#i simply Do Not Have Time to write this one and never will

[cheftsunoda]

hiii!

I love your writing sooo much and I just had an idea for a story with Lando (if you write for him)

The idea came to me when I was watching one of his interviews in which he gets asked if he likes cats or dogs and he says that he's DEFINITELY a dog person and hates cats (which should be a crime imo)

Anyway I was wondering if you could write a story in which the reader LOVEEEES cats and Lando likes reader a lot but they tell him that they refuse to date someone who doesn’t like cats so Lando tries to charm/befriend their cat/cats

nine lives — ln4

lando norris x !cat lover reader

smau + blurbs

You’ve always said you could forgive many things in a relationship—bad taste in music, questionable cooking, even the occasional forgotten anniversary. But not liking cats? Unforgivable. Which is why, when a clip of Lando—your boyfriend of almost a year—where he boldly declares “I just don’t trust cats. They stare at you like they’re plotting your death.”, your phone practically explodes with notifications. And right in the middle of your peaceful Sunday morning, curled up in bed with four purring furballs and one very smug grey baby sprawled on your chest, Lando walks into the room holding his phone like it’s ticking.

“They’re all sending me this video,” he says, deadpan. “And now half the internet thinks we’re about to break up because I disrespected Mister Whiskers the Third.”

You blink at him. “You did. And you disrespected me.”

And that’s when he sighs—loudly, dramatically—and looks your cats in the eye like he’s facing his greatest challenge yet.

“I guess I’m gonna have to win them over, huh?”

fc : random pinterest girlies

(a/n) : hi babyyyyyy. thanks for the love:) i am a huge cat person so this was very fun for me to write. my cat was stepping on my keyboard keys as i was literally trying to type it out. LMAOOO

ALSO NOT MY DUMBASS HAVING THIS EDITED AND READY FOR TWO DAYS AND NOT REALIZING. IM SO SORRY.

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lando’s ‘undercover’ GQ interview — 6/23/2025

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It starts innocently enough. You’re lounging on the couch in your sunlit living room, a tabby curled against your hip, a calico stretched across your feet, and your ancient, grumpy Persian—Count Meowcula—curled up like a loaf of bread on the coffee table. Lando is still asleep upstairs, likely tangled in the duvet with his mouth slightly open and hair sticking up like a dandelion. You’re scrolling through your phone when the first tag pops up.

@/username000 : NOT LANDO SAYING HE HATES CATS 💀💀💀 @/yourusername come get your man pls

You furrow your brows and click the link.

It’s a recent clip, from the GQ interview he just did the other day. The interviewer shows him an old clip of himself.

And the younger Lando on the video, without missing a beat, replies with boyish arrogance, “Dogs, obviously. Cats are evil. I don’t trust them. They just sit there and judge you.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Excuse me?”

He goes on—oh, he goes on.

“They’re always knocking things off tables. Like, why? For what reason? I could never live with a cat. I’d be on edge all the time.”

You blink at the screen, stunned. A moment later, your mentions erupt like fireworks.

@/username00 : so like… yn owns FIVE cats and lando said THIS?????

@/username0 : the betrayal. the slander. does Count Meowcula know??

@/username1 : if my man ever said this about cats i’d simply let them scratch his eyes out 😭

You let out a little laugh—half horrified, half amused—and glance around the room. As if sensing drama, your youngest cat, a tiny grey kitten named Pickles, climbs onto your lap and stares directly into your phone screen like she’s reading the replies.

“I know,” you murmur to her. “He’s got some explaining to do.”

Almost on cue, heavy footsteps pad down the stairs. You hear a yawn, then a groggy voice.

“Morning…” Lando steps into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s in one of your hoodies and a pair of mismatched socks, hair a complete mess.

You swivel your phone toward him, the video paused on the exact moment he says, “Cats are evil.”

He squints. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Lando flops face first onto the couch beside you, groaning into a throw pillow. “I was, like, twenty! I didn’t know better!”

“The internet disagrees.” You smirk, holding your phone up as notifications keep pouring in. “You’ve got approximately two million cat lovers and a grumpy Count Meowcula very disappointed in you.”

Lando turns his head, eyes squinting at the Persian cat who is, indeed, staring at him with an expression of utter betrayal.

“I told him it was an old interview,” you say solemnly. “He doesn’t care.”

“I’ll never earn his forgiveness, will I?”

“Not unless you make amends.”

He sits up dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Then I have no choice. I must… bond with the cats.”

“Oh?” you tease. “The same cats who are evil? The ones you can’t trust?”

“I was young! I was foolish!” He throws himself at your feet in mock agony. “Please, my love, allow me to prove myself to you—and to Pickles. And to Mr. Whiskers. And… Count Meowcula.” He pauses.

“God, why do they all sound like retired supervillains?”

“Because they are.”

Pickles meows at him, unimpressed. Lando slowly sits back up, adjusting his hoodie and patting his lap. “Alright. I’m ready. Send me your softest warrior.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“I’m ready to face the consequences of my words,” he says solemnly. “Bring me the cats.”

One by one, like some ceremonial trial, the cats are introduced. Pickles curls up beside him without protest. Mr. Whiskers claws his leg once, just for good measure, and then lays on his foot. Count Meowcula eyes him for a solid three minutes before climbing onto his lap and promptly falling asleep.

You grab your phone and take a picture of the scene—Lando sitting stiff as a board, surrounded by cats, one paw resting over his knee like a warning.

Moments later, the tweet goes viral. The top reply?

@/alex_albon : petition for Lando to do a cat photoshoot in apology form.

You grin and show it to him.

“Absolutely not,” Lando mutters as Mr. Whiskers licks his hand. “Okay. Maybe. Only if I get to wear the little ears too.”

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yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 1,201,005 others.

yourusername : should i leave this muppet because he doesn’t like my babies?

tagged : lando

—

view 72,075 other comments.

alex_albon : yes. absolutely. dump him. lily and i will take you and your cats in.

liked by yourusername and lilymhe

↳ yourusername : omw to the albon farm where me and my 5 children will be APPRECIATED.

liked by alex_albon and lilymhe

↳ lando : HEY HEY WE DO NOT HAVE TO GO THIS FAR

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : i am like the cat whisperer now. ask pickles.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : you screamed when mr whiskers jumped up on the couch behind you. mans was just existing.

liked by alex_albon

↳ lando : HE STARTLED ME.

liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 : leave him. now. i want to see him walking down the road with one of those hobo sacks.

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : OH MY GOD. YOU ARE ALL SO OVERDRAMATIC. I WAS YOUNG.

↳ maxverstappen1 : do not care. you still said it.

liked by yourusername

username00 : i take it he is still in alot of trouble yn

↳ yourusername : oh yes. very much so. sleeping on the couch currently.

liked by maxverstappen1 and alex_albon

↳ maxverstappen1 : make him sleep on the sidewalk.

liked by yourusername and username00

lando : I AM SORRY BABYYYYY DO NOT LEAVE ME. I NEED YOU AND YOUR 5 CHILDREN.

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux : leave lando. not bc of the cat thing but just so you can date me😻

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : ALEX. OUT. DO NOT TRY TO WIN OUT ON MY MISFORTUNE.

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

oscarpiastri : I, for one, stand for feline rights. #teampickles

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc: just wait til she has a conversation with zhou about this…

liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, yourusername and zhouguanyu24

↳ zhouguanyu24 : oh i already know and sweetcorn and i are offended deeply

↳ lando : BROOOOOOOO

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f1gossipgirls

liked by yourusername and 1,100,100 others.

f1gossipgirls : Lando on live tonight with YN’s kitten Pickles!

tagged : lando and yourusername

—

view 175,007 other comments.

username000 : pickles pawing him in the head killed me #teampickles

liked by yourusername

username00 : @/yourusername you are so powerful. he went from hating cats to calling pickles his son in a matter of a week

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : that’s what good pussy does…bad joke?

liked by lando and username00

username0 : pickles had more screen time than max 😭

liked by yourusername and maxfewtrell

username1 : HE DID THE BABY VOICE AWWWWW

liked by yourusername

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The stream wasn’t even supposed to happen. It started because Max texted Lando “go live you coward I miss your face”, and then fifteen minutes later Lando was setting up his webcam while you sat cross legged on the couch, cradling Pickles in your lap like royalty. You had no intention of being on camera—until Pickles decided to launch himself from your arms and climb straight up Lando’s hoodie mid-intro.

“AH—oh my god—HE’S IN MY SHIRT,” Lando yelps, half-laughing, half-panicking, while you scramble into frame trying to extract the tiny menace from his hood. The comments explode instantly.

@/username0000 : IS THAT PICKLES??

@/username000: this is already the best stream of the year

You finally wrestle the kitten free and sit down beside Lando, both of you breathless from laughing. Pickles, smug as ever, curls into a perfect ball on Lando’s shoulder like he owns the place.

“He’s… decided to stay,” Lando mutters, eyes wide. “I’m not moving for the rest of the stream.”

“That’s called growth,” you tease. “You used to call him a demon.”

“I still think he is,” Lando says. “He’s just my demon now.”

Then Max joins the call. And everything goes downhill.

“Oi,” Max says, grinning into his camera. “Am I interrupting domestic bliss?”

“Pickles almost crawled into my ribcage five minutes ago,” Lando replies. “So yes, but it’s fine.”

You wave at Max. “Hi Max. I saved your best friend from a feline induced death.”

“Legend,” Max says with a wink. “Though if Pickles had finished the job, I’d finally win our Fantasy league.”

Lando flips him off. The chat goes wild. Over the next half hour, it descends into total chaos. Lando’s trying to game, Max is throwing shade, and you’re in the background trying to keep Pickles from knocking over an open can of Monster with the energy of a feral toddler. At one point a conversation sparks.

Max started. “So YN, how many cats is too many cats?”

You thought for a moment. ”Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

“Ten.”

Lando spits out his drink, “TEN?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying. We have the space.”

Max laughed. “This is how it starts. First it’s one kitten, next thing you know, you’re on a reality show called My Strange Addiction..’”

You laughed, “I’d watch my episode.”

Lando sighed heavily, “Don’t give her ideas, she’s already been measuring out a catio for the balcony.”

The chat is unhinged at this point.

@/username11: lando is literally becoming the cat dad he swore he’d never be and I love it

Then Pickles decides to crawl back onto Lando’s lap mid game, and instead of pushing him off, Lando just says, “Okay okay buddy, you can sit there, just don’t touch the mouse—”

Immediately, Pickles touches the mouse. Lando loses the round. Max howls laughing.

“I’ve been sabotaged,” Lando groans. “By my own child.”

You hand him a tiny sweater. “He earned this.”

Lando holds up the sweater to the camera—soft knit, neon orange, a little lightning bolt stitched across the back.

“It’s giving superhero sidekick,” Max says. “He needs a cape.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you say, already pulling out your phone to text your Etsy supplier.

By the end of the stream, Pickles is asleep on Lando’s chest, purring, and Lando’s stroking his tiny head absentmindedly while bickering with Max about who cheated in karting back in 2015.

“He’s so gone,” Max mouths into the camera, pointing at Lando, who doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy whispering, “You’re my best mate, but if you ever touch my mouse again, I swear—” to a literal sleeping kitten.

The final shot before the stream ends? Lando kissing the top of Pickles’ head without even realizing he’s doing it. The comments explode. And the clip goes viral.

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You come home expecting the usual—a trail of cat toys on the stairs, a half consumed cup of Lando’s coffee on the kitchen counter, and Pickles dramatically lounging in your spot on the couch. What you don’t expect is Lando standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back and the guiltiest grin on his face.

“What did you do?” you ask instantly.

“Why do you assume I did something?” he replies, rocking on his heels.

“You only smile like that when you’ve either crashed a scooter or spent a suspicious amount of money.”

“I prefer the term invested.”

You narrow your eyes. “Lando…”

He takes your hand. “Okay. Just… come with me.”

He leads you to the balcony, practically vibrating with excitement. The sliding doors are already open, and the cats are pacing back and forth like they know something’s up. And then you see it. A catio.

Not just any catio. A custom, multi-level, architectural wonderland that stretches across half the balcony. There’s a tunnel system, clear bubble pods for sunbathing, platforms shaped like trophies, and tiny nameplates engraved for each cat. At the top—of course—is Count Meowcula, looking down on his kingdom like he’s about to demand taxes.

You blink. “Lando. What the hell is this?”

“It’s a Catio 2.0,” he says proudly. “Designed it with a guy from Reddit. Don’t ask how much it cost.”

You turn to him, stunned.

“And this?” you say, gesturing to the racing stripe hammock that literally says “PICKLES’ PAD.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Okay that part was my idea. And the tiny pit wall.”

There is a tiny pit wall. You burst out laughing, hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He shrugs, pulling you into a hug. “You said they deserved fresh air and enrichment. And I figured… if I’m gonna be a cat dad, I might as well go all in.”

You lean up and kiss him, dizzy with love. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he grins. “But you love me anyway.”

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It started as a joke. You were scrolling through Instagram with Lando one night, curled up on the couch while Pickles aggressively kneaded his thigh. Zhou had just posted yet another selfie with Sweetcorn, his fluffy, spoiled cat, perched on his shoulder like a queen.

Lando squinted at the screen. “I’m starting to think Zhou loves that cat more than he loves people.”

You smirked. “I respect it. Honestly, I love sweetcorn too.”

“Okay, weird. But what if we got him, like… a Sweetcorn pillow?” Lando said, half joking, half serious.

You stared at him. “Wait. That’s actually genius.”

Two weeks later, the package arrives.

A two foot long plush pillow—an eerily accurate, almost too realistic version of Sweetcorn, down to the slightly tilted ears and smug expression. You nearly cry laughing when you pull it out of the box. Lando holds it up like he’s presenting Simba.

“We’ve peaked,” he declares. “This is our legacy.”

You’re both waiting outside the Ferrari hospitality unit when Zhou walks up, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, completely unprepared.

Lando grins. “Got you a present.”

Zhou raises a brow. “What’d you do?”

Then you pull the pillow out from behind your back and hold it up proudly.

Zhou stops. Blinks. Takes off his sunglasses in slow motion.

“You did not.”

“Oh, we did,” you laugh. “Meet… travel-sized Sweetcorn.”

Zhou stares at the pillow, mouth open, completely speechless. Then, without a word, he drops his coffee and takes the pillow in his arms like a long lost child.

“I’m never sleeping alone again,” he says.

Lando bursts out laughing. “We made it extra squishy so you’d get maximum cuddle support.”

Zhou is still cradling the pillow, already doing voices— “‘Who needs anyone when I’ve got you, Sweetcorn 2.0.’”

You snap a picture of him holding the pillow like a baby, and before long it’s all over social media.

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lando

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 4,001,008 others.

lando : i have made amends with all the cat people in my life. built a catio, traveled to the albon farm and got zhou a mini sweetcorn. and i can say i finally understand why max broke down the door for his cat children.

tagged : alex_albon, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and zhouguany24

—

view 175,001 other comments.

yourusername : this is the man i love. covered in cat hair.

liked by lando

lando : god i hate how i will do literally anything for you

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you lannnnnnn

liked by lando

maxverstappen1 : and id break ten more doors.

liked by yourusername and lando

alex_albon : you still flinched when one of ours sneezed but we made progress so idc

liked by yourusername and lando

zhouguanyu24 : mini sweetcorn sleeps beside me every night. nothing will ever top this gift.

liked by yourusername and lando

yukitsunoda0511 : yn!! do you think we can get him to go to the cat cafe in tokyo??

liked by yourusername

lando : no

yourusername : if you love me you will

liked by yukitsunoda0511

lando : GOD damnit

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[heartyluv]

—Click Here— for Camboy!Caleb masterlist!

Note: They’re so filthy, (I say as if I’m not the one writing it). I hope you enjoy, luvlys! ;)

Warning: Sub!Caleb, he’s begging, handjob, cock ring and brief attempt of pocket pussy use (you’ll see why), you kindaaa dom him (again, you’ll see why i said kinda), you have to be quiet 🤫, use of ‘good boy’, cum licking, brief mention of spit, you end up sitting on his cock (i think i got it all)

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: You and your husband try out some new toys.

SubbyCamboy!Caleb/Reader

“She sleep?” Caleb asks once you enter your bedroom and silently shut the door with a gentle click of the lock to follow.

“Out like a light,” you grin. You would forever be thankful for your precious three year old daughter who made bedtime the easiest thing on the planet. Because of her simplicity and general love for sleep—since she gets to be surrounded by her dozens of plushies—, it allowed you and Caleb to almost always have some alone time when the sun set. Whether it be basking in comfortable silence together while watching a movie or silently indulging in each other’s bodies, it was a gift you never took for granted.

“You still up for tonight?”

He sets his phone down, shrugging with a faux nonchalant smile like he isn’t buzzing with the same level of excitement as you. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

Biting your lip, you scurry over to him and lean down to where he sits in the bed, kissing him deeply and squealing when he keeps you close in your efforts to try to pull away. Once you’re finally released with a generous slap to the ass by your husband, you go to your tall dresser and open the drawer to pull out the fresh bottle of lube and the new toys you cleaned when they arrived earlier.

“I remember when I used to watch you use something like this one.” You inspect the pocket pussy, the memories of gawking at Caleb on your phone screen when you were once strangers in a fan to content creator relationship, flooding your mind. He would spill his cum into the one he once owned as he cursed under his breath at the same time you’d rub your clit faster to catch up with him.

Good times. But they were even better, now. Now he was your man, the father of your beautiful Sloane Xia, and most importantly, your best friend.

“Mhm. And I remember it was one of your favorites,” he smirked. “I think you were one of the first to send in a request for a personal video of me using it.”

Your cheeks heated. It was a shot in the dark—or so you thought. It took all of you to drop the embarrassment and just send him the $100, along with asking for a video of him fucking the realistic enough vagina model. Not only did he do it and got to it quicker than you anticipated, but he consistently chanted out about how badly he wished it was you he was fucking and filling up.

That video fundamentally rewired your brain, and you still have it to this day.

At the time, you knew it was simply for the content and to ensure that his viewer get their moneys worth. But now that your life looks the way it does, you wondered if he unintentionally spoke his desires into the universe and was ultimately granted his wish.

Once on your side of the bed, you sit down on top of the covers that Caleb’s beneath, handing him the cock ring first.

You and Caleb rarely used toys when you officially got together. The only thing that would make an appearance in your sex life would be your trusty pink vibrating wand, but other than that—you two preferred to find ways to please each other with what you were equipped with. It was more fun that way—to try and find new positions, as well as other things to spice it up.

It was last week that you brought up wanting to try some out. After seeing a couple you two were friends with who created similar content use a cock ring in their video, you couldn’t resist showing Caleb. He was more than willing to do it, especially when he saw how turned on it made you.

“I’ve never seen you use one of these, though.”

He takes the little contraption, inspecting it with pursed lips. “I did once, but I never recorded it.”

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. “You used a cock ring and I never knew?!”

“You never asked, pretty. Besides, it didn’t do much for me.”

“No?” you tease. “Did it do this?”

You press the silver button, the gentle buzz of the ring sounding.

“It absolutely did not do that,” he said astounded with a deep chuckle. The vibrating in his hand immediately sent blood rushing to his cock.

“Are you hard?” you cooed, shutting off the ring and palming him through his boxers on top of the covers.

“A little, yeah.”

You open and close your other hand, gesturing for him to hand it over. “Let me see.”

Caleb groans when your hand slides away from him. Already shirtless, he throws the sheet off his body, sitting up more so he can inch his underwear down enough to release his semi-hard dick.

“Aht,” you scold flirtatiously. “All the way off.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Your pussy throbs at how quickly and well he listens without hesitation. You eye his thick length while he follows your instruction, and open the bottle of lube. Putting a little on your index and middle finger, you generously lather the inner part of the ring so that it can slide onto him with ease, similarly to how your cunt sucks him inside of you.

“Remember, babe,” you get closer, trying to remain stoic, but that nearly fails as you admire his twitching cock. “You gotta stay quiet. Get too loud, and I’ll have to stop.”

“I’ll stay quiet,” he nods, his hips already bucking for some kind of relief. “I promise.”

At the same time that you begin to kiss his lips, your work the vibrating device onto one of your favorite things in the world, smiling into it when his moans prettily pour into you mouth.

“Safe word?”

“A—apple,” he chokes out. “Fuck baby, p—please do something...”

“I know, I know.” You kiss his jaw and when his head tilts back to welcome your love, you press the button again to send shivers down his spine.

The whimpering and near cries erupt from him as if you’ve struck a gold a mine. Pulling back to get a full look at your husband, you can’t help but feel a different kind of love to see him so vulnerable and submissive with you. With his back against the headboard, his cheeks and nose bridge sport a perfect dusty pink.

“Tell me how you feel, baby.”

“S—so good…This feels so good—hah…I need you, pretty. I need you so bad…” He’s an absolute mess and it has you dripping in your panties.

“You want me?” You wrap your hand around the head of his cock, adding the slightest bit of pressure. To suppress his moans, he bites down on his lip so hard that you’re sure it hurts.

He nods vigorously, his hair tickling his forehead with each shake. “I want your pussy, baby…I need my wife. I—I want my wife so much…” Each intake of breath is sharp—needy.

Your heart rate increases the more he pleads for you. You bring your mouth just above his flushed tip and spit on it, working him in your hand slowly. Precum seeps out, adding to the mixture of fluids that you wish your slick was a part of.

But right now? This was all about him.

“If you want me to sit on your cock, I need you to be my good boy. Can you do that?”

He nearly combusts at your words and the way you pump him in your soft palm. Along with the delectable sensation of the ring at the base of his cock, he feels like he’s died and went to a heaven where this was nothing short of paradise.

“Y—yes…I’m gonna be good,” he promises pathetically. “I’ll be good. Anything. Tell me, a—and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Awww, my sweet baby.” Your nipples strain beneath your tank top, reminding you that you’re far too dressed. But that only adds to your excitement.

“I want you to hold your cum. You think you can do that for me?”

Just as you say that, more dribbles out and trails down his length.

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head, sweat beading at his temple. He juts his hips up to try and make you jerk him off faster, but you tsk, reminding him that he must stay still. “B—baby, I don’t think I can. I’m gonna cum a—already.”

“Then you won’t get to fuck me, will you?”

“That’s not fair!” he cries. The wet sounds of you fisting him and the vibrations moving through his balls only brings him closer to his impending delightful doom. “Y—you have to take it off! I’m gonna…Fuck! I’m about to—”

Immediately, you stop. “Are you getting loud with me?”

His chest rises and falls with disappointment and desperation. But even when you stop, the cock ring is still on and giving him the pleasure you ceased. So without you needing to do a thing, he can’t hold back, nor does he want to. His cum shoots out abruptly, thick and pearly white streams landing on your shirt and the exposed upper area of your tits.

Growing far too loud, you place a hand over his mouth—despite how much you wish you could hear him. He mumbles incoherent words, his eyebrows knitting as his breath fans against your hand the more his composure dissipates. His abs flex with each uncontrollable convulsion and you keep your other hand wrapped around him, letting his hot load make a mess on your knuckles.

Even if he hadn’t done what you said, you could never deny the fact that he still looks so fucking ethereal.

You frown as you gently slide the ring off once he’s relaxed. “You didn’t listen.”

He hisses, cock still incredibly sensitive. “I tried, princess,” he defends himself through bated breath. “Don’t be mad at me. Let me make it up to you. ‘M sorry, I couldn’t help it…”

“No need to say sorry.” You take the now sticky dark blue ring, bringing it you your mouth to lick up some of his cum. He watches you with hooded eyes as your tongue laps up his spend like a delicacy, the need to go again stirring within him once more.

“But you shouldn’t be inside of me tonight, right? Since you can’t seem to follow directions.”

“Wait—”

“Safe word?” you interrupt.

“I know the word.”

“Good. Then say it like I told you to.”

Yeah, he’s hard again. “Apple.”

You grab the pocket pussy off the bed and hand it to him. He looks at you confused as he takes itwhile you stand and pull your clothes off.

“You’re gonna watch me touch myself while you fuck that. I want you to think about how better you’ll do in the future when you watch my fingers inside of me, taking your place.”

“No.” He says the word like you’ve given him the ultimate punishment.

Getting on top of the blankets once more, you rest on your elbows with your legs spread wide to give him the perfect view. It’s like he’s mated to you—like he can smell your desire—and it drives him mad to be separated from it. Your fingers go between your thighs and you gather the slick that’s already found its way to your aching clit.

“That wasn’t a question. I’ll come without you if I have to, baby,” you push out. Your lips part when you shove one of your fingers inside your tight hole, the heat consuming your slender digit. “Y—you’re still my good boy, aren’t you?”

Reluctantly, Caleb takes the pocket pussy, dramatically feeling a part of himself dwindle away the more he stares at your pretty, wet, and real one. He brings it down onto his cock, his cum helping him to enter without any restriction.

“I am.” He keeps his eyes on everything you’re doing. From the way you circle your clit to the way you fondle your tits.

The room echos with all the wet and obscene sounds the both of your bodies make. Caleb matches you, pleasing himself with the model the faster your fingers swirl against your sensitive nub. You ogle at what he’s doing too, but the more you watch, the more you grow impatient.

The facade you attempted to uphold cracks effortlessly at the seams. You try to resist, but you and him will forever be drawn together like magnets.

“I can’t…” you mumble, quickly sitting up and pulling the pocket pussy off of your husband like it’s insulting you. Straddling him, he eagerly accepts you and grabs your flesh hungrily. When you guide his dick into your quivering and soaked hole, the immediate connection is otherworldly.

The feeling of him in your walls will never fail to consume you. “I couldn’t help it…”

This is why you found it hard to take control. You weren’t disciplined enough and punishing him would always be far too punishing for you. But Caleb didn’t give a damn. He would let you try every single time if that’s what you wanted.

“Take what you need from me.” He looks at you with so much reverence. “I told you, I’m still your good boy…”

To keep your sounds at bay, you make out with him heatedly, and the teeth that slightly clattered didn’t deter you one bit.

A creamy ring quickly forms at his base and you bounce on his cock no more than five times before he’s flooding you with his seed and you’re squeezing him tightly the moment your orgasm claims you.

You grind against him lazily until you can no longer take anymore.

“I tried it, didn’t I?” you giggle, a string of saliva falling to your chin when you pull away from the intense exchange. He huffs out a laugh through his nose.

“Sex doesn’t have any rules. No matter what role we try to play, the ultimate goal?” He smiles when you look into his eyes. “To make each other feel good. I say we’ve done that successfully, no?”

“I guess. Next time, though,” you whisper. “I’m so gonna nail it.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, shut up!” You quickly cover your mouth when you realize your volume.

“You getting loud with me?” he teases, using your words against you.

“Nu-uh, you better use that damn pocket pussy.”

“Until you use that safe word.” He moves your hips. “I’m staying right here.”

“You’re so lucky I love you,” you shake your head, tugging on your bottom lip.

“The luckiest man in the world.”

A/N: For the sake of the plot, I aged their daughter up, but I will still write some cute and fluffy stuff with her tiny and them navigating parenthood! I wrote this with the intention of thinking of how some people would be if they saw their fine ass partner using a pocket pussy when they’re sitting right there, hot and ready. I know I couldn’t hold out LOLLLL!!!

Creds to @/bbyg4rlhelps and @/enchanthings-a for the dividers!

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @sweetcalebb

[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!)

[harringtons-cupid]

After Dark

Pairing: Coworker! Steve Harrington x fem!reader:

Warnings: Smut, p in v, unprotected sex, nicknames, praising, semi-public sex, mentions of smoking, getting high. Swearing, touching. Cum eating, fingering, pussy eating. Making out. Minors do not!!!

W.C: [4k]

Summary: Your shift at the Family Video store with Steve Harrington, results in more than just a passing glance when your boss introduces a 24-hour trial.

Author's note: This is just horny posting, alot of smut or intentions of smut is mentioned in this! I want to thank @stevesxyellowxsweater for helping me write this.

Please reblog to support me! TYSM🤍

There has always been flirting between you and Steve, maybe a cheeky attempt at a pass. But you always got interrupted, whether it be in the break room or as you were opening up.

You and Steve had never really hung out after work, wanting to keep it a strictly work related relationship.

This proved to be difficult when it was clear that you both wanted each other.

It resulted in ass pinches as you served customers, his fingers grazing your clit in the stockroom. You always found each other in the hidden parts of the store, just on the blind spot of particular cameras. And the cameras weren’t programmed to load up until 8:50am. Giving you just enough time for a sneaky kiss or touch.

Your favourite thing that he had done, was begin to eat you out before you were rudely interrupted by a customer banging on the glass doors. You were both hidden behind large display cases of videos, Steve popped his head up with an annoyed look. Not able to continue for the next few days.

The summer holidays were the worst, you and Steve had worked together for 3 days and it was always the period where you spent less time together.

There was less physical interaction, more hand grazing and his semi erect cock pushing against your ass as he leant to help you with a customer.

The heat didn’t help either of you, it meant that you were always in a range of different skirts with your family video uniform on the top. The shortest ones were simply to tease Steve, you knew that he jerked off to the thought of you bending over the counter.

You always wore the smallest of underwear, your favourite dress was blue with thin white stockings and a white thong.

When you had a movement alone, you’d be pushed up against the wall with his hand around your throat. Until the sound of movement appeared outside, he’d transform into a fake smiley Steve.

Not one with a fat throbbing cock.

This summer it was different, it was the middle of June 1986 in Hawkins and you found yourself lusting over someone from outside of work.

Of course, Steve hated this.

“What about us? He hissed behind you as you added a new video onto the shelves.

“Steve, it’s not like I’m with him?” You rolled your eyes, turning to look at him.

“But, babe. We said there was no one else” he followed you like a lost puppy.

You shook your head, hiding your smile behind more videos. He was getting annoyed now, twisting your body around so your back was pushed against the display cage. All the video tapes in your hands dropped to the floor.

He was towering over you now, his hand pressed firmly above your head. The tension was heavy as he stared into your eyes, his lips wet and plump.

You had never slept with him, it was always just playful touches and many almosts. Everyone used to talk about how good in bed Steve was but you enjoyed the chase and the tease.

This jealous version of Steve was turning you on, you wanted him to take you there and then but unfortunately, your boss was in today.

The jingle of the bell startled you both, quickly bending down to pick up the videos. Steve traced his finger across your neck before walking to meet the boss.

You heard them chatting from a distance as you continued your job, your clit was throbbing between your legs.

He drove you crazy and he knew it, so lying about having someone else made him want you more.

You moved onto a different shelf when you looked up from the videos, watching as your boss walked into the back offices. Your eyes flicked onto Steve who shot you a wink before turning his attention onto the customer at the counter.

Shying, you ached to be near him so you attempted to finish your task as quickly as you could. Your boss never stayed long so you knew that you and Steve would have some alone time at least today.

Robin usually closed Family Video but she wasn’t on the schedule which you thought was odd. After finishing the tedious task of replacing videos on the shelves, you wander over to Steve.

“So, what was he talking about?” You said, referring to the boss.

“He is trialing the shop to be open 24 hours, starting tonight” Steve spoke with slight annoyance.

All the blood in your drained, this was something both you and Steve dreaded. Neither of you really enjoyed the shifts at this place, they were long and tedious. You only turned up because of Steve.

“So, what we gonna do?” You asked, pouting at him slightly.

“He’s going to come out with a bit more information later” he shrugged, turning to face the entrance.

Steve was really close to you, his hand was by your side. Brushing your skin as he smiled and spoke in an animated way.

Everything about this day felt off, all you wanted to be back with the usual day to day routine with Steve.

You both worked until 12pm before your boss dismissed you both for a few hours, “a break” he called it.

Both of you felt a bit lost, he invited you to sit in his car. It was awkward at first, neither of you knew what to say. You had never sat in his car before, you examined the interior as he rolled.

“I didn’t know you smoked?” You asked breaking the deafening silence.

“Oh baby, there is a lot about me you don’t know” he grinned, his eyes twinkling in the light .

Tonight would be the night that you were to find that out.

It was only small, you watched as he stuffed tobacco into the paper before rolling it up.

“So, is it just me and you all night?” You asked nervously.

You watched as a few customer entered and left the shop, it was getting later as you passed it between you two.

“Is there a different question under there?” He whispered seductively.

“No, I’m just stressed about this new shift idea.” You said firmly, looking at him sternly.

“It’s alright babe, I’ll get the boss to lay it all out for us” he grinned at you, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head.

You forced a smile on your face and exited the car behind him, you weren’t particularly nervous about doing a longer shift with him. You both often worked long into the evening but Steve had never seen you with your guard down and least of all, without makeup.

Steve seeing you naked made you nervous, you could easily put on a mask when you were at work but this was different.

You always ended a bit giggly and soft at night, the relationship you had both built was the opposite of that.

The boss stood in front of you both, overly perfumed from your “break”. You listened to his talk about his intentions, your nerves were overflowing as Steve’s hand found yours behind your back.

A few hours later, you and Steve were sat on the floor behind the counter. Playing strip poker hiding from the cameras, there had been no business for over an hour.

You were both bored, sneaking out for smoke breaks every 30 minutes. You were both giggling as you slipped your uniform off your shoulders.

The top of the shirt pressed against your breasts constricting it even more, Steve struggled to focus on his next playing hand.

You bit your lip, pretending to look down at your cards but in the corner of your eye. You noticed his cock moving between the fabric of his tight black trousers and his thin boxers.

The game continued until you were both as naked as you could be for on shift antics, cheeks flushed red as your winning cards were splayed face up.

You grinned, your fingers pressing on the small buttons of your chest. You were very close to exposing yourself to Steve before his sudden movements changed that.

He had pinned you into the floor, your heads pressed up to the wall as his body heavy against yours. His throbbing cock was hard on your pussy.

Time went slow as he lowered himself down to your lips, you were both glad that the camera just about missed you. The heat that was rising from your pressed bodies was insufferable.

Steve’s eyes darted from you towards the noise from outside, your eyes widened as you both jumped up to changed as quickly and inconspicuously.

Hiding your laughter through amused smiles and looks, your fingers slipped on the buttons from the adrenaline.

The customers were louder than most, which meant that you could follow their voices. Allowing you more time to tidy yourselves up, so that when they walked towards the counter.

Steve’s face drained at the sight of them, he knew them.

“Eyyy, the King himself!” One of them jeered, it was obvious they had been drinking.

You slipped away from the counter, pretending to busy yourself as his awkward interactions filled the space.

After a few painful back and forth comments, they disappeared into the dark of the night and you felt Steve relax.

Strip poker wasn’t continued after that interruption, he kept his distance. Collecting the loose videos and replacing the spaces, as you stood at the counter.

You were unsure what created the distance but it felt like you had been ripped apart. This was different than any other relationship, you were so in your head because you both had to hide the touches and steal the glances.

This trial had meant that you and Steve spend more time together than you did during a shift. Both of you were acting differently than usual, instead of soft touches. It was rough and daring interactions.

Needing a few moments of fresh air, you disappeared out the back. There was a cool breeze as you rested your back onto the brick, the stars twinkling in the sky when the door opened behind you.

His shoulders touched yours, his fingers pinched and twirled an old roll hidden in his pocket. The amber glow of him lighting the smoke, his head tipped and eyes tight shut.

You examined him in the glow, he was stupidly beautiful. The imperfections in his cheeks were nonexistent, as you pulled his face closer to yours.

Kissing him aggressively, the amber glow flickered as his hand dropped away his face. He let it go out between his fingers, drunk on your kiss.

His body sliding closer to yours as your hand cupped his face, practically eating him but you didn’t care. It was dark and you were both alone for the first time ever.

No customers, no condescending bosses, no cameras and no teasing coworkers.

It was another slow hour, meaning that you and Steve could slip into the storeroom to properly kiss until the sound of a customer broke you apart.

You were slightly enjoying it, stealing smoke breaks before he pushed against the wall and his hand slipped your the inside of your thigh.

“Let’s go to our spot” he breathed against your lips.

“In the store?” You pulled away alarmingly.

He shrugged with a wide grin on his face,

“I’ll put a sign up” he said, making out that he was compromising.

But you weren’t sure if you wanted to have sex in the middle of the store, you walked with him though.

There were two television broadcasting the latest films into the store, a new way of promoting films. It wasn’t as annoying as you thought, you picked the next film.

Steve rolled his eyes, a romantic film. Though secretly he loved it.

You were leaning against him as the film played, the store was empty for next couple of hours. Steve had placed a blanket underneath for you both to lie on, his body was on yours as you kissed.

His hand resumed its position from earlier, teasing your thigh but never edging further.

For some reason, he didn’t want to do anything more than kissing.

“Do you want to go further?” You asked panting against his lips.

Without saying a word, he lifted you up with the blanket and led you into the breakroom. You were only there together when your shift was starting or ending.

So when he led you onto the sofa that neither of you sat at, you felt more at ease. Relaxing into the leather as his hands pinched at your skin, it was desperate.

Within seconds, he was kissing down your body. Tugging at your skirt, shuddering as his lips kissed your inner thighs.

This was the most he had ever done, you were always distracted by your jobs.

But tonight, there was no one.

So he continued, pulling down your skirt and underwear. There was a deep lust in his kiss.

“Fuck, your pussy is so pretty baby” he breathing, simply staring at it.

Giving your clit one spank as he continued to look, his eyes clouded with mischief. His fingers began to play with your clit, teasing it.

Watching as you became worked up underneath him, his lips reached your nipples and sucked them hard.

“I have wanted you for so long Steve” you panted as his fingers rubbed your clit more aggressively.

“You have, haven’t you?” He cooed at you, his eyes boring into you as his nail grazed your clit.

You moaned loudly, your head fallen onto the cushion behind you. Your legs spreading, giving him more room to fit.

This is what you had wanted for so long, just his fingers and energy were making you so wet.

It was pooling in your lower stomach as his finger slipped inside you, hitting your soft spot. Making you dig into his skin at the pressure he was hitting.

Rocking your hips back and forth, practically begging him for more than one finger. So he slipped more than 2 inside you, completely stretching you out.

You loved it. Fucking yourself on his fingers as his tongue came into contact with your throbbing clit.

The sensation overwhelming, his moans vibrating against your pussy. The quiet sounds of the videos playing distantly in the background, just as you were on the cusp of cumming.

Steve pulled his fingers and mouth away from you, making you whine and buck your hips in desperation.

''Shush now baby, you'll get the attention back'' he cooed, you tried to reach for him but he pushed you back.

Watching helplessly as his cock fell out of his boxers, your jaw practically gaping open at the sight of it. You had heard the whispers from girls in the shop but you didn't believe it.

His fingers were tight around his shaft as he slowly warmed himself up, not that he needed it. You could see the precum glistening in the dim light, feeling mischeivious you began to touch yourself at the sight of him.

''Oh you really are in for it.'' he said huskily, the groan was caught in his throat as he lined his tip up with your entrance.

He didn't stop you from playing with yourself, rather encouraging it as he slid his cock deeper inside you. Filling up around your walls, the sound he made was heavenly.

Starting by bending his body forward, his pelivs against yours lifting your legs up in front of him and thrusting. It made you quiver as you grew wetter and wetter by the second.

He continued fucking you until you were a shaking mess underneath him, getting you to the same point before he stopped. Suddenly feeling worried about that, you opened your mouth to speak but he took his hand away from your legs to shut you up.

His muscles flexed as he held onto both of your ankles with one hand, as the other was firmly on your lips.

''That's it baby, you are taking it so well'' he groaned, quickening his pace as he slowly removed his hand.

Placing both hands on your ankles as he spread them, shuddering as your pelvic muscles strained at the sudden movement change.

He was struggling to talk to you as his eyes fluttered, mumbling the words 'fuck, fuck, fuck' under his breath as you began to fuck yourself on his cock.

''Please, Steve. I really need it'' you whined, choking on your own words now.

You loved that he had taken control, lying there like his toy to fuck. The desire for him pulsated through you as the familar bubble began to stir in your stomach.

Unable to say anything because of the sheer overstimulation, you rested your head further into the pillow and looked at him. Your eyes began to roll back as your body released your orgasm.

''That's it. Let it all out babygirl'' he groaned, his fingertips were pressing hard into your skin.

He fucked you in the same position as you came hard, feeling your cum drip down his cock. He waited a second before moving your legs onto his shoulders.

Thrusting his cock deeper into your pussy, you were shaking at this point. On the same sofa in your work breakroom, your hands were scratching at his back as the sensation was increased.

He was close, you could sense that with how his body and cock had begun twitching.

''Cum for me Steve. Be a good boy.'' you whispered, taunting him as you rocked back and forth.

Your words sent him over the edge, pushing your legs from around his body. His cock was forced out of you as his cum spurted out of you onto your stomach.

Wanting to tease him further, you stroked his shaft and tip. Making him groan and shudder at the touch of you. Finally deciding not to overstimulate him even more, he stopped. He reached for a piece of useless paper to his side and began trying to wipe the cum off.

Rolling your eyes in amusement, you pulled him forward onto your chest. Feeling the squelch of the cum between you both.

“I think, we only have five minutes left before Robin comes in” you said, grinning at him.

He kisses you, sweat beads cling to his hair as your fingers flow through it. You let him kiss you for a moment longer, wanting saviour it until you would both have to leave.

You quietly changed in the hot break room, his eyes constantly switching between you and the door.

It was as empty as you left it, combing your fingers through your hair as you walked towards the counter.

You hoped that it wasn’t the end of your relationship now he had fucked you. As he pulled two of the stools up to the counter, the closest television was facing you both.

His hands were resting on your thighs, squeezing them as you tried focus on the screen.

The bell tinkled above the door and a group of teenagers entered, they were talking amongst themselves when Steve leant closer,

“You know that we aren’t over right?” His breath was hot against your cheek.

Your eyes following the voices of the group, cheeks flushed red. Relief filled your body as telepathically he was thinking the same thing.

The group appeared in front of you both at the counter, Steve let go of your thigh to input the sale into the till and saying thank you.

“Coffee?” he said, kissing your cheek firmly.

You hmm’d in response and watched him disappear into the back of the store, listening for his movement. The faint sound of the coffee machine as he was obviously tidying the breakroom for Robins imminent shift start.

A few moments later, he came back out with two steaming hot mugs of coffee. Yours was filled with milk, just how you liked it.

This was how it was during those long winter months when you didn’t wear sundresses, the tease and chase was still there but it wasn’t as hot.

As he placed the mugs down on the counter, he scanned the store for any sign of life before pushing your lips onto his and kissing you.

You felt on fire as his mouth deepened onto yours, your cheeks flushed red at the boldness of his decision.

Pulling away from him, you looked at him. He was looking at you with a dazed expression, your heart was racing. You took a sip of your coffee to try and ground yourself but burning your tongue in the process.

“Jesus, Steve. Don’t do it in the middle of the store” you snapped at him after taking a scolding sip.

His eyes changed, suddenly appearing at your outburst. Taking a seat away next to you, he turned his attention to the tv. Ignoring you completely, realisation crept in and you tried to place a hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry—“ you leant forward with a smile—“I just like all the sneaking, it makes me so wet” you whispered in his ear.

A smirk appeared on his face, his hand slipped down to your skirt. Teasing you with his fingers on your underwear, as you both drank your coffees.

The heat was rising as his fingers reached your clit with your backs to the camera and the counter covering your lower bodies.

With very little view of each of you, he could very easily get you off and you could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter by the second.

Hiding your moans and any movement as his thumb moved quicker and quicker on your throbbing clit. As you rested your head on his shoulder, a soft gasp escaped your mouth.

A noise was heard from the staff entrance but he didn’t stop until you stifled a moan into his shoulder. Catching your breath as you came in your pants, the slick sound of his thumb was heard at the same time as footsteps.

Steve didn’t remove his hand from your underwear until the creak from the break room moved away from the side door. Scooping parts of your cum between his finger, putting one finger into his own mouth before placing it in yours.

Forcing you to taste yourself on his fingers, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your shoulders before he slowly moved away from you.

“You both out there?” Robin’s voice echoed in the left of the store.

Your eyes studied Steve, finishing your coffee as you pretended to focus on the remainder of the film playing.

Robin finally entered the store, wearing her store uniform. Studying you both before walking closer,

“So, had a good shift?” She eyed you, appearing suspicious about something.

She got closer to you both, standing between you. Looking from you to Steve, you smiled at her before she stood back.

“It’s stinks of weed” she whispered with a grin on her face.

You relaxed, Steve met your eye as she turned her back for a second. He winked at you before turning to face Robin and finally speaking.

“Wanna share one before your shift?” He asked, leaning closer to you.

She nodded, walking ahead and leaving you both alone again.

His fingers twirled on your nipples, sending a shock through your body.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be forgotten about” he said with a smirk.

You watched him disappear out the back with a small pre rolled joint in his back pocket. Hiding your smile as you walked over to replace the tape in the television, not hearing Steve rush back in.

He had forgotten his lighter but like he always did, he didn’t want to leave you without a touch or a glance.

His hand found your ass and pinched it hard, making you jump before Steve pulled you closer.

“Careful baby, the camera might see” he smirked as you leant over to swap the tape.

At that moment, a few customers walked in through the door. You looked at Steve with his pleased expression and slipped from under.

“I’m going to serve the customers, see you later. Babe” you winked at him.

Knowing that he was watching you walk back to the counter, leaning over as the film began to play. Your eyes followed him as he left and you were excited for the next few hours.

Hiding from Robin was a different story, but you both enjoyed the rush. If anything, sleeping with Steve has made him want you more.

[brokenbough]

Absolutely incredible job on the first thing you posted on here! That sounds like I think I’m qualified to appraise the quality of writing and I’m not, sorry if it came off weird. I just loved it, I guess is more accurate to say.

Grumpy Simon is the very best, and you nailed him. He wants her to cuddle into him so bad he’s such an idiot. This concept was so wonderful and again you executed it beautifully :)

Not a request, just a musing, but I think this would be the PERFECT situation for jealousy playing a role in forcing Simon to admit his blossoming feelings for reader. He thinks he hates it when she lays on him, even though he’s starting to realize he craves it, he still resents her for it because he hates feeling feelings and she’s making him do that he just doesn’t realize that’s his problem with the situation.

But imagine how incredibly bothered and angry and jealous he’d be if reader curled into Johnny or Gaz or god forbid his CAPTAIN or even Graves or Los Vaqueros oh god instead of him. I think regardless or whether it happens on accident (maybe she settles with the rest of the group because Simon is on watch and when she gets sleepy she slumps onto whichever comfy shoulder is nearest) or on purpose (maybe he was being an asshole or had pushed her away so she tried her best to find a new pillow that wouldn’t upset her Lieutenant) I think he’d be so jealous and his feelings would come to the forefront and he’d have to confront them.

I also think it could be a cute idea for Simon to like prohibit her from sleeping on his shoulder and so on the mission she literally can’t sleep at all. She struggles and tries, just lays quietly while they sleep so as not to bother them, but she can’t get comfortable, needs the warmth and something softer than the ground to curl up into and lay her head on. This unexpected consequence takes a toll on Simon, as he sees how exhausted and frustrated she is - he’s pissed off that he cares about this beyond the possible impact on the mission. He’s also impressed but also saddened by how she’s trying to push through the mission even though she’s so much less experienced and is getting less rest than any of them.

Maybe these could be combined and that’s why she ended up falling asleep on someone else? Like she’s so tired her body draws her to the nearest willing shoulder.

Anyway just some fun ideas! I hope you’re well 🩷

One, so sad you don't write yourself. You 100% should, I love your brain. I hope you're well too

Two, I hope this is up to yalls standards. Sorry its so long. I watched two movies making this, i got distracted 😋😋 :>>>

Not proofread 🤕

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

After two years of being with the team, it almost became ritual for presents for either you or Ghost to be a collection of the two of you together, one sleep or both.

You thought it was a cute tradition. It was something you almost looked forward to, more than clothes or jewelry or trinkets. It was your favorite gift and you wouldn't trade not one photo for anything else.

But cute was not something Ghost was akin to. It was kind of the... opposite of Ghost. He was a hardened, seasoned soldier, not some fluffy pillow you could kick back on.

Yes, maybe he let you lay on his lap sometimes, and maybe you've gone to him for comfort on more than one occasion, hugging him tightly, blubbering sorrys and other apologies.

He never cooed at you, reassured you, or even hugged you back... but he let you mush your tiny face into his chest whenever life got too much for you.

Maybe it was after a mission, maybe days after and the memories came back. He'd been through it himself, he knew the feeling. Only he didn't have anyone to lean on, so maybe you leaning on him gave him some sort of closure. He doesn't know, he doesn't really think about it. He can't, not with his life on the line almost everyday and yours. It was a distraction, wasted time he simply didn't have.

So, like any sane person with having good literally put in front of them, he pushed you away. He kept his distance, kept you off his shoulder, because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was growing... fond of you. Not attached. Merely... tolerant of you-- your behavior-- and that in of itself was dangerous. Fondness, trust, softness, got you killed in the field.

You didn't even notice at first, too caught up with each grueling mission. You were sputtering, running on the last fumes of your gas. Sleep didn't come easy when you were being shot at, yelled at, and pulled onto yet another plane.

But here... it's cold. And cold makes you unnaturally sleepy. It was something you've known about yourself since childhood. When it got cold, you got sleepy. That's just how it's always been. And now, in the Candian cold, in the less than warm safe house, you were getting tired.

You had last watch with Johnny, Kyle and Price first, Ghost and Price after.

Lounging on the cushy couch the safe house provided, curled up in one of the few blankets, you leaned to the side, Ghost's shoulder the comfortable pillow you remember. You yawn, nuzzling a little closer before your eyes open again.

His finger on the side of your head, pushed you away, moving you closer to Johnny before removing himself from the couch entirely.

He didn't even bother looking at you.

You frowned, watching him walk further and further away. He walked until he was completely out of your eyesight, making your frown droop even more.

You were pulled out of the sad fog by Soap. He shook you slightly, wrapping his arm around your smaller body.

"'S okay bonnie. He's usually a prick." Johnny assures with a small smile, pulling you closer as you surrendered to the fate that was Soap's shoulder.

It was warm, soft, nice. But not Ghost warm, soft, nice. Simon wasn't just warm, he was a fucking furnace, constantly burning, a crackling fire that lulled you to sleep. And he wasn't soft, he was fluff you melt into, like that one pillow you got and can only find cheap replacements for because others are too firm. And godforbid someone call his shoulder just nice. His presence, scent, the way his breath was its own type of calming was just... perfect. Soap was just... just mediocre. But it would have to do because it didn't seem like Ghost was gonna return anytime soon and you needed sleep.

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

When Ghost had left he wasn't prepared for the anger, the fury that bubbled in his chest seeing you asleep on someone else, let alone cuddled up to fucking Johnny on the small couch. Laying on top of him like he was the softest bed you've made contact with.

He squinted his eyes at the sight, his balled up fists itching for a throwing knife. He couldn't see your bunched up face, contorted in agony because Soap, as big as he was, just wasn't thick enough to sink into. It was more uncomfortable than you would've liked to admit. Bless Soap's poor, sad face if he ever found out he wasn't comfortable enough for his favorite lass.

Ghost stormed out again, standing in the cold silently as his entire body heated up with annoyance, and anger, and every other synonym of the two.

He was on watch now, even though his mind was clouded with images of you and someone else.

You, you, you.

You and someone else.

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

A soft shake jolted you awake, a knife in your hand before you registered the soft, amused smile and eyes of your captain.

"Easy there." He said, helping you up, watching as you stretched and groaned, cracking your neck, Johnny still out cold.

"Sorry. Force of habit." You say with a sheepish smile, looking around the ever quiet room. You caught Ghost's eyes before quickly looking away, the look in his eyes nothing short of barely controlled rage.

You didn't know how you'd made him mad, but he looked angry. Angrier than when he chewed you out for sleeping on him your very first mission.

"No need to apologize." He continues before shaking Johnny awake too.

When Johnny finally sat up-- having to be promptly smacked awake-- Price informed the two of you that you were now on watch.

You went to the window, looking out at the quiet snow that fell in unique snowflakes, catching up with its brothers and sisters, quietly laying next to its family before watching another fall.

The house was quiet, aside from Price's unbridled snores and Gaz soft muses in his sleep. You don't know where Ghost went off too, probably the very back room to lie down.

You couldn't take the silence anymore as you finally looked at Soap, beckoning him over to talk.

Your whispers surely too quiet to wake anyone else in the house. It was only the drop of something heavy that finally pulled your head up from snickering with Soap, shattering the bubble of silence that seemed to envelope the house.

You turned, watching Ghost angrily arrange fire in the small hearth. He didn't look at you again, glaring at an oblivious Soap as the both of you made your way over, watching the lieutenant work.

"What're ya doin' Lt.?" Soap asks, looking into the fireplace.

You looked too, focusing more on the hands that worked than the actual work.

"Fuck does it look like Johnny?" Ghost said, snappier than usual.

"Why're you fillin' up the fireplace?" You ask, looking to an offended Soap and back to the pile of neatly arranged logs.

"Can't have you fallin' asleep on watch." He answers gruffly, throwing a match into the fire. His 'you' sounding like sin. Reprimand.

Soap was too enamored with the fire to question Ghost's words. Not cryptic, but unusual.

"I wouldn't fall asleep on watch-" you say in an offended tone before he cuts in.

"But you fall asleep in the cold." He says, clipped and clearly aggravated. Accusatory, like he shouldn't know that.

You stare up a him blankly, watching his eyes. Watching him watch you with the same blank look.

"How-" you start to question before he checks your shoulder, knocking you into Johnny, pulling the Scottish man back to reality. Soap pulls a rattled you back to the window, looking out at the soft, untouched snow, mindlessly continuing the conversation from before.

But him-- his words rattled around in your brain as the other man talked, his words going in one ear and out the other as Ghost's words floated around the empty space between your ears. Just him, his words, the fire that crackled behind him.

Him, him, him.

Him and his words.

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

You were finally relieved from duty as the sun started to come up, making the snow sparkle. The sun itself tinting the sky pink and orange and red, painting the sky picturesque.

You looked away from its beauty solemnly as everyone else started to wake. You turned away, stretching again before watching the others work, looking like little ants. The thought made you smile, giggling to yourself and putting you in good spirits, something unusual from the usual bite you had in the mornings. They weren't your thing.

The rest of the task force looks at you before you just wave them off, helping with breakfast.

Price talks as the rest eat.

"Evac comes at noon, be packed up and ready by then. We have new leads to follow, so wake up." He says, a pointed look at the ever groggy Johnny. You'd say he slept as much as you, if not more on leave.

You snicker, elbowing softly. The deathly glare he gives you makes you laugh more.

Gaz starts to laugh too, seemingly more amused by how tickled you looked with Johnny than Johnny himself.

Ghost is quiet, not bothering to join in with the happy that seemed to surround you indefinitely. The sunlight crept in through the windows, shining on you softly as you literally glowed in his eyes. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes sit before opening them again. But there you sat, smile on your mouth, cheeks tinted red from laughing, your eyes crinkled in amusement, and you-- glowing.

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

The ride back was boisterous. Well, for four out of the six people aboard it. Price and Gaz laughing, Soap-- in a better mood-- making even the pilot laugh.

But you sat alone on the other side, right in front of Ghost. You tried to sit next to him, catch up on some sleep before being deployed again, but he had sat his pack in the chair next to him, not even sparing you a glance. His jaw was clenched shut, eyes burning a hole in the side of plane.

You said nothing, walking past him and past the rest before settling on the other side. Right in front of Ghost. The silence around you deafening, the tension in between tense enough to be cut with your nails.

No one said anything, no one even looked at you two, too caught up in their own jokes and theatrics.

Luckily for you, it was a short ride back to Washington.

You'd been up on more missions than usual, which meant you'd been up for longer than usual. The sleep you got with Soap had been the most you'd gotten over a week. You'd only slept 4 hours.

The promise of a proper bed and food that wasn't MREs was the only thing fueling your near empty tank. Probably everyone else's too.

When you finally landed at base, debriefed, and ate, you were finally permitted to sleep. You couldn't even make it to your room before you crashed on the couch in the secluded area that was reserved for the 141. Soap and Gaz were already there, playing a card game.

A head peaked over one of the couches. Ghost. You took the seat next to Price, watching him read a little before scooting closer and laying on his shoulder.

You settle next to him, getting a small smile in return.

"Tired?" Price asks, looking you over before turning the page.

"Mhm." You mumble, noncommittal.

You look around for a moment, taking in the happy that enveloped the two men before switching over to Ghost who looked at you. Finally, you think.

You aren't sure why you wanted him to look at you, but he had been avoiding you since.. well yesterday. You were too tired to notice it, but now that you think about it, he hasn't talked to you in mayb a week, besides barking orders and that time by the fire.

You huff softly, shifting closer to the captain. He leaned back, wrapping an arm around you. He smelled like cigar smoke and... well, warm. Maybe Old Spice.

You drifted off to sleep, the last thing you saw being Ghost's skull balaclava. It was seared into the back of your eyelids as you closed them, trying to find solace in your dreams.

It never came.

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

You awoke by yourself, passed out on the couch. You rubbed your eyes, lifting up and rubbing at the crick in your neck.

You found a mass of black in front of you. You were startled to say the least, pinching yourself to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't.

You looked up, catching Ghost again.

Looking away, you yawned, fighting the tiredness again. You couldn't get proper sleep anywhere.

A voice cut through your thoughts. Gruff, demanding, definite.

"Enjoying yourself?" It asked.

You looked back to Ghost, watching his mask move slightly.

"What?" You say, still a bit dazed from the short nap. You took a glance around the room. Cards discarded on a table some way off, Price's book discarded on the table in-between the two sofas.

"Sleeping around, I mean." He says, voice deeper than usual. He was ticked off.

Why?

"Sleeping-- what?" You ask again, offended, angry, annoyed. What the fuck was this man's game? Why was he bothering playing games with you in the fist place?

"First Soap, then Price. Who's next? Gaz?" He asks, glaring at you.

"What are you talking about?" You demand now, sitting up properly.

"I'm talking about you sleeping with everyone."

Your brain takes a moment to catch up before glaring at him.

"You mean on them? Because I'm tired? Because I've been up for 84 fucking hours, I think I deserve sleep." You spit out.

"On them, with them, same difference." He comments nonchalantly.

"Uhm, no. Not the same thing." You argue, eyeing him like he's grown a third head.

"They are to me."

".... Are- Ghost, are you jealous?" You ask, not expecting an answer.

He scoffs like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, but his eyes tell-- scream a different story to you.

"You are." You laugh.

"I'm not. You're.. you're ridiculous." He says, scoffing again.

"No. I'm right. You are jealous."

"Uhm, no. I'm not." He reiterates.

"Yeah, you are." You say, full on smiling now.

He doesn't answer you a third time, opting to just look at you blankly, hoping his jealousy couldn't be seen through his mask.

It wasn't, but it was easily spotted through his eyes.

He huffed again, leaning back into the couch, crossing his arms.

"Fine. I'll only... sleep with you, if you apologize." You finally say after a moment of too long silence.

"Apologize?" He says, clearly annoyed at the prospect. "For what?"

"Do you really want me to go down the list?"

F"Go on." He taunts.

"One, for ignoring me for no reason. Two, for being jealous for no reason and making me lose out on sleep. Three, making me lose out on sleep when I could've used it. Four--"

"Okay. I get it. Jesus." He huffs again, his arms crossing tighter.

"Apologize." You say again.

He gives you a look, eyeing you like you've just spoken blasphemy.

You give him a look like you're not playing.

"...." He tsks audibly, opening his legs slightly for comfortability.

You raise an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him.

He clears his throat, his leg bouncing for a second. "And.. me..." He clears his throat again. "You only sleep with me. Okay?" He says, his authoritive voice back on.

"Mhm. I'll only sleep with you. Simon." You taunt.

"Me, and my shoulder." He continues, eyeing you seriously.

"Mhm."

"Good." He huffs out one last time before leaving.

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

"He said that? Him and his shoulder?"

"Mhm. Cause he knows what's good for him." You nod, eating a bit more.

"Okay girl. Okay." Gaz concedes, picking off your plate before recoiling when you smack his hand.

"What're you two on?" Ghost asks, eyeing Gaz.

"She's all yours man." Gaz says, raising his hands in surrender.

Ghost's eyes narrow, eyeing you after.

You only shrug, leaning on his shoulder. Pre-deployment nap after eating? Hell yeah.

[druidwolf21]

Konrad Curze and Lion are unable to recognize their own feelings , so of they get a crush they enter full conspirancy mode with them accusing the woman of being a psyker messing with their heads.

Hey anon!

Love this idea, thank you so much for letting me write this! I hope you like it!

Confusion

Tw: mild threat.

Lion El'Johnson

"Please I didn't do anything wrong!"

The astartes didn't answer, red eye lenses focused straight ahead as he dragged you down the halls of the Invincible reason, the wrought iron floor scuffing against your boots with each long stride the marine took.

"Please, just tell me what is happening!"

The marine growled, an audible snarl and yanked you into line with him. you spluttered and whined, jogging to keep up and struggling against the vice grip on your arm.

He hauled you up towards a massive door, dark metal with intricate sigils carved across its surface. Panic rose like bile in your throat and you dug in your heels, a useless endeavour as the dark angel pushed the door open and tossed you through and slamming it shut.

clambering to your feet, you cautiously surveyed your surroundings. A simple room, an office maybe, from the soaring book cases and the huge desk sitting pride of place in the centre. A single dying flame in a scorched bracket cast sparse light into the room, shrouding half of it in shadow.

A flash of movement caught your eye and fear drove you to your knees as Lion El'johnson stepped into the flickering slight.

"My lord El'johnson"

The primarch prowled towards you, green eye bright, almost reflective even in the dark. the ground shook slightly with each step, heavy ceramite ringing as it struck the iron floor.

"What have you done, witch"

Dumbfounded you simply stared at him.

"I...what?"

Lion snarled, gripping you by the collar and lifting you into the air. you feet hung uselessly as you clutched his giant armoured fist with your own tiny hands.

"You Know what you have done. Whatever curse or spell you have cast, you will undo it. NOW" he punctuated his sentence by shaking you vigorously.

"please, I really don't know"

The primarch eyed you scowling, His grip refusing to ease even slightly.

"My lord if you tell me what the problem is, maybe I can help"

The lions scowl deepened, a grimace forming across his face. Reluctantly he set you back down, eying you suspiciously as you straightened your robes.

"Every time I see you, my chest tightens. I feel anger when someone else is near you. When I see you i want to-"

He grit his teeth before continuing.

"I want to touch you. Claim you. This is clearly warp sorcery. You are corrupting my mind to your own perverse ends"

Shocked into silence, a thousand thoughts ran through your head.

"My lord. Have you never, uh. hmm"

your body was heating up as a blush broke across your skin.

"My lord, have you never felt uh, lets say affection, for someone before"

Lion cocked his head, sneering at your words

"Are you suggesting these thoughts are my own? That I have fallen so low, that is choose to lust for a serf?"

You dragged a palm down your face and sighed.

This might take a while to explain

Konrad Curze

"What do we have here?"

You shivered in the dark listening to the steady drip drip drip of water leaking through the shattered roof. The voice bounced around the shadows, reverberating around and distorting the sound.

"Who are you? What do you want"

Your foot touched one of the corpses, still warm and seeping ichor across the dirty floor. Blinded and scared you spun, trying to bite back tears and swallow your panic. The roof creaked under somethings weight and you collapsed to the floor, surrendering.

"Please just tell me what you want"

"I want you to fix what you have done"

"I havent done anything, please I want to go home"

The voice laughed. Deep and resonant it shook you to your core.

"I wont kill you, Psyker. Simply reverse your spell and we can be done with this matter."

The ground shook as a shadow landed near to you. Blurry in the dark you could make out the vague shape towering over you and the flash of white fangs.

"Curze" you whispered, your stomach dropping.

"Aaah so you do know me then."

The shape moved, disappearing into the blackness before reappearing next to you. A taloned hand grabbed your face, gripping your cheeks between two razor claws.

"Fix your sorcery."

"Please, i'm not a psyker i swear" you gestured in the vague direction of the tattered corpse somewhere in the building.

"If i was, don't you think i would've protected myself? you wouldn't have needed to kill him"

Silence. the only sound your heavy breath and that damned drip drip drip.

"Then explain"

The edge of the claw cut slightly into your cheek, keeping you facing away as the night haunter moved behind you. The faint whine of servos for a second and then his hot breath was in your ear.

"I have been watching you for a while, watching you ferry your little messages. It was so easy, you were so...pathetically oblivious. And yet when i moved to kill you, i couldnt."

Curze squeezed, drawing a slow trickle of blood down your cheek.

"You were so soft. So gentle with people around you. The thought of hurting you made me sick. It made me rage. I found myself lingering on thoughts of you, if you were....safe" he released your jaw, gesturing around you with a vague motion.

"Each time i saw you alive, it felt like a weight had lifted from my mind. When they came for you, I was unable to resist stepping in. So tell me. What. Did. You. Do"

He gripped your shoulder and spun you, pulling you inches from his face, hair tickling your shoulders as he loomed over you.

"What makes you so special that I need to protect you, if it is not your wretched sorcery"

"I don't know" your voice cracking.

@beckyninja @moodymisty @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @bookandyarndragon @thisuserislilsilly @vithralith @absynthe-mind @saintsylestine @meervalv0

"well then. We should find out, shouldn't we"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

[bewitched-hours]

Hehehehe nice food (Walks away with sus angst bluududx fem!child reader shaped throat)

and no i did not kiss the knife that i used to stab yu and bluudud >:3

ok enough angst time to move on-

So err the spectre removed reader memory but forgo to erase her memory of bluudud so reader slowly getting her memory back (if they hang out alot which yes they do)

i dunno if this is the last part or not just based on yu

-Kikiki Anon(i changed cus i don wanna be a kiclown no more)

... now, I'm not about to say I'm against making more of this because it feels eerily similar to Jane and John and those two already deserve happiness so fuck it, I'll turn this into a whole series if you want, Kikiki-

Like part 1 and part 2, reader gets She/Her~

Something must've cracked...

Something happened for your mind to suddenly have these flickers of your old self returning. And it didn't go unnoticed when it happened.

The first time was with 1x1x1x1, who was supposed to simply make sure that you wouldn't do anything stupid to yourself.

But she caught the way you quietly mumbled how cool he looked and her head practically snapped around to look at you in shock, meeting an unfamiliar sparkle in your eyes for mere seconds before it seemed to fizzle out and you were back to 'normal'.

But when he told the others, it caused them to pay a lot more attention to you and see if there was anything they could do to maybe cause these flickers purposefully.

So far it seemed that it was usually things you used to love talking about when you were still a survivor.

Pr3typriincess making you a bow in your favourite colour, C00lkidd asking you to play hide and seek for a change instead of tag, even Bluudud begrudgingly having you watch him play a game you showed interest in even though it felt boring to him and he had a hard time not complaining about it...

But it did bring you back... Somewhat...

You were never there for long but the more they tried, the longer you seemed to stay Lucid. The longer you were back and babbling praises to them for being such good friends to you.

The longer you seemed to remember...

At first it was scary when you remembered for longer than a few seconds, wondering why you were different and why you weren't with the survivors anymore.

But you gradually adjusted and would even begin to tell C00lkidd, Bluudud and Pr3typriincess about how the survivors took care of you. Especially 007n7.

You've mostly reacted to the other killers like C00lkidd would but weren't against just goofing off and going along with whatever was happening.

During rounds though... The Spectre would get a grip on you again and although it felt like all the progress was reset, you still remembered. You just needed time to adjust again.

Not that anyone really cared. You were just another kid in the cabin, usually off with one of the others to play games or gossip over tea.

But most of your time was taken by Bluudud wanting his ego-booster back.... Or so he claimed.

You could tell he was genuinely starting to enjoy his time with you but was too prideful to admit it. Rather lashing out at anyone that pointed it out or just denying it.

It didn't change the fact he would sometimes wake up from nightmares and look for you first to hold onto for comfort...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[revolvingsaturn]

omg PLEASE write more for aizawa🙏 literally anything

ask and you shall receive- little longer than last time, but I promise it’s worth it!

Summary: Aizawa eats you out on your kitchen counter. Stress relief?

🫧🌱

You’re just about folding up the patterned oven mitts and dusting the remnants of flour from your powder covered hands, reaching for the timer on the side with your free hand while the other closes the oven door, when Aizawa makes his sleepy way into the kitchen.

“Cookies.” You say, gesturing vaguely towards the oven as you start to wipe down the kitchen island of your shared apartment.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?” He responds. It comes out as a tired grumble, but you know better than to feel offended- behind the facade, he appreciates the late night cooking really.

It probably is a little late for baking, though, considering the only light inside the kitchen comes from the lamps dotted sporadically around the open plan apartment. But you’d just come back from a long few hours of a UA staff meeting, followed by two months worth of lesson planning, trying not to daydream while nibbling at the end of your nails; a bad habit, as Aizawa is constantly reminding you, and you hop up onto the kitchen island while you gaze over at the cookies inside the oven.

You’re just starting to chew the inside of your cheek absentmindedly in silent stress when you feel large hands on your hips and you jolt in surprise at the sudden contact. You look up, and his eyes meet yours. Drowsy, certainly-when are they not- but you think the way his eyes are half lidded has nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with the way your thighs rub together when he starts to massage your hips lazily.

“Stay still.” He says, when you try to stand up from the island to kiss him. He leans down instead, lips meeting yours while Japan hums outside. The kiss is slow, reverent, until it isn’t- until he’s nipping at your bottom lip and you’re gasping into his mouth when one of his warm hands snakes from your hip under the sweater you’re wearing to cup at your chest over your bra.

And suddenly, too agile for you to even process it, he’s on his knees in front of you while you sit on the island and then he’s cupping your ass and yanking you towards him, manhandling your legs in such a matter of fact manner you’d think it happens everyday. A series of shaky breaths leave your parted lips as you gaze down at him while he peels your pyjama pants away from your legs and tosses them over his shoulders, your underwear quick to follow.

“Shota…” you whisper down at him as he starts to lazily kiss his way up your thighs while his fingertips grip you and you start to squirm on the counter.

“I thought I told you to stay still.” He takes his time, nipping and kissing at your inner thighs like he hasn’t done this before; you’re just considering tugging at his hair when his mouth finally makes contact with your slick and you almost squeal at the sudden sensation.

He’s good, almost so good it annoys you- he’s good at everything, a fact that you’re reminded of again when he licks the first slow stripe of many up your pussy and you have to bite your knuckles to stop yourself from gasping. He pauses to lightly kiss at your clit, an action which draws a moan from you. You sound wrecked, and he hasn’t even started.

He grins against you.

He spends a while simply alternating between sucking at your clit and kissing over the marks he’s left to blossom unattended over your inner thighs, holding you in place with the hands that switch between massaging your thighs or gripping at your hips. He explores you selfishly, like he could stay in between your legs forever and never get tired. He’s straining at his underwear, you can tell, but he doesn’t move a hand to palm himself; he just lets his cock stay stubbornly hard as he continues his ministrations with you on the counter.

You lean back on your elbows at some point, eyes fluttering shut and head tipping back while you let Aizawa tear more slow sighs from your throat with every movement. He’s got his eyes shut too, although you barely process when he starts moaning into you too- your thighs tighten around his skull but he pays it no mind. Slowly, so slowly you barely notice, one of his hands drops from your hip to work two fingers inside of you and you gasp. He’s crooking his fingers lazily, letting you feel the stretch.

“You needed this.” It’s not a question, but a statement- it’s disconcerting how well he can read you sometimes, a thought that’s periodically struck you since your first meeting with him all that time ago.

“Y-yeah.” You reply, moaning unabashedly into the kitchen. If you could play it back afterwards and hear the noises you’re making, you know you’d be embarrassed- the noise of Aizawa licking at your pussy while his fingers scissor inside you, coupled with the lengthy moans you’re both letting out, are certainly enough to make you want to bury your face in a pillow and smother yourself but at the moment you don’t care.

He knows you’re getting closer when you start clenching around his fingers, and he redoubles his efforts. Fingers pump in and out of you, curling, while he sucks at your clit and you know you won’t hold on much longer. You’re vaguely aware of him muttering something against you but it’s so muffled you can’t pick up on it- whatever it is, though, you know it’s filthy. Your moans increase in volume as you squeeze around him, and he’s still whispering low praise into you as you cum around his fingers and tongue and practically scream.

Your elbows give out until you’re lying slumped on the counter, staring at the ceiling until your eyes roll back and your spine curves away from the cool marble below you. When you finish squeezing your thighs around his head like you’re trying to dislocate his jaw, you feel Aizawa slowly withdraw his mouth from you and remove your thighs from around him. He stands up- still hard- and moves to help you sit up, so tender in his movements you almost forget the amount of bruises on the inside of your thighs.

“Holy shit.” You say blearily.

He chuckles lowly, looking down at you as you rub at your eyes. His lower face is still glistening with remnants of your own slick but you don’t care as you pull him in for an appreciative kiss before pulling back to gaze up at him and smile.

“Shota-“ you say, until you’re cut off by the piercing ring of your timer. You both wince at the sudden intrusion into your intimacy, but you’re glad of it later when you’re lying on the couch, feet in his lap, chewing on a cookie.

“You want one?” You ask, dusting crumbs off of yourself.

“I already ate.” He says back.

You throw a pillow at his head.

🫧🌱

thanks for reading!

As always, comments appreciated and suggestions welcome! :)

[vera-deville]

I am here with but one simple request, jack with a non-confrontational, socially anxious reader! it’s such a contrast with his own confrontational manner and lone-wolf nature that I think would be quite interesting to explore (๑>ᴗ<๑)

love your writing, keep up the good work ^_^ ♡

Louder Than Words 05/03/2025

Pairing: Jack Howl x Reader Word Count: 1,104 Warnings: N/A Gender: GN Tags: @qaxdea, @katzline Notes: Thank you so much! I really needed to hear that, and I'm so happy you enjoy my writing! Masterlist

You had always known that group projects were simply another nook of purgatory established to make life that much more devious to get through.

The very idea of them gave your stomach leeway to twist into anxious knots, constricting like a boa until you couldn't breathe anymore. It wasn't that you didn't like people (okay, perhaps a little), but it was more so that you didn't know what to do with them. The talking. The awkward "who's doing what" conversation. The silent tug-of-war when nobody wanted to take the lead, and everyone kept glancing around, waiting for someone to volunteer. You'd rather write five essays alone in a cave than do one group project with three strangers who barely remember your name.

So when Professor Trein announced a four-person Herbology research project, you nearly curled up under your desk and died on the spot.

And of course, fate - cruel, ironic fate - put Jack Howl in your group.

Jack, with his gruff voice and stone-faced demeanor. Jack, who didn't care if someone got upset when he said what he really thought. Jack, who had no problem walking straight into confrontation like it was a warm summer breeze.

You were going to die. Or cry. Possibly (most likely) both.

The rest of your group was rounded out by a loudmouth from Savanaclaw named Yulan, who had opinions about everything, and a sleepy Octavinelle student who you were 90% sure was just in it for the grade. That left you, nervous, anxious, and wouldn't-say-boo-to-a-ghost you, trying desperately to keep things from going up in smoke.

The first meeting went about as well as expected.

"I'm just saying, if we're talking about magical soil composition, we have to include the variant growth properties from the Scarabia greenhouse. That stuff is wild."

"Yeah, but that's not what the assignment's asking for," Jack cut in, arms crossed. "It says we need to focus on herbological integration in real-world applications, not theory."

"I am talking about a real-world application!"

"Not if you can't prove it," Jack said flatly.

Yulan slammed a notebook on the table. "You wanna bet?"

You could practically feel your soul saying goodbye to your body.

"Um...maybe we can, uh, do both?" You squeaked, almost whispering.

Neither of them heard you.

"Alright, I'm done arguing," Jack growled, standing up. "If you want to waste your time, go for it. But I'm not failing because someone can't read a prompt."

Yulan bristled. "Who're you calling someone, dog boy?"

You slid a little further down in your seat.

And yet, even after the shouting and the note-slinging and the pure chaos of that first meeting, Jack stayed behind when the others left.

You hadn't said a word in the last fifteen minutes. Just scribbled things in your notebook and tried not to look like you wanted to evaporate.

Jack leaned against the table, arms crossed, looking almost...thoughtful.

"Hey," He said. "You okay?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

He nodded toward your still-white-knuckled grip on your pen. "You looked like you were about to bolt."

You flinched. "I...I don't really do well with conflict. Or people in general."

Jack's ears twitched. "I could tell."

You braced yourself for the judgement. The teasing. The "well, toughen up" speech.

But it never came.

Jack looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to snap like that. I just hate when people don't listen. It's not personal."

You blinked again. Slowly. "You...weren't mad at me?"

He snorted. "You didn't do anything."

That shouldn't have made you tear up the way it did.

"Thanks," You said softly. "I, um...I wanted to say something, but I didn't want to make it worse."

He looked down at you, golden eyes narrowing slightly. Not in judgement. In...curiosity?

"You always like this with people?" He asked.

You nodded mutely.

Jack grunted. "Then I'll talk to them."

"What?"

"I'll keep the loud ones off your back. You focus on the research stuff. You're good at that, right?"

"I-I guess so. I mean, I like organizing and writing..."

"Good," Jack said simply. "Then you do that. And if Yulan tries to start another debate, I'll shut it down."

You blinked. "Just like that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to not help you?"

"No! I just...I'm not used to people being that direct."

"Guess that's why I'm here," Jack muttered. "Balance."

From then on, Jack didn't just participate in the project - he managed it. Not in the way most people would simply take over, but rather by smoothing out the chaos so that you never had to. If Yulan got too loud, Jack would glare at him until he quieted down. If the Octavinelle student slacked off, Jack growled until he did something useful. And whenever it came time to present your findings to the professor, Jack always, always deferred to you to start the presentation.

"You did most of the writing," He'd shrug. "It's only fair."

You couldn't remember the last time someone had made you feel...capable. Protected, even. But never belittled.

It wasn't just about the project anymore.

Jack started walking with you to class after your meetings. He'd slow his pace to match yours, quietly adjusting his long strides so you didn't feel like you were trying to keep up. When he asked you questions, he actually listened - ears twitching every so often as you spoke, tail swishing thoughtfully behind him.

"You talk quiet," He once said, "But you say smart things."

You flushed all the way to your ears.

Eventually, you even got comfortable enough to sit with him at lunch. Jack didn't talk much, but you didn't feel like you had to either. He liked the silence. He thrived in it. And now, so did you.

"Can I ask you something?" You mumbled one afternoon as you sat underneath a tree, papers spread between you.

Jack nodded.

Why do you go out of your way to help me? I mean, I'm not...strong. Or brave. Not like you."

Jack looked at you for a long moment, then snorted.

"You ever try doing something when your heart's about to leap outta your chest? Walking into a room full of people, talking even when your throat locks up?" He shook his head. "That's strength, too. Just a different kind."

You stared at him.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like I said something poetic."

You laughed. "Sorry. You just surprise me sometimes."

He shrugged. "I like people who are real. You don't put on a front. You just...are."

Your chest swelled with something warm and unsure and a little fluttery.

Maybe group projects weren't all bad.

Author's Note: I've been in a bit of a rut lately, which I was really sad about, because a couple of months ago, I had a really good streak going, and I was churning out fics at a rapid rate. Unfortunately, I just kind of fell off that streak for a while. I'm trying to get back into it, and I also plan on opening commissions soon! Please be on the lookout for more information regarding that, and I hope you enjoyed this fic!

[liyliths]

.˚ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 inspired by we live in time and mr. plankton

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

series summary: when you accidentally hit a handsome stranger with your car, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to dinner. the two of you form an unlikely connection, not quite realizing you're both carrying more baggage than you expected. relationships have never come easy, but for him, you're willing to try.

The heavy silence stretched between you and the white-haired man, until Satoru’s voice broke through again, softer this time. “I’m sorry, but… do we know each other?” Your head snapped up, your brow furrowing as you caught his questioning gaze. “Oh, yeah—no, I…” you let out a nervous, breathy laugh. “Sorry… I kind of ran you over.”

pairings: gojo satoru x athlete!reader

contains: fem!reader, terminal illness, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, cursing, miscommunication, a little bit of ooc satoru, this will have a bittersweet ending, sorry in advance

word count: 4k

playlist

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Satoru Gojo didn’t expect that a pen—a stupid pen with no ink left—would be the reason his life changed forever.

It was quite ironic, really, how quickly it seemed your life could fall apart.

Satoru had once believed that his marriage was built on something solid—love, or maybe just the naive hope that young love could last. He’d wanted connection, a family, something to last a lifetime. His wife, however, wanted more to her marriage—none of which aligned with the life they tried to build together. Their marriage came to a quiet resignation, they both knew they were holding onto something that had already slipped through their fingers. 

Since then, Satoru hadn’t tried to connect to another human being on that level again. He was exhausted. He didn’t want to hurt anymore, or hurt anyone else. When the divorce papers arrived on the kitchen counter along with a note to (not so) kindly leave the house, Satoru could only stare at it before making a quiet vow to himself. 

Never, ever, again, would he get married.

Unfortunately, there is the terrible desire to be loved, and there is the horror of being left behind. Satoru was unsure of what was worse.

Satoru found himself pacing his hotel room he’d rented out while his wife, or now he guesses ex-wife, was staying at their once-shared home. He’d been putting off signing his dreaded divorce papers for as long as humanly possible, and when he finally worked up the courage to put the ink to paper—the damned pen had run out of ink.

After rummaging through his room and finding no signs of any other writing tools, he stormed outside the hotel into the night with just his robe and slacks he’d left on the floor and found the nearest convenience store, checking out with a couple of pens just for good measure—and his favorite snack, strawberry coated pocky sticks.

Only then did he notice how insane he must have looked when the young cashier’s eyes flicked up and down his questionable outfit, hesitating for just a moment before bagging his items and offering him the most unconvincing attempt at a non-judgmental smile.

Working up a sheepish grin, Satoru simply put his explanation into one word: “Divorce.”

Munching on his treat with one hand and clutching a convenience store bag full of pens in the other, Satoru glanced both ways across the street at the intersection in front of his hotel. Seeing the coast was clear, he stepped off the curb and started across. Halfway through, the convenience bag slipped from his grasp, hitting the pavement behind him with a dull thud.

Groaning at his own clumsiness, he turned back to retrieve the bag of pens he was now convinced were cursed. He crouched down, the crinkling of plastic faintly audible over the quiet street. Just as his fingers closed around the handles, the sharp blare of a car horn shattered the silence.

Satoru whipped his head up, eyes widening as headlights bore down on him—there was no time to move. The sound of tires screeching echoed through the street, and the impact came hard and fast, a brutal force knocking the air from his lungs and sending him sprawling to the asphalt. Gradually, his hearing faded into a dull hum with urgent voices sounding in the back as darkness pulled him under.

-

The last thing you expected to cross off your bingo card during this hell week was hitting a white-haired man in a hotel robe with your car.

At first, you thought you might have hit a disoriented old man or maybe some drug addict. But when you scrambled out of your car, heart pounding, afraid you might get sued for all you’re worth—you froze at the sight before you. The man you had hit wasn’t old—far from it. He was tall, young, and you hated to admit it—but quite handsome. 

That was beside the point, though. The more pressing matter was that you had just hit said handsome, white-haired man with your car, and he was now lying unconscious in the middle of the street.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, panic flaring in your chest as you dropped to your knees beside him. “Hey! Can you hear me?”

By the time the ambulance reached the hospital, you found yourself pacing the waiting room, guilt gnawing at you as you replayed the scene over and over. You weren't sure why you insisted on staying by his side, maybe it was the fact it felt wrong to leave the man by himself, or because you wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be sued, or maybe because the mystery man you ran over was quite handsome.

Or possibly, all of the above.

Now, sitting stiffly in a plastic chair beside his hospital bed, you stared at the man who had, against all odds, survived your inattentive driving. He was dressed in a hospital gown with a neck brace and arm cast, his body littered with purple bruises and a few cuts strewn across his face. Wires connected him to a host of monitors, the steady beep of his heart rate the only sound in the room. 

You folded your arms, sinking back in the chair, unsure of whether you were more relieved or terrified. A sudden groan broke through the silence, low and hoarse, drawing your attention instantly. Your eyes darted to the bed as the white-haired man shifted slightly, his face twisting into a wince.

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing sharp, bright blue eyes that seemed to pierce through the haze of pain. He blinked a few times, clearly trying to orient himself before his gaze locked onto you, immediately feeling yourself stiffen in your seat.

“What happened to my underwear?” the man rasped, his voice close to a concerned whisper as he attempted to sit up.

You hesitated, your eyes darting around the room as if you’d find the garments lying around. “I have no clue. But,” you cleared your throat, grabbing the bag of belongings that sat on the floor beside you. “These were all of your belongings when you got hit. Some pocky sticks and… pens?”

“In my defense,” the white-haired man replied, his smirk growing faintly despite the pain, “I dropped my pens.”

You stared at him, momentarily stunned. “Pens? You almost died over pens?”

“They were important pens,” he said, his expression serious enough to make you question if he was joking.

“Alright then…” you swallowed hard, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of your jacket, eyes flicking briefly to the man in the hospital bed. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Y/N?” The man tilted his head slightly, his movement limited by the neck brace as you gave a soft nod. “Satoru,” he said, his voice still raspy. “Well, I meant to say I’m Satoru, but yeah. That’s me.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you awkwardly nodded, your gaze faltering and drifting away from his bright blue eyes. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your jacket, the sterile hum of the hospital room making you all the more aware of how out of place you felt. 

You weren’t family. You weren't even a friend. So why were you still here?

The heavy silence stretched between you and the white-haired man, until Satoru’s voice broke through again, softer this time. “I’m sorry, but… do we know each other?”

Your head snapped up, your brow furrowing as you caught his questioning gaze. “Oh, yeah—no, I…” you let out a nervous, breathy laugh. “Sorry… I kind of ran you over.”

Satoru blinked, his adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed, lips parting into a small “O” that quickly curved into a faint smirk. “It’s alright.”

You shifted uncomfortably, guilt creeping into your voice. “I feel awful. How can I make it up to you?” your words faltered, but your eyes widened in alarm as a thought that's been gnawing at your mind struck you. “Wait—you’re not planning to sue me, are you?”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing slightly as he leaned back against the hospital pillow. “Sue you? Nah, that sounds like way too much paperwork. Trust me, I’ve had way too much paperwork to deal with lately,” he teased, his voice still hoarse.

Relief washed over your face, but it was short-lived as he continued. “But if you’re looking to make it up to me… how about dinner?” His smirk deepened, and he added casually, “On you, of course. You know, as a peace offering.”

“Dinner?” Your brows furrowed at the proposal, but you gave a small nod. “Yeah, okay. I owe you that much. But shouldn’t we call a doctor first?”

Satoru let out a chuckle but instantly regretted it, his expression twisting into a wince as pain shot through his ribs. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice strained, “probably a good idea.”

-

A piercing ding echoed through your wired headphones—because you don’t trust yourself enough to use your AirPods on your runs—snapping you out of focus as your stride faltered, then stopped altogether as you bent forward, hands resting on your knees. You attempted to catch your breath, drawing in a deep breath to calm your racing lungs, the air feeling sharper than usual. As your heartbeat began to slow, you reached for your phone, thumb swiping up and inspecting the text message on your lockscreen.

Unknown Number: So, where were we thinking for dinner?

Dinner? Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, assuming this person must’ve gotten the wrong number—you typed out your response: Who is this?

Just as you were about to shut off your phone, it buzzed again—Unknown Number: Ouch, you didn’t save my number. It’s just the guy you ran over a couple days ago, Satoru.

Shit, how could you forget about that! How terrible of a person must you be to forget about the poor man you ran over!

You: Oh, I'm sorry! When did the hospital discharge you?

As you nervously waited for his reply, you quickly opened your contacts, typing his name in and saving his contact with a wry smile before your phone buzzed once again.

Satoru: Just a few hours ago.

You: Well, that’s good news. About dinner, are we talking today?

Satoru: Yeah, tonight. For our peace offering, remember? Does that old diner on 4th sound good to you at 5 PM?

Your gaze darted to the top of your screen—4:34 PM. You practically felt your stomach drop to the soles of your feet. Less than thirty minutes? You glanced down at yourself, clad in sweaty running clothes, hair sticking to your greasy forehead. There was no way you’d be ready in time. Couldn’t this guy at least plan ahead instead of so last minute? 

Letting out an exasperated groan, you bit your lip. You couldn’t exactly turn him down—you did hit him with your car, after all.

You: Yup! See you at 5, then!

After what felt like a record breaking sprint, you burst through the door of your apartment, your lungs burning and your heart racing—not from exertion, but from sheer panic. You tossed your keys onto the counter with a loud clatter and made a beeline for the bathroom, peeling off your sweat-drenched clothes as you went.

The shower water hit you like a shockwave, and you barely gave yourself time to enjoy it, scrubbing at your skin as quickly as you could manage. Your mind raced as you calculated the time. Ten minutes to shower, ten to get ready, and ten to drive… Give or take a minute or two if the traffic gods are on my side.

Once out of the shower, you tugged on some clothes, glancing at yourself in the mirror as you hastily ran a brush through your damp hair. Not perfect, but decent enough. You swiped on some lip balm, grabbed your bag, and sprinted back out the door, your phone buzzing with a reminder of the time—4:53 PM.

The drive to the diner felt like a race against the clock. You tapped your fingers anxiously against the steering wheel, silently begging every traffic light to stay green. When you finally pulled into the parking lot, you glanced at your phone—5:04 PM.

“Shit, I’m late!” you mumbled to yourself, rummaging through your car to grab your purse and find your way into the diner.

As you stepped inside, the cool air of the diner welcomed you, carrying the scent of coffee and freshly grilled food. You glanced around, taking in the neatly decorated diner—adorned with patterns of red, old-fashioned booths, and neon accents. You glanced down at your phone, hoping to see a message from Satoru—maybe he was running late too. That would’ve been a relief.

“Hey, over here!”

Your head snapped up, and there he was, waving you over with a lazy grin, his white hair almost blinding underneath the diner lights, already settled in a booth near the window. Of course, he wasn’t running late. As you awkwardly shuffled through the crowded diner toward Satoru, the first thing you noticed was how put together he looked compared to the night you met. His bruises were still there, but you could only notice them if you squinted—and his cuts seemed to be almost completely healed.

Satoru’s blue eyes watched yours carefully as you slid into your seat across from him with a polite smile. You set your purse carefully on your lap, your fingers brushing against its strap as though seeking something to occupy them. 

For a moment, silence stretched between you two, the faint clatter of dishes and murmurs of the diner filling the air. Satoru tilted his head slightly, studying you, before clearing his throat. The sound drew your gaze, and your eyes met briefly—yours tentative, before you quickly looked away, reaching for the glass of ice water in front of you.

“You look nice.”

You froze mid-sip, your eyes widening at Satoru’s compliment. A second later, you sputtered, choking on the water as it went down the wrong pipe. You coughed, setting the glass down hastily, avoiding the man’s gaze as you felt your cheeks warm, attempting to quiet your racing thoughts.

Jesus Christ, you’re acting like a teenager on her first date ever. Grow up!

Satoru bit back a grin as you grabbed a napkin, dabbing at your damp lips while finally meeting his gaze. “Really?” you asked, laughing softly as you glanced down at your half-assed outfit—the best you could manage on such short notice. Unfortunately, you aren’t quite the type to have your laundry put together 24/7.

“Really,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his seat with a playful smirk. “Although, you were cutting it close. Five minutes late, and I was starting to think I’d been stood up by the girl who, you know, ran me over.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “I didn’t stand you up, and I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” he teased, his grin widening. “I’m just saying, I could’ve started charging late fees.”

"Could’ve been worse," you said with a shrug. "When you texted me, I had about twenty minutes to get home, shower, and get ready."

Satoru raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a smirk. "Wow, you know you could’ve just asked to push it back, right?"

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping. "And inconvenience the guy I ran over? Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not risk getting sued.”

Before Satoru could reply, a monotone voice interrupted you, and you two were met with a waitress reciting the diner greeting. "Welcome to Metro Diner. Here at our diner, we pride ourselves on offering a taste of the classic ‘50s with fresh, quality food. What can I get started for you?"

The waitress turned to you expectantly, her pen poised over her notepad with an impatient expression. You glanced at Satoru, panic flashing across your face. "Oh, um… I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu. A burger’s fine, just a classic one, I guess."

The waitress nodded, then shifted her attention to Satoru. "And for you?"

"I’ll take the special, your number four," he said easily, closing his menu and taking yours for you, handing it to the waitress as she finished jotting down your orders. Without any other words, the waitress departed, leaving you and Satoru in silence.

“So… how are your injuries?” You asked, breaking the silence. Your fingers couldn’t help but toy with the edge of your napkin. “You seem to have healed up well.”

“They’re better,” Satoru replied, leaning back in the booth. “Finally got out of that damn neck brace yesterday. My face is healing up too, so I guess I can’t complain.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as you glanced away. You looked out the window, the golden glow of the sunset blinding you. Your gaze wandered, until your eyes landed on Satoru’s hand resting on the table, the faint gleam of a ring catching your eye. Wait… is that?

“Oh god, you’re married?” you blurted out. “I would’ve invited your wife if I’d known! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Satoru blinked, then let out a laugh—more at your panicked expression than the situation itself. “Well, funny story…” He paused in thought for a moment, brainstorming how he might explain his case. 

“Divorce.”

Your face fell. “Geez, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” he said, waving you off. “You didn’t know. It’s… a work in progress, let’s say.”

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “What about you?” Satoru asked, tilting his head. “Got anyone waiting for you at home?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Definitely not. I don’t have time for that.”

Satoru leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as curiosity took the best of him. “And what, exactly, keeps Miss Y/N so busy?”

“The track,” you say, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I’m a sprinter.”

Satoru’s eyebrows furrowed. “Like, as a hobby, or are you one of those people that enjoys running willingly?”

“It’s my job. I’m D1, actually, so I’d hope I enjoy it.” 

“Wow,” Satoru grinned, leaning back in the booth with an exaggerated look of disbelief. “I guess you are crazy after all.”

“You know, you should come to one of my meets.” You shrugged, lightly suggesting the idea. “I have one scheduled for this weekend.”

“Sure, why not? I’d better not watch you lose, though.” 

You let out a soft chuckle. “Not exactly planning on it. I’ll send you the info once my coach sends it. If you can’t make it, it’s fine, I get it.”

Satoru shook his head, as if the idea of him not making it was ridiculous. “Just give me a time and place, I’ll be there.”

“Now, enough about me. What do you do for work, Mr. Gojo?” You ask, sarcastically remarking his last name.

“Well,” Satoru starts, pausing as the waitress appears and sets your burgers down on the table, giving her a quick thank you before getting back on topic. “I own a real estate brokerage company.”

“Wow, you’re into real estate? I guess it seems…” You say, looking at his expensive-looking clothing that seems as if it was tailored to his body. “Fitting.”

Satoru scoffs at that, picking up his burger to take a big bite before speaking with his mouth full. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, you look… put together enough.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean it in a nice way! You seem like you are good at your job.”

“I sure try. My schedule is going to be crazy once I get back to work.” Satoru says, taking a lazy bite of a fry. “Probably good for me to be busy right now, anyway.”

“And why’s that?”

“Keeps my mind off everything. Once I get this cursed divorce over with, I’ll finally be able to breathe.” He says, a small sigh escaping his lips. “Relationships and I don’t have the prettiest track record.”

Wow. This beautiful man hasn’t had a good relationship? How could someone with such good manners, a well paying career, and good looks end up in his position? You can’t help but ask, “Really? You of all people?”

“I guess so. And people… they just remind you why keeping them at arm’s length feels... safer.”

“I get that.” You say, being reminded of a pact you’ve made to yourself. “It’s kind of like why I’ve never seen myself as the type of woman to be a mother.”

Satoru pauses his chewing. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s not that I don’t like the idea of being a mother, it’s just… once that kid pops out, the rest of your life is dedicated to that thing, you know?” You say, giving a small shrug as you dip a fry in some ketchup.

Satoru seems to understand where you’re coming from, giving a small nod. “I’ve never thought about it like that, but you’ve got a point.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can see myself fitting that role. It’s something you’d have to be so sure about, and seeing all of my friends get married and have kids has made me wonder.” You say, letting out a small sigh. “And honestly? It’d have to be with the right person, and I don’t even know if that person exists.”

“Huh,” Satoru says, glancing at you up and down. “I guess that makes two of us who aren’t exactly jumping at the idea of settling down.”

You can’t help but grin, raising your glass of ice water to a toast.  “Well, here’s to figuring it out... eventually.”

Satoru’s drink clinks against yours, his grin matching yours. “Eventually.”

The diner was nearly empty by the time the waitress drops the check at your table, slipping it beneath the edge of the salt shaker with a soft clink. Before Satoru can make a move for it, you’re already reaching, sliding your card into the little black billfold.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wow, you’re really paying?”

You shoot him a look. “You called it a peace offering. This was the deal.”

He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But next time’s on me.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile still finds its way to your face. When the waitress returns, you sign the receipt quickly and stand, grabbing your leftovers. Satoru rises with you, a quiet wince passing over his features as he puts weight on one leg.

“You alright?” you ask, eyeing the limp.

“Still a little sore,” he says casually, brushing it off like it’s nothing. “But not dying. Yet.”

You step outside into the cool evening air. The sun has long since set, but traces of lavender still streak the edge of the horizon. Streetlamps flicker overhead, casting a warm yellow glow on the pavement as the two of you walk to your car.

“So…” he says beside you, “your meet’s this Saturday?”

You nod, unlocking your car and tossing your leftovers into the passenger seat. “Yeah. Should be around noon, unless my coach changes it again. I’ll text you the details.”

“Good,” he replies, voice softer than before. “I want to see you win.”

You look over at him, surprised by the earnestness in his voice. “You just want to be there if I trip and fall.”

He shrugs, smirking. “Sure. That too. But… I am rooting for you.”

That catches you off guard. The quiet sincerity of it. “Thanks, Satoru,” you say. You open the driver’s side door, and he steps back with a slight limp.

“Drive safe,” he says, flashing a lopsided grin. “Try not to run anyone else over.”

“No promises,” you reply, smiling as you get in. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"No need to apologize anymore." Satoru waves you off. "Have a good night, Y/N."

You give him a small wave through the window before pulling out of the parking lot, catching a last glimpse of him in your rearview mirror, standing beneath the flickering diner sign, hands in his pockets, limping just a little more now that no one’s watching. The poor guy.

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a/n: hello dear reader! thank you for checking out the first chapter of this story. i have the outline written from start to finish so all i need to do is write everything out! i haven't been able to stop thinking about this story, the first chapter has been in my drafts for months now and i am finally getting around to posting it! i don't want to say too much about the story, but if you've ever watched we live in time or mr. plankton, the story is heavily based off of those movies so we are in for it lol! i can't wait for you to read more! <3

taglist: comment and ask to be added!

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi! Thanks for your writing! I requested the Eldritch Delight Ragnor meeting Alec fic, which of course meant I had to reread the entire series for the umpteenth time. :) In doing so, I realized/ remembered THEY'RE ENGAGED! So, for my request this week - could I please have some Eldritch Delight wedding planning 'cause I think it would be the most unhinged thing ever! (Poor Jace, Mirai, Ragnor, Andrew & anyone else they come in contact with regularly - except maybe Cat as she seems like she's having the time of her life.)

As always, thank you so much!!

SFW/NSFW your choice.

<3 hi you're welcome and yes! they are engaged and they are wanting to get married as soon as possible. this kind of veered sideways but its specifically all about wedding planning stuff! sort of... it makes sense in context.

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

this eldritch delight

“You cannot be serious.”

Alec feels as if that’s one of Jace’s favorite things to say.  It certainly comes up far more often than it should, considering that no matter how many time Jace says it, Alec has always been and remains, serious.

“It’s my wedding.” Alec never thought he’d feel such devastating delight or feel the the agony of enduring each day that keeps him from marrying Magnus. “If I can’t marry Magnus in the moonlight of a hollow volcano used for necromatic rituals, then I’m going to have my lilies.”

“Lilies? Those aren’t lilies, Alec. Those are blood sucking monsters designed to look like gorgeous flowers who specifically devour nephilim blood! Over half of your guests will be nephilim.”

Alec frowns and Jace steps back and further into the sun but too bad for him, Magnus gave Alec a miniature parasol that expands upon contact with the sun.

Jace scowls a muttered, ‘unfair’ under his breathe and before he can run, a vine has crept up and thoughtfully tangled with his foot.

“What do you mean over half of the guests will be nephilim?”

“Oh Raziel, why are you like this?”

“I’ve always been like this. Why do you continually expect differently?”

Jace apparently — and for once — has nothing to say to that and so Alec steps closer and politely doesn’t shade Jace’s face from the sun, even if Jace is squinting as if the sun is blinding him.  Alec is sure he’s enjoying it like the strange being he is.

“So, as I was asking. What do you mean more than half would be nephilim? Magnus knows more people simply by virtue of being alive longer. We’ve already decided that no more than one fifth of the guests will be nephilim.  So the lilies are fine and your numbers are wrong.”

“This is going to be a political nightmare. Alec, please do you really think they’re going to be fine with the Commander and Head of New York Institute having that few nephilim guests? At his own wedding?”

Alec really thinks that Jace just likes being dramatic, because it’s clear his brother has overlooked some — what Alec considers — fairly obvious problems.

“Jace.”

And Jace stops talking and with a sigh, brings his hand up to shade his eyes — why Alec isn’t sure why since he likes the sun — and tries to meet Alec’s gaze.  It’s slightly off, which is good because Jace’s eyes are boring, they start to twitch and flicker away after only meeting Alec’s for a few seconds.

“Jace!”

That’s a strangely familiar yet unfamiliar voice and Alec turns to see a small red-head and suddenly remembers the promise he’d fulfilled with Jace.

“Oh no.” Jace doesn’t seem to realize he’s said it, his eyes focused with the intensity of a hawk on the redhead. Alec wonders if Jace thinks of her like he does his bunnies.

Well, she looks healthy enough and considering that she’s clearly escaped containment — Jace seems unduly worried at seeing her — Alec decides it’s only fair he helps. After all, maybe it will endear Jace into helping him.

—

Jace can only stare in fascinated horror as Clary hits the ground, unconscious even before her body drops and Alec watches her fall with an almost disappointed frown.  The black lace parasol keeping Alicante’s bright sun off his skin twirls as he tips Clary’s body over with his toe.

Like he’s touching something poisonous. 

Actually no. 

Alec would be thrilled to touch something poisonous.  He’s acting like Clary is some kind of mundane atrocity.

“Where you hoping she’d run?” Jace can’t help but ask, even as he steps forward — the vine having let him go — and helpfully picks Clary up, relieving Alec from the burden and saving Clary any further damage.

Jace makes a note to dose her with an antidote as soon as they’re done.

“She had an interesting look to her eyes. It might have been interesting.” Alec grins and Jace swallows back the instinctive bile as Alec’s maw widens.

“Look, Alec. Please, I know you dislike them but even you need to engage in politics for some things.”

“Jace this isn’t about politics. How many nephilim do you think will want to come to a Trueblood wedding? And how many do you think will come back from one?”

The thing is, it’s not a threat.

Alec seems exasperated and suddenly Jace feels ridiculous, because once again, he let the Council talk him into something ridiculous.  In fact, he’s going to quote Alec word for word because he’s right. Despite the Clave wanting a significant presence at this wedding, almost no one will show up when they realize it’s a Trueblood wedding.  They might, if it was Maryse remarrying.  However there are very few nephilim who will be willing to come for Alec’s and even fewer who would both be willing, and be able to survive.”

“I see your point. It’s a very good point and I think I’m even going to ensure it’s followed.” Because if anyone insists after Jace reminds them of Alec’s very crucial point, Jace will just kill them and let his grandmother ground him.

“Hey Jace.”

“Yeah buddy?” Jace turns and sees Alec stepping up to where a portal shouldn’t be able to form but is. Alec smirks and Jace’s spine tingles as Alec tilts his parasol just enough to let his eyes glint with the promise of a threat.

“You are going to be at my wedding and if you don’t survive, I’ll turn your bunnies into a stew for Magnus.”

Jace would have rather Alec had just said he’d be disappointed in him.  But after one time when it made him cry, Alec had decided to find different ways to threaten him… despite the fact that they still sometimes make Jace cry.

Alec's kind of awfully sweet and terrible at it too.

“Don’t lie, they’re not poisonous enough for you to turn them into stew and you like how soft they are. You’d probably just steal them and somehow accidentally turn them into carnivorous lethal bunnies and honestly, I think that’s worse. So I promise I will both attend and stay alive.”

AN:

jace's eyes are boring because jace is controlling his reactions

alec is trying to be polite and not be like: hi jace, you're being dumb. can you please name more than a dozen nephilim who would even want to come? and more than five who would survive?

jace is going to show up to the clave's meeting and be like: who was the idiot who tried to have mostly nephilim be at the trueblood wedding?

*some important member* 'how dare'

"A TRUEBLOOD WEDDING!!! HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THAT ENTAILS?"

Maryse gliding in sipping what is clearly something poisonous from the fumes coming from the glass alone.

"I don't see why everyone wouldn't want to come. However the seats will be limited, after all, there will be a blood harvest and I've decided to bring out the old trueblood chalices. Perhaps we'll even do a hunt. There's still a few circle members left."

the clave: ... so how many seats do we have to fill? like what is the minimum? like we could take it from 1/5 of the guests to 1/10

[mixingandmelting]

HEYA!! I was wondering if you could write for Wooin and Hyuk when reader tries to make them jealous? Take your time with this ofc!!

Hyuk:

It’s cute, adorable even. You’re trying so hard to get his attention, yet, all because you didn’t want to ask for it, you resort to pull a petty prank like this.

“I’m telling you; I can beat everyone in LOS. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy!”

“I believe you, I believe you. I can totally see it.”

It’s been ten minutes since you and that one guy talked, you working behind the seven-eleven cashier for today while the other is simply a customer. The signs are there: the strained smile, faux enthusiasm in your voice. Yet, despite how uninterested you are in the guy, you did your best to cling on to him. Something you rarely do, even to him, your own boyfriend.

Intending to see how much longer your shenanigans will go, Hyuk continues watching while slurping on his Pocari Sweat. Occasionally, his phone would buzz and he’d tap on his screen, tugging on his bottom lip as he reads over the text Wooin sends him.

It’s when he’s about to deal with Wooin’s temper for not texting back, the guy leaves. Then an hour later, your shift ends.

“Did you have fun talking to him?” Outside of the store, he nuzzles the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping themselves around your shoulders.

“I mean, it’s nice chatting with someone from another crew and getting to know them.” You shrug.

Instantly his grip tightens, eyes impossibly blanker.

…So, that’s how it’s going to be, huh.

Being the good boyfriend he is, he gives exactly what you want.  His full attention is on you for the rest of day and night, not once letting you in every sense to where, the next day, people were constantly looking at you when you appear in a quarter zip, constantly tugging up the zipper and looking sleep deprived while Hyuk, standing next to you, seemed more refreshed than ever. It was also, not coincidental that a certain someone from yesterday gets toyed around and taken down during the race Hyuk, surprisingly, personally volunteers to enter.

Wooin:

His smirk never disappears; eyes wide and pupils constrict and snake-like. Across the club, you’re laughing at something some loser tells you, looking as if you’re having so much fun. It might’ve been more believable that you are if your eyes had some light in them or, at least, you stop glancing at him. But what did the other know, too dumb to even realize you’ve been faking it from the very start.

His finger continues tapping on the bar counter, taking sips of his drink time-to-time as he waits it out.

You could’ve told him you wanted him to yourself for the day.  The things he needed to do today are things that can get pushed back to tomorrow –say the word, he would’ve done it. But, it’s funny really. You often whine how he’s so clingy, telling him to let go only for you to stay attached to someone who you don’t care about for over an hour.

Suddenly, there’s loud laughter in the corner you’re sitting in.

“Okay, that was a pretty good joke.”

“Yeah? Well, there’s more where that came from. Drop your number and you can hear the rest of them.”

…Forget watching, maybe he should really do it. Show the guy that you’re taken in the flashiest way. It’ll probably piss you off but consequences be damned when the guy can’t take a hint-where are you going now?

The few seconds he takes his eye off of you, you’re already making your way out. Quickly, he goes follows after you, slipping through the crowd with ease and catching up the moment you step out.

“Got bored of that guy?”

“Who the fuck-Wooin?!”  

He snickers, pulling you closer to him with the arm slung around your shoulder.

“If you really wanted my attention, you just needed to say it.”

“Who said that I wanted your attention?”

Long story short, the two of you don’t sleep that night as he makes it his mission to have everyone know you’re taken while letting you know he will always give his time to you.

[veryace-ficrecs]

The Passenger (2023) Fic Recs Part 2

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Find part 1 here!

Take The Back Seat by twoseas - Rated M

On Benson and Randy Bradley’s longest day, everyone gets to live. Eventually.

Matchmade by Coileddragon - Rated M

Benson Boudreaux is a veteran Jaeger pilot with a 100% kill rate in the Jaeger 'Savage Horizon'. The problem is he never keeps a Drift partner for long.

Man of the world by greendragon19 - Rated T

“You don't call, you don't write.” He crossed his arms over his chest feigning calm. Drawing Benson's attention to him. “And then I have to find out from my brother in law that you're getting released.” A myriad of emotion passed over Bensons features, recognition, annoyance, confusion, acceptance, a few others that Randy wouldn't dare to guess at. “Randy? The fuck are you doing here?” Randy smiled, dipping his head and looking up at Benson through his eyelashes. Something in the pit of his stomach warming at Benson’s voice and Randy’s name being the first thing he said as a free man. Twenty years after the shooting at the diner, Benson is getting out of prison. Randy goes to pick him up. Deals with somewhat more mellow versions of Benson and Randy after so much time has passed but both still equally co-dependent.

images of all that could be desired by pgndaze - Rated T

A week after Benson's death, a package arrives on Randy's doorstep.

Loves me like a dog by Syntheticpalindromes - Rated E

The woman at the school’s reception desk flat out refused to give them anything about Miss Beard, her hands laid on the countertop as she shook her head sadly. Big, plump bottom lip jutting out in what Benson might have known to be real sympathy if he had ever been presented with the emotion in a sincere way. Which he hadn’t. At least, that’s what he imagined, anyway. When she had removed her palms from the counter, the ledger beneath them had become stuck to one, slick with a nervous sweat that she hid all too well in the calm, collected way she had informed the boy she simply couldn’t give that sort of information away. The page was left greasy and she pointedly did not look at it. “And Mr. Bradley, I really think you’re doing the right thing. Good for you.” She had said, like she was his fucking grandmother. They don't make it to Miss Beard's place. Mr Sheppard lies in a pool of his own blood and Benson & Randy drive on, and on, and on, and on, and on.

Razor Sharp, White Teeth by mimomallow - Rated E

“I never watched that Twilight bullshit, Randy. Do you sparkle now or what?” or Randy has been starving since he was a child. Benson looks delicious.

did you get enough love, my little dove? by intheskywithamethysts - Rated E

The mop slapped wetly on the ground and slid across the grimy floor. Benson dug the head into the ground as hard as he could as he mopped. A sound like nails on a chalkboard ricocheted off the walls. It was agonizing to listen to. Benson didn’t care. It was the only thing louder than his thoughts. She’s not sleeping. She’s not sleeping. The sound of a door being pushed open. Two chimes. Footsteps. Benson looked up. “Hey, Benson.” Benson grunted and gave Bradley a nod as he entered. Well, at least he was working with Bradley today. (canon-divergence: Benson's Ma passes away the night before the beginning of the movie)

Side Effects May Include... by thenewgothicromance -Rated E

Listen, normally Benson’s not one to make somebody do drugs they don’t want. But they’re only three hours into the afternoon shift with another five to go, and if Bradley doesn’t chill the fuck out Chris will never stop bothering him. And if Benson has to listen to that all day, again, he is finally going to do something stupid they’ll all regret. It’s easier just to make Bradley take the pills.

Don't Forget the Joker by devovitsuasartes - Rated M

Randy had been driving home for about five minutes when he looked up into his rear view mirror and saw Benson staring back at him coldly from the back seat.

Can’t Help to Smile with those Eyes that Shine on Me (You’re Making Me Act Funny) by hellcat_shalalala - Rated T

"Thank you, Mr. Mustache Man.” She retrieves her blue crayon and scrapes it over the scribble of green she just made. “I’m sorry I dropped them. It was on accident.” A little smile twitches at the corner of his lips. Threatens to spread. He runs his tongue over his teeth to make his lips stop moving like that. “Them things got little legs," Benson continues dragging the mop. "Runnin’ off like that.” She’s delighted by that thought. “Little legs?” She repeats. She grabs one and twists it around trying to look for them. “Where?” He doesn’t respond. Just a laugh through his nose and a mindful push and pull of the mop, sweeping it under the seats. Yea. This is Bradley’s kid all right. or Randy has no babysitter for his four year old daughter, Seraphina, and has to bring her into work for his Saturday shift. His coworkers proceed to lose their minds over this new information. /pos Title is paraphrased lyrics from the song Picture Me Better by Weyes Blood

Doomsday is Close At Hand by riddlerapologist7 - Rated M

Randy’s eyes shoot open, he gasps for breath. He rips the comforter off of his body as he registers where he is: his bedroom. What? He was just at the diner. He could almost smell the greasy stench of the flat top grill mixing with the coppery scent of blood permeating the air. Could he have really dreamed everything that had happened? He reached up to feel his shoulder where he had been shot, where Benson had desperately been clutching to try and keep the blood from spilling out of him. He felt nothing, no wound, no pain, just the smooth skin of his shoulder and the cotton shirt he was wearing. He ran his hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly beneath his skin.

Ranson time loop au!! I'm not the first to come up with this idea, but this is my take on it :)

Erasure Poem (or, The Narrator Writes the First Draft of the Rest of His Life) by thenewgothicromance - Rated E

Randy almost doesn’t understand how it happened, even though he’s the one who started it. Three weeks ago he’d never had sex with anyone, had never thought about doing it with a guy, didn’t think much about doing it at all. And maybe that means there’s something wrong with him, but he’s not stupid—Benson is into him. And if Randy can use that to keep him calm, keep them on track for a little while, maybe Benson will come back to himself. Will shake off the shock, and tell Randy what the plan is.

Like Splinters Under Your Skin by pissedoffeskimo - Rated M

Maybe Benson doesn’t know exactly where he’s going or how long it’ll be before this whole thing reaches its inevitable, bloody conclusion, but he knows he’s taking Randy with him. (Canon divergent from Miss Beard's house)

cold blue summer by visceravalentines - Rated E

Elliot Sheppard, a third-grade teacher at Central Elementary, abused children for many years before being exposed and taking his own life. Now, twenty years later, the school is being demolished, and something has awakened.... Strap in for the cruelest summer on record. An homage to classic slasher movies with a summer romance flair.

the driver by visceravalentines - Rated T

They’re about 50 miles over the Missouri border when Benson asks him. “You think you could drive, man?”

Or, Benson trusts Randy to take the wheel so he can get some sleep, and Randy spends the night thinking about Benson.

[deadmercenaryslover]

ok maybe you know. WHAT is going on with ol istys nobleman status? some stuff indicates he was always one and other that sigismund gave him a title after he saved his ass. What Is The Truth?

Oof, I definitely wish I knew that, because I could really use the information for fic-writing purposes, but unfortunately, I don’t. I suppose no one knows the whole truth, except maybe some lorekeeper at Warhorse, assuming they have one.

That said, there are a few in-game hints that could be used if someone wants to form their own headcanons.

Here are some of the tidbits I’ve used while shaping my personal take on Ištván’s background for the fic I’m currently writing, probably in a fairly random order. Just keep in mind that I’m going to veer pretty heavily into headcanon territory here, and I’m not claiming any of this is canon. Just some random thoughts put together.

Thanks for asking, though! 🖤 I just love to yap about Ištván and KCD in general, I’m just usually a bit too shy to share my thoughts unprompted.

(It's going to be a pretty long post, so I'm going to put the whole thing under a cut.)

So, what we do know for certain is that Ištván was born in Banat, his parents were killed by the Turks, and his father had a fortress, which somewhat implies that Ištván was originally highborn.

I think this is where we have a gap we can fill with whatever we want and veer deep into headcanon territory, since he trails off and never finishes the sentence. Personally, I feel like it's quite heavily implied that whatever happened to him after his family was slain and his home destroyed must have been deeply traumatizing for him. I know the devşirme theory is quite popular, though I believe becoming a war captive and ending up in regular slavery is just as plausible an option.

I don’t know if it’s just me, though probably not based on what I’ve seen, but I get the feeling that Ištván is kind of dancing around the issue here, despite usually being all about tough talk. To me, that suggests there's deep trauma behind it, likely connected to sexual abuse.

I also believe that what Henry says to him, "You pretend to be cruel, but you take good care of Erik. Someone must have really hurt you, am I right?" also points in that direction.

Another thing we know for certain is that, at some point, he fought the Turks, as we hear from both Ištván himself and Erik (in KCD1), and that he also fought in the Battle of Nicopolis in 1396. There's still a lot left open to individual interpretation, but I think one possible reading is that the events at Nicopolis led to Ištván, who might’ve been just an ordinary mercenary back then, becoming personally acquainted with Sigismund.

I imagine it's also possible that Sigismund rewarded him for his service by elevating him to the nobility, despite the battle itself ending in disaster. Saving your king’s life has to count for something, right?

I think this bit is also interesting to take into account. More often than not, Ištván seems to look for connections between himself and Henry, but here he draws a rare distinction. The way I see it, this doesn't necessarily contradict the possibility of Ištván being noble by birth. I could see it implying that he simply lost that privilege at some point in his life, likely when his family was slain and his home destroyed.

I imagine noble blood doesn't count for much when you are all alone and have lost everything. With his family gone, and the possibility of him being taken into the Ottoman Empire and kept there for some time, would he even have had any way to prove he was of noble origin? Even if he had surviving relatives, they might not recognize him after so many years and could be inclined to think he was just some impostor trying to get his hands on family wealth or something.

I don't know, just some food for thought.

And then there's this small detail. I just find it interesting how he says "the noblemen," not "we noblemen." Again, we can't be sure whether he's simply trying to influence Henry by highlighting their supposed similarities, or whether he genuinely relates to Henry here, even though he's a nobleman himself. It could just as well be both, I suppose. This doesn't have to mean anything, but I wanted to include it because it supports my personal interpretation that Ištván might personally not relate much to those nobles who have led easier lives than he likely has.

And from there, we come to another aspect I’ve been thinking about lately, one that’ll probably need its own post at some point: taking a sociolinguistic approach to Ištván’s background. I don’t have the screenshots at hand to support my theory yet, but it seems to me that he can switch between appearing as a rough mercenary and an eloquent nobleman, depending on what the situation calls for (and yet, he's often being clocked for this, too.) The clearest example of this, I think, is the way he code-switches during the prison scene in Nebakov while speaking with Sir Jaromier.

This doesn’t have to mean anything in particular, either. We could just draw a parallel between Ištván and, say, the Dry Devil and leave it at that, but as a language nerd, it’s just something that’s caught my attention. If anyone’s interested, I could ramble some more about it.

[chrisfawns]

𝜗ৎ benny

pairing: chris sturniolo x reader

ᯓ★ in which chris wonders if all this. . .the career, the fame, the money, is worth losing the one thing he wants the most 🌀 part of my writing marathon!

warnings: unresolved angst, arguing, angst angst angst

wc: 0.6k

chris sighed as a text from you popped up. he dreaded opening it. not because of anything you had done, but because it would be another reminder of all the pieces of your life he missed because of his career. ignoring his better judgement, he opened the phone, tears welling in his eyes as he saw it.

it was a photo of you in your cap and gown, holding your bachelor's degree that proudly said summa cum laude. you looked gorgeous. . .and he wasn't there to see it. the day their manager had given him, nick, and matt the tour dates, he had argued for hours, trying to get them changed. while you were graduating in LA, he would be on the other side of the country.

chris found himself in a sentimental landslide. he wanted to be there with you right now. to celebrate and take you out for a nice dinner before taking you home and fucking you all night long, whispering in your ear about how he was so proud of his smart girl. the more logical side of him knew you wanted chris to pursue his dreams. you'd agreed on facetiming later this evening. the less logical side of him wanted to say "fuck the tour" right now to go be with you.

he dreaded tonight after the show. he'd be alone in a dark hotel room instead of with you safely tucked under his arm. deep inside of him, chris wondered if this was even the proper choice. he loved you and you loved him, but was he hurting you becuase of his career? he didn't want to have to have an argument or say goodbye to you tonight, but at the same time, he was living on the sidelines of your life. simply a spectator. what the fuck was he supposed to do?

by the time chris had come off the stage that night, his phone was filled with texts from you, detailing everything you had done today to celebrate your graduation. sure, he was thankful for all the fans, but right now, he was kicking himself. he hated pretending that everything was okay. he was setting himself on fire to keep you warm.

"we need to talk." was the first thing he said when you picked up the phone once chris had gotten back to the hotel that night.

". . .oh?" you asked, not sure where his sudden grumpy tone had come from.

"i can't keep doing this," your boyfriend took a deep breath to steady himself. "every fuckin' time i see a picture of you, i wanna be there. i feel so goddamn guilty when i see strangers more than you."

he knew he was being too cold with you. but at the same time, chris felt you deserved better. you needed someone who could be there with you to celebrate everything you were.

"chris. . ." you said, voice wobbling. "what's going on?"

"you need someone better, baby," chris mumbled, voice softening. "someone who can be there for you."

"you are there for me!" you sniffled, not hiding the tears now.

"baby, it's killing me to pretend everything is fine."

"it is fine!" you yelled back, becoming more upset. "chris, i don't care how far apart we are. i love you. i'm willing to do distance if it means i get to be with you."

"i have to go. . ." chris whispered into the phone. "i love you."

you sobbed back a small "love you", not able to speak much else. all you had the energy to do now was stumble into your bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as you sobbed. little did you know, on the other side of the country, chris was crying in his own bed, wondering what it would be like if he had never even known you so that he wouldn't hurt you.

© chrisfawns

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡: i struggled sooo bad with this fic so it became a little blurb omg 😭 sorry for this one </3 find the rest of my writing marathon here!

tags ⋆. 𐙚 ̊: @mattslilies @backwardshatnick @bernardsbendystraws @h3arts4nat @mattyblover07 @mattsstarlet @mattsprettygirly @maliaforstvrns @boiwhatdahelly

if you'd like to be added to my taglist, inbox me/dm me/comment!!

[cercess]

Beneath New Skies - Chapter III

Death's Door

𖤓 Tags: Depictions of violence, mentions of death, depictions of injury, depictions of blood, angst 𖤓 Rating: Explicit 𖤓 Word Count: 3.3k 𖤓 Notes: hey all! Sorry or the time it took to get this out, I really struggled writing some parts. I want to add a trigger warning for this chapter: it depicts scenes of the city being attacked, as well as descriptions of a wound on a character's arm. If these make you uncomfortable in any way, please skip this chapter. When I upload chapter four, I will include a summary so you don't miss any critical information moving forward. I'm hoping to get chapter four out either tonight or tomorrow, because I know this one took me a long time. This chapter isn't my favourite writing-wise, but it was important for events that will come later. Please excuse any clunky parts, as this is not the type of story I typically tell; I'm much more of a slice of life/romance author. Thank you all for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! 𖤓 Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 𖤓 Read on AO3

The day started like any other, with you working the counter at the apothecary. Kyros, the restaurant owner, was browsing the wall of dried herbs, while your father helped Akmonides with some ailment in the back room. 

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Kyros asked as he smelled a vial of crushed ginger.

“Is gossiping about the gossip-monger really a good idea? He’ll find out eventually.”

Kyros laughed, as he added the ginger to his basket, “not unless you say anything.”

“That depends on how much coin he offers.” 

It was just a cough. You knew because your father had grabbed eucalyptus on his way back. In your business, the answers to people’s suspicions were often much more boring than what they’d imagined. One day, you planned on taking over your father’s position and treating patients yourself. But, seeing as the man was still as spry as ever, there was still time before that happened. Sometimes he’d test you pool by simply stating the ailment. It was then your job to figure out what ingredients needed to be used. After doing it your whole life, mixing the proper tonics and ointments came as naturally as breathing. Peppermint for colds, feverfew for fevers, valerian for insomnia, ginger for mild pain, and poppies for severe pain. Those were the common afflictions you saw, but every once in a while, there would be a curveball, and you’d have to consult your journal. 

“These are pretty,” Kyros held up a blue flower, “maybe I could use those as a garnish.

“Those are flaxseed flowers, and we use them as laxatives. Probably not something you want your customers eating.” You grin as you fiddle with the necklace Phainon had given you.

He would have found that funny. 

It had been a few days since he’d left for the ruins of Janusopolis, and you’d spent most of your time yearning for his return. It was almost sickening how much you longed for him; like a lovesick teenager who had to be glued to their partner’s side at all times. 

The door behind you opened, and out walked Akmonides and your father. The former held a vial of what you assumed to be a tonic for his cold. The other telltale sign of his affliction was his nose, which had been rubbed raw from wiping mucus away.

“Could you run to Demetria’s?” Your father asked, placing a hand on your shoulder as he slipped behind the counter. “We need oranges.” 

You nodded and hopped off your stool, taking the opportunity to emphatically stretch your arms and legs. He sometimes sent you on errands throughout the day, knowing that you appreciated a break from the mundanity. 

As overwhelming as Marmoreal Market could be, you could never shake your love for it. You had lived your whole life with the bustling stalls right at your doorstep. The sound of customers haggling echoed in the back of nearly all your childhood memories. 

The walk to Demetria’s was short, and when you arrived, the grocer was quick to welcome you with a hug. 

“Have you grown since I last saw you?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” you say brightly, knowing full well you stopped growing years ago. 

When you placed the oranges in your basket, she took a long pause, before adding a bundle of grapes. “That doesn’t quite seem heavy enough, here. A treat from me.” 

“Thank you,” arguing with the old woman was futile. She was too kind for her own good. 

Before returning to the apothecary, you made a detour to find an old friend. She was usually easy to find, as she spent her days running along the streets. 

“Serena,” you called down a row of plant-adorned homes. It wasn’t long before she poked her head out from behind a pot. You waved, beckoning her closer. 

She scanned the street before running over to you with a smile on her face.

Gaining the girl’s trust had taken considerable effort. The first time you met her, she robbed you blind. After returning home from The Grove, you were unfamiliar with certain changes, namely the orphaned children that used the market as their hunting ground. When you told your father, he merely laughed; apparently everyone had fallen prey to her antics. At the time, you were angry, and spent two days searching for the thief. After clamouring over the rooftops, you eventually found her hideout on a balcony overlooking the market. Your anger immediately subsided when you saw her huddled in the corner, surrounded by empty boxes and various stolen mementos. A sudden appreciation for your stable childhood had blossomed since then, especially as more desperate children arrived from Castrum Kremnos.

Serena was from Icatus, and had no means of supporting herself. She insisted her parents would return, but the disillusionment of maturity told you otherwise. Since then, you made an effort to leave her food whenever you could. When you and your father had leftovers, you’d set them outside the shop for her, and in the morning there would be a flower on your windowsill. 

“Were you looking for me?” She asked, trying to get a better look at the gift you held behind your back. 

You laughed, and showed her the bundle of fresh grapes. “I thought you could use a treat on a hot day like this.” 

The little girl’s eyes widened with excitement, and she snatched the fruit from your grasp. She looked at the gift like it was a rare gem, “this is all for me?”

“Of course, I-”

An earth-shattering scream cut through the gentle moment like a knife. Instinctively, you pulled Serena behind you, her hand tightly grasping yours. “What was that?”

“Stay close, and don’t run ahead,” you instructed in a harsh whisper. 

Keeping your back against the wall, you carefully shuffled to the end of the building to peer down the main street. The lone scream had multiplied into an overwhelming rumble of panic. Ahead, people were fleeing a towering figure clad in blue and white. You’d learned of the Titankin through Phainon, but had never laid eyes on one. It’s marbled skin was exactly as he had described, and the golden dagger it brandished was far from an inviting image. 

“What’s happening?” Serena tugged at your arm. 

Primal fear overtook you when the Titankin turned its head in your direction, it’s stiff, inhuman movements only adding to your terror. Had it seen you? Was it coming your way?

“We need to run,” you pulled the girl further down the street, away from your possible assailant. 

“To where?” She asked shakily as she struggled to match your pace. 

You slowed down slightly, needing a moment to think. What you needed was to get to your father. For all you knew, he was alone in the shop. He was not a trained fighter; neither of you were. A feeling of hopelessness began to gnaw at your confidence as you realized the dire nature of the situation. 

“We need to get to my father,” your attempt to keep your voice steady failed. Getting to your father meant returning to one of the main roads on opposite ends of the street. The southern road was blocked by Titankin, and the other route would still be a gamble, especially with Serena in tow. Still, you refused to abandon the child. 

“We can get there from the roof!” Serena pointed to a set of stairs leading up to a nearby balcony. 

A low groan sounded from around the corner you had previously checked, and it became abundantly clear that you had to make a choice; risk finding more Titankin on the main road, or follow Serena’s plan. While you had about a hundred logistical questions about Serena’s route, you decided that a petty thief probably knew all the cutie’s secret passages better than you. 

“Up the stairs then, and don’t look back.” 

She nodded, and led you up the nearby building. From above, you could see the extent of the chaos. It turned out following Serena’s idea was for the best, as a particularly burly Titankin stood guard on the northern road. 

“What are those things?” The little girl was trembling, so you knelt down to meet her eye. 

“Those are Nikador’s Titankin. They are very dangerous, and want to hurt us. If one gets close, you run. Do you understand?” You hated how grave your voice sounded, knowing it would only make her more afraid. But fear no longer mattered; survival was your only priority. “Can you still get us to my father?”

To your surprise, she didn’t cry. Instead, Serena furrowed her brow and led you across a nearby canopy. You rushed after her, eager for your feet to once again stand on a solid building. 

“We can climb down here,” she gestured to the ledge below. 

You realized that she was pointing at the protrusion under your bedroom window. The route you had taken must have been how Serena left flowers for you. 

The girl scrambled down the side of the building, using the uneven stone as foot grips. Given you were larger than a child, the drop was a nonissue. You thanked yourself for leaving your window open, and slid inside your bedroom after Serena. 

“Let’s find my father,” you instructed as your anxiety became almost unbearable. You had no idea what you would find, and prayed that the worst case scenario had not yet occurred. 

The two of you crept down the stairs to the shop, the sound of your racing heartbeat thundering in your ears. Everything was painfully normal; the herbs neatly arranged, the phials on the alchemy bench perfectly in order. The only thing out of place was your father, who was nowhere to be found in the main area. 

Serena trailed you, her eyes widening as she took in the shop. If it were any other time, you might have felt a bit of pride at her reaction. Alas, posturing was hardly appropriate during an attack. 

“I need you to stay ducked behind the counter, I’m going to check the exam room.” 

She nodded and did as she was told, curling into a ball. You took a breath, and opened the door. Inside, your father sat at the desk, hunched over a book. 

“Father! What are you doing?” You asked, equal parts relieved and dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think it would take you so long to get back, I-“

“Do you not realize what’s happening? The city is under attack by Titankin.” 

He adjusted his glasses, “if this is some kind of joke, I do not find it funny.” 

Exasperation threatened to overtake you, but the urgency of the moment far outweighed your irritation. “No, it’s not a joke. We need to run now.” 

Your father rose from his chair, and followed you out into the shop where Serena remained under the counter. “You’ve found a child.” 

“Father, this is Serena. I was visiting her when the attack started. She got us here safely.” 

“Then I owe you my thanks.” He smiled warmly at the girl.

“Where do we go now?” 

Before your could respond, your father jumped in, “I suspect they've started evacuating the market. We need to get out while the guards still have a foothold. Otherwise, we’re trapped waiting for the Titankin to find us.” 

You were relieved to have the pressure of responsibility lifted from your shoulders. It was something your father always bore well, and you trusted his intelligence wholeheartedly. 

“Stay in between us,” he guided Serena to stand in the middle of himself and you. Then, your father addressed you, “did you notice where the Titan were gathering? 

“There's one on both the south and north road. We almost had a run in with the southern one.” You shuddered at the thought of that encounter going any other way. “It was farther up, though, so if we make a run for it then we may reach the guards quicker.”

“Good idea,” he nodded, “it’s also closer to the gates. Follow me.” 

The two of you trailed your father as he exited the shop. “Leave the door open. We don’t want to make any more noise than necessary.” 

He crept forward, checking around the corner as you had earlier. The angle of the building made it difficult to see the rest of the street, but you noticed him straining to see past the restaurant. 

“Now,” your father instructed, grabbing Serena’s hand. They took off down the street with you floating close behind.  

As you ran, you found yourself clutching your necklace, your grip so firm that it left star-shaped indents in your palm. If Phainon were here, you’d all be safe. If you can hear me, please come home. I need you. 

The sudden realization of your own mortality was frightening. You thought of everything you had left unsaid, to your father, and to Phainon. He’d never know just how proud of him you were; how lucky you felt to call him yours. All of the little things you were too afraid to say would die along with you.

Your thoughts were soon interrupted by your companions coming to a stop. By the time you slowed down, the cause for their interruption was clear. A Titankin, larger than the other two, blocked your way with its massive sword. 

Serena trembled behind your father, her shaky hand clenched around his pant leg. 

As for the man himself, he slowly raised a hand, “we mean you no harm! Just let us pass.” 

The Titankin’s growl seemed to encapsulate the area in cool air, freezing everyone in their place. At its feet were discarded weapons; a warning for any who wished to challenge its mighty authority. 

Your eye was drawn to a spear that laid a few feet away, its blade shining in the midday sun. It called to you like a weapon of legend, beckoning you to be the hero your father and Serena needed. 

If I die today, I will make him proud. 

You lunged for the spear, albeit not as gracefully as you would have hoped. Still, when you regained your footing, the spear sat in your hands, sharp blade pointed towards the looming Titankin. 

It shifted its attention to you, sword prepared to strike. 

“What are you-“

“Run!” You interrupted your father as the monster lifted its sword high in the air. 

You shut your eyes, bracing for the impact against your defensively positioned spear. The weight that bore down on you was unbearable. Upon impact, you were sent stumbling backwards, but your spear remained raised. 

The Titankin grunted, and shifted more of his weight to the sword. You could hear the wood of the spear splintering under the force, and you focused on moving out of the way of the opposing blade. 

Behind the beast, your father shouted your name. His desperate tone almost brought tears to your eyes. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but the Titankin had successfully broken through your spear, causing you to lose your balance. 

The weapon’s two halves stared up at you sadly, and you almost felt the need to apologize for reducing the beautifully crafted weapon into such a sorry-state. However, there was no time for that, as the Titankin had raised its sword once again. 

You scrambled backwards, holding your arms in front of your face. The pain that exploded through your left forearm as the blade cut through your skin was unbearable. A pained cry escaped you as your vision blurred. Had you been hit elsewhere? You dropped to the ground, cradling your injury close to your chest. 

“Don’t touch them!” Your father cried, before a loud thump echoed through the streets. You wanted to go to him, to see if he was alright, but your legs wouldn’t work. 

Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the end to come. I love you father. I’m sorry I failed to protect you. I hope I made you proud Phainon. I’m sorry I never told you-

An awful sound, like nails on a chalkboard, overwhelmed your senses, but the impact never came. You blinked open your eyes to see a blade sticking out of the Titankin’s chest. It stumbled as that sound filled the air once again, and collapsed into a pile of dust. 

For a moment, the debris shrouded your saviour in mystery, but when they ran forward and took you in their arms, you knew your prayers had somehow been answered.

“What are you doing? Your arm, it’s…” Phainon’s voice trailed off as he observed the gash in your skin. You wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, but decided upon remembering your bleeding injury and his white coat. 

“Phainon?” His name fell pathetically from your lips as tears clouded your vision. Your whole body numbed, until the pain in your arm was nothing but a dull ache. 

“I’m here,” he cupped your face in his hands, “I should have gotten here sooner, I’m-“

“Ahem,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in, interrupting your tender moment. 

Behind Phainon stood a beautiful woman with golden eyes. She held some sort of stick in her hand, its shiny material covered in the same dust-like material the Titankin had been reduced to. Her short skirt and accessories were unlike anything you’d ever seen in Okhema.

“Are you going to introduce your friend?” She grinned down at you and Phainon, slugging her weapon over her shoulder. 

“Leave them alone, Stelle.” An equally exotically dressed man called as he helped your father to his feet. You noticed he had a small scar under his right eye, although it did nothing to detract from his handsome features.

“You’re no fun,” the woman huffed, nudging his shoulder.

You turned your attention back to Phainon, who was watching the duo with as much confusion as you. “Who are they?” 

Before Phainon can speak, the grey woman responded: “we’re visitors from beyond the sky, come to rescue you in your hour of need.” 

Once again, the man tried to real-in his companion. “You can’t tell everyone that,” he hissed, which was met with the woman—Stelle—rolling her eyes. 

“Is she being serious?” You asked Phainon, as he and your father hoisted you off the ground. 

“Yes… Kind of,” Phainon answered once your feet were securely on the ground. “They really are from beyond the sky. And they helped me get to you.” 

You and your father exchanged confused looks as he examined your arm. “It’s nothing major, but we need to get this stitched up.” His hand lingered on yours. 

“The path ahead is cleared, find the guards, and get yourselves to safety.” Phainon orders, having adopted his “hero” persona.

“What about you?” 

A mere touch momentarily shatters his mask. “I’ll come back to you, I promise. We need to clear out the rest of the city and get to Nikador.”

“Nikador is here?” Your father suddenly seemed uneasy. 

The man from beyond the sky ushered Serena to the exit, “leave the Titan to us, sir. Get your children to safety.” 

“You’re facing Nikador? Now?” Your voice wavered with emotion. 

“The Chrysos Heirs will defend the city from this threat,” Phainon’s words were rehearsed, his mask slipping back into place. 

“They’re right,” your father placed a calming hand on your back. “We need to get to safety. Let the Chrysos Heirs do the fighting.” 

Phainon patted your hand reassuringly, “we’ll be okay. I promise.” 

There was much more you wanted to say, but the pain in your arm had returned. Your head was starting to feel fuzzy, and from the trail you left behind while walking, it was clear you were losing too much blood. 

“Good luck,” you told Phainon as your father led you from the market. As you left, the city’s mortician passed, but said nothing. 

Death had come to Okhema, and all you could do was pray that Phainon remained on its good side.