE PEDRO PASCAL'S HOME.”

And it wasn’t your publicist behind that phone, it had been your assistant who had been told by your publicist.

Oh, was Daphne angry? No. She was fuming. “Call him. Now,” she said with a stern tone. And you were going to dial the number to talk things out with Pedro but you really just needed time to let everything sink in, you had just woken up for crying out loud.

You had told Daphne you’d call him later—later meaning that you’d wait for him to call you. He probably hadn’t even seen it yet, or so you told yourself.

So you waited.

And you waited

And, to your disappointment, you waited.

You would check your phone constantly. Every time you found your self drifting off during your meeting you shook yourself awake and checked your phone. Whenever Daphne mentioned something about the rumors you were quick to check your phone.

It got to a point where she literally had to rip your phone away from you just so you can get through a line from a script you were supposed to be rehearsing.

Then, just as you’re pushing your dinner around the plate, you phone buzzes. One buzz. Then another. You freeze

Please don't be a stupid notification. Please—Pedro’s name lights up your screen and you don’t even hesitate to press accept, taking a shaky breath, and brace yourself for what he’s about to tell you.

In the car, Daphne is helping you prepare for interviews. You’re sitting one seat over from her, not really paying attention since she has probably been over this a million times within two days.

She goes through a list of every possible question in every possible form, and you know she's stressed out by the way she just keeps going.

When she first found out you were going to attend the premiere, she was baffled. “After all the rumors going around? Are you kidding me?” She had said.

You had told her it would be good for you, that you had come up with a reason that makes you look like you are strictly there for business and definitely not because you want to be one of the first ones to see Pedro Pascal in a gladiator costume, possibly all sweaty, and looking criminalally good. You could not pass up this opportunity.

It’s also a chance to clear up any rumors, or at least try to. You’re just really just trying to help your publicist who’s already way too stressed, but you just keep making things worse.

You should’ve listened to Daphne when she told you not to go to Pedro’s, that you may get caught and it’ll be a big problem if you did. You wished you hadn’t ignored her warnings and simply just brushed her off saying that it would be fine because look at how wrong you were.

Now, all you can do is hope that an interviewer won’t ask about what’s going on between you and Pedro.

At least Pedro is worry-free, he just thinks that you were kidding about attending the premiere but little does he know you’re about to draw lots of attention right now.

—

Your heel hits the red carpet. No one seems to notice you quite yet, which makes you even more anxious for when they do.

Flashes go off a few yards down the carpet where one of the cast members is posing, not Pedro nor Joseph—but Paul. For now all eyes are on him and for you, there’s a fleeting moment of quiet, not literal silence, but the kind of breathless stillness that lives before impact.

You take a careful step forward and as you grow into the view of one of the photographers. He looks almost unsure at first, and he mumbles, “Is that who I think it is?” It’s loud enough for the person next to him to hear and repeat the same name, her head following his. Then one by one all their eyes fly to you as travel along the carpet.

You straighten up once flashes hit your face, smiling nice and big for the camera. You lift your chin up a little more, your arms are at your sides, one resting at you hip.

You move more down along the carpet, and now you’re standing just a few feet away from Paul. In the corner of your eye, you see that Paul notices you, and he shuffles closer over to you.

You look at him and he’s already smiling. “Picture?” He offers.

“Of course.” You lean more into him, wrapping your arm around him and he follows your movement, his hand placed in the middle of your back.

They shout for you to get a little closer together so you do. You lean your head towards his just a tad for one last photo and then he pats your back. “Thanks.” You give him a nod and follow him off the carpet.

Anyone you saw with a microphone you tried to dodge and stay out of their sight. Weaving your way through the crowds, but you couldn’t ignore everyone.

Some of the cast members came up to you and said hi. One of them was Fred, whom you worked with once. You were surprised that he even remembered, considering it had been a while since you had seen each other. Connie had also come to you to say hello, this was actually your first time meeting her. You’ve only heard of her, never have actually seen her in person before, she said the same thing about you.

Connie was so sweet and you guys chatted for a while, but the conversation was cut short when an interviewer snuck up on you. You felt a tap on your shoulder and Connie excused herself so you could be interviewed without interruption, part of you wanted to beg her not to leave you, but you couldn’t.

Where Connie was standing is where the interviewer was standing now. She introduced herself as Steph from Entertainment Tonight, and you're all rainbows and sunshine on the outside, but on the inside you're about to freak out because you know that they’re about to go in deep with these questions.

She looked into the camera, and so did you. “You, my dear, look breathtaking tonight. I have to say this dress is a moment.”

“Thank you, Steph, it means a lot. I really needed something that was bold, especially for tonight, you know?” She agrees, and then her face shifts into one of curiosity.

“We didn’t know we’d be seeing you here tonight, and we were wondering what brought you out?” She holds up the microphone to your lips.

“I have so much respect for everyone on the team and I wanted to see all the hard work they put into this movie come to life.” You continue, “The story scale, the artistry, the history. It all reminds you why you love what you do and it really inspires you.”

“Of course, of course! All of the cast members are so talented and it's such a big night for them. I love how supportive you are!” Her eyes turned away from your for a split second to give the camera a slick grin, then they’re back on you. Her voice dips, now ever so gentle, “A lot of people think your presence tonight has something to do with Pedro Pascal. You were just seen leaving his place late Saturday night. Is you being here simply a coincidence?”

You blink, smile faltering for just a second before you regather yourself. There’s a pause, then a sigh, and you know your silence speaks louder than what you’re about to say right now. “I didn’t come tonight to answer rumors. But I know that if I’m quiet it just makes the noise louder.”

Hesitating and taking a breath, you continue, “I knew that being here tonight would raise some eyebrows, especially after Saturday. I think it’s just reading a little too much into things. Pedro is someone I care about, yes, but…” You glance off to the side, searching for the safest answer. “But caring about someone doesn't mean there’s always a headline in it.”

Steph is silent for a split second, taking the microphone away from you once she realizes you’re not going to continue. “So, you’re just friends?”

Your eyes flicker toward the camera before returning to Steph, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yes,” is your answer, but your body language says otherwise when you play with the ring around your finger.

“Well, you heard it here first, people. Just friends.” She nods in assurance. “Thank you.”

You’re thankful it’s over, but you can already feel the internet writing headlines. The nerves really got to you during that interview, and you’re sure no one believes that you and Pedro are just friends after you left his house so late at night.

Daphne won’t be too happy either with your answers. You really should’ve gone with what she told you to say in case of this, instead you kind of just freestyled it.

You notice everyone beginning to head to the theatre, so you follow the crowd inside. Before the movie starts, they give a speech to the audience that celebrates everyone behind the making of the film.

One by one all the actors come up and are congratulated, given praise for their work. The whole time you only focus on one of those actors, whose eyes are searching through the audience for one person in particular. You.

He can’t seem to find you in the sea of people, and it’s too late to continue searching because he already needs to take a seat.

So, the movie plays. You sit in the dark, laughing when you’re supposed to, clapping when it’s over, and the credits roll.

To the naked eye, you’re acting normal, but inside you’re unraveling. The entire movie played on one screen, and the interview was on repeat in the other—in your mind.

What if you hadn’t swallowed the part about being more than friends? What if you had told them it was so much more than that?

Frankly, you’re tired of hiding something that has been going on for months. You’re tired of Pedro denying that there’s nothing really going on between you, or at least, you’re tired of him pretending like there’s nothing going on because there is. There’s so much more than what he denies himself.

You quite literally canceled multiple meetings for an upcoming audition on Sunday just so you could squeeze in a fitting for the dress you wore. Replacing a meeting about character backstory for one about about heel height and fabric swatches.

The script you were reading last night? That was for the same audition, now pushed to Wednesday. The meetings for that same audition you had pushed to tomorrow.

And there was a few more things replaced, delayed, or rescheduled just so you could be here tonight. Just so you could support Pedro.

He didn’t ask you to and still, you showed up.

You’re booked and busy. You have a whole career to chase. You have people to call back, scenes to prep, and so much more.

But if he called tonight?

You’d answer.

taglist: @not-the-teen-witch @namelesslosers @oystercat

[odairloverr]

common misconceptions with loa, manifestation, and shifting 𐙚

coming from someone who has shifted 3x and has mastered manifestation

disclaimer: this is my perception of manifestation, shifting, and law of assumption. you do not have to agree with my views. whatever your belief is is valid, but this is what has worked for me time and time again and i simply wish to share. lmk what questions u have! i've been manifesting my entire life (knowingly for 6 years) but i've only been into shifting for a matter of months. thanks @hrrtshape <33 i owe her for my current mindset towards shifting ! also my first tumblr post omg.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

loa/manifestation:

- “ within manifestation, you have to try hard to receive your results “

you don’t even have to “try.” law of assumption is simply assuming what you want has already manifested. you have your desire already, so why would you be trying? if you want to manifest something, simply understand the fact that you already have your desire and it’s done. unless you BELIEVE you have to, there’s no need to affirm, listen to subs, visualize. no need to wait, anticipate or expect because you are in a reality where you have your desire. at the end of the day, what YOU believe is correct.

i listen to subliminals for fun (i believe they give me results, but i am not reliant on them to manifest) I visualize for fun, i affirm for fun. what REALLY brings my manifestations to me is knowing i already have it and letting go.

- “ my desires aren’t showing up in the 3d. i’m doing everything right, why am i not receiving them? “

i’ve heard this issue from quite a few people and all i can say is. read that again? view everything you speak as truth. i have been quite wary of any thought or word that i speak recently. by saying you don’t see any results, you are affirming you do not see any results.

example: “you want a new phone. it’s been a few days, and I’ve been expectantly waiting for signs, listening to subliminals, affirming for hours; but still no new phone. you feel demotivated. maybe manifestation isn’t real. you don’t see any results, so you might as well stop trying. it’s taking too long”

well… you kind of just affirmed that. you DIDDD manifest that if that is your view of manifestation. if you expect the new phone will take a long time, it will. it may seem difficult to some people to overcome the 3d, to ignore it and KNOW your manifestation is done. but if you practice this, simply being content in the fact you know you already have everything you want, you will slip into this practice habitually. don’t give into your doubts. your doubts have no power until you grant them authority.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

shifting:

- “ i’m going to try to shift tonight / i can’t wait to shift tonight. ”

i love the excitement for you honey but u are viewing shifting as a destination whether that’s intentional or not. remember your body is not physically traveling, you are shifting your awareness to a universe where you already exist. if you already exist there, then isn’t it already done? if you shift in the same way as me (assumption) try to embody the fact that you are already present there?

i will say though there’s no right or wrong way to shift. what works for you works for you. it comes down to what you believe in.

- “ what method should i do to shift? ”

you don’t have to do any! don’t feel pressured to attempt a method because it worked for others. try different ones around if you want, if that’s helpful for you! they can be fun, comforting, or routinized which might help others, but they are NOT obligatory in shifting. if you don't like the method for any reason, don't!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

requested questions:

"how to really settle into the mindset of "3d is a reflection of the 4d" and "the 3d can lag" and how to grow more comfortable with that?"

work on your self-concept and reprogramming your mindset. this might sound complicated but I promise it isn't! with "3d is a reflection of the 4d," it tells us that thoughts, beliefs, emotions, assumptions, imagination, and self-concept will affect what we see in our physical world. so how would you adjust to that mindset? you change how you think. practice gratitude to the universe, positivity, and overall just believing in your own power. HYPE YOURSELF UP. u can literally do anything and you have no limits. FELL PROUD OF THAT. in my personal belief, I believe that whatever you think and say is true and vibrates throughout the universe, so being careful to always speak positively and practicing self love and gratitude are very important! i have a self concept subliminal playlist I listen as well if that helps.

now the 3d lag part.... im gonna be so honest idgaf ab that imo. ive always found myself scrolling past posts about that because.. the 3d isn't lagging? you already have ur desire, why would you be tell yourself you don't? that's js how i view it :)) again, if that is your belief, just practice working on how you think! everything you think and say is a manifestation (ect. my stomach hurts, I'm going to go eat) now, how to grow more comfortable with this mindset? practice! believe in yourself STRONGLY. nothing can stop you. there's no limits, no boundaries, no exaggerations. nothing is impossible and you have everything you could possibly want in your grasp. "what's ignoring the 3d and how to do it?" ignoring the 3d is not reacting to your physical reality when it contradicts your manifestation. i did go more into detail about why we do it above but here's how:

you know your manifestation is already yours. why worry about it any longer. let go of it as you are content that it is already factually yours. if you have a new phone, you aren't going to be constantly checking "did my new phone finally manifest? well you already have it! view all of your manifestations from the lens. it's already done and nothing can change that! again, working on self concept, self love, gratitude can help you to to fall into that mindset "how does your subconscious interpret each thought + how it works with manifestation and shifting" your subconscious does not argue. it does not analyze. it does not fight you. it's very willing and pliable. whatever you feed your subconscious it will accept! when you affirm or assume something, your subconscious does not filter that into "true or not true" it just accepts it! this is why working on self concept / reprogramming is not only important but extremely effective. your conscious mind / ego is the judging, critical part. and u don't listen to that ho. ur ego us like ur overprotective friend who's trying to stop u from being embarrassed. when u are manifesting, ur ego might tell u its not possible. it's okay to doubt yourself, you are human. BUT. are u going to give into those doubts? NO. never let those untrue doubts control YOU. basically. whatever u feed ur subconscious will be accepted as fact and then reflect into ur physical reality. that's it! "how do you use loa as a beginner in shifting? how do you assume? what keywords do you use when shifting?" it's quite simple! you assume by accepting whatever you want is true! you aren't hoping that your desire will manifest, but KNOWING it did. in shifting, this is simply knowing you are in your dr, that you are a master shifter, that shifting is fun and simple. affirmations and visualizations are good and completely valid, but letting go has been extremely helpful for me. knowing what you want is already yours and simply letting go. you don't obsessively check if it worked. it's done already! be happy and proud that you've achieved this!

when I shift, I affirm myself a bit for fun and go to sleep KNOWING I am already aware in my dr. thats literally it no visualization or robotic affs or some crazy sleeping position. just embodying the truth. "how do you know you've found the right subliminal?"

there is no right subliminal! as long as u are listening to a trusted sub maker (look in the comments for good reviews and making sure there's no bad affs layered in there) sub are effective! it depends on if you believe in these subs! i have never failed a manifestation in my life and a lot of those in the past were from sub makers, various different creators! I do have preferences for some submakers but at the end of the day it doesn't matter which u listen to! what you desire is already yours! if you feel off about listening to a sub, turn it off and maybe research the creator online. ok THANKS FOR READING love u guys! happy shifting and manifesting! remember how amazing, powerful, and valuable you are. ⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃🎐 ⋆ with love, liz.

[contract-crawdad]

Look Outside Pacifism Concepts: Part 5

The peephole ensemble!

The original plan had been to cover the rats here too, but as of 1.5... wow! There's a lot more rats! Which is great! But it means they'll be getting their own post.

Onwards to the door encounters! The key here is that we'll only be addressing the ones that have a chance to be hostile, seeing as the pacifist solution to the non-hostile door encounters is... not killing them. Obviously.

William/Stressed-Out

In William's case, it seems pretty clear that he didn’t look outside in his cursed form. Rather, he seems to have ‘caught’ his affliction from the witness he mentions that gave him his injury.

As such, William will always be normal on his first visit! And, provided you do manage to help him, he will not be corrupted on any future visits. However, each time you either fail to help or refuse to help, his chances to be corrupted upon the next encounter will drastically increase.

Cursed Harriet

If you correctly identify that Harriet is cursed, you can turn her away. It doesn’t matter what you do specifically, so long as you do look through the peephole but don’t open the door for her. After doing this between 1-3 times, she will come to her senses.

The tells for her getting a better grip on her sanity are that her nervous mannerisms and uncertain speech return, where they are absent in her insane cursed state. At this point, it is safe to open the door and reunite her and Sophie!

However, you still can’t see her feet and it’s heavily implied that she IS still cursed. Just that she’s had enough time to gather her thoughts and come down from the madness she was dealing with in the early stages of the transformation.

Opening the door and reuniting Harriet and Sophie at this stage plays out as normal, but Harriet will reward you with a few additional random items consisting of a wide range of enemy drops (she's been busy while looking for Sophie).

Same Old Dan

When Same Old Dan politely informs you that he would very much like to borrow five kilos of bone marrow if it wouldn't be too much trouble, you have the chance to offer him one of the following items if you have them in your inventory:

Giant Rat Skull

Jawbone Club

Hellsword

Teeth Pendant

Offering any of the above to Same Old Dan prompts the following dialogue:

You toss the item to the slavering creature, which descends on it with gusto. His 'thingie' shreds it to pieces as he scoures every drop of collagen hidden within. After a few moments of horrified fascination, you decide to slowly close the door before finding out if this meal is enough to satisfy him.

Feral Morton

Funnily enough, this one HAS a canonical pacifist solution! Just don’t open the door. When and if Morton knocks again, he has a chance to be back to normal.

Credit to @euclideggnog for the idea that Morton's hostile form is caused by a hormonal state that certain species of crickets enter when in low-food environment which prompts a gregarious feeding frenzy consisting of whatever organic material it can find.

He was just hangry!

Limb Thief/Guillame

It's so funny that this guy shows up to Sam's door, introduces himself by name, and then Sam decides 'Nah, you're limb thief' in all the battle menus.

When a party member with either the Coat of Arms or the Misshaped Limb equipped is struck by the Limb Thief, he will steal said item.

If he is not killed during the next turn, Limb Thief flees from the battle with his prize, cackling giddily at his latest addition.

Mad Pie

If you use Cash Sock on Mad Pie the battle music slows to a stop.

"...A tip? Seriously? For me? Nobody has ever tipped me before. I mean, I was totally gonna beat you into meat paste and then press the meat paste flat and bake it, you know, as like an irony thing... but wow. I feel like maybe I would be a little bit of a jerk if I did that now. I... I need to go think about this."

Mad Pie hops away awkwardly. It takes several minutes for it to actually leave the hallway.

----------------------------------------

Thus concludes the solicitors! Probably the only group in the game where the members of the group have no ling to one another whatsover.

Tune in next time when we FINALLY get to those giant rats who make all of the rules!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[icouldhyperfixatehim]

coming back to follow up this post bc i've been watching little snatches of john and aaron (it's the only way i can stick it) and i just saw the scene of aaron having a bad mental health/gordon day on the day of john's hero award yoke. making myself sick with heartbreak again bc, danny the actor you are, you can absolutely see that aaron truly believes john loves him. and for that, aaron does love him back.

aaron's relationship with love has always had really defined halves of loving vs being loved. he wants to be loved. desperately. but he thinks he's an inherent obstacle - do you know how difficult it was to love you? ...i'm your son - i'm not exactly easy to love - he's not offering more. so i'll take what i can get - this little percentage of worry that he never really loved me the way i thought he did. he thinks the love that people have for him has its foot in the door for the day he's not enough, too broken, too messed up, too not worth the hassle.

people don't stay with me.

so when john forgoes his award, says he'd rather be there for aaron while he struggles through a bout of recurring trauma, that it's where he wants most to be - of course aaron believes john loves him. and if someone loves him that much, how can aaron not love him back? it's what he's been looking for isn't it? that love. that love that's worth hanging on to and fighting for, that he thought he'd never have again, not really.

and you loved me, you loved me like nobody ever has before

aaron doesn't feel about john the way he feels about robert. but when john loves him like this, when that's such a hard thing to do, aaron does love him back for it. does owe it to him, doesn't he? it amounts to the same thing, even if it doesn't feel the same way.

but we know john doesn't love aaron like that. from john's perspective, that scene doesn't show love, it shows addiction to aaron's victimhood. shows love as a selfish martyrdom.

which is why you'll find me wretching and sobbing and wailing. because as @sunsetsover pointed out in my notes, the love aaron's looking for, the real deal, is utterly egoless. and it never had its foot out the door - it just had no way of a stopping itself being pushed through it. either way, aaron had to accept that the door itself was closed.

but there's a knock. and aaron's frozen in the foyer right now, but he'll answer it eventually.

you're the strongest person i know

[revelboo]

Would you be comfortable writing for Ratbat post-cassette? He’s just a little terrible guy

(sorry if he and Ravage etc aren’t allowed- I couldn’t find anything on your blog about beastmechs)

I’ve done a Senator Ratbat Oneshot before, so I don’t mind writing that version of him. I get a little iffy about the ones with only a beast form. Him after his spark is yeeted into his cassette form, Ravage or Sky Lynx would be fluff only storylines if I write them

Speaking of Ratbat…

Visitor

Ratbat x Reader

• He’s back. Heart stop racing from the surprise of those glowing red eyes staring in through the kitchen window, you blow out a breath. He’s bigger than you are and you hear his claws scrabbling against the brick face of your house for purchase as his wings flare for balance. Waiting and watching. The first time he’d come swooping out of the woods like a demon, you’d run for the barn. Heard a mechanical rasping that might have been laughter. Up until you’d come running back out with a rake and screaming like a banshee.

• Brave little thing, staring back at him without flinching or cowering. That naïveté of yours so fascinating that he keeps coming back. “Hello, dear little pet,” he croons, head tipping. Because you’re the sort of plaything he’d dearly missed. That strange mix of stupidly brave and innocently trusting so intriguing, not quite the same as the drama and games of the senate, but still delicious. Why trust him? Don’t you realize he’s dangerous?

• Smiling hesitantly as he taps the knuckle of a wing against the glass, you know you shouldn’t go out there again. He’s not like the crows you coax nearer with corn, whatever he is, he’s a predator. See it in the way he watches you, the coldness in those optics as they track you. But you enjoy talking to him, listening to his stories. At first through the closed window and then on the porch. Heading outside, it’s not full dark yet and fireflies are flickering like brief, shooting stars out under the trees. And you suck in a breath as he flies over, the hush of his huge wings and the hum of his thrusters lifting goosebumps along your arms. “You’re late tonight,” you say, eyes running over his strange shape. A huge mechanical, living bat and he bares sharp little denta at you.

• “Were you worried for me?” He asks, settling on the ground and straightening to tower over you, wings folding. “Would you grieve if something happened to me?” Leaning into your space to try and make you flinch, he flares out his wings and you press a warm hand against him, pushing. Like you think you can budge him. “Rage at fate to be separated from me?” And you roll your eyes at him.

• “If you’re gone, it’s not like you’d know,” you counter and he chuckles. And reaches to run the talon tipped servos at the wrist of his wing through your hair. Trying to get a rise out of you as he slowly follows you on his short legs. Hobbling upright when you’re sure it would much easier for him to drop and walk on all fours. “I’d miss our talks,” you finally admit and he hums watching you reach to cup your hands around a firefly, watching it glow before letting it go. ‘As would I,’ he murmurs, a wing brushing you as he hops to perch on the low, rock wall bordering the porch and you smile. “So, spill. Share the tea,” you say, pulling out a chair at the patio table and sitting as he uses his claws to scratch behind an ear. ‘Remember when I told you about Starscream having a human? He sparked them,’ he crows, his voice all notes of scandal and you have no idea who Starscream is or what sparked means, but you love the alien gossip.

[artist-owl]

Top 10 Funniest Deaths of the Silmarillion

Because sometimes you have to laugh through the tears when you’re reading this book. Did reading about (most) of these deaths emotionally devastate me? Oh yeah. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a laugh about it.

10 - Maglor: didn’t fucking die, the coward! Like, given that Elves can die of depression, there’s realistically no way he lived past the Second Age, but we never get confirmation. Schrodinger’s Elf, if you will.

9 - Turgon: specifically in a fandom context it’s funny bc fanon Turgon is the boring as cardboard member of his entire generation and then he goes out refusing to leave his falling city and stands atop his tower as dragons bring it down in crumbling flames whilst yelling “great is the victory of the Noldor!” Cannot stress enough that he did not need to do this. He could have left and said no. Dumb as hell but I respect it.

8 - Argon: pour one out for my boy his death and whole existence didn’t even make it to the published Silm. Not to mention he survives the entire crossing of the Helcaraxë while his sister in law literally got friged, then dies like .5 seconds after setting foot in Beleriand. Tfw you’re so impetuous that you hew your way through the orcs without stopping to think that this means they can close ranks and surround you. Not his fault, he’d never fought before. Probably.

7 - Nienor: learns that she did a sibling incest and immediately yeets herself off a cliff. Like I can’t blame her but there’s a morbid humour in how fast she made that decision.

6 - Túrin: same as his sister, but his cursed sword suddenly reveals itself to be capable of speech, calls him out for killing his boyfriend, and then calls him a lil bitch before he kills himself with it. Also with the way his life was going this wasn’t even surprising.

5 - Sauron (death no. 3): you know he lived and died the same way: not knowing what the fuck a Hobbit is or why he should worry about them. Also this bitch dies three goddamn times because he can’t learn his damn lesson.

4 - Fëanor: Fingolfin got the death that Fëanor was destined for bc Morgoth didn’t have time to plan ahead for that fight and granted Fingolfin a badass last stand; with Fëanor he went “I’m not fighting that guy” like a lil bitch and straight up sent out a fuckton of Balrogs to fight him instead, and Fëanor survived this for long enough to curse him out again, make his sons re-swear the oath that would ruin their lives and countless others’, and then spontaneously combust out of sheer Big Mad. Other Elves have faded away from depression because the weariness and sorrow of their souls overcame their bodies; Fëanor literally invented a new way to die. Post cancelled I’ve circled back around to being impressed.

3 - Thingol: Stiffs the Dwarves on their payment and starts hurling insults and slurs at them while holding a necklace that was recently liberated from a dead dragon’s hoard that had been inset with a twice-stolen gem that lowkey curses everyone who covets it after his magic goddess wife told him that coveting it was a bad idea. Like, my guy, wtf did you think would happen.

2 - Sauron (death no. 1): the biggest L of his career. Just sitting in his temple in Atlantis Númenor, laughing maniacally, assured of his own victory, and not looking out the window behind him to see the massive wave that is approaching at mach fuck. Dies and jrrt specifically mentions that he’s never again able to have a body that men (specifically) find hot. This is more pathetic than the #1 spot but I want him to stay losing 😌

1 - Finrod: do I even need to say it? You’ve got this classy, friendly, noble Elven lord who, in short order: agrees to help a Man complete a suicide quest because he Swore An Oath, dressed up as an orc, said his name was Dungalef and his friend here was Nereb, lost a rap battle to a god bc the god brought up his ptsd triggers, got stripped naked, slipped his chains and fought a werewolf, naked, with his teeth, and won before dying of blood loss, but not before he gave a little lore drop to Beren about how Elven deaths work as his last words. The absolute legend.

Put your favorites and/or other nominations in the tags, I want to see if there's anyone I missed.

[alacants]

The "a thread of order" blog recently referenced something Carlos said after the 2024 RG final: “In the fifth set of the final is the time to give it all, fight until you can’t fight anymore. That’s what makes you a warrior, and I consider myself a warrior.” That quote, together with his constant references to the movie "300", his on-court histrionics and the supernatural big-final-moment level of tennis he can produce, made me spiral into an idiotic sincaraz fan-theory (OBVIOUSLY inaccurate and fictional.) So here it is:

I personally suspect that Carlos perceives matches (especially important ones) as if they were movies/plays and he's the one playing the hero & warrior archetype. It's partly why he needs the crowds: they're all part of the scene, and also big reactions feel more epic. And it's also why he can sometimes reach an unbelievable level at the acme of big matches, something that would require inhuman amounts of confidence and self-belief: that's because in that moment he's not just Carlos the excellent tennis player-normal guy, he's not just himself (that would cause some amount of insecurity) but he's actually embodying The Heroic Warrior archetype! And he knows that there's a divine narrative script in place for heroes in stories (matches) which will make him prevail at the end. It's basically a narrative archetype/role he tries to live up to and embody in matches, because he needs to see the matches and himself as "something more" in order to then get more from himself on court. And when the opponent is weak or the match isn't exciting the illusion of being the Hero-Warrior is obviously harder to maintain obviously.

On the other side we have Jannik, who tries to block out the crowd and be composed, and only communicates with his team and his opponent. Where Carlos tries to see the whole stadium as part one big scene that's enacting something more than a tennis match, Jannik tries to shrink his world to the strict permiter of the singles court plus his own box. For him it's a competitive pro game, it's his career and his public role, it's exciting and fun and terrible but it's not a big metaphor or an archetypal flight of fancy. He's competing against his opponent and trying to play the best tennis possible. He's "just" himself on court, the player-version of himself.

[I wonder if this maybe would have something to do with Jannik not focusing on tennis until he was 13 (and having a more gradual and setback-prone rise) while Carlos has been immersed in tennis from birth basically (and has obviously had a more sudden and easier rise in the scene.) I don't think that can be the reason though, it's too superficial.]

op this essay is awesome. i was just answering an unrelated ask and coming to the same conclusion that carlos thrives on the narrative import of big moments. he is Aware of them in a way that not every athlete can let themselves be aware, he is Aware of what it means to rise to the occasion. classic advice is "pretend it's just another match" but carlos demonstrably performs better in Big Moments than in just another match.

also think this contributed to the post-olympics crashout. not just defeat, not just a match he could have won, but failure at the ultimate climax of the ultimate stage of the biggest theater in sport, the global superevent literally created to propagate the idea that Sports Is More Than Sports. all that, and here's where he finds out that sometimes sheer protagonism just isn't enough. narrative of choice trumped by other, bigger narrative. i'm sure that was wildly destabilizing to experience for the first time, lol, good (????) thing he's got the protagonism back on track now.

this all just boils down, again, to the question of ego and self-made mythos and can you achieve greatness without storytelling. (© user radelulu.) it is sooooooooo fun to see absolute black-and-white photonegative-inverses in a direct clash for our entertainment. tho bc the clash is taking place in the theater of sports the table is rigged and the house, aka storytelling, always wins—the only way to beat it is to remove yourself from the table.

[nights-at-crystarium]

I was gonna make a quick shitpost like haha this's Emet-Selch and the sundered (if you're confused reading this, this's a ffxiv post now) but wanted to look up the context to validate the vibes I got from this. Just dumping the entire legend from wikisource:

That great hero-wanderer Ulysses had been with his companions driven hither and thither at the will of the winds for ten years, never knowing what their ultimate fate was to be. At length they disembarked upon a shore where Circe, the daughter of Apollo, held her court. Receiving them she brewed a delicious but baneful liquor, which she made them drink. The result of this was that first they lost their reason, and a few moments after, their bodies took the forms and features of various animals; some unwieldy, some small. Ulysses alone, having the wisdom to withstand the temptation of the treacherous cup, escaped the metamorphosis. He, besides possessing wisdom, bore the look of a hero and had the gift of honeyed speech, so that it came about that the goddess herself imbibed a poison little different from her own; that is to say, she became enamoured of the hero and declared her love to him. Now was the time for Ulysses to profit by this turn of events, and he was too cunning to miss the opportunity, so he begged and obtained the boon that his friends should be restored to their natural shapes.

"But will they be willing to accept their own forms again?" asked the nymph, "Go to them and make them the offer."

Ulysses, glad and eager, ran to his Greeks and cried, The poisoned cup has its remedy, and I come to offer it to you. Dear friends of mine, will you not be glad to have your manly forms again? Speak, for your speech is already restored."

The lion was the first to reply. Making an effort to roar he said, "I, for one, am not such a fool. What! renounce all the great advantages that have just been given me? I have teeth, I have claws, I can pull to pieces anything that attacks me. I am, in fact, a king. Do you think it would suit me to become a citizen of Ithaca once more? Who knows but that you might make of me a common soldier again. Thank you; but I will remain as I am."

Ulysses, in sad surprise, turned to the bear. "Ah, brother! what form is this you have taken, you who used to be so handsome?"

"Well, really! I like that!" said the bear in his way. What form is this? you ask. Why it is the form that a bear should have. Pray who instructed you that one form is more handsome than another? Is it your business to judge between us? I prefer to appeal to the sight of the gentler sex in our ursine race. Do I displease you? Then pass on. Go your ways and leave me to mine. I am free and content as I am, and I tell you frankly and flatly that I will not change my state."

The princely Greek then turned to a wolf with the same proposals, and risking a similar rebuff said:

"Comrade, it overwhelms me that a sweet young shepherdess should be driven to complain to the echoing crags of the gluttonous appetite that impelled you to devour her sheep. Time was when you would have protected her sheepfold. In those days you led an honest life. Leave your lairs and become, instead of a wolf, an honest man again."

"What is that?" answered the wolf. "I don't see your point. You come here treating me as though I were a carnivorous beast. But what are you, who are talking in this strain? Would not you and yours have eaten these sheep, which all the village is deploring, if I had not? Now say, on your oath, do you really think I should have loved slaughter any less if I had remained a man? For a mere word, you men are at times ready to strangle each other. Are you not, therefore, as wolves one to another? All things considered, I maintain as a matter of fact that, rascal for rascal, it is better to be a wolf than a man. I decline to make any change in my condition."

In this way did Ulysses go from one to another making the same representations and receiving from all, large and small alike, the same refusals. Liberty, unbridled lust of appetite, the ambushes of the woods, all these things were their supreme delight. They all renounced the glory attaching to great deeds.

They thought that in following their passions they were enjoying freedom, not seeing that they were but slaves to themselves.

'The Companions of Ulysses' by Gustave Dore, (1832 - 1883)

[litsenn]

This one made me think a lot.

 In EA, you had this dialogue after the first time you dream of the guardian – and in EA, the dream was much more erotic; even if you tried to reject the their advances, they insisted quite a lot which made the dream very awkward and creepy.

I have to says that the fact that the dream visitor took the appearance of Cazador to seduce Astarion makes me deeply uncomfortable.

It’s heart-breaking, and so is his reaction. Obviously, his anger is completely legit if you "joke" about him and Cazador in the bedroom, but the fact that he recoils and snaps at you even if you try to comfort him is really sad. "You try to connect, to let him know he's not alone" and he sees it as "pity".

Honestly, it makes a lot of sense.

I can’t really imagine act 1 Astarion accepting to be comforted like that, and his anger and bitterness fall close to home. Showing any kind of vulnerability feels dangerous, because it’s hard to trust, because he doesn’t want to be seen as “weak” and broken and he believes no one can understand his torment. So any act of kindness is depreciated as the lowest form of pity - perhaps the same kind of pity he feels for his siblings (?).

As for his line when you're mean to him: "You know what separates us from animals? Choice. I choose to travel with you. A dog would do it on instinct. To fulfil a need." It's such a powerful statement! He does have the choice now, and he chose to trust you. He did it out of necessity, but it was still his decision. The comparison with the dog is relevant: Contrary to a dog who follows blindly a master, he can make his own choices (now). He no longer is a mindless animal/puppet.

And as soon as you trample on this trust, he legitimately bites back. And in that situation, he'd let the animal(/monster) in him resurface and kill whoever mistreats him.

It's a powerful, and indeed violent way to set his boundaries, it's Astarion empowering himself and saying "never again or else I'll become the monster Cazador made of me."

Revenge against whoever disrespects him becomes a need.

The fact that he mentions the parallel between choice and instinct is so interesting. Especially if you think about the confession scene in Act 2, when he says seducing you was instinctive. And yet, it was still his choice then (cf. my long post about it here). I find it fascinating that he finds himself reflecting on that specific point: Do I do it because I want it, or because it's instinctive? And what's instinctive (or not) in a "need"?

Anyway, even if the scene itself is no longer relevant now that the dream visitor is different, it's still a heart-breaking and fascinating dialogue for what it says about Astarion's mindset at this point.

[dee-writes-anime]

The Art of Homemade Gloves

FEATURING Choso Kamo x Reader

SUMMARY When you handed him a heat pack and told him to get some rest, you didn’t think anything of it. But Choso had never really been given warmth before and now he doesn’t know how to stop bringing it back to you.

CONTENT WARNINGS choso is awkward (!!!), not much other than cute fluff :D

AUTHORS NOTE some cute choso fluff I wrote to break up some request posting. Sometimes, you just gotta let those creative juices flow freely. ;)

It starts with a mission and a sore back.

The fight hadn’t been brutal, but it left everyone scraped raw—too much cursed energy in the air, too many small injuries that didn’t need a healer, just rest. By the time Choso finds a quiet hallway in the safehouse to sit down and breathe, the adrenaline’s long gone and a strange stillness is settling into his bones. Not peace. Not exactly. Just quiet.

You find him there, sitting against the wall like an abandoned shadow, elbows on his knees, head lowered. You don’t say anything right away. Just sit beside him with a soft grunt and stretch your legs out. Close, but not too close. It’s that subtle kind of closeness he’s noticed about you—natural, like you belong where you are without needing to ask permission.

You’re both quiet for a moment. Breathing in the same air, letting silence do what it does best: make space.

Then, you nudge something into his lap.

He looks down.

It’s a heat pack—one of those soft, microwavable ones, stuffed with rice or seeds, a faint trace of lavender clinging to the fabric. It’s warm. Still holding the heat from your hands.

“You looked tense,” you say. “Helps with the soreness. Just pop it in the microwave for like thirty seconds.”

He stares at it, confused. “You’re giving me this?”

You shrug. “Yeah. You didn’t look like the type to grab one for yourself.”

That’s… true. He wouldn’t have.

You stand, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your shirt lifting just slightly. Choso looks away.

“Rest up, Choso,” you say over your shoulder, and then you’re gone.

He stares at the heat pack a while longer before pressing it to his chest like it might teach him something.

The next day, you find your favorite bottled tea sitting on your desk.

No note. No explanation. Just a single can, placed neatly beside your papers.

You glance down the hallway in time to see Choso disappearing around the corner.

The day after that, it’s a bag of spicy chips—the exact kind you’d mentioned craving once after a mission, in passing, weeks ago.

You open the bag and pop a chip into your mouth, chewing slowly.

“…Huh.”

When you see him again in the common room, you raise an eyebrow.

“Choso,” you say, arms crossed. “Are you… bribing me?”

He freezes mid-step, holding another drink can in his hand. You’ve caught him in the act. His eyes dart to the tea, then to you.

“No,” he says immediately, too fast. Then he pauses. “…Is it working?”

You try very hard not to laugh. “Maybe.”

He nods, completely serious, and sets the can down carefully before turning and walking away with the stiff posture of a man fleeing a crime scene.

You’re still laughing ten minutes later.

The gifts don’t stop.

They’re not flashy—never flowers or jewelry or anything extravagant. Just little things. Snacks. Canned drinks. A fresh roll of wrist tape after a tough training session. A pair of soft socks when the weather turns colder.

One day, it’s a neatly folded cotton scarf. You recognize it from the vendor stalls near the school—simple but warm, and in a color you once said you liked. Choso doesn’t even stick around to see you open it.

You don’t know what to do with it all, exactly. You try to give things back. He refuses every time.

“No,” he says, like it’s obvious. “It’s for you.”

Sometimes he hovers after dropping things off, pretending he’s not hovering. He doesn’t talk much, but his presence fills up the space slowly, like steam curling through the air.

Eventually, you stop pretending you don’t enjoy it.

One evening, after a mission with a few too many close calls, you sit outside the safehouse, elbows on your knees, cooling off under the open sky. The stars are just starting to emerge—faint and flickering. You rub your thumb over a small cut on your palm, mind wandering.

Choso appears quietly beside you, holding something wrapped in a soft cloth.

You blink. “Another peace offering?”

He sits without answering and sets the bundle in your hands.

You unwrap it carefully.

Inside is a pair of gloves. Hand-stitched, soft, warm. The seams are slightly uneven in a way that makes your chest hurt. Not messy—just… real. Like someone had done their best, even if they weren’t used to doing things like this.

You slip them on. They fit perfectly.

“You made these?” you ask, voice soft.

He nods once.

You flex your fingers and stare down at your hands, searching for words. Before you can find them, Choso speaks first.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the horizon. “After you gave me that thing.”

You look up at him.

“The heat pack,” he clarifies. “You gave it to me and… didn’t ask for anything. You just did it.”

He pauses. His voice is low and steady, but you can hear the tension underneath, like a bowstring drawn tight.

“No one’s ever done that before,” he says. “Just… gave me something. Because they wanted to.”

Your heart pulls, slow and deep.

“I didn’t know how to say thank you,” he adds. “So I started… bringing things.”

You swallow, touched in a way that’s hard to describe.

“I noticed.”

His hands twitch in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“It’s not weird,” you say gently. “It’s… really sweet, actually.”

He turns to look at you—cautious, uncertain.

“You didn’t have to do any of that,” you continue, “but I’m glad you did.”

He’s quiet. Then, after a long pause:

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you say immediately.

He exhales, quiet and almost imperceptible.

“…Good.”

Things shift after that.

Not dramatically—just slightly. Like a door left cracked open. Choso starts lingering more. Sometimes he doesn’t bring anything at all, just sits with you while you read, or trains quietly nearby.

He doesn’t speak much. But when he does, it’s careful. Intentional. Like he weighs every word before offering it to you.

And sometimes, he watches you.

Not in a way that feels heavy or uncomfortable. Just… watchful. Soft-eyed. Like you’re something he’s trying very hard to understand. Or maybe memorize.

You don’t push. You just let it be. And quietly, you start giving back.

You bring him little things, too. Not out of obligation—just instinct. His favorite onigiri. A new set of hair ties. A small bottle of eucalyptus oil for his aches. The first time you brush a leaf out of his hair after a mission, he goes so still you think he’s stopped breathing.

Then he thanks you in a voice so quiet it barely makes it past his lips.

One day, you find a new heat pack on your bed.

It’s handmade. Soft fabric, the same color as your favorite hoodie. There’s a note tucked underneath, the handwriting small and oddly careful:

For when you’re sore. Or cold. Or both. —Choso

You press it to your chest, smile, and feel warmer than the pack itself.

You don’t realize how normal it’s become—this strange rhythm between you—until you wake up one evening from a post-mission nap on the common room couch and find Choso sitting on the floor beside you.

He’s reading. His legs are crossed, and there’s a mug in his hands. The book’s upside down, you realize after a moment.

You blink groggily. “How long was I out?”

He glances over, calm as ever. “Not long.”

There’s a blanket draped over your shoulders.

You frown, tugging at it. “Did you…?”

He looks vaguely guilty.

You smile. “Thanks.”

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes. Choso sets the book aside (right side up this time) and watches you for a moment. Not saying anything. Just… looking.

There’s something in his gaze tonight. Something quiet and vulnerable and very, very present.

You decide to ask the thing that’s been sitting in the back of your mind for weeks now.

“Choso,” you say, “are you courting me?”

He freezes.

You swear you see his soul leave his body for a full three seconds.

“…I don’t know,” he says finally, voice small. “Am I?”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“I think so,” you say gently. “And if you are—I don’t mind. In fact, I kind of like it.”

His eyes widen slightly, like you’ve just handed him the moon and asked if he wanted to keep it.

Then—slowly, like a cloud parting—he smiles. Just a little.

“…Okay,” he says.

You reach out and take his hand.

It’s warm.

So are you.