#is that not like... the third time this was asked

[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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[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[nekonaps0]

Mixed text pt1

✦part2

✦fem!reader

✦characters: third years

✦You meant to send your very spicy little message to your boyfriend. But you didn’t just text him. You accidentally dropped it into the dorm group chat…

Trey Clover

Your text:

“If I sit on your lap again tonight, are you going to finally do something about it, or just pretend to focus on baking?”

Group chat chaos:

Cater: “OKAYYY HELLOOOO?!? 💀💦”

Riddle: “YOU DID WHAT IN THE KITCHEN?!?!”

Ace: “Didn’t need to know this. Deleting my eyes.”

Deuce: “…”

Trey was in the middle of slicing strawberries when the notification hit. He froze. Knife still in hand. His entire soul left his body as his glasses fogged.

“...She didn’t…”

Poor man’s face went cherry red. He immediately DM’d you:

“You sent that to the dorm group chat… sweetheart.”


“Riddle’s having a breakdown.”


“Ace threatened to move out.”

When he finally sees you, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re lucky I like you so much… but if you’re going to make me this flustered, at least do it privately next time.”

He’s a blushing mess—but the next time you sit on his lap? He’s not pretending anymore.

Cater Diamond

Your text:

“Thinking about you pulling my hair last night… Maybe tonight I’ll return the favor ”

Group chat chaos:

Trey: “Cater...”

Riddle: “I’m blocking both of you.”

Ace: “I need to bleach my brain.”

Deuce: “I dont get it and I don’t think I wanna…”

Cater read the message and screamed. Like, full-on squawked in his dorm room and nearly threw his phone.

“YO everyone ignore that! She’s just passionate okay?? LMAO delete this from your memories pls~”

Then he slid into your DMs with:

“Babe. You’re killing me here. But also 👀 I’m free at 9…”

Leona Kingscholar

Your text:

“If I tell you I’m not wearing anything under my robe, are you going to come deal with it or keep pretending to nap?”

Group chat chaos:

Ruggie: “WHAT THE HELL BRO 💀💀💀”

Jack: “This chat is NOT safe for minors.”

Leona blinked at the screen once. Twice.

Then groaned, rolled over, and muttered:

“...Stupid herbivore. You just had to hit ‘everyone.’”

He ignored the chaos in the chat completely. The only message he sent was directly to you:

“You’re gonna pay for that. In private. Tonight.”

Later, he showed up at your room, lazily shutting the door behind him.

“You wanna wear nothin’ under your robe? Fine. But now I ain’t letting you leave until you regret sending that to the whole dorm.”

(You are cooked..)

Vil Schoenheit

Your text:

“I’ve been thinking about your hands on my neck all day. Should I wear something pretty tonight? I would let you take it off after”

Group chat chaos:

Epel: “OH MY GREAT SEVENS I DIDNT WANT TO KNOW THAT”

Rook: “Quel passion! Quelle audace! I am weeping!!”

Vil was doing his skincare routine when the notification came in. He read the message. Then dropped his serum bottle.

“...Darling.”

He slowly opened the chat to assess the damage—sighing deeply.

He messaged you with:

“You just turned our entire dorm into a gossip magazine headline.”

“You’ll have to do a lot more than wear something pretty to make up for this little incident.”

But later that night, when he walks in and the door locked? You know exactly how seriously he took it.

Rook Hunt

Your text:

“Do you think anyone would hear if you made me cry your name tonight?”

Group chat chaos:

Vil: “Rook. Handle this.”

Epel: “I’m GONNA PUKE.”

Rook (immediately replying): “Ma chérie, even the wind heard your words~ 💘”

Rook doesn’t panic. He’s delighted. He DMs you in under five seconds:

“Your boldness, your artful seduction—I am in awe! Shall I prepare my chamber for your tears and whispered gasps tonight?”

Later, he pulls you aside with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“If you wished for an audience, mon trésor, all you had to do was ask~”

(You stop sending spicy texts for a month after that.)

Idia Shroud

Your text:

“If I was kneeling under your desk right now, would you keep playing your game or make me earn your attention?”

Group chat chaos:

Ortho: “Um… I think that’s the wrong chat…”

Random Ignihyde student: “I’m logging off forever.”

Idia's soul left his body immediately.

He dropped his phone. His entire room was lit up with ERROR windows. The AI screens around him buzzed with red alerts. He curled into a fetal position and wheezed:

“They’re gonna exile me.”

He didn’t even open the chat. He just messaged you:

“W-WHAT LEVEL OF CHAOS GREMLIN ARE YOU—DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE?!?!”

After he calmed down (3 hours later minimum), he quietly messaged:

“...I haven’t stopped thinking about it, btw.”

You walked fast as you can so you can make it up for him!!

Malleus Draconia

Your text:

“If you come to my room tonight, I promise to be good… I mean… at least in bed.”

Group chat chaos:

Sebek: “BLASPHEMY!! DISGRACE!!”

Silver: “...Pretending I didn’t see that.”

Lilia: “Ohoho~ my boy is all grown up~”

Malleus… doesn’t get embarrassed. Not outwardly. He read your message. Saw Sebek’s meltdown. Then calmly turned off his phone.

Later, he teleported directly to your room.

“You wished to be ‘good,’ did you?”

There was a smirk on his face. A low hum in his chest. And glowing green eyes promising divine punishment.

You deleted that message from the chat… but Diasomnia never forgot.

Lilia Vanrouge

Your text:

“Next time, sit me on your lap like you did last night—just don’t stop halfway this time, old man”

Group chat chaos:

Sebek: “I AM GOING TO END MY LIFE.”

Silver: “I don’t want to know.”

Malleus: “...interesting...”

Lilia didn’t even blink. He cackled so hard, he fell off his bed.

“Fufufu~ Oh, you naughty little thing~”

He replied to the group chat himself:

“She speaks the truth, my dears. And I fully intend to finish what I started~”

You screamed into a pillow.

Later, he winked at you and whispered:

“If you wanted the whole dorm to know how naughty you are, you could’ve just said so~”

Please stop him…

..............................................................................................................................

Look at me✨ feeding the whores ✨💜 (and I love doing it 😌)

[idyllwave]

what you lack is a future

yandere!phainon x reader , angst , loss , death , 30 million cycles , etc.

Out of thirty million cycles, you only existed in one.

You were like a blip. A tiny scratch mark of erasable pencil lead on a large canvas. Someone, somehow, somewhere accidentally written you into existence. How that was possible, Phainon wasn’t sure. But you existed. He knew because he remembered.

It was the 3141592nd cycle. And when he was just about to be at his lowest point, you had walked up to him. He expected you to ask for his help like many others had, but instead you had sat with him silently and rested a gentle hand onto his shoulder. He didn’t know how long he sat with you, but it was long enough that it waned to late evening.

“Thank you,” he hated how weak his voice sounded, how tired he seemed.

“Anytime.”

He looked at you then, memorized your features, noted the way your smile curved. He didn’t know that he was asking your name before the words left his lips.

You laughed and gave him your name. Your eyes crinkling at the corners as you let your hand fall from his shoulder.

He learned a lot about you after that. It wasn’t until night had fallen that you two parted ways. Though, you did get him to promise to come to you if he ever had that terrible feeling well up inside him again.

However, like clockwork, no matter how many days and weeks he spent with you laughing and having fun – the cycle had went on and you had died in his arms. He didn’t know if your death was peaceful, or quiet, or if you had called out to him. All that he did know was that you were already dead by the time he pulled you into his arms and pressed you close to his chest.

He promised to find you in the next cycle.

But even as the cycles marched on you were no where in sight. You didn’t exist anywhere or to anyone. The moment your name would fall from his lips no one would know who he was talking about. Not even Aglaea or Tribbie could place your name.

Thirty million cycles and you only existed in one. Were you a saving grace to make sure he stayed sane and didn’t lose hope? A mistake? An accident? Was he doing something differently that was stopping you from coming to existence?

“Stop pushing Stelle! I know we landed in different places, but I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He sighed and plastered on a smile. Both Dan Heng and Stelle had mentioned that they were missing a third.

“Phainon,” Stelle called out, “we found them!”

When he turned, he was fully prepared to introduce himself, shake their hand, give soft pleasantries, but … the moment he saw you – everything just sort of stopped.

“Hello… Phainon, right? I’m sorry we couldn’t meet earlier, the train car we came in broke apart and I ended up landing elsewhere… Though, I do want to thank you for looking after Stelle and Dan Heng. I wouldn’t know what to do if they got into even more trouble.”

You laughed to yourself as you held out your hand for him to take, and it was starting to get silent and awkward fast when Phainon didn’t make a move to take your hand. Instead, he was eerily quiet. His eyes widened and his lips parted in a smile.

“Phainon?”

“Sorry,” he breathed out, “I got lost in thought,” he took your hand with both of his. His palms pressing hard and his grip a little too tight, “it’s wonderful to meet you. And since you just got here, why don’t I show you around?”

You looked to your friends and neither seemed to mind (well, except for Dan Heng who still seemed weary).

“Sure! Sounds like fun.”

Phainon couldn’t wait to get to know you all over again, and this time, he will make sure you don’t disappear even if another cycle were to begin.

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, creampie, chan is a wee bit manipulative, mdni

notes: im currently out of the country so this is a queued post I had pre-written to keep you hoes guys well fed 😇 can't wait to read what you guys think when i get back <3

You were just trying to get work done.

Really. The spreadsheet is still open on your screen, cursor blinking accusingly from where you left it. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, your eyes blurry from staring too long, but still—you’re trying.

Chan is the one who’s not letting you.

“Just the tip,” he whispers again, soft and sinful in your ear, voice cracking like he means it. Like it’s not the third time he’s said it in the last two minutes. His hands are already under your hoodie, thumbs sliding across the swell of your hips, coaxing you back into his lap even as you lean forward to type.

“Chan,” you sigh, warning in your voice.

“I won’t even move, baby. Just let me feel you,” he breathes, cock straining against his briefs beneath you. “I just need it for a second, that’s all. You can keep working—I'll be quiet, promise.”

You glance over your shoulder. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, cheeks pink. He’s already flushed like he’s inside you. Like this whole thing isn’t absolutely deranged.

You’re still in his lap. You should’ve never sat down there in the first place, but he’d looked so sweet. All pouty and clingy and pathetic, murmuring “don’t wanna be away from you,” pulling you down with him on the chair like you weren’t busy.

Now his hands are splayed across your thighs, warm and firm, shifting you just enough that you can feel the outline of him, thick and ready and twitching.

“Chan, I have three reports due tonight—”

“And I’ll help,” he interrupts, kissing the back of your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Just lemme slip in a little. Just the tip, baby. Just want to warm up in you while you work—feels good for both of us, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes at your laptop, like it’ll give you strength. But your traitorous body is already pressing back into him, pulse fluttering low.

He feels it.

“See? Your body wants it too,” he whispers, voice cracking into a whine. “So warm for me already, baby. Don’t be mean.”

You feel him shift beneath you, one hand slipping between your thighs now, fingers curling over your waistband and tugging slow—so slow it makes you shiver. He’s savoring it, like dragging it out will make you beg instead. Like he’s waiting for that last thread of resistance to snap.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, kissing just behind your ear. “Let me in. Just a little. Just to take the edge off.”

You lift your hips without meaning to.

It’s instinct. That’s all. Instinct and exhaustion and the heat of his breath behind your ear. You don’t even look at him as you help shimmy your shorts and underwear down to your knees, keeping your eyes on the screen like that’ll anchor you.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes.

And then he’s there—pressing the thick head of his cock between your folds, guiding it with a shaky hand. He groans the second he feels how wet you are, lets out the softest “shit,” and you feel the tremble in his thighs as he drags the tip through your slick again and again.

You should stop him. You don’t.

He notches himself at your entrance, breathing through his nose like he’s trying to behave.

Then slowly—slowly—he sinks the tip inside you.

Your hands curl into fists on your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, already breathless.

You nod, just once. Not trusting your voice.

“Good,” he pants, lips brushing your nape. “Good girl. Just like that. Just the tip. Just the—”

He pushes deeper.

“—fucking tip, baby, shit—”

He doesn’t bottom out.

He could. He’s close—closer than he said he’d be. But he stops, hips twitching, breath caught in his throat like it physically hurts him to hold back.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispers, rocking his hips just enough to press deeper into your heat, but not enough to give you relief. “So warm, so fucking wet. You’re dripping all over me, baby.”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but his hand slides between your thighs before you can speak. His fingers come back soaked.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, holding them up, then licking them clean. “You sure you don’t want it?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Your eyes flick back to your laptop screen—numbers blurring, words meaningless. Your body is hot, trembling, strung out on the edge of something you don’t want to name. You should tell him to stop.

You don’t.

“I could make you feel so good,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “So good you’d forget your deadlines. Forget your name. You’d let me fuck you right here in this chair and you’d still thank me for it.”

You clench around him, involuntary.

He laughs, soft and breathless. The sound curls straight into your gut.

“You feel that?” he asks, nuzzling behind your ear again. “Your pussy knows what you want even if you won’t say it. She’s so honest. She wants me.”

You press your lips together to keep from moaning.

He feels it—of course he does. He’s tuned to every twitch, every breath, every little squeeze of your body around him. And right now, you’re holding onto restraint by a thread, and he’s sawing through it with every word out of his mouth.

“She’s being so good for me,” he murmurs, one hand drifting back between your legs to stroke where he’s barely inside you. “So soft, so greedy. Just keeps pulling me in, baby.”

You grab the edge of the desk like it’ll help you hold yourself together. It doesn’t.

“She wants more,” he continues, the tease thick in his voice now. “I bet you do too. You want it, don’t you? Want me to fill you up, fuck you dumb, keep you nice and stuffed while you try to finish your little reports—”

“Christopher—”

His name breaks in your throat, barely a breath, but it makes his whole body shudder.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, like you just said something filthy. “Say it again.”

You don’t. You can’t. Your lips part, but nothing comes out, and he takes that as its own kind of answer.

He noses along your jaw, voice a cracked whisper. “You know what that does to me. You say my name like that and expect me to just sit still?”

He rocks his hips—again, shallow. Controlled. But deeper this time. Enough to make you gasp. Enough to knock the breath from your lungs when he sinks just a little more inside.

“Fuck—look at you,” he whispers, holding you tight as you writhe in his lap. “You’re taking me so good, baby. Didn’t even need prep. Didn’t need to be told. Just opened right up like you were waiting for me.”

You shake your head, weak. “You said—just the tip—”

He hums, low and teasing. “I said that. But you didn’t say no when I gave you more.”

You don’t respond.

“Didn’t stop me,” he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek. “Didn’t push me away. You’re still letting me fuck myself in, baby. You know it's yours, baby .”

His voice is wrecked now, slurred with need, but still so tender. So sweet it makes your throat tighten. His cock pushes deeper like he’s punctuating the words—inch by inch, careful and slow, dragging it out like he wants to feel every trembling second of you giving in.

“And you’re mine,” he whispers. “All mine, aren’t you?”

You nod. Barely. But it’s enough. You hear the way his breath catches in his throat, feel the way his arms tighten around your waist like he needs to hold you to keep from falling apart.

“Fuck, I love you like this,” he groans, forehead pressed to your temple. “So pliant. So sweet for me. Just letting me take whatever I want.”

Another thrust, deeper. His cock finally, fully sheathed inside you.

Your breath stutters. Your body seizes around him.

And he moans, low and ragged and grateful.

“God—baby—look at that. Took all of me, didn’t you?” he murmurs, hips barely moving now, just enough to let you feel the stretch, the weight of him. “Knew you would. Knew this tight little cunt missed me.”

You gasp, jaw slack, spine curving back against him.

He laughs softly, mouth against your skin. “Yeah. That’s it. You can pretend you didn’t want it. But look at you now.”

He rocks up once—slow and deep—and it’s too much. You cry out, sharp and quiet, and his hand immediately comes up to cover your mouth.

“Shh, shh—baby,” he soothes. “You said you had work to do, remember?”

You nod against his palm, eyes fluttering, mouth parted around gasps you can’t even hear over your heartbeat.

“Then be a good girl,” he whispers, voice like silk soaked in sin. “Keep working.”

His hand drops from your mouth, slides down to your thigh as he rocks into you again—slow, syrup-thick thrusts that force soft whines out of you with every drag.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs. “Hands on the keyboard. Don’t make me ask again.”

You blink at the screen, vision blurry, legs trembling where they straddle his. The spreadsheet is still open. The cursor still blinking. You could type something. You could pretend.

That’s what he wants, after all.

Just pretend.

You bring your hands up, fingers shaking as you rest them over the keys. You press a few—nonsense inputs—like that’ll satisfy him. Like it’s not so obvious how far gone you are..

“Good girl,” he says, hips snapping up once—sharp and precise. “That’s it. Keep typing while I fuck you full.”

Your fingers stutter over the keys—random characters stringing out across the screen in some hopeless imitation of productivity.

It doesn’t matter. Not to him. Not to you.

Not when he’s buried to the hilt inside you, cock dragging deep and slow with every calculated thrust. Not when every word he says drips honey and sin into your ears.

“Such a pretty little worker,” he groans, mouth brushing your temple. “Look at you. Taking my cock like you were made for it, still trying to do your job.”

He presses a kiss there, tender, like he isn’t actively wrecking you from the inside out.

Your legs tremble again. Your hands slip off the keyboard for a moment and he catches your wrist, brings it back into place.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs. “No slacking.”

He thrusts deeper, harder, and the gasp you let out nearly knocks your laptop off the desk.

You can’t feel your fingers anymore. Can’t see the screen. The spreadsheet is a blur of black and white and nothing.

But he’s everything.

The way his voice wraps around you like velvet. The way his cock drags through your soaked heat, claiming every inch like he was built to be there. The way his breath stutters when your walls flutter around him, like he’s surprised you still want him after everything.

“Gonna come for me again?” he pants, voice ragged. “Look at you—so fucking perfect. So wrecked and still letting me use you. You’re gonna give it to me, aren’t you, baby?”

You nod. You don’t even try to speak.

Because he’s right. He’s always right when it comes to your body. Your reactions. Your limits. He reads them like scripture, responds to them like worship.

His hand finds your clit again, and this time, he doesn’t play. No teasing. No mercy.

Just pressure. Rhythm. Just enough.

Your body tenses instantly, the tight coil in your gut snapping before you even realize what’s happening. The orgasm hits hard, violent in how it grips you. You whimper, legs buckling, forehead pressed to your forearm on the desk.

And Chan—he doesn’t stop.

Not yet.

He fucks you through it, holds you tight as your cunt spasms around him, praises spilling from his lips in a broken rush.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. So good for me. So perfect. Letting me fuck you stupid while you’re working—fuck—you're so fucking sexy—”

His voice cracks on the last word, like he’s overwhelmed by his own need, like even he can’t believe how far gone you’ve made him. His thrusts stutter, his hands gripping your hips too tight to be gentle—but even now, there’s love in every filthy word that spills from his mouth.

“I can’t—fuck, baby—I’m gonna come—”

And you just nod, barely able to breathe, still shaking from your own release, still dripping with him, stretched and full and ruined.

“I need it,” he groans. “Need to come inside you again, baby, please—wanna fill you up, wanna make you mine—”

You don’t even need to say yes. Your body says it for you, clenching tight around him, pulling him deeper, and that’s it.

He breaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck—baby—god—”

He spills into you with a desperate cry, hips jerking up into yours as his orgasm tears through him like a storm. He holds you there, flush against him, trembling beneath your weight as his cock throbs deep inside.

And then—

Stillness.

Silence, except for the sound of your breathing, ragged and uneven, and his heart pounding against your back like a war drum.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t even let go.

He just wraps his arms around your middle and buries his face in your neck, breath hot and shaky against your skin.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “You’re unreal.”

You laugh—barely. More like a broken breath through your nose. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Worth it,” he murmurs, smiling into your shoulder. “Die full.”

You snort, weakly. “Shut up.”

He kisses your neck, then your jaw, then the space just behind your ear that makes you shiver again. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get you cleaned up in a second,” he promises, voice already softening with aftercare. “But right now…” He lets out a content sigh, arms tightening around your waist. “I just wanna hold you.”

You hum and let yourself sink into him, hips still nestled against his, cock still buried inside you, warmth still spreading between your thighs.

He strokes your hair, pressing another kiss to your temple.

Then—after a long pause—he peeks over your shoulder at the screen.

“…You didn’t finish the report,” he says solemnly.

You groan, letting your head drop forward onto your arms. “You think?”

He chuckles. “If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll type the rest for you.”

You turn just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “With what energy?”

He grins, all smug and sweet and way too pleased with himself. “Fair point.”

[himasgod]

Would it be to soon to ask for a "where you suddenly stop giving them attention" part with the third years?

THIRD YEARS X READER

Where you suddenly stop giving them attention

Cater was living for your affection.

Seriously, you were his favorite notification. You always knew how to brighten his day, a kiss on the cheek before class, selfies together, random “thinking of you~” texts that made his heart skip. He acted all chill about it, but inside?

He was twirling his hair, giggling and kicking his feet like a teen in love.

So when you stopped? When your texts slowed down to dry busy rn, when you walked past him without that sparkle, when you skipped Magicam photos for days? Cater noticed. At first, he played it off with humor.

"Whoa, my number one fan vanished! Was I canceled and no one told me~?"

He scrolls back through your message thread at night, wondering if he said something wrong. Tries to post a cute story hoping you’ll react. Even sneaks by your class to “casually” spot you.

And when he sees you — head down on the desk, dark circles under your eyes, shoulders trembling, it hits him. You didn’t stop caring. You just stopped having the energy.

He walks right in, pulls you up from your chair, and takes your hand. You barely react, exhausted, letting him lead you. He brings you to the empty pop music club room, shuts the door, and wraps you in his arms.

"You don’t have to smile for me, kay? You don’t have to be “on.” Just be real with me, babe. I’m not going anywhere."

You finally let go and cry a little, muttering “I’m sorry” into his hoodie. He hugs you tighter.

"Nah, none of that. You gave me real love, and I’m keeping it. So if you need a break, I’ll be your filter. I gotchu."

Leona had long since decided that affection wasn’t something he needed. Or wanted. Or deserved.

But then you came along. With your sleepy kisses. Your hands in his hair. Your little “I missed you, lazybones” messages. Your way of plopping down beside him like you belonged there. It made him soft. He hated it. He loved it.

So when it disappears, when you stop curling up next to him during naps, when you barely say “hi” in the hallways, when the only messages you send are “Sorry, can’t today. Too tired”, Leona’s first instinct is annoyance. He’s gruff. Snappy. Sulking like a big cat who’s been denied his favorite sunspot.

"So that’s it? Done spoiling your prince, herbivore?"

But he doesn’t press it. Not yet. Not until he finds you passed out in the botanical garden, curled under a tree with your bag still slung on one shoulder. You don’t wake up when he calls your name.

He kneels beside you, frowning, brushing your hair out of your face. Your skin is warm. Your body limp with exhaustion. And suddenly he sees it, the sleepless nights in your eyes, the way you’ve been dragging your feet through the week. This wasn’t you ignoring him. This was you falling apart.

When you finally blink awake he doesn’t let you speak. He just pulls you against his chest, sighing into your shoulder.

"You idiot. You think I need all your attention if it costs you this much?"

You try to explain, apologize, but Leona tightens his hold and cuts you off.

"You gave me something warm for the first time in a long damn time. You think I’m gonna throw that away because you forgot to say “good morning” a few days?"

"Next time, just tell me you’re burning out. I’ll carry you if I have to. I’ll drag your overworked ass into bed myself."

And he does. He carries you to his room like it’s nothing, tucks you under his thickest blanket, and curls around you.

"You spoiled me rotten, herbivore. Let me spoil you back."

Vil took note the second it started.

The first time you didn’t compliment him. The first time you didn’t send your good morning text. The first time you passed him in the hallway, eyes on your phone, and didn’t so much as glance up. He noticed. He always noticed. But he didn’t act on it immediately. He gave you space, told himself you were probably dealing with something. That it was just a phase. He wasn’t going to be the clingy insecure type. And yet…

"Why haven’t they noticed my new look? They always say something…"

"They haven’t visited the dorm in over a week. Why?"

The questions start to pile up in his mind, and with them, a tightness in his chest he hates admitting is worry. When he finally seeks you out, you’re in the library, fast asleep over books, dark circles under your eyes, your lunch untouched beside you. And everything clicks. It wasn’t about him. It was about you. Pushing yourself too hard again. Giving too much and leaving nothing for yourself.

Vil lets out a sigh and gently wakes you. You blink at him, confused, guilty, already trying to explain. But he stops you with a finger pressed to your lips.

"Enough. You don’t owe me affection when your body is falling apart."

He takes your hands, helps you stand, and brushes the hair out of your face.

"You’ve been overworking yourself again. Look at your complexion. Look at your posture. Have you even slept properly this week?"

You shake your head, ready to apologize again, but Vil frowns and holds your face with both hands.

"You showered me in love when I needed it. Now let me return the favor."

That evening, he takes you to Pomefiore. Runs you a bath with herbs for your fatigue. Makes you a skin treatment himself. Feeds you something warm, nothing fancy, just what you need. And when you lie down, eyes drooping, he sits beside you with a book and reads aloud until you drift off.

The next morning, when you wake up and whisper, “Sorry for worrying you,” he only scoffs.

"You’re lucky I love you… Because darling, letting yourself fall apart is never a good look. So next time, tell me. You don’t have to be perfect — just let me in."

You were his safe place. That’s it.

Idia had never, ever been good with people, but somehow, you slipped through him like a virus. You installed yourself into every part of his daily life: calling him nicknames, hugging him out of nowhere, holding his hand even when he flinched like a malfunctioning Chatgpt.

So when you stop showing up to his room after class, when your daily “I love you, you nerd” texts vanish into silence, Idia panics. But he doesn’t know how to confront you. Not directly. So he goes through his mental folders.

"Did I say something cringe? Did I scare them off? Oh no. Oh fuck—what if they’re ghosting me?!"

He pings you in-game. No reply. He messages you on Magicam. Nothing. Eventually, he decides to do something terrifying: he leaves his room. He finds you half-asleep in a corner booth, head down on your arms, a tray of snacks beside you. You look pale. Tired. Your phone buzzes with unread messages, mostly from group projects. And his. He shuffles over, hoodie up, hands in sleeves.

"Hey… hey… you okay?"

You lift your head, dazed. When you realize it’s him, you try to smile, but it comes out cracked. “I’m sorry, I just… forgot to reply. I’m so tired.”

Idia sits beside you. He just pulls his sleeve over your hand and gives it a squeeze. "You’re running out of stamina, huh? You chuckle weakly. “That’s one way to put it.”

"You don’t have to be good all the time just for me. But next time, let me know, okay? I can carry the team for a while."

Then he gently drapes his oversized jacket over your shoulders.

Lilia always used to tease you a little about how much you pampered him.

"Another treat? You’re going to spoil me rotten, little one. I might start expecting this every day~"

He would laugh, flutter his lashes, feign dramatic swoons every time you brought fixed his hair without warning, or clung to his arm calling him “old man.” But the truth? He loved it. Every second of it.

So when all that stops? When you start pulling away with tired excuses and absent eyes, when your touch disappears, your laughter fades, and your texts become “sorry, I’m busy” Lilia notices. Of course he does. He notices everything. At first, he jokes about it, as usual.

"Ara~ have I lost my most devoted fan? Say it isn’t so"

But you just smile weakly, wave him off, and walk past him. And Lilia stays behind, lips still curved, but eyes narrowed. Concerned.

He doesn’t chase after you, he waits. Watches. He sees how you stumble over your steps in class, how you barely eat. And suddenly, everything makes sense. You weren’t ignoring him. You were burning out.

The next time he sees you, you're dozing off, a stack of notes on your lap and your pen still in hand. He crouches beside you, brushes a strand of hair from your face, and whispers. "Silly human… You give and give until there’s nothing left. And now you’re forgetting to take care of yourself."

He doesn’t wake you. Instead, he scoops you up in his arms and takes you to his room. He sets you on the bed, tucks you in, and sits beside you. Humming something low. And when you finally stir awake, blinking at him with confusion, he just smiles.

"You stopped spoiling me… so I’ll spoil you now. Rest, darling. I’ll watch over you."

Malleus had never known what it was like to be loved in the small ways.

Not just respected or fond like Lilia, Silver or Sebek, But openly loved, with warm hands brushing his hair, with nicknames whispered, with kisses on the cheek followed by playful grins and “did you miss me prince?”

That’s why, when it suddenly stops, he doesn’t know how to process it. You no longer greet him with your usual bright voice. You stop reaching for his hand. You avoid going to Diasomnia. He doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t even speak of it at first. He just watches.

"Have I displeased you?" He asks himself this more times than he’d ever admit.

At first, he assumes it's distance — that perhaps your heart had grown bored of him. But then he begins to see the truth, your slowed pace, the way you rub your eyes and mumble apologies without reason. You weren’t pushing him away, you were exhausted. So one night, he appears outside Ramshackle, as he used to do in the beginning when your bond was still new. You hear the gentle knock, and when you open the door, there he is.

"May I come in, child of man?"

You nod tiredly, and let him sit beside you on the edge of the bed. You try to explain. Try to apologize. But Malleus just shakes his head, placing a hand over yours.

"You gifted me a kind of love I never imagined I’d have. You do not need to apologize for needing to rest. But I ask you this. Do not shut me out. Let me carry some of your burdens, if only a little. Let me stay beside you, even in silence.·

You feel tears sting your eyes, but Malleus simply leans forward, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

"Even if you have no strength left to call me “my prince,” I will still be yours."

Trey never asked for much.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to expect grand displays or dramatic affection. But ever since you started spoiling him, slipping love notes into his apron pocket, kissing his temple while he baked, calling him “sweetheart” when you thought no one was listening, he’d gotten used to it. Too used to it.

So when you suddenly go quiet, when your touches vanish and your little “I brought this just for you” moments dry up, Trey pretends not to mind. At first.

"Everything alright? You’ve been… quiet lately. Busy?"

You nod. Tell him not to worry. That you’re just tired, that homwork's overwhelming you a bit. He doesn’t push. But it nags at him. He watches how your shoulders slump, how you chew your lower lip while working through assignments, how your phone lights up with unread messages you don’t even glance at.

And one afternoon, when he sees you curled up, asleep with a half-eaten snack and your notebook clutched to your chest, something in him clicks. He sighs softly, kneels beside you, and gently takes the notebook from your arms. He sits down pulling out a small container from his bag. Inside is your favorite treat. One you once made together. He leaves a note beside it:

“For when you wake up. You don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here too.”

When you wake up hours later, groggy, you find Trey still sitting across from you, reading calmly, as if nothing ever happened. But when your eyes meet, he smiles, the kind of smile that says “You don’t owe me anything, but I’m not going anywhere.”

And later, as he walks you back to your dorm, he gently bumps your shoulder.

"Next time you feel like the world’s too heavy, tell me. You’ve always been sweet to me… Let me return the favor, yeah?"

Rook noticed the change before anyone else in all the 3 parts.

He always noticed you. The way your eyes lit up when you saw him. The rhythm of your voice when you called him, the tender way you touched his arm when you thought no one was looking. Your affection was art. And he had memorized every stroke of it.

So when your energy faded, when your “good mornings” dulled to distracted nods, when your hands stopped reaching for his, Rook didn’t need an explanation. He read your body like poetry. At first, he gave you space. Like a hunter watching from a distance. But Rook isn’t passive. He’s passion incarnate. And watching the light fade from you? It ached.

So one afternoon, when you sat alone in the library, head heavy in your arms, unmoving, he couldn’t stay silent. He approached quietly.

"Mon cherie… what burden weighs your wings so deeply?"

You flinch and try to sit up, but he kneels beside your chair, taking your hand gently. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a tired whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Rook kisses your knuckles.

"Ah, no. Do not apologize for enduring. You have not ignored me. You have simply... forgotten to care for yourself."

You shake your head, tears building, shame rising, but he hushes you with a finger to your lips.

"You who gave me such beauty, such devotion, how could I abandon you now, in this moment? Let me cherish you now, ma lumière. Let me carry you."

He lifts you as if you’re made of petals and takes you somewhere quiet. He wraps you in blankets, brings you tea, brushes your hair.

"Rest, my treasure. You gave your light to so many — now let me be the one to shine for you."

[iris-qt]

party prince

You didn’t hate parties. You just… didn’t thrive in them.

Too much noise. Too many people. Too many boys with collars popped like they invented being insufferable. And somewhere inside, probably holding court in the center of it all, was Mattheo Riddle, smirking, tipsy, radiant in that disheveled, reckless way that only he could pull off.

You lasted twenty-three minutes.

And then you slipped out the back, heels clacking softly against old stone as you made your way to the tiny balcony off the third-floor hallway. The night air was cool and quiet and still. It smelled faintly of your expensive perfume and a little like freedom.

You leaned against the railing, exhaled, and let the music dull behind you.

And then, almost immediately...

The door creaked open.

“Should’ve known,” came a familiar voice. “You’d be out here while the rest of us rot in eternal social hell.”

You turned.

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, a little flushed, curls slightly messier than usual. His tie was loosened. His shirt had one too many buttons undone, his cheeks held a tinge of red.

He looked like trouble, personified.

“You’re drunk,” you said lightly.

He blinked, clearly weighing that. “Not drunk. Just… vibing.”

You raised a brow, mouth twitching into a faint smile at the muggle vocab he had undoubtedly caught from you. “Vibing?”

“Is that not the youth term?” he asked, stepping closer, boots thudding softly against the floor.

You shrugged, trying to look casual even as your heart pulled a little tight. “Wasn’t expecting you to leave your kingdom in there.”

He came to stand beside you, leaning on the balcony railing, gaze sweeping across the moonlit courtyard like he was sober enough to remember any of it the next day.

Then, softer than before:

“Wasn’t fun without you.”

You turned your head. He was already watching you.

“What, no fan club to entertain you?” you teased. “No admirers to fawn over your curls and devastating charm?”

He huffed a laugh. “There were. One of them spilled wine on my shoes. I considered faking my own death to escape them.”

You snorted.

He tilted his head, still watching you. “You’re a hard girl to impress.”

“That’s because you usually open with insults and chaos.”

Mattheo smirked. “It’s part of my appeal.”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice was gentler now, serious. “You didn’t have to follow me out here.”

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to your face. “I just… wanted to.”

You blinked. There was something about the way he said it, no bravado, no smirk. Just quiet honesty, tinged with firewhiskey and warmth.

He nudged your arm. “Besides. If you’re not having fun, I’m not having fun.”

Your heart did a very dumb thing.

You tried to deflect. “You’re really bad at pretending you don’t like me.”

“Mm,” he hummed, still smiling. “I was worse at pretending you weren’t the only person I wanted to talk to tonight.”

You looked away. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because you did, and that was somehow worse. Mattheo stepped closer, just slightly, shoulder brushing yours. “So. If I’m out here, and you’re out here… this is the party now, yeah?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Guess so.”

“Brilliant,” he said, pulling a tiny flask out of his jacket like he’d planned this all along. “Because I brought provisions.”

You laughed. “Is that your secret to surviving social events? Bribery and liquor?”

“Only when the person I actually want to spend time with escapes to the balcony like a mysterious, radiant little stormcloud.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already fluttering like a moth to a very unpredictable flame.

And when he offered you the flask with a lopsided grin and his fingertips brushed yours just a second too long, you knew This wasn’t just about escaping the party.

This was about finding each other in the quiet that came after.

[glamourcheetah75]

Jacked and Kind 📱

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Warnings: Mild jealousy, light angst, fluff, playful possessiveness

Summary: With TikTok possibly disappearing for good, you want to post one last trend video. Paige refuses. So you film it with someone else. And suddenly, she’s not quite as chill as she pretended to be.

-

“I’m not doing it,” Paige says for the third time, her arms crossed over her chest, completely unmoved.

“You literally already have drafts,” I protest, holding my phone like it’s proof in a courtroom. “You’ve got more saved TikToks than me, and I’m chronically online.”

“That’s different,” she mutters. “Drafts don’t count.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “It’s literally called the Jacked and Kind trend. You’re jacked. You’re kind—barely, but it counts. People would eat it up.”

Paige just shrugs. “Then let them starve.”

I groan, flopping back onto the couch. “Fine. I’ll ask someone else.”

I don’t really mean it. Or at least, I don’t think I do. But an hour later, I’ve got my best friend (and Paige’s teammate) Azzi standing next to me, smirking at the camera while I mouth the words:

We hit the poses. We flex. We laugh.

It’s dumb.

It’s perfect.

And when I post it? It blows up.

-

I don’t notice Paige’s mood shift at first.

But when we’re getting ready to leave the dorm, she’s uncharacteristically quiet. She doesn’t hold my hand in the hallway like she usually does. At the dining hall, she barely looks up from her tray.

Finally, I nudge her under the table. “Okay. What’s up?”

She shrugs, stabbing her pasta with a little too much force.

I tilt my head. “Is this about the TikTok?”

Her jaw tightens.

I blink. “Oh my god. You’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” she says too quickly.

I smirk. “You totally are.”

“I just think it’s interesting that the one time I say no, you’re immediately flexing with someone else on the internet.”

“It was for the trend!” I laugh. “It’s not like I posted a thirst trap with captions like ‘my favorite teammate 😍.’”

“You didn’t have to,” Paige mutters.

I lean in, voice softer. “Paige. Come on. You know you’re my favorite everything.”

She finally looks at me.

And under all the grumbling, I see it—the vulnerability. The tiny crack in her confidence that she’d rather hide.

I reach for her hand across the table. “I only wanted you in it because it’s true. You are jacked. And you’re kind, even if you act like you’re above TikTok. You’re also mine. And no trend’s worth more than that.”

She exhales, the fight leaving her posture.

“Okay,” she finally says.

I blink. “Okay what?”

“I’ll do it. The trend.”

I gasp. “Seriously?!”

“But only if we post it together. With that caption.”

“What caption?”

She smirks. “‘She’s mine. Get your own.’”

I laugh, already reaching for my phone. “Deal. But you’re doing the flex this time.”

“I always do,” she says, smug.

And this time, when she wraps her arm around me for the video, she pulls me a little closer—like maybe the real trend here… is falling for her all over again.

-

💌 Authors Note:

This was pure playfully possessive girlfriend Paige energy. I love giving her just the tiniest bit of jealousy—not because she doesn’t trust you, but because she cares way more than she lets on. And let’s be honest: she would have the best drafts but never post.

Also inspired by @prettygirl-gabi 💕

[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!)

[sturnicam]

dirty voicemails c. s

in which . . . chris sends you voicemails of him fucking other girls after the breakup, but why did he call out your name?

content warnings . . . voicemail-style formatting, sexual content involving third parties, emotionally manipulative behavior, degradation / humiliation, possessiveness / jealousy, toxic relationship themes, crying during sex ( implied emotional breakdowns ), references to alcohol and intoxication, masturbation / audio voyeurism, implied dubcon ( in tone, not literal non-consent) , heartbreak / emotional distress, gaslighting / obsessive ex behavior, self-destructive language, graphic language, suggestive audio description breakup aftermath / longing

voicemail #1 . . . 1:24am

“mhm… fuck, yeah, just like that—shit, baby.” panting. soft moans in the background.

he laughs. smug, loose. definitely drunk.

“you hear her? she sounds better than you ever did beggin’ for it.”

a wet slap. another moan. his voice dips—low, cruel.

“i’d tell you to block me, but we both know you won’t.” click.

voicemail #2 . . . 11:09pm

music in the back. maybe a party. girls giggling.

“she’s got a tongue ring. you ever think about getting one?” he’s chewing gum.

a girl moans again. muffled.

“she’s gagging all over me. you’d probably cry.”

another voice, asking who he’s talking to.

“don’t worry ‘bout it, baby. just an old friend.” click.

voicemail #3 . . . 3:32am

quiet. rain pattering outside. just his voice this time.

“y’know, i woke up and reached for you. stupid, right?”

he sniffles. sighs.

“i miss the way you’d hum when you brushed your teeth.”

a pause. his breath hitches.

“whatever. fuck you. i’m fine.” click.

voicemail #4 . . . 9:14pm

“she doesn’t talk back. you’d hate her.”

a sharp breath. skin hitting skin again. he groans, dragging it out.

“she lets me do whatever i want. that’s what i wanted. someone more… obedient.”

silence.

“but she doesn’t make me feel shit.” click.

voicemail #5 . . . 1:47am

laughter. his. and a girl’s. slurred, obnoxious.

“nah, don’t worry, baby—she can’t hear this. but you can, can’t you?”

wet, squelching sounds. breathy moans.

he gets close to the mic. you can hear the bass in his chest.

“miss the way you used to sob for it. fuck. that was art.” click.

voicemail #6 . . . 4:56pm

“saw your new post.”

he sounds annoyed. possessive.

“you wore that top on our second date. what, tryin’ to send a message?”

“you looked good. like… too good.”

“i bet you’re fucking someone. he fuck you like i l do?” click.

voicemail #7 . . . 2:11am

there’s crying. not his.

“she’s crying. i told her i couldn’t stop thinking about someone else.”

a door shuts. a silence. then he breathes out.

“you fucking ruined me.”

long pause.

“you win.” click.

voicemail #8 . . . 5:03am

he sounds wrecked. raspy. low and drunk and unraveling.

“baby… fuck… fuck, you always took me so good—shit—i keep fucking them like they’re you.”

he moans. clearly jerking off.

“miss you. miss your thighs. your throat. your smart ass mouth. tight fucking cunt.”

a growl. a desperate groan.

“god, [your name]—fuck, i—”

click.

a / n . . . credits to whoever first came up with this! couldn’t find out who, but this is not my original idea! also, this series depicts an unhealthy, obsessive dynamic. not a romantic portrayal — read with caution and take care of yourself.

[jeynepoolelovebot]

[ID: Ten gifs of Agents of Shield. The first, third, fifth, seventh, and ninth gifs show Daisy Johnson telling Jemma Simmons: "If we want the truth, we've got to get it ourselves." Jemma nods and asks: "Okay. How would you suggest..." Daisy nods at her with an intense expression, and Jemma, looking horrified, says: "Oh, wait. No. No!" Daisy insists: "Yes!"

The second, fourth, sixth, eighth, and tenth gifs show Daisy asking Daniel Sousa: "Have you ever left your post before? Like snuck off the base and, I don't know, played pool and got drunk?" Daniel looks surprised as she asks, and then answers: "You think I'm the kind of person that would do that?" Daisy considers this, then says: "Then this'll be your first time." As she walks off, she calls back: "You coming?" End ID]

Bad-girl shenanigans (1x07//7x11)

(request by anon)

[hongcherry]

REC. || c.sc & k.mg (m)

After Mingyu accidentally stumbles upon Seungcheol and his girlfriend's sex tape, he can't get the footage out of his mind. So much so that when Seungcheol confronts him about his odd behavior, Mingyu can't help but to offer to lend a hand and be their videographer. To Mingyu's surprise, they accept.

📷 Pairing: s.coups (seungcheol) x reader x mingyu 📷 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+)/Smut, fluff/Idol!au, established relationship 📷 Word Count: 6k 📷 Warnings: Voyeurism, exhibitionism, dom!Cheol, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, breast play, creampie, cumplay, oral (m. rec.), gagging, sex tapes, dirty talk, spitting, two spanks lol, rough sex, nicknames (baby, princess, pretty girl), reader has she/her pronouns 📷 Author's Note: Another fic that is finally seeing the light... I forgot I wrote this 😭 I originally had Wonwoo as the third, but I felt Mingyu fit the role better hehe. And TYSM @lovetaroandtaemin for being my beta!

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

When Mingyu asked to borrow Seungcheol’s phone to take a few pictures, he didn’t expect to come across a video of his friend and his girlfriend. Especially one so intimate as this.

Despite his better judgment, Mingyu continues to watch the video. Thankfully, it’s already on mute.

Your back is against Seungcheol’s chest, body completely nude and exposed to the camera. Your legs are shut, but Seungcheol soon lifts one to get a better view of his cock drilling into your pussy. He hooks one arm under your lifted leg’s knee and the other around your neck.

Your hands grip his forearm, a smile donning your pretty face. Seungcheol says something that makes your eyes dart to the camera. The smile on your face slowly fades, replaced with a hazy look and slack jaw.

Seungcheol grins smugly and picks up his pace.

Mingyu doesn’t know where he wants to look. He likes seeing your pussy stretch around Seungcheol’s cock, but he also likes watching your tits bounce with each powerful thrust. Then there’s your face. Gradually, your expression becomes more fucked out.

Suddenly, the phone falls, and the screen goes black. Seungcheol’s face comes into view seconds later. He’s laughing and telling you something.

Seungcheol readjusts the camera, propping it up on whatever he found.

Mingyu watches as he gestures to the bed before you crawl onto it. You go on all fours, lowering your front to make your ass stick up in the air. Mingyu’s eyes are glued to your dripping cunt. It’s shining under the lights and looks so sweet. His mouth nearly begins to salivate from wanting to taste you.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol moves the camera closer and makes sure it’s stable before walking to you.

You’re shaking your ass playfully, which earns you a spanking that you welcome with a smile. Seungcheol shakes his head and then climbs up behind you. Mingyu watches as Seungcheol aligns his cock and slides in again. Your mouth falls open, and you move your head. Unfortunately, Mingyu can’t see your face anymore.

Seungcheol fucks you hard. His hips slam into yours so much that he has to pull you back a few times because you’ve slid too far forward. Mingyu wishes he had the volume on.

Like before, the phone eventually falls. It lands face up, but all that’s shown is the ceiling.

Mingyu waits impatiently for one of you to pick up the phone again, but neither of you does. He figures none of you realize, or you’re just too lost in each other to care. Probably both.

“You done?” Seungcheol asks as he walks up to him.

Mingyu hastily scrolls to a random picture, closes the gallery, and locks the device. He’s not sure how much Seungcheol can read on his face, but he hopes not much.

“Y-yeah. C-Can you send me w-what I took later?” he asks, pushing the phone back in Seungcheol’s hands like it’s a hot potato—hands that were gripping your waist tightly as he rammed into you from behind.

Mingyu swallows harshly at the memory.

“You couldn’t have done that yourself?” Seungcheol questions while pocketing the device.

Mingyu shrugs and gestures to the nearby store.

“I’m going to get a drink. Be right back,” he announces.

Mingyu leaves before Seungcheol can respond. He spends an abnormal amount of time picking out a cold drink and checking out.

By the time he’s back, his friends are sitting at a table. Seungcheol’s talking to someone on the phone while Joshua and Soonyoung are eating their snacks.

“Oh, he’s back,” Seungcheol says and points his phone at him. On the screen is your face. You’re lying in bed on your stomach, grinning and waving. Despite the innocent appearance, he can’t help but think of you getting railed in that same bed by his friend.

“Hi Mingyu! How’s the trip?” you ask.

It takes him a few seconds longer than necessary to answer.

“G-Good!” Is all he can muster.

“I’m glad,” you reply.

Seungcheol moves the camera to face him again while Mingyu quietly takes a seat.

“If you need anything, just call me,” Seungcheol says.

Mingyu hears you laugh.

“I’ll be fine, Cheollie. Enjoy your vacation and don’t get into too much trouble,” you reply.

“I won’t, but I can’t say the same for the others,” Seungcheol jests.

Soonyoung leans over to get into view.

“I’ll keep a close eye on him,” he jokes.

You laugh again. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

Joshua scoffs and pushes Soonyoung out of the way to look at the screen.

“Seriously?!”

“I meant, he’s my favorite tiger,” you explain.

“I don’t know why you two are arguing, it’s obvious I’m her favorite,” Seungcheol says, borderline whining.

“Hmm, you never know. Maybe I like Mingyu the most,” you sing-song.

Mingyu’s grip on the water bottle tightens. He knows you’re just joking. He knows that even if he was your favorite, that wouldn’t mean anything.

But why does his brain suddenly conjure up an image of you beneath him with that fucked out expression?

Mingyu doesn’t realize Seungcheol has turned the camera to him until he lifts his gaze and sees your face.

“You sleepy, Gyu?” you tease, slowly climbing out of bed. You wear a simple shirt that shows the top of your breasts. He shouldn’t be looking there. He shouldn’t be remembering how they bounced so beautifully.

He clears his throat.

“N-No. I mean, yes! Very tired from walking all day,” he stutters.

He watches as you move to your closet.

“I can imagine,” you reply and flash him another pretty grin. “Well, get some rest, okay?”

Mingyu nods.

You open your closet and begin fiddling through some of your options.

“Cheol?” You call out.

Seungcheol moves the phone again, and Mingyu feels he can finally breathe.

“You heading out?” he asks.

“Yeah, I need to leave soon or else I’ll be late,” you say.

“Okay. Be safe, baby,” Seungcheol replies.

“Always, handsome. Bye bye!”

Seungcheol waves at the camera with a big smile before setting his phone down. He, Soonyoung, and Joshua ease back into conversation like nothing happened, which nothing major did happen. Everyone’s used to each other having partners and being friendly with them. Seungcheol and you have been together long enough to be comfortable with everyone.

Mingyu just wishes he could burn that video from his mind so he can go back to normal. He’s always thought you were attractive, but he’s never seen you in that way until now. Never wanted you like that until now. He knows he’s in big trouble.

A week passed, and much to Mingyu’s misery, he couldn’t erase that video from his head. What makes matters worse is he’s touched himself thinking of it. He’s made up some elaborate story of how it ended since he never got to see or hear it.

In his story, he makes an appearance. Somehow, he talked his way into joining the fun. You’re laid on your back, taking Seungcheol’s cock in your pussy while swallowing his dick. All the while, it’s filmed in the same position as it was previously.

Mingyu tries to rid the memory. He watches countless porn videos to replace your and Seungcheol’s in his mind. However, nothing works.

Anytime he’s around Seungcheol or near him, all he can think about is that video. Now that he’s back in town, he fears he’ll run into you too.

Seungcheol’s asked him multiple times if anything was wrong, but Mingyu always denied it. How can he tell his friend he saw the video of him fucking his girlfriend? How can he say he jerked off to said video? Imagining his friend’s girlfriend pleasuring him in that same way? He can’t confess that. He will never.

At least that’s what he vowed in his head.

“Come on, you’ve been avoiding me. What’d I do wrong?” Seungcheol says. He’s finally got Mingyu cornered.

“Nothing,” Mingyu replies, gaze averted.

“You can’t even look at me, yet nothing’s wrong?” Seungcheol scoffs, showing gradual irritation.

Mingyu swallows harshly. He knows his days are numbered. He tried to get over it, but it’s obvious he can’t. He either needs to confess his sins or let his friendship with Seungcheol fade because of his avoidance.

Releasing a deep sigh, Mingyu mutters, “I saw the video.”

“What video?” Seungcheol asks, confused.

“The, uh, video of… you and Yn,” he replies quietly.

Mingyu peers up to see Seungcheol’s shocked face. Then, his ears begin to redden, and his brows furrow. Mingyu’s not sure if he’s mad or embarrassed.

“I didn’t mean to! I was j-just checking the pictures I took and clicked it by accident!“ Mingyu explains hurriedly before he gets scolded.

Seungcheol lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the muscles.

“I guess I shouldn’t have let you borrow my phone after all,” Seungcheol mumbles sheepishly. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Mingyu doesn’t reply because he’s not sure how to respond. What’s he to do now? Will confessing this secret make that memory fade away now? Should he go on his knees and beg for forgiveness, even if it was an accident?

“I’m sorry I was careless,” he finally answers. “I-Is there anything I can do to make up for it?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

Mingyu’s going to let it slide, but when he speaks, it’s not what he means to say.

“I could film for you,” he blurts.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows skyrocket, and he turns to Mingyu with a look of shock and disbelief.

“W-What? Film? You mean…” Seungcheol trails off like he’s imagining Mingyu’s offer.

Mingyu probably appears surprised, like Seungcheol, but to a lesser degree. He didn’t mean to say that.

“I just… the camera kept falling, you know, and you couldn’t see—”

“Are you criticizing our video skills?” Seungcheol asks, still confused.

“N-No!” Mingyu frantically stutters. “I just meant to imply I could make sure it looks nice for you t-two. For when you want to… uh… watch it back and stuff.”

Mingyu’s not sure why he keeps talking himself into a grave. The more his words register in his mind, the more he feels like crawling into a hole. He can’t believe he just offered his friend to be the videographer of his sex tapes. Absolutely absurd.

And yet…

“I can, um, ask Yn about it,” Seungcheol replies. “We only filmed them so we’d have something when we go on tours. I don’t know if she’d want something more… professional.”

Mingyu nods, keeping his mouth shut in case any more ridiculous nonsense comes out.

Two days later, Mingyu finds himself standing across from you and Seungcheol in your bedroom. He toys with the phone in his hand anxiously.

“You don’t have to do this, Gyu,” you say when you notice his fidgeting.

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s not that. I just don’t want to make you both feel awkward.”

You grin and grab Seungcheol’s hand.

“We talked about it, and we’re both okay with this. Since none of us has done this before, it probably will be a little weird at first, but I think it’ll get better after a while.”

You glance at Seungcheol as if expecting him to say something. He nods and clears his throat.

“And you’ve already seen the video, so not everything will be new to you,” he says.

You roll your eyes playfully.

“I guess that’s true too,” you add.

Mingyu inhales a deep breath and releases it steadily.

“Okay,” he says like he’s mentally preparing himself. Which, in a way, he is. He knows this is the point of no return. He knows this is a dangerous spot to be in. He doesn’t expect either of you to open your relationship to him, but he can’t help but wonder if this will be a one-time thing. Selfishly, he wishes it wouldn’t be. However, he doesn’t want to come between your relationship and won’t complain if this is his only chance.

“Are you going to direct us or,” you fade off.

Mingyu shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to.”

It’s not that Mingyu wouldn’t want to, but he figures he’s doing a favor for you both. He would rather you consider him a fly on the wall than an actual spectator. Though if this were to happen again in the future, maybe he’d change his answer.

Nodding, you glance between both men.

“So, how should this start?” you ask.

Seungcheol looks at Mingyu for guidance. Mingyu finds it a little ironic that even though he said he wasn’t going to direct, he already is.

“You can just start the way you normally would?” Mingyu suggests while lifting the camera. “Kissing or touching.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you tease lightly.

Mingyu hits RECORD as you both lean in, mouths finding each other halfway. The kiss starts a little tentatively. Mingyu knows it’s because of his presence, so he stays still, wanting you both to forget he’s there.

After a couple more glides of the tongues, you do. The kiss gets more heated, hands get more touchy.

Mingyu slowly creeps up, wanting a closer view of how your lips move in tandem. He captures the way your tongues glide against each other. Sometimes, one of you will nip at the other’s lips and make the other smile.

Seungcheol ends up breaking the kiss so he can tug off your shirt and bra. He leans down to suck one of your nipples in his mouth.

Your head falls onto one of your shoulders, lifting a hand to tangle in his locks. You watch Seungcheol rapidly flick his tongue against your nipple. He gives you a smile when his eyes meet yours.

You’re so caught up with Seungcheol that you forget about Mingyu until he shifts.

Your gaze flickers up to the phone in his hand.

Mingyu catches your eyes through the screen. His heart skips a beat, shifting again nervously. You release a silent chuckle and open your mouth to say something when Seungcheol bites down.

“Focus on me,” Seungcheol says and kisses your breast.

You gasp and nod, pulling him toward your other nipple. Your mouth falls when he latches on and sucks harshly.

Seungcheol glides a hand up your leg and into your shorts. He grazes his fingers over your folds to see if you’re wet. You are.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against your skin. He pulls away, hastily tugging down your shorts and underwear. You kick them off to the side.

Seungcheol grabs your hips and pulls you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his. The second you’re situated, you lean down and kiss him.

Seungcheol hums into the kiss as he snakes his hand down to rub your clit. Your hips jerk at the touch, and you clutch his shoulders tightly. He chuckles.

“Your body responds so easily,” he hums.

He trails his fingers south, running them through your folds and groaning lowly in your ear at how wet you are. Carefully, he eases two fingers halfway.

You inhale sharply and lean your chest into Seungcheol.

Mingyu unintentionally holds his breath as he watches through the phone. There’s something so sexy about you being the only one naked in the room. He watches your body tense as Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, then pushes them back in. He does this until he works your dripping pussy open enough to fit the digits all the way.

As Seungcheol begins pumping his fingers in your pussy, his gaze flickers to Mingyu and the camera. Mingyu’s zeroed in on your pussy, so Seungcheol knows his face won’t be in view.

Seungcheol didn’t think he’d be so turned on by one of his friends filming him and his partner like this, but he is. He likes it even more seeing how affected Mingyu is—evident by his tight pants. It strokes his ego, and he feels proud that he has someone as attractive and loyal as you.

“Spread your ass, baby,” Seungcheol whispers in your ear. “Give Mingyu a pretty view of me stretching your pussy for later.”

You nod as you reach back, gripping your ass cheeks and pulling them apart.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.

He spreads his fingers apart, slowly stretching your hole more. You whimper into his neck and grip your ass harder. Seungcheol eases his separated fingers out, making sure Mingyu is capturing it. Then, he shoves them back in and rapidly pumps them.

You cry out a moan, lifting your hips up but only having them pushed back down by Seungcheol’s free hand. You’re so wet that the squelching is deafening. You nuzzle your face in Seungcheol’s neck in embarrassment.

Seungcheol chuckles.

“I bet you’re dripping everywhere, baby,” he hums and pulls out. He gives your pussy one harsh slap that makes your body jolt. Your hands shoot forward onto his chest to keep your balance.

“So wet and ready for my cock, hm?”

“Yes,” you mewl. “Need you inside me so bad.”

He hums, then lowers both his hands to rub your inner thighs, feeling them wet from your arousal. He smiles and spreads your juices over more of your legs and ass. He wants you shining in it.

Then an idea pops into his head. His big hands grab fistfuls of your ass and spreads it apart again.

“Spit on her cunt, Mingyu.”

Both you and Mingyu suck in a breath, and for some reason, that alone makes his ego grow.

“W-What?” Mingyu asks, stunned eyes rising above the phone to look at his friend. He feels his heart race at the idea. He didn’t think he’d participate at all.

“Spit,” Seungcheol commands.

Mingyu starts to lower the camera but quickly adjusts it to keep your pussy in view. He leans forward and fuck, you smell even better up close. He has to resist the urge to lap up your juices and instead, does as Seungcheol wants and spits on your exposed cunt.

Seungcheol's fingers glide through your folds, smearing your arousal mixed with Mingyu’s spit.

Mingyu can feel his pants getting tighter. He knows it’s not the same as touching you, but seeing your pussy covered in his spit makes his mind a little hazy.

“How does that feel, princess?” Seungcheol asks you. “Mingyu’s spit making you wetter and more ready for me.”

“Again, please,” you whine.

Seungcheol smiles.

“Such a filthy little thing,” he chides.

This time, Seungcheol carefully spreads your folds instead, letting Mingyu see your entrance.

“You heard her,” Seungcheol says.

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate and spits as much as he can on your pretty cunt. He watches as it slowly slides down.

Seungcheol removes his hands and sets you on the bed.

“All the way up, baby,” he instructs.

Mingyu watches on dazed. He hopes the camera captured all that, but it’s difficult to focus now. He just wants to spread your pussy so he can see his spit. It turns him on even more knowing you can probably feel him better since Seungcheol didn’t mess with it. Mingyu’s fingers twitch with the thought of feeling just how wet you are.

In the meantime, Seungcheol has rid himself of his clothes and has climbed on top of you.

Mingyu tries hard to snap out of his stupor so he can get good angles.

Seungcheol spreads your legs far apart, then adjusts himself so his knees hold you open. It’s the perfect view of your soaking cunt, which Mingyu figures is the reason Seungcheol chose this position. The aforementioned man leans down to kiss you, rubbing his tip along your folds at the same time.

Mingyu wants to get your faces on screen, but he doesn’t want to compromise the sight he has now.

Your hips buck anytime Seungcheol rubs your clit and Mingyu nearly offers to help you. Though he keeps his lips sealed and comes closer. He makes sure the camera’s in focus.

Seungcheol finally slips his cock in, earning him a loud mewl from you. Your legs tense for just the briefest moment before relaxing.

Seungcheol eases inside so easily, it makes Mingyu jealous. It’s obvious he has no issues pushing in all the way due to how drenched you are, yet he takes his time so you feel every inch of him.

Mingyu’s jaw slacks at seeing your pussy stretching around his friend’s cock.

“Fuck, you’re the perfect fit, pretty girl,” Seungcheol groans, hips pressing against yours.

“All yours, Cheollie,” you say and shift your hips, eager for more.

“That I am.” He smiles.

Seungcheol starts off with steady thrusts, allowing your body to get used to his thick cock.

“Harder,” you whine and tug on his waist.

“Harder?” Seungcheol chuckles. “Why? You wanna show Mingyu how much you can take?”

You say nothing, but Mingyu gets the sense that Seungcheol’s right.

“If that’s what you want,” Seungcheol says. Then quieter, “Let me know if it’s too much.”

“Okay.”

With one last kiss, Seungcheol lifts his hips and then slams back down.

Mingyu hears you curse, but the sound gets lost when Seungcheol does it again. Each powerful thrust gets quicker until he’s ramming into you like he’s releasing some pent-up frustration.

Your hands tighten on his waist as if prepared to stop him, but Seungcheol grasps your wrists and pins them to the mattress.

“You can take this, princess,” Seungcheol gruffs. “I know you can. Doing so well already. Keep going.”

Mingyu watches through the camera as Seungcheol glides his cock roughly in and out. The sounds of skin hitting skin and your consistent moans are like ecstasy to his ears.

Seungcheol gives one final push before he stills. He’s breathing heavier, but he only takes a few seconds to rest before he’s rocking his hips into yours.

“So good,” Seungcheol praises and kisses you roughly.

Mingyu moves from his position to capture your faces. The kiss is so heated, Mingyu figures you both have forgotten he’s here.

Small whines come from you that get lost in Seungcheol’s mouth. Your bodies rock gently for a moment, and then Seungcheol gradually picks up speed. However, he doesn’t go as fast as before.

Mingyu pans the camera to a wider angle so he can get your bare chest in view.

Seungcheol lifts himself and runs his hands across your body to grip your breasts while still moving his hips. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, causing your back to arch. He pinches both nipples and tugs them upward.

“Cheol,” you gasp, body lifting more off the mattress to ease the pain. Seungcheol releases them and quickly rubs your breasts to soothe them. They bounce in his hands from his thrusts, and Mingyu has the quickest thought of what it’d be like to be in Seungcheol’s position. He wonders if your breasts would look just as beautiful in his hands as they do in his friend’s.

Seungcheol glides his hands lower to grip your waist. Your back rests on the bed once more, but your head is thrown back when Seungcheol starts snapping his hips rougher and faster.

“Shit,” you moan.

Mingyu steps slightly closer, tightening the angle so it’s just your face and chest.

Your tits bounce more with Seungcheol’s speed, and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

“Look at the camera, princess,” Seungcheol instructs.

Your eyes flutter open, turning your head in Mingyu’s direction. Mingyu feels a rush to his cock from making eye contact through the screen again. Your eyes are slightly glossed over, and your mouth is ajar.

“Tell him how you feel,” Seungcheol says.

You smile. “So good,” you giggle, but the end gets cut off with another moan from Seungcheol sliding in harshly.

“Cheollie feels so good,” you murmur pathetically. “So big in me.”

Seungcheol squeezes your body at your words, making you smile.

Your gaze drops from the camera, and Mingyu’s bulge comes into your field of vision. You can tell how turned on he is, and it makes you grin bigger. It’s not necessarily because you want him in such a way, but it feels good knowing you had that effect.

Mingyu notices you staring at his crotch, causing his cheeks to heat. The majority of him feels embarrassed at having been caught with a tent in his pants, but another part wishes you had your lips wrapped around his cock as Seungcheol fucks you. That part of his brain makes his cock twitch. He uses all the will in his body to stay put. 

You tear your attention away and reach out to Seungcheol, your loving boyfriend who agreed to do this. He intertwines your hands and raises them above your head. He gives you one long kiss before he speaks.

“What do you need, princess?” he asks.

“Wanna come,” you pout.

He laughs. “That so?”

Your hips rock forward to try to coax him to go faster.

“Yes,” you say.

Seungcheol smiles and kisses you again. He pulls away just enough to whisper, “Okay.”

Your mouth stretches in a grin, quickly leaning up and pecking his lips. Seungcheol chases your lips and kisses you fervently. As he does, his hand slides between your bodies to circle your clit.

You moan into his mouth, and Seungcheol takes the opportunity to dip his tongue inside.

Although Mingyu wants to stay, he moves to the edge of the bed so he can watch you take Seungcheol’s cock again.

Seungcheol rubs your clit quickly while snapping his hips into yours roughly.

Your cries get louder and more jumbled as you near your orgasm. Your legs tense, hips bucking wildly to chase that pleasure you crave. Soon, you’re cumming around Seungcheol’s cock. Your juices squirt everywhere as Seungcheol continues to thrust inside. Some of it lands on Mingyu’s hand. His eyes drop to it and before he’s caught or second-guesses his craving, he sucks the substances into his mouth.

Holy fucking shit, you taste like heaven.

Seungcheol gives you a moment to ride out your climax before he focuses on his own. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, making your hips rise slightly off the mattress. Mingyu’s cock jumps in his pants again from jealousy of being so deep in your sweet cunt.

“C-Cheol! Oh fuck, baby. Shit,” you cry out. Your fingers claw at his back, leaving trails of red in their wake.

“Fuck, baby,” Seungcheol rasps. “Y’want my cum so bad you’re squeezing around me tighter. Can barely move.”

Mingyu watches with rapt attention as Seungcheol continues to drill his cock in your spent pussy. Your juices dampen the sheets below and linger on your and Seungcheol’s bodies. Mingyu wants to lick up your thighs and gather it all in his mouth.

Seungcheol’s sudden low groan fills the room. It’s the loudest he’s been all night. He keeps his hips against yours, cock twitching as he empties his load.

His head falls onto your chest, and your hands quickly tangle in his hair to comfort him. You both stay like this for a few minutes—long enough to make Mingyu feel like he’s suddenly intruding. Though before he can sneak away, Seungcheol carefully slips his cock out. He sets down your legs and moves to the side.

Mingyu steps closer. He angles the camera low.

Seungcheol nudges your legs wider and spreads your folds again. Both men watch as Seungcheol’s white cum leaks out of your fluttering hole.

“Doesn’t she look so pretty filled with my cum, Mingyu?” Seungcheol questions. He lets the majority of it seep out before gathering it up on his fingers and smearing it over your pussy.

Mingyu finds it hard to speak, so he just nods.

Seungcheol’s focus drops to his friend’s pants. Even if Mingyu wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to hide his hard-on.

“We talked about this before, and we wanted to give you a reward for filming us,” Seungcheol says.

He reaches back for your hand to help you sit up. Seungcheol grabs a pillow, then you both climb off the bed and step closer to Mingyu.

Mingyu’s thoughts are everywhere, and all he can do is stand frozen.

After tossing the pillow onto the floor, Seungcheol places his hands on your shoulders to push you down gently onto your knees.

Mingyu’s mouth opens to talk, but nothing comes out. He stares down at you with big eyes.

Seungcheol takes the camera from him.

“Will you let Yn take care of you, or would you rather do that in private?” Seungcheol asks.

Normally, Seungcheol wouldn’t allow this to happen. He’s possessive, so what’s his is his only. But Mingyu’s a close friend, and he’s already seen so much. He trusts you won’t leave him, so he decided to make an exception.

“R-Really? You both are o-okay with t-this?” Mingyu finally finds his voice.

“Yes. We already had a discussion and came to an agreement,” Seungcheol explains.

Mingyu glances at his friend and then at you. You give him a reassuring smile, nodding. Despite you being tired, you’re still willing to relieve Mingyu.

Mingyu’s heart is pounding in his chest. His dream is coming true.

The moment he nods, your hands start unbuttoning his pants.

Mingyu stares down at you, still surprised this is actually happening.

“Poor Guy,” you murmur when you expose him. His big cock is hard and precum has soaked his underwear. “Had to wait so long.”

“S’okay,” he mutters.

You giggle and start to raise a hand to stroke him, but Seungcheol stops you. You and Mingyu turn to him in puzzlement.

A bit of shame creeps into Mingyu’s chest at having forgotten he was here. It’s a reminder that you’re not his. You’re Seungcheol’s.

Seungcheol reaches down between your legs, causing you to gasp. When his hand comes up, he’s got some of his cum on his fingers. He spreads it on Mingyu’s cock, which twitches at the contact. Then, Seungcheol pushes his fingers into your mouth so you can clean him up. Once you do, he motions for you to continue.

You circle Mingyu’s girthy cock with your hands and use Seungcheol's cum to slide your hands easier. Mingyu’s mouth falls open at having finally felt pleasure where he needs it.

You give him a few more pumps before your lips spread around his tip.

Mingyu curses, and his head dips back. He feels your tongue lick at his slit, which makes him moan.

Slowly, you ease him down your throat until you gag. Mingyu lifts his head so he can see you take his cock.

Your head bobs while your hands stroke the length not in your mouth. You’re sucking and licking his cock so well that he has to force himself not to come right away.

“How does her mouth feel?” Seungcheol asks.

Mingyu snaps his gaze to his friend and sees he’s got the camera pointed down toward you. His cock jerks in your mouth knowing this is all being recorded. That he’s finally on the other end of the lens.

“Like heaven,” Mingyu replies.

You smile around his dick and give his thighs a squeeze.

“Come on, baby. Give him more. Don’t you think he deserves it?” Seungcheol coaxes.

You nod and then take Mingyu’s cock farther down your throat. You gag but try to focus on something other than that feeling.

Seungcheol reaches out and grabs some of your hair.

“If you can take me all the way, you can take him,” he says and pushes you down slowly.

Your hands tighten on Mingyu’s thighs as your boyfriend shoves your head down deeper—all the way until your nose touches his pelvis.

“Shit,” Mingyu groans. His focus is glued to your mouth, stretched so wide around his aching cock. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he locks them behind his head.

“That’s it, princess,” Seungcheol coos. He pulls your head back slightly, then pushes you down again. He does this until you take control and do it yourself a few times.

Eventually, you slide off his cock so you can breathe. Seungcheol rubs your head as you cough a few times.

“You okay?” he asks.

You glance up at him and nod. He gives you an encouraging smile, pecks your lips, then turns you to face Mingyu again.

When your gaze meet his, Mingyu’s heart drops. Your eyes are watery, and some drool lingers around your lips and chin.

“Need you again,” he murmurs, shifting a hand to move some of your hair from your face.

You giggle and kiss his tip. “I know, Gyu.”

Then your mouth sinks onto him again. You suck his cock quickly, mouth and hands wrapped around him tightly.

Mingyu’s breathing gets heavier. He wants to put his hands in your hair, but he doesn’t know if that’s too much. Instead, he keeps his hands clasped behind his neck.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Mingyu grunts. He knows it hasn’t been long, but after watching you two fuck without being able to touch himself, he already was near his end.

Seungcheol tangles his fingers in your hair again and eases you down all the way.

“Let him fill my pretty girl’s mouth,” Seungcheol says.

You squeeze your legs together, arousal coating your inner thighs again. Your refound neediness makes you suck him harder.

Mingyu feels overstimulated already. Your mouth feels so perfect, and your sounds are so beautiful. He loves listening to his cock gliding in and out of your tight throat.

Mingyu doesn’t mean to, but he ends up thrusting into your mouth. He’s so close that his mind is only focused on chasing his high. You moan around him when he starts fucking your mouth and that’s what does him in. The vibrations spill him over the edge.

Seungcheol forces you to stay still as Mingyu shoots his warm cum down your throat, his moans filling the room.

You watch as pure bliss falls upon Mingyu’s expression and another dose of pride fills your chest.

Once he’s come down from his climax, he looks down. Your mouth still engulfs him whole, and your lashes are still damp. He wants to stay here longer, but he shouldn’t.

Carefully, he slides out of your mouth.

He watches you swallow the remaining of his cum and turn to Seungcheol. He’s tossed the phone onto the bed.

“You’re hard again,” you observe with a teasing grin.

Mingyu’s attention lowers to Seungcheol and sees he’s indeed hard.

Seungcheol laughs and helps you up.

“Maybe if you weren’t so sexy sucking Mingyu’s dick, I wouldn’t be,” he jests.

“Can’t help it. I’m naturally sexy,” you joke back.

Seungcheol wraps his arms around you and kisses your head. He looks up at his friend with a warm smile.

“Thanks for the favor,” he says.

Against Mingyu’s better judgment, his eyes linger on you a little too long.

“No problem,” he replies and dresses himself.

Seungcheol puts on his underwear again and gives you his shirt.

“Get home safe, Gyu,” you say once you’re dressed.

Mingyu nods. He wants to ask if you’ll send him his part of the video, but something about having a film of his friend’s partner sucking him off feels wrong. Nonetheless, he still wishes he had it.

“T-Thanks for the, uh, help,” he says.

You glance away shyly. “No problem. You deserved it.”

Mingyu wonders what else he can do to deserve it again.

Seungcheol comes up behind you and wraps an arm around your waist.

“Thanks again,” Seungcheol says.

Mingyu nods and starts heading for the door. You and Seungcheol follow him out.

“Bye, Gyu,” you call out with a wave when he opens the door. Mingyu forces a smile, waving back as he leaves the apartment.

After the door shuts, Mingyu stands still for a moment as everything starts registering in his mind. He doesn’t want to put any thought into what happened, because he might start reading into it. It was just a favor, and people have sex without meaning all the time. Not that your and Seungcheol’s sex is meaningless, but the head you gave him is.

Mingyu groans slightly and trudges away. What has he done?

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

Taglist: @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @aeerio, @cherrylovescheol, @toplinehyunjin, @verogonewild

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[goddamnitmahtin]

Real Robins Can Fly

( a dc x dp prompt)

As a part of a charity event, Bruce holds a cosplay contest where contestants show off their cosplays, explain their processes and even show off a little if they have a talent of some sort that kind of fits the theme of the character.

Problem? Everyone he invited to be judges at the event are league members and they all had a case suddenly interfere so Bruce and his colleagues can’t show up. So he asks Dick to round up as many of his siblings as he can to be judges for this event. The lineup ends up being Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie and Damian. Duke was almost able to make it but he got caught up with work.

Dick was surprised that Damian even wanted to come considering he was drowning himself in studying for his finals. He was about to graduate high school and wanted to make sure his gpa was flawless. Nevertheless, he found a way to drag his youngest brother out of the library and into the judges panel.

The contest was fine. Most people dressed as local vigilantes or villains that were easy to recognize. There were some really good ones. There were a few that none of them recognized. A few only Tim recognized. Apparently they were from animes or something.

The day dragged on and on, all of them having to stop for breaks at different points. Dick needed to get up and walk around because sitting in one place for too long made his joints hurt. Jason had to leave to do breathing exercises when a really accurate second Robin cosplayer came through holding a crowbar of all things. Tim had to leave a few times to make phone calls as co CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Steph called the babysitter (Cass) a few times about her now 2 year old daughter. And Damian used every single one of those breaks to cram in more studying.

What nothing that day could have prepared them for was the last contestant. The 13 year old boy walked onto the stage with a huge smile in a perfect replica of Dick’s very first Robin suit. Down to the last detail everything was correct. Except that… it had been torn up and damaged in places and there were painted on bruises and wounds in the places missing fabric. Part of the mask was ripped off and being held in the boy’s hand. And the face underneath that broken mask looked just like Tim.

Tim: *after recovering faster than everyone else* Wow. What a suit! What’s your name and tell the process of creating your cosplay.

Danny: *smiles* I’m Danny! I’m 13 years old and I wanted to be Robin! Robin is my favorite vigilante because he’s an inspirational figure for younger people. I decided to design my outfit based on the very first Robin in his first ever suit that he was spotted in but I wanted to pay homage to all of the Robins so I changed it up a little bit. I studied the Robins from the past in photos and was able to come up with at least one thing from each.

Steph: I see. Could you show us these homages?

Danny: YES! *his eyes glowed green in excitement, catching Jason and Damian off guard* I designed the suit itself to look like the first Robin as he was the pioneer of the Robin title but I made the entire outfit from materials only used on the current Robin. As you can see the color scheme for the suit is more muted than the original as the current Robin uses shadows and corners more for attacks than the others did.

Damian: *smiles slightly*

Danny: I chose my wounds and distresses in the costume based on photos of the second and third Robins. They took more physical blows than the rest did. *pointing to each wound, pointing to one in the abdomen* This one is just a theory of mine but I think the third Robin might of at one point had a surgery around here from his fighting style. He would protect his abdomen from attack more.

Tim: …… I see.

Danny: And the fourth Robin was a deviation from the pattern because she was a girl that didn’t have the dark hair that all the others had. She wasn’t Robin for very long but her style and decision making were more unpredictable than the rest so if you just give me a second… *fidgets with his gloves for a moment* Whole watching her footage I noticed how her hair was accounted for in her fighting style without it ever getting into her way. *slides off his glove* So on my wrist I have a replica of the headband she used in her suit but smaller so it’s more of a bracelet.

Steph: *noticing how accurate it is* Oh- wow-

Jason: That’s really impressive Danny. Tell us a little bit more about how you actually created the suit. Your process.

Danny: Well the entire thing is made of an armored flex material that I made in my sister’s basement. I studied pictures of all of the Robin suits and noticed parts of the fabric that stood out and made my prototype from there. *smiles* I have a small sample for you guys to pass around! *hands Jason said sample*

Jason: Oh that’s really impressive-

Tim: You said you made it in your sister’s basement? How did your parents feel about it?

Danny: My parents are gone. It’s just me and Jazz. I spent all of my money on the materials to make this. I’m hoping to win because the prize money will be enough for her to buy a car so she can find a new job. And maybe with the rest I’ll finally be able to go to space camp this summer. I’ve always wanted to go! But we could never afford it.

Steph: *covers her gasp softly* Oh-

Damian: Did you have a talent you wanted to show off for us today?

Danny: YES! *pumps his fist excitedly*

Damian: Could you demonstrate that for us please?

Danny: Okay! *climbs up the light tower next to the stage and hangs from the metal bars like a proper gymnast before jumping off, flipping and grabbing frames and pieces of rigging to swing from, replicating old tricks Dick used to do as Robin that he learned in the circus before flipping down and landing nimbly in the center of the stage* Tadah!

Dick: *absolutely shook* Why did you- choose that as your talent?

Danny: Real robins can fly. So why can’t I?

After Danny leaves the stage, it takes a few minutes for them all to collect themselves from that. Especially Dick.

Steph: So that Danny kid is gonna win.

Tim: 100 percent. He was able to recreate the fabric we make our suits out of through pictures!

Jason: We better not tell Bruce or-

Damian: Too late. I already texted father. He’s drafting adoption papers as we speak.

Dick: *who was planning on doing that himself* Dammit!

Damian: I for one, am thrilled at the prospect that this Danny child will take up the Robin mantle when I leave for college.

Steph: Well real robins can fly so why shouldn’t he? *smiles*

Dick: Stephanie I’m literally going to cry.

[emriiis]

Dating Abby

❥ teases you a lot. Abby, fresh out of the shower, his body still dripping as he stands in the dim light of his bathroom. Steam clings to the mirror, curling around the edges of his reflection. He drags a hand through his wet hair, slow and deliberate, before glancing down at the pathetic excuse of a towel slung low on his hips.

The towel clings obscenely to his hips, heavy with water and doing nothing to hide the very obvious outline straining beneath it. He’s already hard. His abs flex with every breath, rivulets of water trailing over his v-line, sliding down toward the bulge pulsing against the thin cotton.

And of course, he picks up his phone.

He sends you the first photo.

Then another.

Then a close-up, jaw sharp and lips parted just enough to show the edge of a grin. And finally, a video, his voice a low, dangerous rasp.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you, kitten. This is what you do to me.”

You’re in bed when the first photo hits your phone, and your breath catches. Jaw slack. Pulse skipping. By the third image, your thighs are pressing together and your fingers tremble as you scroll. The moment his voice hits your ears through the video, your body lights up.

He texts again:

“You gonna just stare, baby? Or do you want me to come over and show you how hard I ache for you?”

❥ possessive man. You didn’t even notice the guy at first. He was just another backstage assistant—friendly, smiley, a little too bold for someone who just handed you a water bottle. He tried asking you out. You laugh politely, taking a step back. But before you can say another word, a hand slides around your waist — broad, warm, commanding.

Abby doesn’t say a thing at first. Just presses his chest to your back, the heat of his bare arm wrapping around your front like a claim. His palm settles possessively on your lower stomach, thumb rubbing slow, hypnotic circles into your side. The kind of touch that says mine without a single word.

“Hey,” the assistant starts again, clearly not getting the message. “We were just—”

Abby finally speaks, voice low and deceptively calm. “She’s not available.” His lips brush your ear as he says it, breath hot, voice smooth and deep like it’s meant to melt straight into your skin.

The guy stiffens, mumbles something, and backs away fast. He turns you gently, slowly, until you're facing him. His gaze drops to your mouth, then drags back up, lazy and dark.

“You didn’t even notice I was watching, did you?” he murmurs. “Saw him eyeing you the second you walked in. Saw the way you smiled back.” He leans in until your foreheads touch, voice just a breath. “You really think I’d let that slide?”

You don’t respond.

Not with the way his hand slips lower on your waist. Not with the way his thumb grazes the line of skin just above your waistband. His nose brushes yours as he tilts his head, not kissing you — just close enough to make you ache for it.

“I don’t care if the whole building’s watching,” he whispers, “I’ll make sure they all know who you belong to.”

❥ touchy touchyyy. Abby doesn’t mean to overwhelm you. Not intentionally, no. But he has no real concept of his own strength — not when it comes to you. He’s a demon, built like a fortress, all sharp abs and towering height, and you? You’re human. Soft. Fragile. Smaller in ways he’s painfully aware of every time he pulls you into his arms

And gods, he tries to be gentle.

But then you look at him with those tired eyes, wrap your arms around his waist like you need him, and something inside him growls to life.

His hands are always on you. A palm on your lower back when you walk, fingers brushing your thigh when you sit beside him, arms wrapped tight around you when you so much as breathe differently. He touches you like he’s making sure you’re still there, still his — always tethered to him.

Sometimes he hugs you too tight without realizing, until you gasp and press a hand to his chest with a breathless laugh. He instantly loosens his grip, brows furrowing, lips brushing your forehead as he murmurs, “Sorry, baby... didn’t mean to crush you.”

But he never fully lets go.

❥ being soft only for you. You’re curled up on the couch, hoodie pulled over your knees, a faint wince tugging at your features with every cramp. You didn’t say much—just a quiet “I’m fine” when he asked.

But Abby knows better.

He’s behind you within seconds, sliding onto the couch without a word. One arm wraps securely around your waist, the other gently pulling your hips back until you're resting fully against his chest.

His hand moves under the hoodie, warm palm pressing against the tense muscles low on your stomach. The way he strokes your skin there, slow and rhythmic, has you breathing deeper without realizing it.

You sigh. He tightens his hold around your waist in response, like he’s drawing the pain out of you with every pass of his hand.

“That’s it,” he whispers, lips ghosting your temple. “Let me take care of you.”

❥ always asks you to work out with him. Not because he actually expects you to break a sweat — no, never that. He just likes having you close. Laying around like some pretty little prize while he grunts and moves and flexes, his sweat-slicked body a full visual buffet made just for you.

“Come here,” he says today, already shirtless, already glistening. His abs flex with every breath as he lowers himself onto the floor, smirking at the way your eyes wander. “If you’re not gonna work out, at least make yourself useful.”

You raise a brow, feigning boredom. “Useful how?”

His answer is a low growl of a laugh as he gently tugs you down beside him. Then under him. One strong arm wraps around your waist, flipping you easily onto your back until he’s caging you there — arms planted on either side of your head, chest hovering just inches above yours.

“I need motivation,” he murmurs.

He dips down slow and presses a kiss to your lips.

Push-up one. Victory kiss.

He lowers again. This time, he brushes the tip of his nose against yours before kissing you again, slower.

Push-up two. Another kiss.

By the third one, you’re squirming slightly under him, warmth pooling low in your stomach as his heavy body moves above yours, sweat from his chest just starting to kiss your skin.

“You know,” you whisper, grinning as he hovers above your lips, “this doesn’t really count as me working out.”

He silences your smirk with a kiss that steals your breath. Firmer. Longer.

“Then stay still and look pretty,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s your job.”

You don’t argue. Not when he keeps pressing into you like that, every push-up a reward, every kiss a claim.

Some days he switches it up.

“On my back, pretty girl,” he says, voice thick and dark and hungry for you. “I need the extra weight.”

You blink. “You serious?”

“Kitten,” he chuckles, “I could do this with you asleep on me.”

You giggle, but climb onto his back, arms slipping around his neck, chest pressing to his sweat-damp skin.

He starts moving immediately — push-ups like you weigh nothing, like he was built to carry you.

When he finally collapses onto the floor with you still clinging to him, he rolls over and cages you under his weight, eyes locked on yours, breathing heavy.

Then he kisses you again — deep and slow, like you're the only thing that ever made him lose control.

[sexyandcringe]

As much as you love to spend time with Suna Rintarou, you hate asking for it.

And as much as you hate asking for it, you still catch yourself tapping on his name, texting him to let him know you are free for the day because your friends ditched you.

Y/N: Yo, my girls went to war and left me alone and broken (they ditched me), wanna bangout?

Y/N: I meANT HANGOUT***

Y/N: We can bang too, though. Later.

It takes him around 10 minutes to reply, just as you’re about to hop in the shower.

Rin: Sure, let’s do that

Rin: When are you coming?

Y/N: I’ll take a quick shower and i’ll be over?

Rin: Bet. Text me when you done.

You leave a thumbs up reaction and head into the shower, already excited by the idea of meeting up with Rintarou.

It’s been a year now — this messy, no-strings, fwb thing you’ve got going; And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like him, but these kind of things never end well for you, so you keep it casual, hit him up when you need some company (or a good fuck). it’s not like you don’t have a life; you’ve got your friends, your books to read, a job to do. You’re good on your own. 

You know Rintarou is not one for anything serious, but he is a good guy overall. He doesn’t just reduce you to a fuck-buddy, he sees you as a friend and cares for you, like friends do, but that’s all you’ll ever be to him. A friend and a good fuck.

That doesn’t stop you from parking in front of his building, walking up to the third floor stairs because his lift is always fucking broken, and knocking on his door with a wide smile and a basket full of snacks.

“Hey loser,” you greet, holding up the basket, "Got you some snacks.” 

His face remains stoic, unimpressed as he stares at you, “Fruits are not snacks, Y/N.”

Your only reply is pushing him aside and stepping inside, putting the basket on his kitchen table like you own the place. Suna Rintarou may be a professional athlete, but you really have to put up a fight with him for him to eat some fruits, and this is one of your battle tactics.

“I climbed, like, a thousand stairs. gimme some water.” you demand, flopping down in a chair around the table,  playing with the little cat statue in the middle of it. The one you got him when you were in Milan — black and white, scowling with a tiny green collar. It looks just like him and you still think it’s one of the cutest gifts you got him.

He scoffs but heads to the fridge anyway, grabbing a bottle and pouring it into your heart-shaped glass. the one you made him swear not to let anyone else touch. it was your heart-shaped glass that you bought for yourself, and since Rintarou’s apartment is like a second home to you, leaving it here was just as natural as breathing. 

“Am i your slave now?” he grumbles, setting the glass in front of you.

You grin, “You love being my slave.” 

Rintarou swears he is going to wipe that stupid grin off your face soon. Tonight.

There is always something to talk about when you are with him.

The latest drama about his new manager, your neighbour who you are 100% sure is growing weed in their backyard, your coworker who might actually be satan in disguise; and when you run out of shit to say, you end up watching anime together, stealing each other’s snacks in-between kisses. All normal, absolutely nothing weird about kissing your homies on the lips, you tell yourself, especially if said homie is a complete hot mess of an athlete with the body of a Greek god and the most annoyingly perfect hands you’ve ever seen.

So every time you hang out with Rintarou, you end up with your limbs tangled with his, sharing heavy breaths at the rhythm of his heartbeat, and while you feel so full of him in those moments, he always leaves a hole bigger than before in the depth of your soul.

You’ve lost count of how many guys dumped your miserable ass with some variation of “you talk about suna too much”. Like you could just turn your heart off for him on command.

Not that any of them gave a shit about you either — most of them just wanted a warm body for the night, which, honestly, is probably all you’re good for.

Sometimes you wonder if Rin also sees you just as a piece of meat.

Maybe he’s just really good at acting like a friend.

You tell your friends that it’s just physical and there’s no way you’d fall for someone like him, but you can’t tell them that the idea of him seeing you just as a good fuck and nothing more hurts you more than it should do.

“i’m going to italy in a few weeks,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed next to your half-asleep body, a strawberry lollipop lazily tucked between his lips.

You remove your sheets and sit up slowly before replying: “Okay.”

It’s going to be okay. It’s not the first time he’s gone out of the country, and he always comes back to you, be it in a month or two. You’ve done it before, you can do it this time too. It’s not a big-

“I don’t know when i’ll be back.”

Silence.

Usually, you’re good at hiding your feelings from him, keeping them caged under your throat, unspoken truths that you gulp down like heavy crumbs, but today you are doing a terrible job at that.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” It slips out a little too rough for your liking, a little too desperate.

“I got a sponsorship for an italian team and I want to see where this takes me. If it doesn’t work out in Italy I may shift to Spain or Sweden like Kageyama. I don’t think I’ll be back for a while.” He quickly glances at you, as if scared to meet your eyes. fucking coward.

You sit in silence, letting his words sink, letting the emotions stabilize and settle down for once.

You nod, “I see, i get it.”

You don’t. You don’t get it at all, any of it, but you can’t let him see you this weak.

You pick up your things, from the underwear thrown across the room to the toothbrush you left in his bathroom. You kiss him one last time, a simple peck on the lips - soft, quick, nothing like you want it to be, but you hope it will leave his lips burning, and you wave him goodbye, trying your best not to look at the broken expression he’s giving you. You can’t.

Driving back to your house feels sour and empty and when you open the door to your room the first thing you see is a small polaroid on your nightstand, a picture of Rin lying in the grass, smiling wide, while Luffy, his corgi, lays atop of him, snuggling his nose in it’s owner’s neck, and then there’s you, a blur of hands and open mouth at the edge of the frame because you couldn’t make it in the picture. Yet, it was one of the prettiest pictures you’ve ever taken of Rintarou.

You stare at it long enough to feel your heart cracking bit by bit.

And you break.

Reblogs are really appreciated!

[encherries]

MAKE ME YOURS ​─ P. SH 1.0k SMUT (MDNI)

sunghoon x inexperienced fem!reader, implied first time, fingering, protected sex (why is this a first for me), lots of dirty talk, praise, corruption kink

this was requested and tbh it took me longer than it should have but it’s here !! written and edited by me so i apologize for any mistakes. comments and reblogs are appreciated ><

your boyfriend sunghoon is the sweetest and most caring person alive, and in most aspects that’s not something you’d complain about. you just wish he wouldn’t treat you like you’re actually made of glass when it comes to being intimate. you’d told him early on that you weren’t very experienced and it’s something he’s always been respectful about, always reassuring that he’d be willing to wait until you were ready. 

the thing is, you just don’t really know how to bring it up. you may be inexperienced, but you’re not oblivious. you’ve been around on the internet long enough to know exactly where to find the stuff you’re into, the problem is you truly don’t know how to ask sunghoon about it. every time you try to advance further, he pulls away with some comment about how he doesn’t wanna pressure you, and then goes back to simply cuddling or kissing you. 

you’re starting to feel a little bit desperate so you come up with an idea. he’s still in the bathroom, the shower still running so you have the perfect opportunity to put your plan into action. 

you get comfortable on the bed first, strategically positioning yourself on the sheets. your thoughts naturally drift to sunghoon as you trail your fingers down, pulling your panties to the side and sliding one finger inside your cunt. 

sunghoon is gonna lose his fucking mind. there you are, his angelic and innocent girlfriend moaning out his name as you pleasure yourself, your eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavy.

“oh angel,” he coos. “do you need some help with that?” 

your eyes fly open, and fuck you look so desperate as you make eye contact. “hoonie please, need you…” 

he makes his way over to the bed, planting one knee down on the mattress and hovering over you. “don’t worry doll, hoonie’s gonna make you feel so good.” he lets his hand rest on your thigh, slowly inching up higher and you instinctively pull away your own hand, giving him a full view of your dripping pussy.

“what do you want me to do angel? use your words for me.” he half expects you to hide your face in embarrassment, but you’re already so far gone that your response is immediate. “please hoonie, need— need your fingers inside.” you spread your legs further as you grab his wrist, guiding his hand to where you need him. 

your gasp when he finally pushes two fingers in halfway is downright sinful and sunghoon has to bite back a growl. he’s going to make you his. "clenching my fingers so tight angel. gonna have to stretch you out a little before you can fit my cock."

your face twists in discomfort as he adds a third finger and he attaches his lips to your neck, sucking on your sensitive spots to distract from the pain. in a twisted way it makes him feel satisfied knowing he'll be the first to fuck you, that he'll be the first to mould your insides to fit his cock. soon you're letting out pretty moans again and he presses his palm against your clit, stimulating it to make you come. the broken whine of his name when you reach your orgasm is something that will stay in his mind forever, your eyes squeezed shut, mouth drawn open in a perfect o. 

god. if he doesn't fuck you soon he's gonna explode.

sunghoon prides himself on still having the presence of mind to open the bedside table drawer and reach for a condom, before pushing his underwear down. 

"ready, doll?"

"yes, yes 'm ready sunghoon, wanted this for so long." your voice still sounds so desperate despite the fact that you came once already and he can only give you what you want. he pushes his cock in slowly, checking on you for any discomforts, but you're only staring at where he's entering you, eyes wide and so full of lust that he continues bottoming out. 

"fuck. you're still so fucking tight angel." he has to take a few deep breaths to avoid coming embarrassingly quickly himself. 

"please move, i can take it, promise." you're looking up at him now, hands clenching around the bedsheets, your hair all messy, so ruined for him already and he hasn't even fucked you properly yet. his first few thrusts are slow and careful, feeling your walls grip him tightly and he wishes he wasn't wearing a condom so he could feel everything. next time. 

"look at you," he groans. "taking me so well, fuck. like you were made for me."

you mewl in response, arching your back off the bed and clenching impossibly tighter around his cock. you reach up with your right hand, wrapping it around his wrist and he understands what you’re trying to do as he shifts his weight before interlocking his hand with yours. 

“sunghoon, please.” you sound so pretty begging, and he’ll have to do something about that later too, make you beg for him some more. for now though, he needs you to come on his cock.

“sunghoonie,” you whine again. 

“doing so good for me doll. fucked you so dumb already the only thing you can remember is my name, huh?” he leans down to capture your lips in a filthy and sloppy kiss, before pulling away and softly biting your lip.

“‘m gonna– sunghoonie, i’m gonna come,” you cry out.

he speeds up his thrusts, not far away from orgasming himself.

“go ahead angel, just let go for me. so perfect, and all mine.” 

your eyes roll back as you reach your second high, your hand tight in his, and god he’s really gonna have to fuck you raw next time because you’re squeezing him so well, and he can’t help but imagine what it would be like if he could feel the drag of his cock against your walls. you moan out his name loudly and it’s enough to send him over the edge too, filling up the condom with his own come as he gives a few more sloppy thrusts. 

once you’re all cleaned up he hugs you close in bed, ready to fall asleep, but your sweet voice cuts through his haze as you ask cheekily “will you teach me how to suck you off next time?”