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withlovemark · 1 month ago

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“MY FIRST AND LAST”

pairing: bff! chenle x fake gf! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 31k+

synopsis -> zhong chenle, the lowkey fuckboy, captain of the basketball team, doesn’t believe in romance. flowers? chocolates? handwritten letters? ew. too cheesy. but he can’t seem to shake this crazy girl off of him so he goes to you, his best friend, cheerleading captain, for help. will you be his fake girlfriend? sure. the catch? it has to be believable so for the first time in his life he buys the flowers and the chocolate and writes the handwritten letters.

warnings -> the definition of a rom-com, pet name unlocked: baby, yappers, breaking the fourth wall, too many y/n’s in one room, chenle is kinda possessive (not in a toxic way), two scared little cowards, stalker, ovulation, +18, crude humor, language, bathroom sex, drunk sex, mutual masturbation, dildo, dry humping, 69, chenle fucking between your thighs, fingering, he’s a pussy eater!, squirting, accidental penetration, unprotected sex, reader is a very horny girl who knows what she wants!, pussy drunk, overstimulation, slight nipple play, exhibitionism, mentions of: sex in the kitchen, alcohol, frat parties, ropes, breeding kink if you squint

an -> the fifth installment of the loverboy series is happily yours! disclaimer! i don’t know anything about basketball! i just dated a player once. now playing: taylor swift’s down bad, the alchemy and so high school; important things to note -> 1) chenle is the lowkey fuckboy — he doesn’t get around as much but he’ll have one night stands 2) quinn is an OC!, i didnt want to make her any idol…sorry if thats your name! 3) all couples are happily together EXCEPT hyuck x princess. their story is happening simultaneously. have fun reading! - with love, c.

౨ৎ OCTOBER 31 ౨ৎ

chenle is in trouble and it all started here:

THE BIGGEST, MOST ANTICIPATED PARTY OF THE YEAR: HALLOWEEN NIGHT @ THE DREAM FRATERNITY

“ahhhh chenle, harder!,” the unnamed girl moaned loudly in his ear, her voice shrill, overly dramatic and frankly annoying.

“yeah, you like that?,” he grunted through clenched teeth, asking for the sake of asking, hips snapping forward, harder, rougher with absolutely no ounce of care. her body jolted with every thrust, her back slammed against the bathroom door like a ragdoll. he didn’t even bother angling correctly or checking if she was comfortable. didn’t even look her in the eyes. why would he? this wasn’t love. this wasn’t even attraction. for gods sake, he’s in his last minute chucky costume. none of it is serious. this was friction and sweat, the fuck he needed for the night.

and she wasn’t complaining. of course she wasn’t. why would she? she was fucking one of the dream boys, basketball captain, campus royalty. anyone would kill for her position right now.

“ahh yeah! yeah! YEAHH!,” she’s screamed, and it was so loud, so obnoxious. chenle winced mid-thrust. his head pounded, not from the alcohol but from her. she sounded like a banshee and he swore every shriek made him a little less hard. but he kept going. he wasn’t here for fun. he wasn’t here for her. he’s here for one thing and one thing only — to be relieved.

“cum inside me!, cum inside me!,” she begged, which was ridiculous since he was wearing a condom. he slapped a hand over her mouth, not out of passion, but out of desperation for silence. it worked. her moans went muffled, her body hot and slick against his, her legs trembling as he got closer. he doesn’t bother helping her stand. a few more hard thrusts and he spilled into the rubber with a strangled moan, his jaw clenched tightly, head rolling back as he caught his breath. it should’ve ended there. but then, in the middle of his hazy post-nut fog, she did the one thing everyone knew not to do — she kissed him.

a sloppy, wet kiss on the mouth, tongue and all. he kissed her back for half a second, pure instinct, reflex, before shoving her off like she was fire, eyes wide, “what the fuck?!”

everyone knew the rule — chenle doesn’t kiss. not on the mouth. not when he’s fucking. it’s too intimate. too romantic. too real. and he does not do romance. he’s too busy with basketball. too busy with classes. too career oriented. he doesn’t need distractions.

the girl latched onto him, arms around his waist, voice sickeningly sweet, “i knew you felt the same way!,” she squealed, nuzzling her face in his chest like they were something. her grip was tight. he was still half drunk, still recovering, still very much not on the same page.

“no uhm – j–,” he can’t even remember her name. was it jessica? jennie? did it start with an a? fuck. he didn’t know. he shakes his head, voice hardening, “that’s not what this is.”

“but you kissed me back,” she whined, bottom lip poked out. she was cute. but he wasn’t interested in anything real. wasn’t interested in relationships. and definitely wasn’t interested in her.

“i just came,” he said flatly, tone completely dry, “i wasn’t exactly in the right mind,” he explains. but she kept holding on, like she was trying to trap him in some kind of delusion where they were more than strangers in a locked bathroom.

chenle grabbed her wrists, gently but firmly, and stepped back, clipping his overalls back on in one smooth motion, “listen, i’ve got a beer pong game to win,” he said, offering her a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “you good here?”

“wait, you’re leaving?,” she asked, like she couldn’t believe it.

“yeah,” he reached for the bathroom door, not looking back, “you can stay in there if you want.” and just like that, he was gone. back into the chaos. the bass dropped the second he stepped out. someone handed him a drink. he took it without asking what it was. renjun, who was in his men in black costume, shouted his name from across the room and chenle smirked as he raised his cup. the night rolled on. more shots. more games. more bodies pressed too close on the dance floor. that girl from the bathroom? already forgotten. her name never even made it to memory. he was laughing again within minutes, arms slung around jisung in his alien costume, sweat glistening on his neck as the crowd roared when he sank three cups in a row.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 1 - HE’S MINE. ౨ৎ

he woke up to a series of texts:

unknown number: hey boyfriend! 💋 last night was amazing, i miss you already.

unknown number: thinking about ur kisses, they were so soft 😘

chenle squinted at the screen, still half asleep, head pounding from tequila and regret. he didn’t answer. he tossed his phone under the pillow and made his way out of his room. he spent the rest of the day teasing haechan about the girl he supposedly hates, forcing down hangover noodles and completely forgetting about the texts until that same evening — that’s when it got worse. an unknown profile had liked every single one of his photos on instagram, even the ones dating all the way back from 2020. and then she reposted his selfie from halloween night to her story with a heart sticker and the caption: “last night ❤️ can’t believe he’s mine.”

chenle nearly dropped his phone, “oh, HELL NO.”

the next five days were chaos. he did everything he could to avoid her, dodging her outside the library, ducking behind a trash can with his hoodie up like he was being hunted by the CIA, using mark as a human shield whenever he spotted her and even going as far as locking himself in his room just so he wouldn’t run into her — it was getting ridiculous. the championship game was a month away. he didn’t have time for this. he didn’t have time for her. he needed her to back off.

which led to now.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 6 - THE HOTTEST GIRL ON CAMPUS ౨ৎ

you had just wrapped up evening cheer practice, hair still damp from a cold shower, hoodie tugged over your uniform and duffel bag slung across your shoulder. and then – a hand grabbed your wrist. before you could scream or yank away, you were pulled straight into the girls’ locker room by none other than zhong chenle, your best friend.

“what the fuck chenle?!, have you lost your mind?! this is the girl’s locker room!”

“i need your help,” he said, voice deadly serious, eyes wild like he was on the run from the FBI.

“bro, you couldn’t text me like a normal person?,” you snapped, pulling your arm away.

“she’s gonna kill me,” he whispered, wide-eyed, “or marry me, honestly i don’t know which is worse,” he says dramatically.

“...who?,” you ask, an eyebrow raised.

“the bathroom girl,” he said darkly, like she was voldemort. partly because she’s starting to scare him. partly because he still didn’t know her name and just refers to her as the bathroom girl. he didn’t bother trying to learn it. he didn’t want to.

your expression flattened, “oh my god, you’re still dealing with her?” he told you about her through a facetime call some nights ago, since you’ve been away on a family trip and he couldn’t tell you in person.

“she’s obsessed,” he hissed, “she’s calling me boyfriend, she sent me her class schedule, she wrote me a poem!”

you blinked, “damn.”

“i’ve had to cancel practice, skip meals, duck behind recycling bins. i’m not even a person anymore! i’m just a moving target…i can’t live like this,” he groans, collapsing onto the bench like a man defeated.

you crossed your arms, “so what does this have to do with me?”

“i want you to fake date me.”

you blinked, “fake what now?”

“i want you to fake date me–no, i need you to fake date me,” he said, gesturing wildly, “just for a couple weeks, just until she finally gets the hint and leaves me alone.”

you eye him suspiciously, “and why does it have to be me?”

“you’re the cheer captain. you’re untouchable. the hottest girl on the campus. she’ll take one look at you and she’ll know she has no chance,” he explains.

you narrowed your eyes at him, “flattery will get you nowhere, chenle.”

“i’m serious!,” he whined like a spoiled child, “you’re my best shot,” he groaned, “pleasee, i’m desperate. i haven’t slept in days. i saw her outside my house!”

you snorted, “it’s not my fault you were too horny to notice she was insane?!”

chenle groaned, head falling into his hands, “i was drunk! i was thinking with my dick!, how was i supposed to know she’d turn into the female version of joe goldberg?”

you paused. he had a point. the locker room was silent except for the hum of the overhead lights. your body ached from practice, your hair was still dripping at the ends and your brain was barely holding on after a day packed with catching up with your classes and cheering.

“you’re asking a lot, you know i’m not a good liar,” you said finally.

chenle clasped his hands together like he was praying, “i’ll owe you for life.”

you roll your eyes, “i don’t want a lifelong debt. i want the gym.”

he blinked, “what?”

“i’m sick of cheerleading getting shoved into the late night slots just so the guys can play pickup games in the morning,” you said, arms crossed, “if i fake date you, you’re getting me full access to the gym for morning practices. no more evening drills.”

“that’s impossible–”

“i guess you’ll see her on your front porch again,” you cut in sweetly.

chenle stared at you, visibly calculating, panicking, then groaned, “fine. deal. i’ll talk to coach jaehyun.”

“you’ll bribe coach jaehyun,” you corrected.

“whatever it takes,” he muttered. you give him a long, lingering stare. then finally you extended your hand, “only until she gets off your back.”

he grabbed it, sealing the deal.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 7 - ARE YOU BRITISH? ౨ৎ

“we need to establish a few things,” you say, sitting on the bleachers of the basketball court, your cheerleading uniform clinging to your skin as the late afternoon sun bounces off the polished wood floors.

chenle is casually dribbling a basketball in front of you, sweat glistening along his hairline, his tank top darkened at the chest and collar, “like what?,” he sighs, bouncing the ball between his legs before shooting it lazily at the hoop. it sinks in with a soft swish.

“like,” you tap your fingers up to your lips, dramatically pondering, “what are you gonna call me?”

he turns with a faint frown, “uhh…your name?”

you raise your brows, “seriously? you’re the one who asked me to fake date you. if we’re going to sell this then you need to call me something other than my name,” you say.

he drags a hand down his face dramatically, “is that really necessary? this is supposed to be simple.”

“well, tough luck,” you reply, popping a piece of gum into your mouth, “no one’s gonna believe we’re dating if you keep calling me by my government name like we’re classmates doing a group project. give them a nickname to swoon over.”

chenle pauses, the basketball resting on his hip. his mind flashes to his friends and their girlfriends – angel, bunny, kitten – every single one more ridiculous than the last. he swears he’s in a zoo when they’re all at the house at the same time.

“okay,” he says, taking a seat beside you with a huff, brushing his sweat soaked bangs away from his forehead, “how about…love?”

you scrunch your nose up in sync, it felt wrong even when it left his tongue, “too romantic,” you comment.

“honey?”

“what are we? an old married couple?,” you fake gag, making him snort.

“darling?”

“are you british?”

he gives you a long suffering look, somewhere between exasperated and amused. then he leans back on his elbows, eyes glinting as he watches you, “okay then, what do you want me to call you?”

you pretend to think really hard, even tapping your chin for dramatic flair, “hmm…how about, baby?”

he shoots you a deadpan look, “seriously? you made me jump through hoops just to land on the most generic one?”

you grin, smug and unbothered, “what? it’s sweet, simple, not too romantic. it’s perfect!,”

he muttered something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like you’re so annoying but he sighs and give in, “fine. baby it is.”

you smirk, enjoying every second of how much it clearly pains him to play along, “say it again.”

he narrows his eyes, “no.”

“c,mon,” you nudge his knee with yours, “ for practice.”

he groans like you just asked him to sell his soul, then grumbles, “okay, fine. i’ll call you baby…baby.”

you burst out laughing at how stiff and awkward he sounds, “god, you sound like siri trying to flirt.” he smiles in spite of himself, eyes lingering on you a second longer than necessary. your laughter fades into a comfortable silence.

then, casually, you say, “how about kissing?”

his head snaps toward you, “what about kissing?”

the question hangs in the air. you don’t look at him right away but you can feel him freeze beside you. you shrug, like it’s no big deal, “well…if we’re dating, people are gonna expect it. you know that, right?,” you tilt your head at him, the air suddenly a little warmer than it was before. he stays quiet, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he’s buying time.

“you haven’t thought that far ahead, have you?,” you ask, almost amused.

he shrugs, “i mean, i didn’t think people would care that much.”

you raise a brow, “chenle, you’re the captain of the basketball team, i’m the captain of the cheerleading team, we’re like if a rom-com poster came to life and we’re about to hard launch a fake relationship in a school that lives off gossip. people are going to obsess. they’re gonna look for signs. holding hands, inside jokes and yes…kissing.”

he frowns, looking genuinely torn, “do you…want me to kiss you?”

the question catches you off guard, landing softer than you expect. you blink, “it’s not about wanting to…but if it makes this more believable, then yeah. we might have to.”

chenle runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, “okay fine but only when we need to.”

you nod, voice gentler now, “okay.”

he groans, “this is gonna backfire isn’t?”

“probably,” you say brightly, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder. you glance down at him with a smug grin, “but hey… at least it’ll be entertaining.” and with that, you walk off the bleachers, the slap of your sneakers echoing behind you. chenle stays there, watching you go, one word looping in his mind like a curse and a prophecy at once: baby — it makes him shiver. god help him.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 10 - GIRLS TALK ABOUT EVERYTHING ౨ৎ

your fingers are laced with chenle’s as you walk into the gym together. he was able to convince coach jaehyun to let you share the gym in the mornings.

as soon as you walk in, the effect is instant. the basketballs stop mid-bounce. conversations dull into hushed murmurs. heads start to turn one bye one like dominoes. some curious, some amused, some downright nosy. but you don’t flinch. you keep your chin up, posture poised like you own the place like it was just a regular day. chenle’s hand is warm in yours, steady, grounding, even as your heart pounds a little faster than usual. this is it �� the hard launch of your very fake, very strategic relationship.

“you good?,” you murmured out of the corner of your mouth without looking at him.

“i’ve played in front of five thousand people,” chenle mutters, voice low, “this is somehow worse.

you snort, “you’re holding hands with the hottest girl on campus, your words not mine,” you grin, “it can’t be that bad.” he almost smiles. almost. but then, a few steps in, you feel him suddenly tense. his hands twitch in yours, his steps slowing just enough for you to notice.

“what?,” you ask under your breath. he doesn’t respond, just slightly flicks his chin toward the girl near the wall. your eyes follow his and you see her. there, on the other side of the gym, leaning casually against the wall with a water bottle in hand, is — quinn. pretty. polished. perfectly unbothered. except you can tell by the way her gaze narrows on your joined hands that she absolutely is.

chenle leans in, voice tight, “that’s her. my stalker.”

your eyes widen and you suck in a quiet breath, “quinn?!,” you half whisper, half gasp.

he nods once, eyes locked on you, “sure.”

you blink, your fake smile faltering for half a second, “chenle,” you grit through clenched teeth, “you couldn’t have told me that she’s on my team?,” you bite, trying to make it look like you’re not seconds away from blowing him up.

“i didn’t know her name!,” he says quickly, trying to keep the easy expression on his face.

“she. braided. my. hair. last. week,” you say through clenched teeth, lips still curved into a terrifyingly sweet smile, even as you internally curse him in six different ways.

“i’m sorry!,” he hisses, eyes darting between you and the squads, still watching. he smiles wider, trying to match yours, but it’s all teeth and tension. you tug him sharply by the wrist and drag him toward the bleachers, out of the direct line of sight, but not far enough to go unnoticed. you know quinn’s watching. hell, everyone is watching. and the second you’re semi-out of earshot, but not out of sight, you whirl on him, still smiling, still looking like this is all so very sweet and couple-y but your eyes are screaming murder.

“you seriously thought this was going to work?” you hiss, “fake dating me in front of someone who knows me? who literally has pictures of us eating sushi on her instagram highlights?”

he winces, hands coming up to your arms like he’s trying to soothe you, voice low and pleading, “can you please not yell at me in front of the entire gym?”

you step into his space, “seriously, what was your endgame here? that she’d see us holding hands and just move on? that she’d back off because you got a girlfriend? you literally chose the worst liar and created the most suspicious looking fake couple in history!,” you say harshly but quiet enough so that only he would hear.

chenle opens his mouth, but then he sees it – how many people are staring. not glancing. staring. a few phones are already out. quinn’s water bottle is lowered, her expression unreadable but her eyes locked on you both with razor-sharp intensity. you’re still scolding him, your hands moving, your voice low but insistent when he makes a snap decision. no time to think. he grabs you by the waist…pulls you in — and kisses you. hard, fast, unexpected.

you freeze mid-sentence, mouth still parted in shock, your entire body stiff for one long second before your muscle memory kicks in and, god help you, you kiss him back. his hand cups your cheek. his lips move against yours with something close to desperation — it’s stupid, messy and feels way too good for something that’s supposed to be fake. for five dizzying seconds, the entire gym disappears. no cheerleaders. no teammates. no quinn. just you and him.

then you hear it — gasps echo from both the cheer and the basketball side. you can feel the shift in the air, the rumors writing themselves in real time. and when you finally pull away, breathless and stunned, you glare at him.

“that had better have been absolutely necessary,” you whisper, voice trembling just slightly. your lips are still parted, heart pounding like a damn drum.

“she was looking,” chenle whispers, flushed and panting slightly, like he can’t believe what he just did. like he just discovered something new. around you, the gym is still watching. a few people start whispering. quinn’s lips are pressed into a thin line. she’s not looking at you. she’s staring at chenle like he just ruined her life.

“congratulations,” you mutter, “there’s no turning back now.” he gives you a sheepish, almost apologetic look. you roll your eyes, toss your ponytail over your shoulder and plaster on the fakest smile you’ve ever worn. then, still buzzing from the kiss you’re definitely not going to think about later, you grab his hand again like it all meant nothing. like your pulse isn’t betraying you right now.

“come on, lele,” you say sweetly, loud enough for half the gym to hear, “help me stretch?”

you don’t look back. but you can feel her eyes on you. and she’s not just suspicious now. she’s out for blood.

౨ৎ

it starts during water break. you’re wiping sweat from your brow, stretching out your calves against the wall, trying to keep your breathing even. you’d been doing well – keeping your head down, counting the minutes until practice ended, avoiding quinn’s gaze like your life depended on it. which it might, honestly. but you should’ve known it wouldn’t last. because suddenly, you’re surrounded. four girls from the squad – mina, chungha, doyeon and of course, quinn, form a loose circle around you, casual, innocent-looking, like they just happened to migrate your way.

“so…,” mina starts, eyes wide and sweet, “you and chenle?”

doyeon grins, “when did that happen?”

somi pipes in with a laugh, “was it after the last game? or have you been sneaking around this whole time?”

you force a tight smile, adjusting your ponytail to stall for time, “it’s uh…new.”

quinn raises an eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest, “define new.” the way she says it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. her voice is calm, playful even. but her eyes are sharp. cold. and if looks could kill you’d be six feet below.

“like…really new,” you say, trying not to sound like you’re lying even though you are, “we didn’t want to make it a thing until we were sure.”

“aw,” mina coos, “that’s kinda cute! i always knew you guys liked each other,” you had no idea what she meant by that. the mere insinuation that the two of you had any sort of romantic feelings before this is completely crazy. chenle was the only guy in this university who hasn’t flirted with you. there’s absolutely no sexual tension there.

“was it romantic?,” she continues, “did he ask you out properly or was it like…spur of the moment?”

you blink, “umm…”

doyeon giggles, “omg, don’t tell us it was a drunk confession? that’s so high school.”

“it wasn’t drunk,” you say quickly, “it just…kind of happened.”

quinn tilts her head, watching you like she’s got front row seats to a show you didn’t audition for, “where’d it happen? his place? yours? locker room?…you two looked very comfortable yesterday.”

it reminds you that she was always watching him.

somi gasps, “wait, have you slept with him yet? is he big? is he good?” mina gasps louder, fanning herself, clearly intrigued. doyeon just cackles, enjoying the chaos. your mouth opens but nothing comes out. quinn has a small smile on her face but the fire in her eyes burns holes through you. because no, obviously not. but you can’t say that. not out loud. not without making everything worse. and quinn sees it – the hesitation, the silence. she smirks. victory glinting in her eyes, “hmm,” she hums, loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear, “i bet you don’t even know how he sounds when he cums.”

the words hit like a slap. your ears burn. your spine goes rigid. your throat suddenly feels dry. the other girls freeze for a half second, mina’s mouth falling open, somi’s eyes widening, doyeon choking back a shocked laugh but no one stops her. they just wait to see how you’ll react. you blink slowly, refusing to give her the satisfaction of looking rattled, even when your heart is pounding like a drum. you tilt your head, channeling every ounce of venom you’ve ever stored, “no,” you say smoothly, “not yet…but i know how his lips feels like on mine and what his hand feels like on my ass.”

somi lets out a scandalized gasp. mina actually drops her water bottle. even doyeons jaw hits the floor. and for the first time since she cornered you, quinn looks defeated. you take one slow step forward, your voice sugar-sweet and dripping poison, “so maybe next time, instead of talking about my boyfriend’s moans, you should ask yourself why he doesn’t want you to hear it.”

quinn’s face twitches. just slightly. just enough for you to know you’ve hit a nerve. you smile. innocent. unbothered. and totally victorious. then you turn on your heel and walk back to your spot on the mat like nothing happened, like your heart isn’t about to explode out of your chest. you don’t look back. but you can feel it. quinn’s not just watching anymore. she’s plotting.

౨ৎ

baby 😎🎀: we have a problem. come to my dorm. now.

he sends back a thumbs up emoji, and fifteen minutes later he’s at your door in a hoodie and track pants, hair still damp from a shower. you open the door, expression grim, “you good?” he asks, stepping inside.

you shut the door, “no. we have a problem.”

he freezes halfway into your room, “yeah, you made that clear in your text.”

you cross your arms, “your stalker and the rest of the girls cornered me after practice.”

he immediately looks like he wants to jump out your dorm window, “what did they say?”

“oh, just the basics,” you say sarcastically, “when did we start dating? how it happened? where it happened?” you fold your arms tighter, “then they started asking about sex.”

chenle slowly turns his head toward you, “what?”

you nod, “they asked if you were big, if you’re good in bed and—,” you pause for effect, “quinn wanted to know if i even know what you sound like when you cum.”

his entire face blanks out, blush creeping up his cheeks and unto his ears, “WHY do you talk about that stuff?”

“girls talk about everything!” you say, like it should be common knowledge.

“i didn’t know ‘everything’ included my moans!” he practically shrieks.

you ignore him, “so i panicked and i told her—” you pause again, a little too embarrassed, “—i know what your hand feels like on my ass.”

chenle chokes on air, the image affecting him more than it should’ve, “YOU SAID WHAT—?!”

you shrug like it’s no big deal, “it worked. they left me alone after that.”

he’s blinking at you like you just admitted to committing arson, “why are you like this?”

“i told you i'm not a good liar!”

chenle groans and puts his face in his hands, “it’s literally day one of being public and people are already starting to question it.”

“they’re not just questioning,” you say, pacing now, “they’re analyzing. calculating. investigating. and quinn?” you point toward the wall like she’s somehow eavesdropping through it, “she smells our lies.”

he lets out a helpless noise, “so what now? we can’t have sex. we’re best friends. that’d be too weird.”

you pause, “would it be weirder than me pretending to be your girlfriend when i’ve never heard you moan?”

he looks at you like you just grew two heads. “i’m serious,” you say, “it’s not just the kiss. eventually, i’m supposed to act like i’ve done everything with you and i don’t even know what your sex face looks like.”

“WHY would you need to—”

“chenle.”

“…okay. fine. what’s your solution?”

you sit down on your bed, “well, we don’t have to have sex but,” you trail off, he nods his head waiting for you to continue.

“we can masturbate in front of each other,” you say, voice quiet. but chenle hears every word.

he jerks like he’s been electrocuted, “i’m sorry, what?”

you don’t blink, “no touching each other. just… enough information so we can sell the fantasy, help us be more convincing with our lies.”

he’s completely unresponsive and you fear you might have broken him, “this is what you get for recruiting me into your drama,” you add.

“mistakes were made,” he mutters.

“correct,” you say brightly, “now take your hoodie off. it’s getting hot in here.”

“STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT,” he says flustered. you throw another pillow at his head. he doesn’t throw it back. then, slowly, hesitantly he moves — sitting on your desk chair, on the foot of your bed, fingers gripping the armrests. you’re seated across from him, a couple feet of space between you, against your headboard, legs crossed, trying not to make it weird. it’s already weird.

“i can’t believe we’re gonna do this,” he says under his breath, still not looking at you.

you chew your bottom lip, heartbeat way too loud, “you want this to be convincing, right?”

he glances up. the second your eyes meet, you both look away again. you inhale slowly, “okay, just…you start.”

“jesus,” he mumbles, “can you not say it like that?”

“sorry,” you say, voice airy, teasing, a defense mechanism at this point, “would you prefer ‘show me what you sound like when you cum?’”

he glares, “you’re enjoying this.”

“only a little,” but your breath catches when he slowly leans back, hoodie sliding up enough to expose a sliver of skin. and then his hand slips beneath his pants.

you go still. the room is absolutely quiet. your thighs press together. he glances at you, jaw tight, “you’re… gonna watch the whole time?” he asks quietly. you nod once, wordless. he looks everywhere but you before he finally starts. he wraps his hand around his cock, still hidden under his pants and he lets out a shaky breath. a little too loud in the quiet room. he leans his head back against the chair, lashes fluttering close, choosing to forget the fact that you, his best friend, was in the same room. and then his lips part with the softest little exhale, not quite a moan, not yet, but it hits you like a punch to the chest — your fingers finally move, hand slipping under your panties and rubbing slow but precise circles on your clit then through your folds. your knees pointing to the ceiling as your shorts bunch up, a clear view of your ass available to him if he opens his eyes.

“f-fuck,” he mumbles, the sound slipping out without him meaning to, the friction of his own hand starting to feel good. his hips lift slightly from the chair, fingers pumping fast then slow, like he’s trying not to let it end too fast.

“chenle,” you whisper.

his eyes drag open, hazy, dark, “yeah?” and the sight of you almost breaks him. your fingers down your shorts, legs slightly parted, showing the supple flesh of your ass cheeks. you’re both watching each other now, breaths shallow, cheeks flushed, something dangerous catching in the air between you.

his gaze dips, he can’t believe this is happening, “y-you’re… really doing it.” you nod again, biting your lip as you stuck a finger in, curling it exactly the way you like it. he actually groans, when he sees the way your eyes flutter shut for a second, a breathy moan slipping past your lips.

“fuck,” he says again, breathless, “this is so—”

“weird?” you whisper.

he swallows, his eyes stuck on you, “hot.”

and it is. too hot. too real. you let your head tip back, your other hand coming in to rub circles on your clit, while you fuck youself on the other, “i-i didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

“like what?,” he grunts, eyes darkening.

“like…you’re touching me too,” you say breathily.

his eyes burn into you. he wonders what it would be like to actually touch you. and for a second, neither of you speak, just the sounds of your hands shuffling under your clothing. then he begs, “can i hear you…please?”

the question nearly knocks the air from your lungs. your fingers rubbing your clit faster. you don’t speak. then, softly, almost like a secret, you let out a moan. low. sweet. just loud enough to be heard.

he’s never been this aware of you. not in this way. he knew you were hot. he wasn’t blind – every guy on campus has had some sort of crush on you, whether quiet or full-blown obsessive. you walk into a room and conversations shift. eyes follow you. people stumble over themselves just to sit near you in class, to ask for your number, to post a blurry instagram story in hopes you’ll repost it. you’ve always been that girl. untouchable. effortless. intimidatingly magnetic — but somehow, over the years, he got used to it. to you.

somewhere between your chaotic texts, your weird humor, your unfiltered rants, and all the times you laughed until you were snorting. your hotness became background noise. familiar. comfortable. like sunlight on skin – always there, always warm, but never overwhelming. until now. right now? god, he’s overwhelmed.

chenle’s head hits the chair again, a desperate noise slipping out of him, his eyes half open, never wanting to look away from you. and it’s not in the way where it feels like someone put him in a trance. no. he’s fully conscious of you, “fuuuck, baby.”

your eyes fly open. you both heard it — the nickname. you moan louder in response. your pussy sucking in your fingers, hips thrusting up at the simple sound of that word, “chenle,” you moan like you’re in pain, you were getting closer, but it wasn’t enough. you never could just get off on your fingers alone. you needed something. visual help. audio. your vibrator. a dildo. more. “i want to see you.”

“only—fuck—only if you let me see you,” he grunts, his hand still pumping his cock up and down. you nod. he nods. and at the same time you bring your shorts and panties down to your ankles in one go. he releases his cock from his pants. he was so pretty. so pink. his precum leaking at the tip. you whine, another sweet sound hitting his ears as you match the rhythm of your fingers to his pace.

“you’re so wet, baby,” he praises, practically drooling at the sight of your pussy glistening under the dim glow of your room. he wonders how you tasted. if you were as sweet as your lips.

“f-faster lele,” you moan, his nickname slipping from your lips, making his brain go haywire as he pumped himself faster, following your command. you watch his cock, your imagination taking over, pretending your fingers were him thrusting in and out of you. he does the same.

you squeeze your eyes shut, panting now, “lele i’m, i’m gonna–,” you don’t even finish your sentence, your orgasm hitting you hard and fast, as you came all over your fingers, your head thrown back, jaw slacked, hair sticking to your skin, fingers coated with your slick and he’s obsessed. like he’s never seen something so unreal.

“that’s it baby. just like that,” he groans, talking you through it, heightening the feeling of your orgasm as you focus on his voice and the lewd noises coming from your bodies. it doesn’t take long for chenle to follow, “i-i’m coming,” he moans, whiny and breathless, snapping you out of your haze. you wanted to see it. wanted to see him unravel and, god, he look’s so pretty. his lips all flushed, his cock messily spurting out his white cum, some landing on his shirt, some on his sweats, eyes completely shut in bliss, mouth open in a soundless moan.

“you’re so pretty, lele,” you praise and he swore he felt his cock harden again. then the room is silent. still. unbearably charged. you pull your shorts back up, chenle tucks himself back in his pants. when you finally look at each other, neither of you knows what to say. he can’t believe that just happened.

“so…” he finally says, voice quiet, “that was uhm…educational.”

you nod, way too fast, “yeah, totally helps with this whole fake dating thing.”

“yeah,” he laughs but it comes out brittle. a little forced. “i mean, can’t have people thinking we’re not sexually active.”

you cough, “god forbid.” you both go silent again. you try not to look at the way his hand is curled around his sweatpants like it’s muscle memory, like he hasn’t quite come down from it. and he’s definitely not looking at your legs, even though you caught him glancing more than once.

“so,” you say, stretching like you’re just super chill about all this, “i think we’re good now. you know. in case it comes up again.”

he nods too quickly, “yeah, totally. i feel…prepared.”

you groan, “this is so stupid.”

he gives a weak laugh, “seriously, who does this?”

“we do, apparently,” you say, a grin making it’s way to your face.

chenle rolls his eyes but can’t help the small, crooked smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth, “great. we barely started and we’re already masturbating across from each other. what’s next, fake couple’s therapy?”

you snort, “i mean, give it another week”

he stares at you for a second longer, then sits up abruptly, rubbing his hands over his face like he’s trying to reset himself. “okay. cool. that’s it. it’s done. nothing weird happened. we’re fine.”

you nod, “totally fine. not weird at all.”

“super normal. totally best friend behavior,” he adds, trying to convince you both.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 12 - I JUST WANTED TO WATCH TRANSFORMERS ౨ৎ

the living room is dimly lit, the glow from the t.v. flickering across a sea of limbs tangled in blankets and pillows. laughter echoes between bites of popcorn and sips of soda, the scent of butter and pizza lingering in the air — you and chenle are sandwiched on the far end of the L-shaped couch. his arm is slung casually behind you, a move that looks natural, but you can feel how stiff he is, how aware he’s pretending not to be. meanwhile, the rest of the room straight out felt like cupid came and shot all of them with love arrows.

jaemin is lounging with angel curled up on his lap, his hoodie drawing her frame as she feeds him popcorn one by one. jeno and bunny are draped over each other, her head on his chest, his hand resting low on her waist. mark and kitten are practically fused at the hip, whispering and giggling like they’re in their own little world — it’s a lot.

you chew on a twizzler, pretending not to notice the glances being passed around, the not-so-subtle curiosity, the stares that linger a beat too long on you and chenle sitting way too properly to pass as a couple in love.

“i’m actually surprised,” kitten pipes up suddenly, tilting her head at you two, “you guys aren’t all over each other.” you almost choke on your candy. chenle tenses beside you, his arm still frozen behind your shoulders.

mark laughs, “yeah, when we first got together, i couldn’t keep my hands off her,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to kitten’s shoulder.

jaemin grins, tossing a popcorn kernel at him, “you still can’t keep your hands off her.”

“ohhhkay,” jeno chimes in, trying to sound diplomatic, “jaemin, maybe don’t butt in, you and angel have been together the longest and she’s still sitting on your lap.”

mark snorts, “yeah, and who did i catch fucking on the kitchen counter last week?”

“mark!,” angel yelps, face burning as she throws a pillow at him. kitten and bunny both laugh as they swat at their boyfriends, mumbling strings of shut up and stop talking.

jaemin just smirks, clearly unbothered, wrapping his arms tighter around angel as he chuckles, “you guys are just mad i thought of it first.”

angel’s cheeks are burning, she glares then turns toward you and chenle with a too-sweet smile it was almost scary, “okay, that’s not important” she says, “let’s go back to chenle and y/n.” and every single one of them is staring — chenle fumbles, trying to shift closer. you nudge into his side out of instinct and he reacts a second too late, hand brushing your thigh like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you. the warmth of his hand immediately ignites that heat between your legs.

“yeah, how long has this been going on?,” mark asks. there’s a beat of silence. you glance sideways at chenle. he’s sweating. not literally, but he may as well be. his gaze flickers to your lips, then to the forgotten movie, then to mark’s arm around kitten’s waist, then to bunny playing with jeno’s fingers then back to you.

chenle blinks, “this?”

“you two,” kitten continues her boyfriend’s question, not bothering to hide the grin on her lips, “you’re together now, right?”

you exchange a look with chenle before nodding slowly, “yeah, seven days.”

“seven days?,” bunny echoes, blinking, “that’s…sudden.”

you force a smile, shifting in your seat, “it just happened to be that way.”

jaemin leans forward, squinting, and it’s all feeling much like an interrogation, like they all planned this, “i thought you guys were just friends.”

“best friends,” jeno adds, looking way too interested, “as in, you’ve known each other since orientation, you call each other bro, you help each other get laid.”

chenle butts in, “you and bunny were best friends too,” he points out but no one pays him any attention so he sips on his soda instead, trying not to show how nervous he was getting. if he couldn’t even fool his friends, how was he going to fool his stalker? who’s watching his every move like a hawk.

jaemin raises a brow., “and now you’re suddenly dating… the week after his stalker?”

you stare back at them, doing your best to look unfazed and chenle was just throwing you to the wolves. he was an even worse liar than you. “timing’s weird, yeah, but feelings aren’t always convenient,” you say.

kitten gasps, “wait, were you secretly in love with him this whole time?”

chenle actually chokes on his soda. “what? no—” you start to say.

“i mean, it would explain a lot,” mark cuts you off, “like why you never dated anyone seriously,” he looks at you then at chenle, “or why you’d randomly punch guys who flirted with her.”

you and chenle both speak at the same time. “i didn’t—” ; “that wasn’t—”

bunny holds up a hand, “we’re just trying to understand. you guys went from ‘platonic soulmates’ to ‘public kissing in the gym’ very fast.”

the news traveled fast, of course it did. that little kiss you two shared yesterday — it was up on instagram and snapchat in minutes, everyone finding out in real time that the captain of the basketball team and the captain of the cheer team are now dating.

“we’ve always been close,” you say carefully, “we just didn’t know we liked each other that way until… recently.”

“did you… do anything else?” bunny asks with a sly little smile. chenle freezes. the memory of last night alive and burning in his head. your moans are still replaying in his mind. you still. all eyes are locked on you.

angel wiggles her eyebrows, “is he good in bed?”

you nearly choke on air. how many times were people going to ask you that question. “excuse me?!”

“it’s a fair question,” jeno shrugs, “we’re all friends here.” it’s not a fair question. they all know that. and usually the boys wouldn't discuss these things. but this was the group’s plan. your dating news came very suddenly. it was weird. they needed to know how serious it was.

“NO,” chenle says, eyes wide, “that is not a fair question.”

“oh my god,” angel gasps, covering her mouth, “you haven’t done it yet, have you?”

“guys,” you laugh nervously, “we’ve only been together for a week.”

“still!” kitten exclaims, “i couldn’t wait more than three days.”

mark smirks, wrapping an arm around her waist, “you didn’t even wait three hours.”

angel snorts, “okay, let’s not start outing each other again…anyway,” she says sweetly, “you must know what chenle sounds like in bed.” you stare. so does chenle. the room goes quiet. then, calmly, you set your drink down and smile — you’ve caught up to their plan. their teasing. and you decided to play along, “i know what his voice sounds like when he begs.”

silence. no one was actually expecting you to say something. hell, they were sure that there was nothing going on between you. that this was just a game you both decided to play. they all know how much the both of you loves games.

jeno lets out a choked cough. mark’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull. jaemin’s jaw drops. chenle chokes on his own air, “WHAT?!” he sputters, turning red from the ears down, “w-when did i—why would you—what?!”

but he doesn’t get to finish. because suddenly all the girls are screaming. kitten grabs your hand. angel is already up on her feet, squealing. bunny’s dragging you by the wrist with wild eyes like you just dropped the gossip bomb of the year.

“YOU’RE COMING WITH US—NOW,” bunny demands through her laugh, “WE need DETAILS.”

“i’m sorry…he begs?!” angel shrieks as the girls literally pull you out of the living room.

“is he vocal?? how vocal?!” kitten gasps, already halfway down the hall with you in tow. your smug little smirk mixed with a mixture of fear is the last thing chenle sees as the girls yank you into a random bedroom and slam the door shut behind you.

the living room is left in stunned silence. mark sighs dramatically and throws his head back, “there goes my girl.”

“didn’t even finish her popcorn,” jeno grumbles, arms crossed.

“she was on my lap,” jaemin mutters, like he just got robbed.

chenle blinks, still stunned, “do they… always do that?”

“welcome to the club, man,” mark says, clapping him on the shoulder, “you’re one of us now.”

“yeah,” jaemin adds, pouting, “boyfriends left behind. again.”

“i just wanted to watch transformers,” jeno mumbles into a pillow.

chenle exhales, brain still short-circuiting, “why does it feel like i’m not the one in charge of this relationship?”

mark and jeno laugh. jaemin just shrugs, “none of us are.”

chenle is still staring at the closed door like it betrayed him. he runs a hand down his face, “what do they even talk about in there?” he mutters, getting nervous for you.

jeno doesn’t miss a beat, “us.”

chenle blinks, “like… guys in general?”

“no,” jeno says, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth, “specifically us.”

“they talk about everything,” mark adds with a grim nod, “our sex voice, our fingers, how fast we fall asleep after sex.”

“angel once told me she and the girls have a group chat called ‘the loverboys audit,’” jaemin sighs, “there are screenshots.”

“screenshots of what?” chenle asks, horrified.

“texts. apologies. unsent drafts. thirst traps. anything they can think of,” jeno lists off like he’s been through it.

mark cuts in, “one time i brought kitten her favorite cookie during her period without her asking and she sent a pic of it to the chat and now apparently i’m the gold standard,” he said beaming.

“congratulations,” jaemin deadpans, “i left angel a needy voice note saying i missed her…i’m pretty sure they’ve all heard it.”

chenle’s jaw drops, “i’m scared,” he says genuinely. and he is scared. less for him. but more for you. he wonders what kind of interrogation scheme you’re under right now. wonders if you can continue lying for him.

some time passes, the girl’s laughter echoes from behind the door, “do you think they’re still talking about us?,” chenle asks.

“absolutely,” they all say at once. you were right. girl’s do tell each other everything.

౨ৎ

the door clicks shut behind you and instantly the room explodes, their voices all harmonizing in the air, you weren’t even sure who said what anymore.

“okay, spill!” “when did it happen?” “did he kiss you first?” “who made the first move?” “is he big?”

your eyes widen. in any other situation, like for example: you were actually his girlfriend and you were actually fucking, this would’ve been fun. but right now the room is spinning.

“no, seriously,” kitten grins, practically vibrating with excitement, “you can’t sit here and tell us you bagged chenle and then give us nothing, he kissed you, chenle doesn’t kiss!”

bunny flops down beside you, legs criss-crossed. “like, i don’t even understand. you guys were just friends, right? and now he’s grabbing your waist and making out with you in public??”

“and don’t give us that ‘we’re private’ line,” angel smirks, “we saw the kiss. that was not private. that was possession.” you blink at them, smiling tight. you were prepared for fake couple questions like how did it start or where’s your first date gonna be, but this? this was a firing squad of horny girlfriends.

“i mean…” you trail off, trying to think fast, “it was kind of…sudden? things shifted. we realized we had chemistry and…boom.”

“boom?” bunny arches a brow.

“like…tension. long time coming. slow burn,” you say, proud of your own improv. they all squeal in unison.

“okay but is he good?” angel asks, not missing a beat.

you freeze for half a second too long. kitten’s eyes narrow, “oh my god. you haven’t slept with him yet.”

bunny gasps like you just confessed a crime, “wait. no. have you?”

you panic, “i mean—not, like, fully—but…”

all three of them lean in at once.

“okay, what have you done?” kitten demands.

you hesitate, chewing your cheek. and then you commit, “well,” you say, slow and measured, “we just…touched,” you admit, knowing you had to give them something for them to let you go.

there’s a pause, followed by a collective shriek.

angel grabs your wrist, “YOU MEAN—”

“guys,” you whisper, “it was hands only. that’s it.” you leave out who’s hand was touching who. their jaws drop. you force a smile but inside you’re combusting.

angel slings an arm around you, “god, i love new couple energy. so fresh. so chaotic. i give you a week before you’re fully obsessed with each other.” you just hum, hoping no one notices how hard your heart is pounding. because you're not just faking a relationship anymore — you're faking experience, chemistry, desire.

a few more minutes and you finally emerge from the room with the girls, cheeks flushed, hair slightly tousled, and a drained smile plastered on your face. your laugh is a little delayed. your steps slightly uneven. and chenle notices immediately. he’s sitting on the floor with the rest of the dream boys, a soda can balanced on his knee, but the second he sees you, his brows pinch slightly.

he stands, “baby,” he says, voice pitched just right, casual but a little needy, purposefully loud enough for the rest of them to hear, “you okay?”

you nod a little too quickly, “totally, just girl talk.”

he doesn’t buy it. not for a second. and then you feel it — his hand slipping around your waist, low, secure, warm against the small of your hips, thumb rubbing slow circles, and he leans in like he’s about to whisper something sweet. the small action makes you feel hot. god, you were going crazy.

instead, “we’re going,” he announces smoothly, voice dipped in just enough gravel to sound like he means business.

“what?” mark blinks, “we’re barely halfway through the movie!?”

“she’s tired,” chenle says, already pulling you into his side, “and i need her...in…more ways than one.”

your breath catches. the room erupts again.

“OKAY!” “get it, chenle!” “don’t forget protection, king!”

kitten throws a pillow at mark. bunny covers jeno’s lips. angel’s cackling and jaemin’s trying to pull her back into his lap. but no one tries to stop you. chenle flashes the room a satisfied grin, like this was always the plan. like he didn’t just lie through his teeth to get you out of there. you barely manage a wave as he leads you to the door, “bye, guys!”

“BYE SLUTS!” kitten yells cheerfully. the second the door shuts behind you and it’s just the two of you on the porch, you groan and bury your face in his shoulder.

“i think i aged ten years,” you mumble.

chenle chuckles and tightens his grip around your waist, “you looked like you were about to pass out. what the hell did they ask you?”

you sigh, dragging your feet as he starts leading the way to your dorm, your hand wrapped in his, “everything. like everything, everything.”

he pauses, “like…”

“chenle,” you deadpan, “i had to describe what you sound like when you finish.”

he chokes, “YOU WHAT—”

you hold up you free hand, silencing him, “do not make me relive it. just know, i deserve more than the gym schedule.”

he’s red in the face again, “why do girls talk like that?!”

“because we’re nosy and unhinged, and also because men are way too hot when they fall apart. that’s why,” you say more than you’re supposed to and chenle can’t help but tease you.

“oh so you thought i was hot,” he smirks, eyebrows wiggling.

“don’t even start,” you groan, “i can’t go another second of this.” he just smirks as he walks you to your dorm.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 13 - SUGAR SWEET MOUTH ౨ৎ

you’re stretching at the edge of the court, hair pulled back, body still warm from the last cheer sequence. the gym smells like sweat and floor polish, the low thump of basketballs echoing from the other side where the boys are warming up.

then you hear it – gasps, followed by whispers. you glance up and see chenle walking in, a bouquet of blush-pink and white tulips in hand. the sight makes your heart skip a beat. you ignore it. he marches right past the curious stares and half-shocked teammates, past quinn, until he’s in front of you.

“for you, baby,” he says casually like he didn’t just change the rhythm of your heart beat, “they reminded me of you.” your mouth parts slightly. for a second your brain short-circuits. he needed to shut up before you forget you’re only playing a part. you remind yourself that this wasn’t just sweet — it was strategic. you’d both agreed. since you only were supposed to kiss when it’s absolutely necessary, courtesy of his rule, the two of you came up with alternatives. subtle touches, cute gestures, notes, little tokens of affection that would sell the story without breaking whatever fragile line of comfort was left between you.

today, he chose flowers. and he chose to give it to you in front of everyone — your fingers curl around the stems carefully, “lele,” you say, voice soft. he shrugs, feigning nonchalance but not quite hiding the way his ears are tinged red, “just pretty flowers for my pretty baby,” he says the line he’s been practicing ever since he bought those flowers a couple hours ago. you don’t even look around to check who’s watching. you already know. quinn is still near her usual wall, frozen mid-sip of her drink, eyes sharp with something between confusion and jealousy. the rest of the cheer team is giggling animatedly behind you, all of them feeling giddy. and on the other side of the court, mark, co-captain of the basketball team, watches it unfold like he’s watching one of his girlfriend’s rom-coms in real life. mark’s brows lift, lips twitching into a smile. then, silently, he pulls out his phone, took a quick picture and sent it to the couple’s group chat.

mark: okay maybe we were dicks last night. this might be real

the groupchat flooded with messages instantly, mostly from the girls talking about how chenle takes the number one boyfriend of the month spot.

back on your side of the court, you offer chenle a genuine smile. then, slowly, you rise to your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. soft. light. barely more than a brush of skin. but his breath catches. for a millisecond, his whole body stiffens, then softens. he tries not to react. tries to play it cool. but if he was being honest, his heart is pounding, traitorous and loud, and his fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you but his own rules stops him.

“thanks, lele,” you say sweetly.

he offers you a smile, “anything for my baby,” he says, softly tapping your chin before turning his head toward the court, shooting a half-hearted glare at mark, who’s giving him a thumbs up and mouthing you’re so down bad across the gym. chenle doesn’t respond. he just grabs a ball, sinks a shot with near perfect form and tries to ignore the lingering warmth of his cheek.

౨ৎ

later that afternoon, the gym buzzed with the usual chaos of practice, only the basketball team were around now. sneakers screeched against the hardwood. balls bounced around the room. sweat, noise and routine, nothing out of place. until some of the players joined chenle – eric jogged up beside him, “so…you and the cheer captain now, huh?,” he said, not even trying to sound casual.

chenle nodded once, eyes still on the court, “yeah.”

“damn,” juyeon said with a low whistle, joining in on the conversation, “didn’t think you had it in you to bag the girl every guy on campus wants.” chenle’s jaw tensed, but he kept his eyes ahead.

jay, another player, chuckled, “yeah, she’s–,” he hesitated for effect, then grinned, “—a handful, huh?”

chenle didn’t look up but he did not like where this was going at all. juyeon leaned in a little, “mhm, still remember that party two semesters ago. she kissed me so hard i forgot my name,” he snickers, the memory playing in his mind, “sugar sweet mouth, bro and she tastes even sweeter where it really matters if you know what i mean.”

“real flexible too,” eric added with a laugh, “you just have to know how to use her.”

jay gave him a nudge, “seriously, props to you man, she’s got a mouth that–”

“stop.” chenle says. the word wasn’t loud. but it was final. dark. deadly. the ball hit the floor with a loud thud. chenle stopped moving. and it’s not like he was hearing all of this for the first time, he’s pretty sure you’ve told him about these activities in extreme detail before. i mean, you guys talk about everything and anything under the sun, including your sex life. but it’s different now. you’re supposed to be his gf. and he hates that they’re not respecting that. slowly, he turned to face them. not blinking. not smiling. nothing about his expression was amused. a silence fell between four of them.

juyeon rolled her eyes, “relax, man. she’s not a saint–,”

“i said stop.” he said, voice low, jaw tight, “that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.”

eric scoffed, “c’mon man, we’re just messing around. it’s not that serious.”

“it is serious,” chenle bit out, teeth gritted, “i don’t care what happened at a party two semesters ago, hell, even two weeks ago. if any of you talk about her like that again, i’ll kick you off this team myself.”

jay scoffed, arms crossed, “yeah, well she wasn’t always yours. don’t get all territorial now just because you finally got a turn.”

that did it. chenle’s eyes flashed. the cool, easy going demeanor he always wore was gone in an instant. his hands were shaking from how tightly he was clenching his fists, breath shallow with rage. he stepped in until he was chest to chest with jay, “you think this team matters more than my respect?,” chenle hissed, voice low, dangerous, “keep talking about her and you’ll be off the roster before you can blink.”

juyeon and eric looked stunned. none of them had ever seen chenle like this — not even close. he’d always been the chill one, the sarcastic one. even when people trashed him online after bad games, he shrugged it off. but this was different. chenle stepped back, nostrils flaring, chest still heaving. his hands curled into fists at his sides. then he blew the whistle. loud. sharp. angry.

“LAPS,” he barked, “until i say stop.” groans echoed across the gym, but no one dared challenge him. not when his voice sounded like that.

chenle wasn’t sure what he hated more. the fact that they were talking about you in that way or the fact that now he had to picture those guys touching you, tasting you, and he couldn’t unsee it. they knew the curve of your body. the sound of your voice when it cracked, broken with pleasure. they knew what made you moan. what made you beg. and he didn’t know any of that. all he had was one kiss. all he had was the memory of your dorm room, your mouth parted, hand between your thighs as you whimpered his name. the sound of your breath hitching. the way your eyes rolled back when you came. that was the only version of you he had – distant, aching, too far away to feel.

the image of you touching yourself ruined him. but now he had to imagine other guys doing it for you…and liking it. talking about it like it was theirs to own. that burned worse than anything. because now all he could think about was how other men got to taste you…and he hadn’t even had you. not like that. not the way he was starting to need to.

jealousy coiled tight in his chest like barbed wire. and worse than jealousy, something else had cracked open beneath it – something sickeningly possessive. something unspoken. nothing has ever made him angry like this before. no one had ever made him feel like this before.

౨ৎ

lele 😎💗: i’m coming over.

you barely have time to register the message before a sharp knock hits your door. he’s already here, less than five minutes later. you open the door and the look in his eyes hits you like a wave – anger, frustration and something darker curling beneath it. he walks in without a word, jaw clenched tight, hair damp from a recent shower, gym bag slung over one shoulder, his hoodie half zipped, exposing the clean line of his neck. you close the door behind him, “chenle?”

“it’s not right,” he cuts in, voice low and tense, dropping his bag on the floor at the foot of your bed, “it’s not fucking right that those guys know how you taste and i don’t,” he lets the words spill out of his lips, clearly not thinking properly.

you blink, thrown off by his bluntness, confusion all over your features, “what?”

he paces around, then stops and looks at you, “today at practice…they said things. stuff i didn’t want to hear,” he swallows hard, fists clenched, “and it’s driving me insane, because i’m supposed to be your boyfriend. even if it’s fake, i should at least –,” he trails off, his words finally catching up to him.

“you should what?,” you ask, heart pounding, “what do you want us to do, chenle?”

he stares at you for a second too long. then quietly, intensely, he says, “would you let me go down on you?”

you freeze. a million things he could’ve said. a million things you had expected him to say. and none of it included that. you think it over for a bit but it really doesn’t take long. you had needs too. your voice drops to a whisper, “only if you let me go down on you too.”

he stiffens just slightly, your eyes search his, “we need to get better at lying, right? everyone’s already asking what we’ve done…how far we’ve gone. it’ll just make this more convincing,” you explain, not too sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. the tension hangs heavy in the air. his tongue darts across his bottom lip.

you decide to make the first move, stepping closer, “tell me to stop and i will,” you say. but he doesn’t. he just nods once. and in that moment, both of you know – the lines between real and fake are about to blur. hard.

you pull your shirt over your head, slowly, deliberately. if this is for a lie, for your story, for your reputations, then you’re going to commit to it.

chenle’s eyes drag down your breasts. of course you weren’t wearing a fucking bra. and fuck, you were so fucking perfect. his jaw is locked tight like he’s holding himself together with the last thread of restraint, all his blood surging to his cock. you walk toward him, fingers hooking into your shorts, peeling them down without breaking eye contact, leaving you completely bare for him. his breath audibly stutters but he still doesn’t move.

his rule rings out low and firm in the heavy silence, and he’s not sure if he’s reminding you or himself, “no kissing on the mouth.”

you nod, stepping closer, “i know the rule.” you take the last step in between you, closing the distance. you push his hoodie off, then slip your hands under his shirt, dragging it up and over his head. his skin is warm, his abs flexing as your palms skate across them. your lips brush along his collarbone, testing at first, and he doesn’t stop you. instead, he tilts his head back as your mouth trails down his neck, his breath catching like he wasn’t expecting it to feel this good and you’ve barely even started. you push his sweats down, it falls to his ankles. his cock already hard against your thigh.

his hands hover near your waist like he’s still unsure whether this is real. you decide for him. grabbing his hands and placing each one on your breasts, “you can touch me, lele,” you say littering kisses all over his neck, down to his chest.

you feel his breath hitch beneath your lips. then his fingers start ghosting over your perky nipples, making you release a sigh of pleasure in response. his fingers flick quick and fast and hot. you could feel the heat in your stomach start building. he bends over, just slightly, to take one of your breasts in his mouth and you can’t help but let out a whine, loud against his ear, gripping his hair as you pull him closer.

he pushes you back until your legs hit the foot of your bed, your back hitting your mattress, chenle still sucking on your nipples like it was the only thing he was made for. for someone who didn’t kiss, he knew how to use his tongue well. it was almost unfair, “lele,” you moan.

“hmm?,” he says, mouth still full of your breasts, tongue swirling around your bud, finger rolling the other. your pussy clenching at nothing. you needed to feel just how good his tongue is on you. now. you lightly push him off of you and he looks up with dazed eyes, already lost in the lust. you crawl backward on the bed, until your head hits the pillows. then you open your legs for him, fingers dipping down between your folds, showing him wet you are. showing him what he does to you.

“are you gonna keep staring or are you gonna make sure you know how i taste?,” you smirk. his gaze darkens and then he was moving. diving in between your legs, his hand on your hips as his tongue swipes across your folds, your reaction was immediate, a quiet gasp slipping past your lips.

his tongue swipes again, slower this time, more deliberate — like he’s savoring it. like he wants to make sure you feel every flick, every glide, every warm drag of his mouth along your slick folds.

“fuuck,” you whisper, head falling back into the pillows, hips jerking toward his face. you weren’t ready for how good it would feel, how thoroughly he’d devour you. he grips your thighs, spreading you wider, angling your hips up to meet his mouth better. his tongue laps at your clit, slow at first, then faster, more focused, until your breath catches in your throat. he moans low against you, the vibration rippling through your core, his hunger for you making your thighs tremble against his shoulders. the way he eats you is not shy. it’s messy. loud. tongue everywhere. mouth sealed around your clit, then dragging back down to tease your entrance, tongue prodding in and out of your hole, only to dive right back up to leave kisses on the bundle of nerves that has you clenching around nothing.

you reach for him. not just to ground yourself, but to do something back. “lele—” you murmur, voice barely steady, “i want to taste you too.”

his eyes flick up, dark and blown wide with lust, and he understands instantly. in a swift motion, he flips the two of you over so you’re straddling him, hands on his chest. then he completely mahandles you, turning you around, until you’re facing his cock. you let him do what he wants until you feel his breath on your hot core. you turn over your shoulder, “are you sure?”

“just take your seat, baby please,” he says, practically whining. you let yourself down slowly, carefully, until chenle grabs your hips and pulls you down hard against his mouth, lips immediately on you like a magnet. he’s all tongue and open-mouthed hunger, licking into you like he means it, like he wants you undone within seconds. you moan, hands flying to his hips for balance as yours stutter against his hot, wet mouth. he doesn’t ease up. he groans into you, low and hoarse. his hands grip your ass, guiding your rhythm — up, down, until you’re rolling your hips in sync with his mouth, pleasure crawling up your spine in electric waves.

and then you lean forward — hand closing around his cock, already hard and leaking, twitching under your touch. he jerks the second you stroke him. another moan vibrates against you. you lower your mouth over him slowly, savoring every inch, and when he feels your lips wrap around the tip, his hands tighten on your thighs, dragging you down even harder against his tongue — the position is hot, filthy and perfect for two people who weren’t allowed to be intimate. just pure lust and desire.

every time you take him deeper into your mouth, he moans against your cunt, sending vibrations throughout your body making you moan around him. it was a continuous chain reaction. a circle. a rhythm that shouldn’t feel this good for something that’s supposed to be fake. he eats you out like he’s starving, like he’s desperate. the groans he spills into your skin when you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock is addicting. you hollow your cheeks and bob your head steadily, spit and precum making it easier to move faster, sloppier. his thighs tremble beneath your hands. his breathing’s gone ragged, harsh exhales against your folds as he keeps licking you like he can’t decide what he wants more — to come or to pull you over the edge first.

you don’t stop until you feel him throb against your tongue, hips bucking weakly. his moan breaks against you — loud, unfiltered, completely undone. just as you fall apart on his face, grinding down until your vision goes white. you both cum at the same time, wrecked and breathless, your bodies slick with sweat and need. you swallow all of him as your thighs quiver above him, hands digging into the sheets for some sense of control that’s long gone.

slowly, you climb off him, your chest still rising and falling fast. his face is flushed, jaw shiny with you, eyes glazed as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, still tasting you on him. you collapse beside his legs, your skin still tingling, the air thick with the scent of sex and something heavier beneath it — something unspoken.

you’re just catching your breath when he speaks, “they were right,” he says, voice low, jaw tight like he’s trying not to clench it.

you blink, turning your head toward him, “huh?”

he finally looks at you, eyes darker than before, almost like he was mad that they knew this about you.

“your pussy’s the sweetest there is” he whispers. you freeze. it was so vulgar. you’ve never heard him like that before. you’re not supposed to blush. you’re not supposed to feel anything — this was supposed to be for the lie. but your cheeks warm anyway, blood rushing to your face like your body doesn’t care what rules your brain is trying to enforce.

“…don’t say shit like that,” you mumble, hiding your face in your sheets, suddenly all too aware of your nakedness, your vulnerability, the way your heart is thudding like it wants to be acknowledged.

chenle lets out a soft, breathless laugh, the kind that’s more teasing than sincere, “relax,” he says, grinning as he taps your ass, “just telling the truth.” before you can respond, he’s already off the bed, striding butt-naked into your bathroom. you hear the soft creak of a cabinet, the rustle of movement and then he’s back, completely unfazed, moving like none of this is new to him. he doesn’t say a word as he gently nudges your thighs apart, and before you can fully process what’s happening, he’s cleaning you up with a warm, damp paper towel. slow, deliberate, and so unexpectedly tender it makes your chest ache. then, he reaches for your blanket and carefully pulls it over your body, tucking it around you like it’s second nature.

you stay sprawled on the bed, watching him through half-lidded eyes, too tired to argue, unsure if you want to kiss him or strangle him for how easy he makes this all seem. once he’s done, he tosses the paper towel in your bin like he’s shooting a three-pointer, throws his hoodie over his head, and slides back into his sweats like he wasn’t just naked with his face between your thighs and his cock in your mouth just five minutes ago. he heads toward the door, but pauses before opening it. then, with one hand on the handle, the other tugging his duffel bag over his head, he glances over his shoulder with a lazy smirk.

“later, baby,” he teases, “try not to miss me too much.” you groan and bury your face deeper into the pillow, flipping him off without looking, his laugh ringing in your ear. then the door clicks shut. and you’re left alone, naked under the sheets, your heart annoyingly full and your cheeks burning like hell.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 14 - LET’S SEE IT CAPTAIN ౨ৎ

the gym is still and quiet when you and chenle arrive, early enough that even the usual overachievers haven’t shown up yet. you’re both trying a little too hard to be normal. trying to pretend that you didn’t spend last night tangled in the 69 position. you stretch near the free throw line, lazily balancing on one leg. chenle’s dribbling nearby, head down, hair still damp from his pre-practice shower, glistening slightly under the overhead lights.

“you look like you’re in a gatorade commercial,” you mutter.

he doesn’t even glance up, “you look like someone who couldn’t shoot a basket if her life depended on it,” he teases, a playful smirk on his lips.

you gasp dramatically, “excuse me?”

“i’m just saying,” he walks over and tosses you the ball, “let’s see it captain.”

you scoff, adjusting your stance, “i’ll have you know i’ve cheered for hundreds of games, i know this court as well as you.”

he raises a brow, arms crossed, “sure. now actually throw the ball.”

you do. it doesn’t even hit the rim. you pout, “okay, rude,” you say, talking to the ball.

chenle smirks and jogs to retrieve it, “come here”

“what, so you can mock me more?,” you say, a light smile on your lips.

“so i can teach you,” he replies easily, motioning you over. you roll your eyes but go to him anyways.

he steps behind you, gently positioning your arms, “fingers here,” he says, softly guiding your fingers around the ball, “-elbow in,” he murmurs, low and close, sparking the goosebumps to travel down your spine, “breathe, you’re not stabbing someone, you’re guiding the ball.” you scoff, but let him continue guiding your hands anyway. his chest presses lightly against your back, his lips brushing warm at your ear. it’s oddly intimate, this quiet closeness. you pretend not to notice it. so does he.

“now,” he murmurs, “just relax…and shoot.”

the ball flies in a clean arc – nothing but net.

you beam, eyes sparkling, “did you see that?!,” you cheer, excitement written all over your face.

“i’m an excellent teacher,” he smirks. you turn to grin at him, but before you could reply — he kisses you. no warning. no smirk. no audience. just lips on yours. warm and deliberate.

you gasp softly, but your body reacts faster than your brain – your hands go to his chest, mouth moving against his in quiet surprise. it’s soft and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. he swipes at your bottom lip and you part them on instinct, giving him access. your tongues moving in sync like he means it.

and then your brain catches up. this doesn’t make sense. chenle doesn’t kiss. that’s when you’re reminded — quinn. she must be here. she must be watching. why else would he kiss you like his life depended on it?

you pull away slowly, eyes fluttering open, lips flushed, “was she here?,” you whisper.

chenle blinks like he was still processing what the hell just came over him, “yeah,” he answers, a little too quickly. you nod once, eyes scanning the gym, but you don’t see anyone. still, you assume she must’ve been behind the bleachers or near the doors. maybe she slipped out quietly after the kiss.

you swallow down whatever strange flutter just took root in your chest, “right. okay.”

chenle nods too, hands dropping from your waist, “just doing my part,” he mutters with a small, unreadable smile. you nod. some of your teammates start making their way in and that was your cue to escape. you walk away from him, pretending your heart isn’t doing cartwheels in your chest. because if you let yourself think about that kiss too long. the way his mouth moved perfectly in yours. you know you’ll be way past saving.

౨ৎ

his lips are still tingling. chenle walks the other way, jogging across the court to fetch the ball, but his heart isn’t in it. his chest feels tight.

he lied. quinn had been there – earlier. lurking behind the bleachers like some twisted shadow stitched to the edge of his vision. he spotted her in the middle of adjusting your grip on the ball but she slipped out halfway through your shot.

the kiss happened well after she was gone. he didn’t have to do it. there was no audience. no pressure. it wasn’t calculated. it wasn’t strategic — it was instinct. he couldn’t help himself. his body just moved, pulled by something stupid and impulsive and real that curled hot and electric in his chest. you were just standing there, flushed and proud and happy and annoyingly adorable he didn’t know what to do with it but kiss you.

he bounces the ball once. twice. his hands are suddenly sweating. it’s not supposed to feel like that. not with you. you’re his best friend. or you were. this whole mess, this fake relationship. it was all supposed to be fake. controlled clean. he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about how soft your lips were. how those damn assholes were right, you did taste like strawberries but also something else…something sinful. the way you kissed him back. the way you completely melted into him.

he grits his teeth and shoots the ball harder than he needs to. it hits the rim and bounces out. perfect. just like him — falling short. he drags a hand through his hair. the kiss can’t stop replaying in his mind. you, wide-eyed. you, tilting towards him without even thinking. you, pulling away and asking if his stalker was around as if that was the only possible explanation. and it should have been the only explanation.

he was slipping. the way your name is starting to echo louder than it should is suffocating. he’s not ready for that. and that tight, heavy feeling in his chest. it’s not guilt anymore. it’s want. god, help him.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 17 - DON’T ASK ME STUPID QUESTIONS. ౨ৎ

you’re already tense by the time chenle shows up at the gym. he’s leaning against the wall, holding up your favorite snack, “for the prettiest cheerleader in the world,” he says, before pulling you into his arms for a hug. it’s been like this for the past three days, him showing up to your practice with your favorite chocolates, a stuffed toy, letters, any gift he could think of. picking you up and walking you back to your dorm, putting on a show, making sure everyone knows the two of you are so sickeningly in love.

and as sweet as it all has been. you wanted something else. your thighs ache from practice but the throbbing between your legs is worse. you don’t smile. just snatch the bag from him and make your way out the door as he stumbles after you, “what’s wrong?”

you ignore him, just slipping your hand into his and walking the rest of the way in silence. he doesn’t ask again, not until the door to your dorm clicks shut, the silence crashing down like thunder. you toss your bag down, arms crossed, heart pounding with frustration and need.

“bad day?,” he asks carefully, not entirely sure what kind of territory he’s in.

“would it be okay with you if i went and had sex with someone else?”

the air goes still. chenle freezes like you slapped him, “what?”

“i’m serious,” you snap, arms crossed, “this plan sucks, i didn’t think being your fake girlfriend meant i’d be celibate for weeks, im sooo horny chenle, it’s not even funny!,” you groaned, throwing yourself onto your bed, arms covering your face. the silence stretched until you peeked through your fingers and saw him still frozen, mouth parted. “so?,” you prompted.

he blinked, voice lower now, “no. it’s not okay.”

you sat up, suddenly irritated, “why not? we’re not actually dating. it’s not like i’d tell anyone.”

“are you serious? people talk y/n, i’d rather not have everyone think i can’t satisfy you so now you’re cheating on me,” he groans, dragging a hand through his hair.

you stand up annoyed, stepping toward him with fire in your veins, “i’m ovulating, chenle. everything hurts. i’m soaking through my underwear. i can’t think. i’ve been dreaming about you. that night. the way you moaned, the way you ate me out — it’s all i think about. and then you kissed me at the court like i was yours.”

he blinks. swallows hard. your words affect him instantly. his cock twitching in his pants. his mind running a mile per minute.

“i can’t keep pretending that didn’t happen. my body won’t let me,” you say, not even caring if you sounded desperate. you need to be relieved now, “i fingered myself last night and i cried because it wasn’t enough.”

his head is spinning at the image of you not being able to get off. god, you were so sexy.

“don’t go to someone else.” he says, voice low and dark.

“then what?” you whisper, “because if i don’t do something, i swear–”

“i can take care of you.” he says, stepping in close. his breath brushes your lips.

“we said no sex,” you remind him.

his voice drops into something dark and dangerous, “that doesn’t mean i can’t ruin you.”

you raise an eyebrows, “with what? your hands?”

a smirk appears on his features, “my fingers. my mouth. whatever you’ll let me use.”

your heart thuds in your chest. you walk backward to the bed, pulse hammering, “then let’s make it interesting,” you reach into your drawer, pulling out your favorite toy – long, thick, velvety-soft silicone curved just right. you drop it onto the mattress like a challenge. he raises a brow, not shocked at all that you had a dildo.

“use your fingers, use your mouth, use that… i don’t care, just help me, please,” you practically beg. his eyes widen for a second before his mouth twitches into a grin, wicked and reverent all at once, “say less.” and then he was closing the distance. dragging your shirt over your head, unhooking your bra like it was second nature and yanking your cheer shorts and panties in one go, tossing it somewhere around your room. he pushes you down so you were sitting at the foot of your bed, his hands wandering throughout your body, lips marking your exposed breasts and then he was spreading you open, kneeling on your floor, slotting himself in between your thighs and actually groans when he sees how wet you already are.

“goddamn baby,” he whispers, dragging two fingers through your folds “this all for me?”

you nod, “yes lele, please,” you whine. he slides his digits in, deep, slow, curling with precision that makes your hips thrust up. you gasp, body tensing.

“jesus, you’re tight,” he murmurs, “and so fucking warm.” he pushes your legs up until your knees were almost to your chest then adds a third finger, working you open, pumping deep and steady, watching your face the whole time. his thumb brushes your clit in maddening circles, quiet and uncontrollable moans slipping from your lips.

then he picks up the toy. you watch, breathless, as he slicks it up with your arousal, pressing the thick head to your entrance, “ready?,” he asks, looking at you for final confirmation. you nod frantically and he slides it in slowly, dragging it against every swollen nerve ending, pushing it inside until it completely disappears in your cunt. the stretch is intense, full, enough to make your eyes roll back, “oh my god,” you whimper.

“that’s it,” he whispers, breath hot on your thighs as he leans in, “you take it so fucking well.”

he starts pumping it, setting a rhythm, the dildo driving deep, your chest rising and falling with every pant “do you use this and think about me, baby?,” he grunts. when you don’t answer, too lost in the pleasure, he stops his movement, making your eyes shoot wide open.

“lele–”

“i said,” he asks again, voice firmer this time, eyes darker, “do you use this and think about me?”

“y-yes lele, i think about you, how full your cock would feel inside me,” you admit and something in him breaks. he thrusts it deeper, faster, finding the spot that makes your eyes roll back, watching your legs shake. his lips press kisses to the inside of your thighs, sucking and biting, leaving his mark. then his free hand circles your clit in fast, tight spirals. the pressure in your stomach builds fast, unbearable, so sharp you can barely speak.

“fuuuck, chenle,” you breathe out, your back falling to your sheets, no longer able to keep yourself up, “i–im gonna come,” you moan.

“go ahead baby,” he commands, “come for me.” your body obeys. fast. your back arches, toes curling, hands gripping your sheets, jerking so hard the toy nearly slips out as you cry moans of his name. but he doesn't stop. he keeps going, driving you over the edge again, until you’re squirming, tears in your eyes, the toy moving in and out of you in sync with his fingers rubbing furious circles into your clit. you barely even get the chance to process your first orgasm before a second wave hits. the pleasure just as good, just as world rattling as the first. you sob his name, overstimulated, shaking, mouth open but soundless, hand pushing him away.

but chenle isn’t finished.

“c’mon baby, you’re the one who wanted this,” he says, amused as he swats your hand away, pushing you up to your pillows until he’s hovering above you. he pulls the toy out giving you a second to catch your breath before his mouth was on you, lapping you up like a man starved.

“h-holy fuck—,” your stomach tightens immediately, “chenle–too much–”

“no”, he laughs, against you, completely amused, the vibration making your toes curl, “not yet. i’m not done with you,” he teases, flicking his tongue on your clit and thrusting two fingers in your hole, dragging every ounce of sensation out of you. his free hand is strong, keeping you right exactly where he wants you until your hips buck into his face, bibbling his name, fists in his hair, riding the edge again.

“you taste so sweet,” he mumbles between licks. he’s in complete bliss, eyes shut, eating you out like he was satisfying his cravings.

“you’re mine. all of this is mine.” that’s what does it. you come again, even harder – thighs clamping around his head. he holds you through it, still sucking you like there’s no tomorrow, hands gripping your thighs to keep you open as you writhe beneath him, completely undone. yet he still doesn’t relent. you swore there’s tears streaming down your face now, incoherent noises slipping past your lips. you try to close your legs, try to shimmy your way out but he was stronger than he looks, “don’t you ever talk about fucking someone else again.”

he was so addicted. so pussy drunk. he doesn’t know how to stop. then you feel it. that curl in your stomach that only comes when you know you’re about to soak your sheets, the type of sensation no one else but yourself has made your body do.

you try to warn him, “w-wait–chenle–i’m gonna–” but the words don’t come out fast enough. your body explodes. your legs jerk, eyes snap open wide and you squirt – a hot rush of liquid soaking your sheets, his hand, his face.

you choke on a cry, body shaking. he stops dead for a second. his gaze flickers to your soaked thighs, the mess under you, then back to your face, “holy shit, does that always happen?,” he asks. his expression is pure awe and hunger.

you shake your head no, a little embarrassed “not with other people,” you manage to say, voice hoarse. and when you thought it was finally over – he buries his face between your legs for the umpteenth time, making you scream, more determined than ever to get you to do it again.

he’s laughing into your cunt, loving the way you’re crying out for him. the way your juices continue leaking out of you. the way you’re trying to push him away. his fingers are back inside, curling, pressing just right, over and over and over. you can’t breathe. can’t think. the sounds spilling from your mouth are desperate. pleas and stops that he ignores. until you’re twitching. gasping. and it hits again. another wave crashes through you, harder than the first. you sob his name as you gush, spraying him, your body completely undone. he continues rubbing until you we’re completely empty, hands keeping your thighs spread, mouth drinking in as much as he can.

you’re a mess — wet. crying. shaking. and he loves it.

“fuck, you’re so sexy like this,” he groans, licking you through the aftershocks, “fucking soaking for me. mine,” before kissing your clit one last time, finally letting you breathe. then he crawls up your body, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your jaw, your temple, everywhere but your lips. you’re panting, eyes glassy. you stay sprawled out on your back, chest rising and falling in erratic breaths, limbs heavy, brain wiped completely clean. everything’s soaked – the sheets, the comforter, your thighs, chenle.

he’s lying next to you now, propped up one elbow, hand toying with one of your breasts, grinning like he just won the lottery. his face is still shiny with you. you should feel embarrassed that you’re completely naked next to him and he’s still fully dressed but you’re not. you're too high up in the clouds, too light headed to think about anything else.

“you good?,” he asks, voice smug.

you roll your head toward him, still panting, “i think you broke me.”

he laughs, actually laughs, soft and playful and stupidly attractive, “i mean, i did make you squirt. twice,” he smirks, still palming your breasts, like he was glued on to your skin.

you swat his hand away, “god. don’t say it like that.”

“why?” he leans over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “it’s the truth. you squirted. all over my fingers. in my mouth. whole crime scene situation down there.”

you groan, “shut up.”

“i’ve never seen someone look so sexy and so destroyed at the same time,” he pokes your cheek, “like, tears in your eyes, legs shaking, moaning my name…i'm flattered,” a smirk on his face.

you swat at him weakly, “stop talking before i die of shame.” but you’re smiling, cheeks flushed. and he notices.

“oh no, don’t get all shy on me now,” he teases, “not after you practically begged me to use a toy on you and called me sir at one point.”

“i did not—” honestly, you weren’t too sure. you had no idea what you were saying half the time. or if what you were saying were even words.

“you did,” he grins, “right when i had three fingers in you and you were like—” he puts on a dramatic impression, moaning exaggeratedly — “‘ahh ahh please, chenle, i’ll do anything, just make me come—’”

you grab the nearest pillow and smack him in the face with it. he just laughs harder. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet,” he says, catching your wrist, pulling it gently until you’re turned toward him again, “you’re here. naked and very very wet.”

you narrow your eyes at him, “you’re very proud of yourself, huh?”

“i made you do something no one else ever has. of course i’m proud,” his fingers skim your bare thigh, slow and cocky, “i own that now.”

and the phrase does more than he thinks. you push the thoughts away, “cocky bastard.”

he leans in, placing a kiss below your ear, “next time don’t ask me stupid questions.” you blink up at him, heart skipping. chenle softens for a second, gaze flicking between your eyes and lips. before his grin returns. mischievous. dangerous.

“and next time, i’m bringing rope,” he teases and you gasp, swatting his face away.

“what?,” he nuzzles into your neck, an arm around your waist, “you want me to keep your legs open properly, don’t you?” you shove him off again, laughing, flushed and glowing.

that night, when he got home, chenle pumped himself up and down, thoughts of you and only you plaguing his mind. he imagined your voice in his ear again. he tries to visualize the way your thighs were shaking, your hands gripping his hair. how beautiful you looked when you fell apart. how you tried to warn him but never got the words out before you were decorating him with your juices. he wants you again. he wants more. his orgasm tears through him, hot and sudden, spilling over his fist.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 19 - SORRY MR. BENCH ౨ৎ

the gym doors slam shut behind the last of his teammate. steam curls from the showers at the back of the locker room. chenle walks out, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp, boxers clinging to his hips. he hums to himself softly. and then he stops cold.

his eyes land on you, leaning against the metal lockers in your cheer shorts and his hoodie that he probably left at your place, “how’d you get in here?” he asks, eyes wide.

there’s a playful smile on your lips, “i snuck in.”

his brows shoot up, “you what?...you can’t just…this is the boy’s locker room, you maniac,” he says, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

you push off the lockers, crossing the floor toward him, “i couldn’t help it.”

he swallows, visibly trying not to look down at what you’re wearing or lack of, “it’s worse today,” you murmur, closing the space between you, “i thought the other day would calm me down but now everytime i close my eyes, i feel you.”

chenle exhales through his nose, the last of his restraints on a thin line, “you’re insane.”

you nod, “i know,” before stepping into his space and wrapping your arms around his neck.

he looks around quickly, like someone might still be lingering. then he grabs your wrist, dragging you behind a row of lockers, out of sight, “we’re going to get caught.”

“no one’s here,” you whisper, voice soft and sinful, “and if they are, i don’t care.”

he groans quietly, eyes flickering down to your exposed thighs, your shorts doing absolutely nothing to hide how worked up you already are, “i can’t stop thinking about the other night either,” he murmurs.

he leans in, lips brushing your ear, “we’re still not having sex.”

you nod, “we’re not,” lips brushing his jaw, “i just want to feel you….please lele…take care of me again.” you didn’t have to say anything else. that phrase was enough. suddenly, his hands are all over you, gripping your ass and pushing you back until you were seated on the wooden bench in between the row of lockers. he kneels between your legs, nuzzling your inner thigh through your clothes, and you whimper, hips bucking up as his breath ghosts over your clothed heat.

“you’re soaked already,” he murmurs against your shorts, breathing you in, “did you walk in like this?”

you nod, cheeks flushed, “i’ve been wet the whole day,” you say as he pulls down your shorts, the undeniable wet spot of your panties clear to him.

he hums like he’s satisfied, “you’re dangerous,” he says, almost lovingly, “no one should be this needy,” a playful smile on his face. you grab his shoulders, pulling him up and making him straddle the bench as you got into his lap. your mouth crashes on his neck, hot and messy, and he moans into your ear when you grind your hips against his. your underwear was still on but the friction was unreal.

he pulls your hips flush against him, and you feel him – hard, throbbing beneath his boxers, pressing against your clothed core, “like this?,” he pants, voice already ragged, “you just wanna feel me?”

“more,” you whine, “please, lele.” with a low groan, he pulls down his boxers just enough to free himself then hooks his fingers into your underwear sliding it down. he runs his hard cock through your folds, slapping his tip against your clit and your grip on his shoulder tighten, “mmm feels so good, just like that,” you moan before you straddle him, grinding into his shaft, the both of you moaning and whining into the night air.

he lets the feeling go on for a bit before he makes you kneel on the bench. then he positions his cock right in between your thighs, against your soaked folds, still outside and starts thrusting. slow. heavy. deliberate. the head of his cock glides between your thighs, through your ass, dragging against your clit with maddening pressure, slicking through your wetness. he unzips your (his) hoodie only to find you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

“god, baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he sighs, his hands on your ass, controlling your hips as your nipples brush against his chest. you nuzzle into his neck, gasping, clinging onto his shoulders like its the only thing keeping you tethered to earth.

“fuck–,” he breathes, “you feel like heaven.”

you nod frantically, “faster lele, please–”

he holds you tighter, gripping your hips, increasing his speed, thrusting between your thighs like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. his shaft brushes your clit over and over, grinding deep into that soaked spot right beneath your entrance, giving you the illusion that he’s inside you. and your body believes it. you rock against him like you’re possessed. like you need this to survive. every stroke sends heat spiraling through your stomach, your thighs trembling. he sucks that sensitive spot on the side of your neck and you were done for.

“i-i think,” you gasp, “i’m gonna–”

“do it,” he growls by your ear, “come on my cock, baby.” with a strangled cry, your body locks up, thighs quivering around him, vision going white. he didn’t even have to touch you inside and yet you unravel completely. chenle swears under his breath, thrusts harder once. twice. and then he’s coming too, warm and thick between your thighs, his juices slipping down your legs. the bench under you looks like it witnessed something illegal. his head falls to your shoulder, panting hard, clinging to you like he’s been holding back for days.

you’re both a wreck. neither of you move for a while. your knees start to get sore but you don’t care. his arms stay wrapped around your waist. eventually, he sits down, sitting you onto his lap, “shit,” he mutters, voice raspy, “poor bench.”

you smile weakly, “sorry mr. bench”

he looks at you for a long moment. and then that damn smirk returns, “we are so getting banned from the locker room.”

you groan, “they can’t ban both of the captains.”

“they can if the bench gives a testimony,” he teases. you elbow him, laughing breathlessly.

“i cannot believe we just did that,” you mumble, hiding in the crook of his neck.

chenle’s voice is way too proud, “i can. i had faith in our poor impulse control.”

you snort, “you're disgusting.”

he winks, “you love it.” there’s a pause. you go quiet. he does too. a beat of something unspoken simmers between you. but before either of you can crack it open, he glances down at the mess on your legs and grimaces.

“damn,” he mutters, reaching for his towel on the foot of the bench, “i got you good.” you roll your eyes as he dabs at your inner thighs carefully, like he’s handling something delicate.

“i can’t believe i ever thought we could pull off fake dating without...this happening,” you whisper.

he blinks at you, then grins, “you thought we’d not eventually dry-hump in a locker room?” you laugh again, trying to brush it off. but he doesn’t. he’s watching you now, softer. less joking. and then, the sound of the locker room door opens.

“chenle…you still in here?,” coach jaehyun’s voice echoes down the tiled corridor. both of your eyes go wide, “oh my god” you stare at each other like two deer caught in headlights.

“shit”, he hisses under his breath. he zips your hoodie up clumsily over your bare chest and scrambles to pull his boxers up as you pick up your shorts and underwear.

“stay still, don’t breathe, you’re invisible” he whispers.

“i’m not invisible!,” you whisper back, panic rising but he’s already shoving you behind one of the open lockers. your back hits the cool metal just as coach jaehyun’s footsteps draw closer. you clasped your mouth shut, heart pounding out of your chest, legs still weak. chenle wipes his hands on the towel, trying to look casual, and walks out just as coach rounds the corner, still in his windbreaker, clipboard under one arm.

“there you are,” coach says, slowing his stride, “always the last to leave, huh?”

chenle offers a lopsided grin, trying to keep his face neutral despite the chaos in his chest. “yes coach, just making sure the showers were off. locker doors closed. y’know, the usual.”

coach glances around, oblivious, “that’s what I like to hear.” you hold your breath behind the locker, still trembling slightly, trying not to let your knees give out or your breath catch audibly.

coach crosses his arms, “big game tomorrow. you’ve been putting in the work. i’ve seen it. just keep your head clear. and for god’s sake, get some sleep. no all-nighters, no tiktoks, no distractions. you hear me?”

chenle coughs, mouth twitching, “yes, sir.”

“good. i need you sharp. you're the heart of this team, chenle.” that hits. chenle’s face softens just slightly, eyes darting to where you’re hiding. “i’ll be ready,” he says, quieter this time.

coach jaehyun claps him on the shoulder, “proud of you, kid. lock up behind you.” and with that, the coach turns and exits, the heavy door creaking shut behind him. you wait until the footsteps fade. one beat. two. then you burst out of the locker, wide-eyed, “the heart of the team, huh?” you tease, breathless.

chenle lets out a laugh, bracing his hands on his hips, “do not talk to me about what just happened while i’m still trying to survive a cardiac event.”

you’re grinning now, limp but giddy, “you were sweating bullets.”

“he said no distractions, and i had my very naked distraction grinding on me just five minutes ago”

“you were very focused, i’ll give you that.” you put your underwear and shorts back on before shuffling over to him, still slightly dazed, “guess it’s good i helped you, then. let out some of that…pressure.”

he chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest, “you are not helping.”

you smirk against his collarbone, “want me to give you a pre-game pep talk tomorrow too?”

“i think you already gave me one tonight,” he murmurs, and you both dissolve into laughter. then he pulls back, a little more serious, “but for real… i’m glad you’re here.”

you blink at him, surprised, “you are?”

he nods, “i don’t think i could’ve slept tonight if i hadn’t…felt you. been driving me insane.” your chest tightens a little. something tender stirs in the air between you, but he breaks it off, walking to his locker.

you laugh helplessly as he gets dressed, grabbing his gym bag and throwing an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward the exit, “come on baby, let’s get you home before you start climbing me again.”

you’re not entirely sure why you’re still acting sweet. why your fingers automatically laced with his as you walk down the hall — his stalker wasn’t around. there was no audience to act for. no one to fool. no reason to keep pretending. yet you’re still wearing the stupid smile he put on your face. and when he glances down at you, his gaze softens like he’s seeing you for the first time. maybe it should bother you. maybe you should pull away. to remind him, and yourself, that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. that this was a game. a favor. but you don’t. not yet. for now, you keep walking beside him – sweet, quiet, warm. not because you have to. but because you want to.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 20 - HIS GIRL. ౨ৎ

the gym roars with life – drums pounding, sneakers squeaking, the crowd’s cheers pulsing like electricity through the air. but chenle can’t hear any of it. because then you step out. and you’re not in your usual cheer top. no — you’re wearing his jersey. cropped. tied with a rubber band just under your chest so his number (30) stretches perfectly across the swell of your breasts. your cheer skirt is even shorter than usual. or maybe it just feels that way because now it’s paired with his name sitting proudly on your body. like a claim.

his eyes drag down your legs as you jog across the court, white sneakers bouncing, hair tied up in a high ponytail with ribbons that match the team colors (green and white). you wave your pom-poms and wink at the crowd, all of them screaming for the university’s darling. then you let your eyes slide to him. it hits him low. hard. his throat goes dry. and somewhere beneath the waistband of his shorts – he feels the heat pool. sharp and instant. you weren’t even doing anything yet. just being there, in his number — his hoodie had been one thing. but this was something else entirely. this showed everyone that you belonged to him.

the game starts. and every time he makes a shot, every layup, every three pointer – he points at you. the first time he does it, you blink. then your face breaks into a smile. the second time, your knees almost give out mid-cheer. by the third, the entire student section has caught on. they’re screaming for him and chanting his name but chenle only had eyes for you. you’re cheering like always, sharp, energetic, your moves clean and practiced. but every now and then, he notices the shift. the way your eyes flick only to him, the way you proudly shout, “let’s go! that’s my boyfriend,” when he scores. the way you throw in little extra spins, little kicks, a twirl you know he likes. you do a jump and land perfectly, grinning like you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

mark nudges him at halftime, chuckling, “dude,” he say under his breath, “your girl’s really going all out for you today.”

chenle’s ears turn bright red. his heart flutters. the way everyone knows you’re his girl creeps a smile in his face, “she’s just…excited for the game,” he mutters. mark just laughs and slaps his back before making his way to the stands, giving his own girlfriend a kiss on the lips for good luck.

during the cheer intermission, you’re front and center. the rubber band holding up his jersey bounces with every move. your chest jiggles with each jump. and there’s a moment, one that lasts way too long, when your skirt flips just enough to show the top of your spandex and chenle just stares. he swears he blacks out for a second. and then you get tossed into the air and he really can’t breathe. you were so high up. and yes, you’ve been a cheerleader since you could walk but his heart still lurches with worry.

by the final quarter, you’ve lost all sense of the score. you’re not sure if its the heat of the gym or the way he’s been looking at you all night, but your whole body feels flushed, electric. like the universe has boiled down to this court, this moment, him — and then it happens. final seconds on the clock. the score’s tied. chenle steals the ball, running pass the defenders, he jumps to shoot, you’re holding your breath so hard your lungs ache. and…he scores!

the ball hits the net with a clean, satisfying swish just as the buzzer blares. the gym erupts. but chenle doesn’t throw his hands up. doesn’t high-five his teammates. doesn’t go for the trophy.

he runs straight to you. before you can even say his name, he’s got both hands on your waist, twirling you in the air, your laughter ringing in his ears. and then his lips crash into yours. no hesitation. no warning — the cheerleaders squeal. the crowd screams. his team goes wild. and quinn watches with wide eyes and stunned silence, finally convinced that the two of you are head over heels in love.

and maybe it’s because you are. maybe the only people you were still fooling are yourselves.

you kiss him back like the world’s ending. like he’s gravity and you’re falling hard and fast and there’s no stopping it. like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to earth. it tastes like adrenaline and sweat and something dangerously close to love.

when he pulls back, breathless and glowing, you stare at him, dazed. your eyes meet his and for one aching second, just one, there’s something soft there. something real. a look you’ve never seen before. one that steals your breath in a different way. but it was gone in an instant, replaced with one of his usual smiles, that trademark, smug, chenle smile and he says, “that should really sell it now.”

your heart cracks. just a little. you pretend not to notice. you smile. of course you do. because that’s what you’re supposed to do. because he’s right. because his stalker was just right there, watching. because this whole thing is fake. because it’s easier to pretend this doesn’t mean everything to you. because if you stop smiling now, it’ll all fall apart. you’ll fall apart.

so you laugh, soft and light, like it didn’t mean anything. like it was all part of the plan. you slide a hand behind his neck, fingers trembling slightly as you pull him back down and kiss him again – fierce. desperate. wordless. pouring everything into it. all the things you can’t say.

you kiss him like you’re trying to convince yourself that this is enough. that pretending is enough. but you feel it—deep, deep in your chest. when you pull away, he lets go of your waist gently, oblivious to the way your fingers curl into fists at your sides, to the way you avoid looking at him too long. then he walks back to his teammates, laughing, his arm slung around mark’s shoulder like nothing just happened. you cheer with the rest of the squad. you wave at the crowd. you let the moment play out like it’s everything you wanted. but your chest burns. because you’re starting to realize the worst part isn’t pretending to love someone for the sake of a lie – it’s realizing you stopped pretending. and he still is.

౨ৎ

the music is loud, bass thumping through the floor of the dream frat house. the place is packed with players, cheerleaders, friends of friends but chenle doesn’t stray far from your side. he hasn’t left you since the two of you walked in together, hand in hand.

you’re both a little buzzed, drunk off victory and just enough vodka to feel reckless. his arm draped around your shoulders and your fingers are casually laced with his. you’ve stopped pulling away from him when he gets too close. maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you like you were more important than stephen curry.

“you’ve been staring at me all night,” you murmur, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear as the two of you lean against the kitchen counter, resting for a bit after wining a beer pong game together.

he smirks, fingers sliding under the hem of the jersey you’re still wearing – his jersey, still tied into a crop top, showing off too much skin, “can you blame me?” his thumb brushes circles into your hip, playing with the bare skin just above your waistband. the party rages around you but it feels like it’s just the two of you. he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leans in to say something but instead of words, he presses a kiss to your cheek. then your jaw. then the corner of your mouth. so close to your lips.

“why are you being clingy?,” you whisper, not really complaining as you lean back on the kitchen counter.

“i’m being convincing,” he says with a wink and your heart cracks a little more. he slides his hands tighter around your waist, tucking you back into his chest and swaying the two of you to the song the dj is currently playing. then he’s guiding you back into the party, fingers laced with yours. without missing a beat, he tugs you closer, hands smoothing down your sides before settling on your hips. he rests his forehead against yours.

“everyone’s watching,” you whisper, your hands on his chest now, heart racing way too fast.

his eyes don’t leave yours, “that’s what we want right?,” your hands find the back of his neck, curling into his hair as his nose brushes yours, and he kisses you — just a ghost of a kiss at first, almost too soft to be real. but when he feels you lean into it, he kisses you again, deeper, more certain.

you pull back just long enough to smile, “breaking your own no-kissing rule again?”

he smiles too, that boyish, dizzy grin that always gets you, “had to.” that’s it. just had to. two words that now has your heart was soaring through the skies.

and he’s drunk. not just from alcohol. he’s drunk on you. during the next dance, he keeps sneaking kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your collarbone. at one point, he reaches around you to pull your jersey down a little, muttering, “my name looks really good on you,” before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. you roll your eyes and pretend not to melt.

when his teammates pull him away for photos and victory shots, you catch mark smirking, “you’ve got it bad, dude.”

chenle’s ears flush pink, “shut up.” but his eyes dart back to you instantly, and when he makes his way back, he grabs your hand again like it’s second nature. you’re halfway into another laugh when he spins you, catches you, presses your back to his chest again. his arms wrap around your waist like he never wants to let go.

“you’re seriously being so touchy tonight,” you say, but your voice is still soft. like you don’t mind it. like you want more of it.

“i’m celebrating,” he murmurs, “we made it to finals. you’re in my jersey. and i get to pretend you’re mine for a few more days.” your breath catches. you barely had time to process his words when his hand curls under your chin, tilts your face to his, and he kisses you again. gentle. long. like he’s memorizing it.

you pull away and his fingers interlock with yours, warm and familiar. you glance up at him. he doesn’t say a word, just gives you a soft, almost shy smile and tips his head toward the stairs. you nod, following him without hesitation — his bedroom door shuts quietly behind you. the music becomes a muffled thrum below your feet, nothing but a distant heartbeat now.

chenle turns around, eyes raking over you in his jersey, his cheeks flushed from the drinks, from the game, from you. “you’re so fucking pretty,” he mumbles, hands finding your hips like it’s second nature, “the way you cheered…my jersey,” he squeezes the hem of the shirt in between his hands, “this smile,” he adds, softly tapping your lips, “i couldn’t stop looking at you.”

your heart flips in your chest, “i was just playing my role.”

his jaw clenches at that, and for a second, he looks like he wants to say something. but instead, he just nods, “right.” — you want to take it back. you want to tell him it wasn’t just the role. that nothing about tonight felt fake to you. instead, you reach up and cup his jaw, tracing your thumb along his cheekbone. he leans into it without thinking, eyes fluttering shut like the weight of the night is finally catching up to him.

maybe you’ll both blame the alcohol tomorrow. whatever reason it is just so he could kiss you again — slow, unhurried, almost fragile. not like the others. not like you’re trying to convince anyone. just him and you and the quiet truth neither of you are brave enough to say out loud. and you let him kiss you. because pretending it didn’t mean anything was easier than acknowledging how badly you wanted it to. how badly you wanted him.

he pressed you up against his bedroom wall, pulling his jersey over your head like he’s unwrapping something fragile, and his eyes take their time, “you’re unreal,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion and desire. his hands grab at your waist, your hips, your ass, needy and warm and too far gone for restraint, his lips moving in sync with yours. he can’t get enough of you.

you murmured against his lips, “should we do it like last time?”

“yeah,” he panted, nodding, “just— just let me feel you again.” you both get undressed at the same time, fast, the need to feel each other overwhelming.

he sits on the middle of his bed first, patting the space in front of his legs. you make your way towards him, crawling on all fours and kissing him again. he kisses you just as hard. but before you could straddle him, he turns you around so your back is flushed to his chest. he parts your legs and his fingers slide through your folds with no warning, slow and teasing.

“you’re soaked,” he murmured against your neck, voice full of awe and want, lips brushing your skin between every word, “are you like this because of me, baby?”

you nodded, shameless, “all because of you.” his hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, sliding up to cup your breasts, to rub circles over your nipples. then he leans back against the pillows, settling you on top of him as his cock rocked in between your thighs. he thrusts up with a speed that has you moaning, his cock rubbing your folds perfectly. his tip curving up to hit your clit every time with just enough friction to build that heat in your stomach.

you were still playing by the rules. still pretending. or trying to.

but the moment he adjusted your hips to grind a little deeper, to rut you down against the underside of his cock — he slipped. not against you. into you. you gasped, eyes flying wide, breath catching in your throat as he filled you in one sudden, accidental thrust.

maybe it was due to how wet you both are. or maybe it was because both of you are tired of pretending you don’t want this.

“shit—,” chenle choked, arms tightening around you like a reflex, “i didn’t mean—fuck, i didn’t mean to—”

but neither of you moved. not forward, not away. because he was inside you. warm and hard and throbbing, deeper than anything before. and your body betrayed every rule with the way it clenched around him, wet and welcoming.

“lele…” you breathe, frozen in place.

he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, swearing under his breath, “we should stop,” he whispered, “we said we wouldn’t—fuck—you feel too good baby,” his hands gripping your hips tighter like he couldn’t help himself.

and then you moved your hips…once, instinctively, sliding up and back down. just to test it. just to feel him deeper.

“fuck–no–don’t do that baby, i can’t….” he groaned. your shared moans harmonizing in the air, low and broken. but even as he said it, his hips were bucking up to meet you, his hands were on your hips, guiding you up just to slam you back down on him, burying himself inside you again.

and now you were riding him. leaning back against his chest as he filled you again and again, so thick, so hard. neither of you were pretending anymore. it was all real — the desperate way he kissed your neck, the way your head tipped back against his shoulder as he bounced you on his cock, slow and deep, your thighs already shaking with how full you were. your moans were helpless now, sharp and breathy and real. his name spilling from your lips between curses and whimpers.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he whine, voice cracking, “so warm, baby, i—shit, i knew it’d feel like this. i knew i wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“don’t stop,” you begged, clawing at his thighs behind you, gripping his arms, “please, lele, don’t stop.”

and he didn’t. he held you tight to his chest, fucking up into you in. deep, heavy thrusts that left your mind blank and your body arching. one of his hands slid to your breasts, twisting your nipples as he whispered filth into your ear.

“this is all mine,” he growled, “fuck, you take me so well. you love this, don’t you? my cock inside you. my hands on your body.” you couldn’t even speak. you just nodded, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how intense it felt, how much you wanted this, how terrifying it was to feel everything. it didn’t matter that you weren’t supposed to. that you’d agreed not to. that this was just pretend. because right now, as he pounded into you from below, forehead sweaty against your spine, mouth pressing open kisses to your shoulder, it felt like love — messy. real. dangerous.

his rhythm continued increasing, rougher, greedier. the bed creaked beneath you, the air thick with your shared moans, your slick, the sound of him thrusting into you again and again.

“c’mon baby,” he grunted, “soak my sheets,” and with no warning, one hand snakes down to your clit, rubbing furious and harsh circles and you feel it again, that overwhelming feeling and within seconds you’re cunt pushed him out, squirting all over his bedsheets.

“god, you’re so fucking hot,” he continues, rubbing you until you were crying and then shoving his cock again, chasing his own release, “i’m not gonna last,” he warned, “not when you’re like this.”

and you were overwhelmed – writhing, squirming, grinding down on him like you needed it more than oxygen. “one more,” he groaned, his hand making his way in between your legs again rubbing your clit harshly, “fuck, baby, come on, want to feel you come on my cock.”

you did, suddenly, violently, your body clenching around him so tight he swore. your juices leaking out of you. his muscles locked as you came with a strangled moan, shaking against him, “shit…fuck, i’m gonna—” he gasped, thrusting up once. twice. then he stilled with a low, guttural groan, cock twitching deep inside you as he released. his cum is hot. thick. buried deep.

you could feel it — the way he pulsed, the way he filled you with every drop, the way his arms wrapped around your waist like he was holding you together while he spilled himself inside you. he didn’t move. neither of you did. his breath stuttered against your neck. your body still trembled on top of him. you were both sweaty, flushed, ruined. the room spinning. neither of you said a word. because everything had changed. no rules left to break.

eventually, his cock softens inside you, warmth leaking down your thighs as the weight of everything you just did settles into the silence. but chenle doesn’t pull away. and you don’t make an effort to do so. instead, he wraps his arms tighter around you, placing you on his side and wrapping his arm around you. he’ll deal with the mess in the morning. right now he wants to keep you right there, tucked against him, safe in the quiet cocoon of his room and you were too fucked out to even care.

he kisses your shoulder. just once. you swallow the ache rising in your throat. he shouldn’t be this sweet. he shouldn’t be holding you like this — like you’re his. like this wasn’t a complete and utter mistake. but he is. and you let him. because the moment feels too fragile to ruin. because you’re too tired to pretend it didn’t mean something. you shift, slightly wincing a little as your sore body adjusts to the way he’s holding you.

“sorry,” he murmurs against your skin, brushing hair from your face, “did i hurt you?”

you shake your head, voice soft, “no…i just…” you trail off, unsure what you’re even trying to say. he doesn’t push, afraid you’ll pull away. he just holds you closer, his chin settling gently on your shoulder.

“don’t think too hard, okay?” he says, like he already knows what’s spiraling in your head, “let’s just sleep.”

maybe it’s the way he says it. or maybe it was still the alcohol lingering in your system. or it’s how warm his body feels against yours. but you close your eyes. you let your hand fall over his. let your fingers curl around him without thinking. let yourself pretend, just for tonight, that this means what you wish it did.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 21 - SO WEIRD ౨ৎ

you wake up first. the sun is filtering through chenle’s blinds, casting warm stripes across his bed. his room is still and quiet. your clothes are somewhere on the floor. his arm is still slung around your waist. you don’t move. you don’t dare. because if you do, this moment breaks.

you feel him shift behind you eventually. a groggy inhale, the slight tightening of his grip before it loosens again. he’s awake. you can feel it. but neither of you says anything for a while.

finally, he murmurs, “you awake?,” his arms finally let go of you.

you swallow, “yeah.” another beat of silence. then, as if on cue, like it was rehearsed, like you both felt the exact same pressure rise between your ribs, you both say:

“last night was a mistake.”

you laugh. a little too quickly, “yeah. for sure. we were drunk. stupid drunk.”

he nods, eyes still on the ceiling “it got out of hand.”

you sit up, pulling the blanket up with you, hiding behind it like you’re shielding yourself from what actually happened. what it meant.

“we should forget it,” he says, “it didn’t mean anything. just heat of the moment.”

“yeah,” your voice is soft but the pause between the words gives you away , “exactly.” you glance at him and you notice the way his eyes linger on you too long. the way his jaw clenches like he’s holding something back — it wasn’t just a drunken mistake. you both know it. you both remember every single second of it. neither of you says it. because admitting it would ruin whatever fragile thing you’re still pretending to control.

you slip out of bed first. the silence is unbearable now. you tug on one of chenle’s hoodie, “can i use your shower?”

“go ahead,” he nods. and then just as you thought you could have a moment for yourself, he asks, “mind if i join you?” you turn slowly. his tone is casual. too casual. and if he can act casual then so can you.

you nod, because it’s easier than saying no. because you’re not quite ready for this moment to be over yet, “sure, i mean we’ve already seen each other naked and all.”

he smirks but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “yeah, nothing to be shy about.”

the steam curls around the bathroom before either of you speaks, the shower running hot, fogging up the mirror, the air thick with heat and everything unsaid. you step under the spray first, letting the water hit your skin, trying to drown the memory of last night. at first, it’s easy. he jokes about how bad the punch was at the party. you tease him about the way he practically tackled mark after winning. he lathers shampoo in his hair with that boyish grin of his and you roll your eyes, stealing some of it for yourself. but under the surface, everything feels different. the rules are broken. there’s no going back. but here you are, still pretending to joke around like nothing happened.

you lean your forehead against the cool tile wall, letting the water stream down your back. behind you, you hear chenle’s voice, quiet now, “i…i remember everything about last night,” he whispers, almost afraid to say it too loud.

“yeah,” you whisper, “me too.” he doesn’t say anything after that. just reaches for your hand under the water, threading his fingers through yours for a few heartbeats. and you let him. even though it hurts. even though you’re both going to pretend later that it didn’t happen.

you turn around to face him, forcing out a laugh, trying to deflect, but your chest feels too tight, “we’re being weird, right?” you say finally breaking the silence that hugs the air.

“so weird,” he agrees. but neither of you moves. he looks at you, really looks, and his gaze dips to your lips before darting away. you both pretend not to notice. a beat passes. then, as if trying to make it easier, he says with a grin, “at least now we can lie better.”

your hide the way your smile falters. because yeah, now you didn’t have to improvise your lies. now when people ask you, there’s a story you could tell without looking like you just made it up on the spot. but for what? you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross. and you hate the awkwardness that it brought. the way you’re tiptoe-ing around each other. you don’t do that — not with chenle.

౨ৎ

chenle still walks you home because it would be strange for him not to. he still has a role to play. the streets are quieter than usual. maybe it’s the way the sun is barely rising, casting the campus in soft golds and sleepy shadows. or maybe it’s just the stillness between the two of you – the space that used to be easy, now thick with all the things you’re pretending didn’t happen. every step feels heavier than it should, like the weight of last night is still stuck to his skin. like he's still in that bed, wrapped around you. he can still feel you. smell you. taste the words he didn’t say. he walks half a step behind. always close enough to feel the brush of your arm. but not close enough to take your hand.

you’re in one of his hoodie’s again and he’s convinced that they all look better than you than they ever did on him. he wonders if it’s going to smell like you now. if he’ll ever wear it again without remembering how you look in it – legs bare, eyes still a little sleepy, trying to pretend the morning hadn’t made everything more complicated.

he watches the way the sunlight hits your face in pieces as you pass under the trees. you’re not smiling. not frowning either. just quiet. and maybe that’s the worst part – how normal this feels when it isn’t. not even close.

he wants to say something like last night wasn’t a mistake or did it mean something to you, too?

but he can’t. he’s not ready for a relationship. instead, he stayed silent. when you get to your dorm, you thank him. just a quiet thanks, like that’s all this ever was. a walk home. a night you’ll both forget. a lie. he almost says your name. almost tells you to come back with him. that he can’t stop thinking about the way you kissed him. the way you looked after. the way it didn’t feel like pretending anymore. but you’re already turning. already slipping away with his hoodie and a piece of him he’ll never ask for back.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 24 - HE KISSED ME TOO. ౨ৎ

you’re quiet at the gym. too quiet. it’s not just you. chenle’s across the court, shooting hoops like he’s trying to outrun a thought. he misses most of it. you keep your eyes on your stretches, your warm-ups, your water bottle. anywhere but him. because looking hurts. because pretending is hard today.

you haven’t talked since that morning. not a call. not a text. not even to share gossip that you both love. just that long, strange walk home. just the memory of his arm around your waist, of his mouth on your neck, of the words this was a mistake and we can lie better echoing like a curse between your ribs.

now you’re back here — the gym, where it all started. where you first agreed to fake this thing. and it feels like neither of you knows how to act anymore. not when he won’t look at you. not when your heart is falling alone.

you’re mid-lunge when quinn walks into the locker room, ponytail swinging, perfectly smug as she drops her gym bag on the bench beside you. she watches you for a second. too quiet. too observant. then she says, “so, what, you’re not talking now?”

you glance at her in the mirror, “what?”

“you and chenle,” she points out. you just stare at her.

she turns to face you now, arms crossed, “let me guess,” she continues, “you finally gave it up, and now he’s pretending you don’t exist?”

your stomach drops. because maybe that is exactly what’s happening. you say nothing. she leans in a little, voice softer now, almost sympathetic. “look, i’m not trying to stir anything, i just… figured you should know how this ends.”

you blink, “how what ends?”

quinn sighs, “now that he’s had you, he won’t want anything to do with you again. that’s what happened with me.” you freeze. your chest tightens.

“he kissed me during it, too,” she adds casually, but it lands cruelly. you don’t respond. not because you don’t want to — but because you don’t know how. that one sentence shatters everything inside you.

“he told you it was just sex, didn’t he?” she continues, “that i was obsessed, that i didn’t mean anything.” you keep quiet. because yeah, that’s exactly what he said.

quinn gives a dry laugh, like she’s been expecting your silence, “it’s fine,” she says, reaching for her jacket, “i’m over him now. but i just thought you should know. watch out for yourself. because once he gets what he wants…” she trails off. shrugs. “he’s good at pretending it never happened.”

she walks out before you can respond, leaving the air too heavy, your mouth too dry. you sit there for a while. that ache in your chest — the one you’ve been trying to ignore since the moment you agreed it was a mistake, throbs a little sharper now.

because even if he didn’t mean it… even if quinn was exaggerating or playing games — chenle never told you that part. he told you they hooked up. he told you she got obsessed. he never told you he kissed her.

you were stupid enough to think you were different. stupid enough to think that maybe the way he kissed you meant something. stupid enough to think he only kissed during sex when it mattered. but you were stupidly wrong. maybe you’re just next in line. either way, it hurts. and it shouldn’t. because this was never supposed to hurt.

you stay in the locker room longer than you need to. you don’t want him to see your face —not like this, not while it’s breaking.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 26 - OVER IT. ౨ৎ

it takes you two full days to find the nerve to talk to him. and in those two days he never once reached out for you either — quinn was right. and you were furious. you only agreed to this stupid plan to help him out and now he’s the one acting like you were just one of his fucks and not his best friend.

he’s sitting on the bleachers alone after practice, still sweaty from drills, a water bottle half-forgotten at his feet. the rest of the gym is nearly empty — the team long gone, the lights dimming with the early evening.

you walk over before you can talk yourself out of it, “hey,” you say, voice quieter than usual but with a kind of bite that makes the hairs on chenle’s arms rise.

he looks up, startled, his expression is unreadable at first, like he wasn’t sure you’d ever come back. “hey,” he says back, and scoots over to give you space. you sit beside him. close, but not touching. not like before. the silence stretches out, filled only by the sound of a bouncing ball in the far court and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights.

“i talked to quinn,” you say finally.

he doesn’t move, but you see the way his jaw tightens slightly, “yeah?”

you nod, eyes on your hands, “she said she doesn’t care about you anymore. that… she’s over it.”

a beat of silence passes. awkward and dry. “that’s good,” chenle mutters. his voice is flat. you don’t tell him the rest. not the part about the kiss. not the way it made something cold and sharp twist in your chest.

instead , you take a breath and say, “i think we should break up.”

his head jerks toward you, eyes wide.

“not right away,” you add quickly, “just…not yet. not until after the championship. if we do it now it’ll look suspicious. but afterward… we end it. for real.”

he stares at you for too long. and for a second, one single second, you let yourself believe he’s going to fight you on it. that he’s going to say no. that he’s going to tell you this isn’t just fake anymore, not really, not to him. but he doesn’t.

he just nods. slow. measured. like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, “yeah,” he says, voice even, “that makes sense.” you both sit in silence again, this time with a weight that’s impossible to ignore. he doesn’t reach for your hand. you don’t lean into his shoulder. you just sit there, two people surrounded by everything unsaid.

this is what pretending gets you — a breakup plan for a relationship that never existed.

you nod, standing up slowly, “okay. after the game.” he still doesn’t say anything. you walk away before he can see your face. and behind you, chenle closes his eyes — like maybe if he squeezes them tight enough, he can pretend this doesn’t feel like losing something real.

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 27 - LARA JEAN AND PETER ౨ৎ

the echo of the basketball against the court was sharp, biting. over and over again, it bounced, rolled, slipped out of his fingers like he was a rookie who didn’t know how to play under pressure. but it wasn’t the upcoming game that was getting to him — it was you.

“dude, what’s going on?” mark asked from across the court, brows drawn together in concern, “that’s like your fifth miss in a row.”

chenle just shook his head, grabbing the rebound too hard, the ball nearly slipping from his hands again, “i’m good,” he lied, “just off today.”

but he wasn’t just off. he was losing it. every time he blinked, he saw the curve of your mouth when you smiled at him. heard the soft sound of your laugh in his ear. felt the weight of your body leaning into his. he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you said you’d break up after the championship like it didn’t mean anything. like it hadn’t changed everything. because for him… it had.

that night broke all his rules, no kissing, no sex, no romance all down the drain. but instead of regret, all he felt now was a hollow ache at the idea of losing it. of losing you.

he missed the next shot. the ball clanged off the rim hard enough to make mark flinch, “alright,” coach jaehyun called from the bench, standing up, “chenle. water. now.”

chenle huffed and jogged off, wiping sweat from his face with his jersey, heart pounding harder than it should’ve been. coach pulled him aside, “you need to lock in,” he said lowly, seriously. “championship is three days, we’re counting on you.”

chenle nodded, but his throat felt dry. he wasn’t locked in. he wasn’t even close, “i know,” he muttered, “i’ll fix it.” but he didn’t know how to fix any of it. because the only thing on his mind was you. and how soon you wouldn’t be his anymore, not even pretend. and he didn’t know how to go back to that. he didn’t know how to watch you cheer without knowing your laugh was waiting for him after the game. he didn’t want to share you with anyone else. he didn’t want it to be fake anymore. he wanted it for real.

your kisses, your stupid teasing, the way you wore his jersey like it belonged to you — he wanted all of it to be real. he took a deep breath, letting his head fall back, staring at the gym ceiling like maybe the answers would be up there in the metal beams or the lights or the sky beyond them. you were breaking up. that was the plan. that was what you’d said. after the championship game. no more fake dating. no more pretending to be in love.

but the worst part was he couldn’t even tell you that he didn’t want it to be fake anymore. somewhere along the way, he’d fallen. or maybe he was always in love with you and he just didn’t know it. and now he was losing you before he ever had the chance to ask if you felt the same. all because he kept telling himself he wasn’t ready. that he didn’t need distractions. yet here he is. more distracted than he’s ever been at the mere thought of not having you around.

mark sat next to him some time later, eyeing him carefully, “alright, dude. spill.”

chenle shook his head, “it’s nothing.” but mark knew better. his friend looked exactly like him when his heart was breaking over his girl a few months back.

“bullshit,” mark passed him the ball, watching as chenle failed to catch it properly, “you’ve been off all week.”

there was a moment of silence. then chenle let the ball roll away and sat down on the edge of the court, burying his face in his hands, “it was fake,” he muttered, “the whole thing. me and y/n, we were just pretending…to get quinn of my back.”

“damn,” mark reacts on instinct, then he sat down beside him slowly, “and now?,” he asked.

chenle swallowed, “now i’m in love with her.”

mark blinked, “wow, you went full on lara jean and peter, huh?”

“what?,” chenle breathes, a little annoyed.

“nothing,” mark shakes his head, “so what’s the problem now?”

chenle lets out a humorless laugh, “i didn’t mean for it to happen but it did and she…she wants to break up after the game. says there’s no point in pretending anymore.”

“have you told her you’re in love with her?,” mark asks, raising a brow.

chenle didn’t answer, just stared at the hardwood floor like it might save him. mark sighed, “chenle, c’mon man, you’re seriously going to let her go without even trying?”

“she already decided,” he huffs out. and it takes everything in mark to not strangle him. his friend needed a lot of help.

“she decided because she thinks it’s still fake. because you’ve never told her otherwise,” mark bumped his shoulder lightly.

chenle looked at him like he was piecing the puzzle for the first time, “what do i even say? what if she thinks i’m lying?”

mark grinned, “then you better not say anything small. you make it count. you make it big. you make it the kind of confession that leaves no room for doubt.”

chenle swallowed hard, “and if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“then at least you’ll know. and you won’t have to live the rest of your life wondering what could’ve happened if you’d just been brave enough to tell her,” mark says, giving him an encouraging pat on the back.

and chenle knew then and there what he needed to do, “okay,” he nods, “i need your help.”

౨ৎ NOVEMBER 30 - BREAK MY RULES ౨ৎ

you haven't spoken in three days. you weren’t supposed to see each other. that was kind of the silent agreement. keep your distance. stick to the plan. wait until after the championship, and then break up clean. quiet. neat. like it never meant anything — but that’s not what happens.

instead, you find yourself in the empty gym after hours, sitting on the edge of the bleachers, your legs dangling, the overhead lights buzzing faintly above you. you hadn’t meant to run into him. but of course he’s there — of course he’s the one taking extra shots alone, long after practice is over. the gym is quiet now. it’s just the sound of rubber on wood, the squeak of his sneakers, the soft thud of the ball hitting the backboard.

you think about leaving before he notices you. you should. but he turns, sees you, and doesn’t look away. he doesn’t smile, not really. just slows down, his shoulders heavy like the weight of the whole season is pressing down on him, and maybe something else too. he dribbles the ball once more, then lets it go. it rolls off to the side, forgotten.

you don’t say anything when he walks over. he sits beside you quietly, letting the silence settle, letting the soft echo of your presence fill the space. his leg brushes yours, barely, but it sends a jolt straight through your chest.

it shouldn’t feel like this. you’d already agreed it was a mistake. already agreed it didn’t mean anything. and yet it still feels like everything.

“couldn’t sleep,” you say finally.

chenle’s eyes stay on the court, but you can tell he’s listening, “me neither.”

silence again. you breathe in slowly, “you’re ready for tomorrow?”

his laugh is soft, a little breathless, “i don’t know.” he tilts his head back, leans against the seat behind him, “my shots were off all week.”

“i noticed,” you murmur, half-teasing, but there’s no real bite to it. he glances at you, and for a second, something flickers behind his eyes, something open, vulnerable, “i think i’m too in my head,” he admits.

you nod. you don’t say me too, but it’s there. in the way you look at him. in the way your fingers twitch like you want to reach for him, but don’t. “you’ll kill it,” you say instead, “you always do.” he looks at you then…really looks. and your heart stutters at the softness in his eyes, the way his gaze lingers a little too long on your mouth. like he wants to say something. maybe kiss you again. but doesn’t.

you break the moment, “can i ask you something?”

chenle shifts, eyes flicking toward you, wary now. “sure.”

you hesitate, “why didn’t you ever tell me that you kissed quinn?”

his face twists instantly. confusion. surprise. and then, unbelievably, he lets out a breathy laugh, short and stunned, like he can’t believe what he just heard. it cuts through the tension but not in the way you expect. not relieving. not light. just disorienting. you blink. “why are you laughing?” your voice comes out sharper than you meant. your chest twists, your pulse jumping.

he turns toward you fully now, blinking like he misheard, “you think i kissed quinn?”

you don’t answer. your silence is enough. he stares at you a second longer, and something in his expression crumbles. the humor drains away. he leans forward, elbows on his knees, head down for a beat before he looks back at you, eyes searching your face.

“she kissed me,” he says flatly, “it wasn’t even a kiss. it was like…barely a second. she kissed me afterward. one of those dumb, post-nut haze things. i didn’t even know she was gonna do it. i pushed her off the second i realized,” his voice is low. careful. measured. you just look at him, unreadable, arms crossed like armor. you feel stupid now. exposed. but mostly — you feel small. stupid for caring too much. stupid for letting yourself believe her.

chenle studies you. there’s something in his eyes. something raw, almost hurt, “she didn’t tell you that part, huh?”

you swallow hard. your throat tightens, “no.” there’s a pause. heavy. he looks away for a second like he’s giving you space, then looks back, more carefully this time, like he’s trying to put together a puzzle that only just now makes sense.

then, gently he asks, “is that why you wanted to break up?”

you bite your lip hard. your whole body feels hot. ashamed. you’ve been caught caring more than you should. but it was more than quinn. it was so much more than that. it was the way everything felt too real. the way it scared you. the way he made you forget that this started as a lie. and hearing her say that she kissed him felt like confirmation. that this was never what you wanted it to be. that you were temporary. that, to him, it was still just a deal.

you feel ridiculous. jealous. attached. so in love it makes your whole body ache — because these are all emotions you’ve never felt before and you don’t know how to handle it.

“i don’t know,” you say finally, “maybe it just tipped everything over.”

chenle looks at you like he’s putting something together for the first time, “i never kissed quinn the way i kissed you,” he says softly, “i never even wanted to.”

your heart clenches. it’s too much. you break eye contact, stare at your sneakers like they can save you from this conversation. you think he’ll let it hang there. that maybe the silence will settle in again. but then, out of nowhere, he lets out a breath of laughter, quiet and half hearted.

you glance sideways, brows furrowing, “what?”

he smirks faintly, “i can’t believe you believed quinn.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it, “she was very convincing.”

he leans back, voice dry, “you really thought i’d break my rules…for her?”

you laugh now too, a soft, reluctant sound that melts into the air between you, “honestly? for a second, yeah. you’re not exactly known for your self-control.”

“hey,” he says, grinning, nudging your knee with his, “that’s fair…but…that’s only when it comes to you.”

the smile on your face falters. just slightly. because you believe him. and that makes everything so much worse. everything feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something too big. too fragile. the laughter dies down. what’s left behind is thick air. dense with unsaid things. the kind of silence that hums with everything you’re both too afraid to say out loud.

you glance over. he’s already looking at you. that look in his eyes — wide, scared, soft. like he wants to say something. like he wants you to say it first.

neither of you does.

instead, chenle clears his throat. forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “well,” he says, holding out his hand between you like a peace offering, “thanks for being my fake girlfriend.”

your chest aches. he smiles again, smaller this time, “let’s happily break up tomorrow.”

you stare at his hand. you should laugh. you should say something stupid to lighten the mood. but you can’t. because that single sentence shattered everything. you take the handshake. you force out a smile even though it burns in your throat.

that was all you needed to know — he’s sticking to the plan. he’ll let you go without a fight. you were wrong for hoping.

your hand is still in his when your heart breaks in your chest. neither of you says a word about it.

౨ৎ DECEMBER 1 - LET’S BREAK UP. ౨ৎ

today was the day. the day you put an end to the charade before anyone else got hurt. you told yourself it was for the best. so you smiled as you always did – bright and blinding. your makeup perfect, your cheer uniform pristine, your borrowed jersey tucked into your skirt, still repping chenle like it meant nothing. like it wasn’t the only thing holding your heart together.

the gym was packed. the team was currently losing. the crowd was nervous. your chest was tight. you’d barely spoken to chenle. barely looked at him.

then intermission started. you stepped forward automatically, muscle memory taking over, ready to lead your squad in the usual halftime routine. but then – the wrong music started playing.

your steps faltered, you blinked. this was not your cheer track. the opening synth of an unfamiliar but strangely familiar track poured through the gym. the kind that made the whole crowd tilt their heads in confusion. then the gym door flung open with dramatic flair and out came all seven of the dream boys, storming the court in a chaotic, barely synchronized line – in matching cheer skirts.

you froze. everyone froze. someone gasped. another person shrieked with laughter. and right at the center of the team – chenle, with glitter on his cheeks, mismatched socks, a crop top over his jersey and a neon green bow clipped into his hair.

he caught your eye instantly and grinned like a man with nothing left to lose. the music kicks up and the chaos began. they were recreating a choreography suspiciously similar to my first and last by nct dream – mark was tapping his feet like his life depended it. jaemin was twerking way too well. jeno did an unnecessary backflip that could’ve gone terribly wrong. haechan’s toe points were graceful. renjun was hitting heart poses with alarming precision. jisung looked like he was going to kill someone out of pure embarrassment.

and chenle? chenle was eating up the choreo like it was the final round of a dance competition. he was clapping, stomping, wiggling his hips, spinning with his arms out dramatically and he never took his eyes off you.

the crowd lost their minds. phones were up. people were screaming. someone in the back row might have even fainted when jaemin’s crop top rode too high up his chest.

and despite your shock and confusion – you were smiling. laughing. maybe crying just a little.

the routine hit a ridiculous crescendo with the boys scrambling into a final formation, chenle at the center, lip syncing the final line like he meant it. and then – like a miracle, like a rom-com, like a dream, each of the boys and coach jaehyun who was running at the last second to join them, raised their signs, flipping them one by one, until the words spelt: I L O V E Y O U

for one stunned heartbeat, the gym went silent. and then it exploded in screams, whistles, gasps, cheers. you stood there, frozen, mouth parted, breath stuck in your lungs. and then chenle stepped forward, ditching his pom-poms. his hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed from the effort. he was panting. but he smiled, sheepish and beaming, looking at you like there was no one else in the room. like the whole ridiculous routine was worth it—just to make you look at him again.

he picked up the mic, hands shaking slightly, “hi baby.”

the crowd lost it again but your heart stopped. his voice trembled, just once. just enough, “i know this is kind of…not normal protocol,” he said, laughter following, “but i don’t care.” he looked right at you like the rest of the world faded into static.

“i asked you to pretend to date me just to get someone off my back,” he starts. you hear the gasps echo throughout the court. could practically see their shocked faces, could envision the fire in quinn’s eyes, heads whipping toward each other in disbelief but you didn’t look away.

“that’s all it was supposed to be. just pretend, just fake,” he paused, taking a breath, “i even bribed coach jaehyun to let the cheerleaders into the morning session just so you would agree.”

coach jaehyun sputtered “what?!,” but mark pulls him back with a laugh. chenle winced, guilty, “sorry, coach,” he sent him a sheepish smile before turning his head back to you.

“and at first, that’s all it was. but then…it wasn’t fake anymore.” his voice was soft now. tender. scared and sure all at once.

“i started looking for you in every crowd. i love walking you home even when it was freezing. i love walking into the gym everyday because i knew you’d be there. i love buying every single thing that reminded me of you and seeing that sparkle in your eye. i love the way you wore my hoodies like they were yours. ”

you swallowed hard. he kept on going.

“i love seeing you in my jersey,” he said, eyes dropping to it now tucked into your skirt, “because it let’s everyone in this god damn gym know that you’re mine.”

silence. total silence. you thought your heart might break right through your ribs. you weren’t sure how you got from the sidelines to the center of the court. maybe your legs moved on their own. maybe the universe pushed you forward. either way, suddenly you were standing in front of him.

“chenle,” you whispered, barely louder than a breath.

he leaned in, gaze soft, he gets rid of the microphone, “i know we said we’d break up after this,” he added, quieter now, just for you, “but i don’t want to. not if you feel even a little bit of what i do. i’m not letting this end like that. not without telling you the truth.”

he stepped closer, “i don’t want to pretend anymore, i want to do all the romantic things, i want to hold your hand, i want to walk into the gym and greet you first thing in the morning, i want to kiss you whenever i want,” he admits, taking a breath.

“i’m in love with my best friend. i’m in love with you.”

and your world tilted. your heart was racing so hard it felt like it was going to burst. you stared at him. at the glitter on his cheek, the hope in his eyes.

“i thought i was the only one who caught feelings,” you whispered. his lips parted. you kept going.

“i was so sure it was just me. that you were just…playing the part a little too well. smiling like it didn’t matter, pretending like it didn’t mean anything when it meant everything to me.”

you blinked, tears threatening to slip, “i never thought you’d fall back.” the crowd was dead silent. chenle looked like he was about to crumble.

his voice barely made it out, “can i kiss you?”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. you close the distance between you, grabbing his face, and pulling him down into a kiss so full of everything unsaid — every denied feeling, every stolen moment, every crack that led to this.

it was slow at first. gentle. like you were both still in disbelief that it was real. like he was afraid you’d vanish if he kissed you too hard, and you were afraid this might be a dream. the crowd was screaming, roaring, rising in volume like a crashing wave behind you. but none of it mattered — all you felt was him.

he pulled back only slightly, just enough to breathe, just enough to smile, and oh, it was the softest smile you’d ever seen on him, full of wonder and nerves and overwhelming joy.

“let’s break up,” he said, breathless. you blinked, confused, until his smile widened, “let’s end this fake relationship,” he added, voice warm with laughter and something deeper.

then, even softer “be my real girlfriend?”

your heart soared. “yes,” you whispered against his lips, pulling him in for another kiss, even deeper than the last, filled with promise and warmth and everything you hadn’t dared to believe. this time, the kiss wasn’t for an audience. it wasn’t to convince a stalker. it wasn’t part of a deal. it was real. and it was yours.

౨ৎ

the rest of the game passed in a blur. your lips still tingled from that kiss, head still spinning from his confession, and your heart was barely keeping up. but the game wasn’t over. it was the championship. the final battle. the one they’d been working toward all season. the air in the gym buzzed, every scream from the crowd ricocheting off the walls like firecrackers. sweat dripped, shoes squeaked, coaches yelled, but none of it registered, not really.

all you could see was chenle. he jogged back onto the court after the halftime confession, chest heaving, cheeks flushed but his eyes found you one more time and he grinned like he’d already won. the team played like their lives depended on it. chenle was unstoppable. every shot he took landed. every move he made was sharp, strategic, brilliant. you could see it – he wasn’t just playing to win the game. he was playing like a boy in love. a boy who wants to impress you. who wants you to keep your eyes on him and him only and you do. with every point, the crowd got louder, the bleachers shook beneath stomping feet. you were hoarse from screaming, your pom-poms nearly falling apart from the way you’d been shaking them. but none of it mattered.

you were his lucky charm. and you were so damn proud.

then – final minutes. the score was neck and neck. mark passed it to chenle. chenle faked, dodged, twisted. he didn’t hesitate. he launched the ball just before the buzzer. time slowed. the gym held its breath – swish. final point. game over. victory.

the crowd erupted. it was deafening. people screamed. some cried. streamers flew. confetti rained from nowhere. the scoreboard blinked their win in big, shining numbers. the team went wild, huddling, tackling each other to the floor in a euphoric mess. but chenle didn’t stay with them. he didn’t waste a second. he ran. straight for you. his jersey was drenched in sweat, his hair sticking up in every direction, his face flushed with effort and joy and something far deeper.

“we did it!” he yelled as he reached you, arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground. you shrieked with laughter, looping your arms around his neck as he spun you in dizzying circles, adrenaline mixing with something warmer, something forever.

“you did it,” you whispered in his ear as he set you down.

“no,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “we did it. you said yes and you wore my jersey. that’s, like, at least half the reason we won.”

you giggled, eyes glossy, “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculously in love with you,” he said without hesitation, and you kissed him again quick, giddy, and full of love.

౨ৎ

the dream house was bursting at the seams. laughter spilled from every room. music pulsed through the floorboard. red solo cups were in every hand. the whole school had shown up. and why wouldn’t they? the team just made history. the championship was theirs. the season was done.

except chenle wasn’t really feeling the party. not the loud music. not the overflowing drinks. not the swaying bodies or sticky floors. the only thing he cared about is you – the way you fit so perfectly into his side, like your body had been made to lean into his. you were in your cheer shorts and his hoodie, oversized and soft and swallowing your frame, and he couldn’t stop touching you. couldn’t stop looking at you. every few seconds, his hand would slide along your lower back, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shorts like he just needed to feel skin to believe you were really his.

he made the rounds because he had to – thanked the upperclassmen, posed for victory photos, people kept stopping him, clapping him on the back, calling him MVP, handing him shots. but each time, his arm stayed wrapped around your waist. each time, his fingers sought yours. each time, he smiled like none of it really mattered as long as you were still looking at him like that.

it felt like deja vu but it was different now. it was real.

“lets go up,” he whispered in your ear, a playful smirk on his lips.

you quip a brow, teasing “the party just started.” he didn’t answer. just grinned, tugged you closer, and whispered against your ear, “i’ve had enough of sharing you with everyone else.” you barely had time to process that before he was dragging you toward the stairs, weaving through the crowd with surprising focus. cheers and music and flashing lights swirled around you, but his grip never wavered, and you followed like you were tethered to him.

chenle shut his door, leaning against the wood. his eyes were soft. hungry. full of something that looked a lot like awe. “god,” he whispered, eyes sweeping over you, flushed, in his hoodie with your legs bare and glowing in the low light, “you’re my favorite win tonight.”

you took a slow step forward, “so…what’s your post-game plan, champ?” his breath hitched at your words, eyes dragging over you slowly, your bare legs, his hoodie hanging off your frame, the slight tilt of your smile.

“come here,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. you stepped closer, breath catching when his hands found your hips and dragged you closer. he kissed you hard. no hesitation, no slow build-up, all tongue and teeth and raw emotion. his lips moved over yours with urgency, like he needed to memorize every curve of your mouth.

“you,” he murmured between kisses, “you’re all i wanted tonight.”

your hands slid up his chest, nails grazing lightly over his collarbones, “then show me.”

he didn’t need to be told again. you gasped as his hands slid beneath the hoodie, warm palms skimming over your bare waist. the pads of his fingers traced your ribs like he was learning you by touch, brushing just under your breasts before he groaned into your mouth, “you’re not wearing anything under this?” he whispered, voice rough.

you grinned against his lips, “didn’t want to waste time.” he cursed softly, then pulled the hoodie up and off you in one quick motion. his gaze dropped, drinking in the sight of your bare skin, the soft swell of your breasts, the faint marks he’d left on them the last time, the flushed heat of your chest rising with every breath.

“damn, baby,” he whined, dragging his hands up from your hips to cup your breasts. his thumbs brushed over your nipples, slow, deliberate, and you arched into the touch with a soft gasp, “you’re so perfect,” he breathed, “so fucking perfect.” his mouth replaced his hands, lips wrapping around your nipple as his other hand slid down your back, gripping the curve of your ass through your shorts. he sucked gently, tongue circling until your knees buckled, and you clung to his shoulders.

you reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it off and tossing it aside. your hands ran over his chest, his stomach, lean and tense, muscles flexing under your touch. he was warm and solid and real, and when you pushed his shirts and boxers down, you felt how hard he already was for you.

“lele…” you whispered, and he responded by kissing you again, deeper, hungrier. he walked you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the bed. you let yourself fall onto it, legs parting instinctively as he followed, crawling over you like he couldn’t bear to be more than an inch away.

for the first time, there was nothing holding either of you back. no rules. no pretending. no almosts. there was nothing fake about this anymore.

he peeled the rest of your clothes off, leaving you both naked in the soft glow of the bedroom light, heart pounding as the moment stretched into something that felt timeless. chenle’s lips followed the path of your skin, reverent and hungry all at once.

“let me feel you,” he murmured, dragging his cock slowly through your folds, teasing and maddening. you were soaked already, the tip catching at your entrance again and again, never pushing in.

“lele,” you gasped, nails sinking into his back, “stop teasing.”

he grinned, nosing at your jaw, “i just love how wet you get for me, baby.” you whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer. but then he paused, reaching over you, as he fumbled in the nightstand drawer. then you saw the crinkle of silver foil in his hand.

“you’re joking, right?” you said breathlessly, voice cutting through the quiet haze of the room, laced with a teasing bite. chenle froze halfway through rifling his nightstand drawer. he looked at you, already flushed from everything that came before, your kiss-swollen lips, your thighs still brushing his hips, the marks that was starting to bloom on your chest.

“what?” he asked, eyes wide, confused.

you tilted your head toward the foil packet between his fingers, raising a brow, “you’re not putting that on.”

his brows knit, “why not?”

“because,” you said, taking it from him and throwing it off the bed, “you didn’t last time.”

his ears turned crimson, “that was different,” he muttered, flustered and suddenly shy, even as you were both naked and tangled together.

“was it?” you teased, brushing your lips against his jaw, “who just accidentally slips in?”, you smirk.

“swear it was an accident,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck.

“not a chance,” you grinned, and then your voice dropped lower, softer, “besides…i don’t want anything between us tonight.” that made him still. his eyes searched yours, like he needed to know you meant it. and you did. every inch of you meant it.

his fingers laced with yours, slow and sure “you’re sure?”

you nodded, “i want all of you, chenle.”

a beat passed, his gaze darkening just slightly, the weight of your words settling deep in his chest, “god,” he whispered, kissing you like he couldn’t believe this was real, “you’re gonna kill me.”

you grinned against his mouth, “maybe. but at least you’ll die happy.”

he laughed, low and breathless, but there was something else there too. a hunger, a desperation that hadn’t been there before, “you say things like that,” he murmured, voice rough now, lips brushing yours, “and i start thinking about how good it would feel to really fill you up. to know you’re mine. like…really mine.” the words creep up your toes. your pussy clenching at nothing.

“you feel that?” he murmured, grinding against you still teasing your folds, “i’m so fucking hard for you, baby,” you whimpered as he rocked against you again, slower this time, dragging the pressure right over your clit. your fingers curled into his back, nails biting lightly into his skin.

“need you inside me,” you gasped, “please, lele,” you snapped whatever thread of restraint he had left. he lined himself up and pushed in slowly, your breath catching as you felt him stretch you open, raw and unfiltered. you gasped his name half moan, half prayer, as he bottomed out, and his head dropped back with a groan.

“fuck,” he groaned, eyes squeezed shut, “you feel so good. so warm. so wet,” he muttered, rocking into you slow, controlled, like he wanted to savor it. every thrust dragged a sound from you, high and helpless. he watched your face, drinking it in like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. you whimpered, tightening around him, and he swore under his breath, picking up the pace.

“i think about this all the time,” he admitted, voice ragged, “when you wear my hoodie. my jersey. i think about being inside you. claiming you. fucking you like i’m the only one who gets to.”

“you are,” you whispered, voice breaking, “you’re the only one.” you pulled him in, breath hot against his ear. he groaned, fucking into you harder now. rougher. his hips snapped forward, cock dragging against every sensitive spot, his hand slipped between your bodies and found your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your toes curl, made you cry out, made your body shudder beneath him.

“chenle— i’m close,” you warn him, your eyes rolling back.

“let go for me,” he whispered, teeth grazing your ear, “i wanna feel you cum.” his voice pushed you to the edge. you shattered, body arching, hands clutching him like he was the only real thing in the world — he held you through it, letting your clenched body milk him with every spasm, groaning loud as he gave in, hips stuttering, jaw clenched, gasping your name like a prayer as he spilled into you, raw and full and deep. he collapsed against you, both of you gasping, hearts hammering, limbs tangled. you stayed like that for a long while. just breathing. just being. just real.

“i love you,” you whisper into his side. he didn’t answer with words, just tilts your chin up and kisses you again. soft and slow.

౨ৎ BONUS SCENE: DECEMBER 12 - UNSPOKEN MOVIE NIGHT TRADITION ౨ৎ

the L-shaped couch was packed. mark had kitten tucked in between his legs. jeno had one arm lazily around bunny while she hogged the popcorn. jaemin was practically sprawled over angel while whispering dumb commentary in her ear. and on the loveseat was the newest couple, hyuck and princess, tangled up together like they’d been joined at the hip for years.

then there was you and chenle. last time, you sat side by side, awkwardly hyper-aware of every shift and brush. this time, you were sitting sideways on his lap, head nestled in the crook of his neck. his arms were wrapped securely around your waist, fingers absentmindely playing with the hem of his hoodie strings, a blanket draped over the two of you.

halfway through the grinch, his hand dipped lower. at first, it seemed casual, just resting on your thigh, fingers drumming absently like he was bored. but then his touch shifted, intentional and his hand slid closer. you stiffened slightly, heart racing. he acted unfazed, eyes still fixed on the screen. and then, slowly, deliberately his fingers crept under the waistband of your shorts and your breath caught. “chenle,” you warned, barely a whisper, glancing nervously around the darkened living room where your friends sat, fully engrossed in the movie. he didn’t answer with words, just leaned in and pressed a casual, innocent kiss to your lips. soft. sweet. utterly deceptive. like nothing sinful was happening under the blanket.

then a single finger slide inside you. your back arched the slightest bit before you could stop yourself and you clutched his hoodie tighter. the moan that threatened to escape got caught in your throat, your mouth falling open in silence.

“you’re so warm,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as you bit your lips, your hips twitching against his hand. his fingers began to move, gentle and slow and infuriatingly precise. he knew exactly what he was doing, what you liked, how to get it without rushing. you were already soaked, and he was taking his time, like he had all the hours in the world. your thighs clenched around his wrist, but it only made him smirk.

he didn’t even look at you. his gaze was still on the screen, feigning interest in the movie as he worked you with a devastating calm. every curl of his fingers drew out more heat from you, more slick, more desperation. when he hit that perfect spot again, and again, your jaw tensed and your lashes fluttered shut. you didn’t dare make a sound.

you could feel your pulse hammering everywhere. sweat beading at your lower back. your stomach tightening with every calculated thrust. you were trying so hard to stay composed, to look normal, to not give yourself away. but your body had other plans. every nerve was screaming. every inhale was shaky – he knew and he loved it. he curved his finger just right, over and over, dragging you closer to the edge. you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. still, no one noticed. laughter burst out from the group at some scene on screen, and you clung to the noise like a lifeline, using it to mask the soft sound that slipped out of your lips.

then, finally, the credits rolled. the lights flicked on. chenle slipped his hand out with the same casual grace he started with, leaving your skin flushed, your core aching, and your thighs trembling with the aftermath. you watched in shock as he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked the tip of his finger, as if sampling a secret. then he leaned over, kissed your shoulder sweetly, and whispered, “you did so well for me.”

after a few minutes of everyone in their own worlds, bunny turned, eyes zeroing on princess and haechan like she’d been waiting all night, “so…” she starts, “how long have you and donghyuck been going on?”

“yeah,” jeno grinned, wiggling his brows, “i thought you two hated each other.”

princess didn’t even blink, “we did. until we didn’t.” everyone blinked.

“that’s it?” angel gasped.

princess shrugged, then smiled, “hating him was exhausting. loving him’s easier,” which made haechan break out into a grin, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. the room erupted in squeals. and as if on cue, the girls scrambled off the couch in a flurry of giggles and bare feet, all heading to the kitchen together, angel grabbing princess’ hand. in the kitchen, bunny poured wine, kitten grabbed the cookies but the real chaos started when angel leaned in, eyes narrowing at you with a knowing smirk, “so,” she said, tilting her head, “you were definitely getting fingered under the blanket earlier.”

your mouth dropped open. your cheeks flushed. but you didn’t deny it. “i knew it!,” bunny said with a laugh, “don’t worry…we’ve all done it!,” she smiles innocently winking at you.

“that’s like an unspoken movie night tradition,” kitten added, “i swear all the boys have the same brain,” she smirks. you covered your face in mock horror while the rest of them erupted in giggles.

then you said, “i guess princess and hyuck are next then?,” you tease, earning more squeals around the room. and the squealing didn’t stop for a while – everyone laughing over whispered confessions and wild stories.

౨ৎ

the second the girls vanished into the kitchen, all giggles and whispered chaos, the boys were left in their wake, staring blankly at the netflix home page like they’d just been collectively ghosted.

jaemin let out a slow, dramatic sigh and flipped sideways onto the couch, “every. time.” he muttered.

jeno added, “i still haven’t gotten used to it.

“used to what?,” haechan asks, looking towards the kitchen door, confused.

“girl talk,” chenle and mark says at the same time, sighing.

suddenly, in the middle of their group moping they hear a – CRASH. the sharp shatter of glass echoed from the kitchen. all five boys bolted upright.

chenle was on his feet first, not even bothering to say a word. haechan whipped around, calling out his girlfriend’s name. jaemin was quick to follow with a, “is everything okay?,” jeno called out in panic, nearly tripping over a pillow, “bunny, are you hurt?,” and last but not least was mark who’s eyes landed immediately on his girlfriend as they all stormed into the kitchen, a blur of limbs and frantic footsteps. it was chaos – every one of them expecting blood and tears. but what they found was very different.

the girls were all huddled in a circle of laughter, one hand covering their mouths in shock while the other held their sides from laughing too hard. a glass of wine had spilled and shattered on the floor, “i told you to stop swinging your arms when you laugh like that!” bunny said between cackles, nudging angel.

kitten held up her hands, “no one’s bleeding. we’re fine.”

the boys froze in the doorway, “…you’re okay?” mark asked, breathless.

princess blinked at haechan, “why do you look like you ran a marathon?”

“we thought you died,” haechan says dramatically.

chenle’s eyes darted from you to the floor to your hands, “you’re not hurt, baby?”

you smiled, soft and amused, “i’m okay.” he visibly relaxed, like his bones finally settled back into place. the boys stood there for another second, dazed, still a little shaky from the adrenaline rush.

jaemin sniffed, “i was ready to jump in front of the danger.”

“you’re so dramatic,” angel muttered but she was grinning.

“okay, okay,” bunny said, hands up, “we’re all good, you guys can go back to the couch now.”

jeno walks over, “bunny, can’t we join girls talk?,” he asks, pouting, all the boys nodding simultaneously like that was the best idea someone has ever come up with.

she smiles at him sweetly, kissing his cheek and for a moment the boys seem excited until, “you have exactly three seconds to step out before we revoke your boyfriend privileges.”

“but we want to know what you were saying about us!” haechan pouted.

princess lifted a chip and smirked, “you don’t.”

chenle tried to casually lean against the counter next to you, giving you his best puppy eyes, “c’mon. just a little insider info…best friend to best friend?”

you raised a brow, “what, you think we were talking about you guys?”

kitten gasped dramatically, a sarcastic smile on her lips, “how arrogant.”

angel nodded, “as if you’d even make the top three topics tonight.”

the boys all looked genuinely offended.

“we better have made the top three,” jaemin muttered, crossing his arms.

haechan threw his hands up, “what could be more interesting than us?!”

mark, ever the peacekeeper, cleared his throat and smiled diplomatically, “look, we’re just curious. maybe we join for a few minutes. add a little masculine energy to the room—”

“OUT,” all the girls said at once, pointing to the door.

“but this is our kitchen!” jaemin protested but shuffled back into the living room anyways.

haechan looked at the kitchen again, filled with squeals and giggles and secrets, “do you think if i start crying she’ll let me in?”

mark just handed him the popcorn, “cry into this, rookie. you’ve still got a lot to learn.”

𓏲 the end.

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: loverboy links (i added so many for chenle it’s actually insane)

—

an: 5/7 is done! two more to go! that’s kind of insane guys. this was the fastest story i’ve written in this series (thank god for wfh schedules). i love these two baddd i didn’t want to say goodbye. also this is my first time writing for chenle i hope it was okay >.< (i’m so nervous for this one) i hope you liked baby! wanted to have female character who was very very in touch with her sexual side so there you go! also fun question: do you guys have a girlfriend bias? let me know! lolol

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

love tags: @bluedbliss @yesohhsehun @tynlvr @sunghoonsgfreal @2sungie @euphormiia @ptv-hades @imnotrosiee @remgeolli @vantxx95 @leehaechie @beestvng @schatjze @mango-bear @wachimingox @amazinggraxia @nesryn @strwbbit @meylovesmusic

if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know <3

#chenle x reader #chenle fluff #chenle x y/n #chenle x you #chenle angst #chenle smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream smut #zhong chenle #withloverboyseries #nct x reader #nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff

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jaeminvore · 1 month ago

Text

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

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