#or maybe even just making sure no one ages while the jumps are still active

[sleeplessdreamer14]

𝔅𝔢 𝔙𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔄𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡

fandom: my hero academia

relationship: class 1a x gn! reader (platonic)

summary: you don’t typically use your quirk as to not frighten people, but you wind up using it when Mineta is bothering your girl friends.

contains: mineta being a perv, y/n being terrifying yet beautiful, maybe a little rushed at the end sorry

Upon first getting your quirk at age four, you and your parents initially thought they were merely angel wings. By junior high however, you came to realize there was more to it than that, and after a few small incidents that included you inadvertently making a classmate nearly pass out, you opted to keep your power on the down low most of the time. But your quirk still needed to breathe, so to speak, so you let your first pair of wings out.

Once you reached high school and enrolled in UA, you were still hesitant to use your power to its full extent, and not just for the sake of not frightening anyone, but also because you were fairly certain that if you did, Bakugou would see it as a challenge and become bent on one-upping you. And you didn’t have the time for that.

Either way, it actually didn’t take too long for the truth to come out. From day one, your shortest classmate made a pretty solid impression as a little pervert, and it had you on your toes a lot, not just for yourself, but for your friends. You had gotten used to using your wings to create distance between Mineta and the girls, but you were getting real fed up with it real fast.

There were only a handful of scenarios wherein you deemed it necessary to go the whole nine yards, and when you spotted him trying to sneak up on Momo, Ochako, and Mina, you didn’t even think twice as you speed walked towards them, sliding your jacket off of your shoulders and tying it smoothly around your waist.

You put yourself between him and the girls, activating your quirk so quickly that a gust of wind blew through the room, making the girls jump in surprise a bit and causing Mineta to stumble and fall back and several other heads to turn in your direction.

There they saw you hovering a couple feet off the ground, all three sets of wings out and a soft halo of light surrounding your head. You had opened a few extra eyes, all glowing like the sun. But there wasn’t a trace of mercy in your gaze as you stared Mineta down. You almost didn’t hear the soft gasps of your other classmates as they stared at you in awe.

“Be afraid. Be. Very. Afraid.”

It took a moment for Mineta to snap out of his horrified state, before he quickly scrambled to his feet and booked it away from you, stuttering apologies as he scurried off. And with that, you lowered yourself to the ground and sighed, your halo fading and your extra eyes closing back up. Looking over your shoulder, you looked at your girl friends and offered them a tender smile, in complete contrast to the death stare you were wearing just seconds prior.

“Be not afraid.” you said sweetly before Mina gave you a big hug which you returned.

“(L/n), you’re the best!” she exclaimed joyously. “Thank you so much.” Momo said.

“No worries. I’ve been wanting to do that for quite a while now.” you said, mumbling at the last part. Ururaka went on about how she was sure that you would be an awesome hero some day, beloved by girls everywhere.

Midoriya was already flipping through his journal to add on to the entry he made about you and Jirou had a proud smile on her face, glad that someone was able to scare Mineta off like that. Iida was stunned, but honestly amazed by how gracefully you handled the situation, and Kaminari was simultaneously terrified and impressed as he made a mental note to never mess with you or your friends, even if he was one of them.

Kirishima’s look of shock turned into a beaming smile as he went over to compliment your quirk and how strong you were. Bakugou… wasn’t sure what to think. He was impressed, though he probably wouldn’t tell you that to your face, and maybe slightly intimidated by you upon realizing how much you must have been holding back during training and sparring. Aizawa on the other hand, made a mental note to try and explore this side of your quirk in future training.

[the-eeveekins]

Suletta is an Amazing Pilot

I still see this idea floating around that Suletta is NOT a good pilot. That this is even a somewhat accepted opinion is WILD to me, because the show makes it clear she is a fantastic pilot. I shouldn't even have to write this article, because one can simply see it by watching the series with their eyes open. To claim Suletta is not a good pilot is to jump through way more mental gymnastics to make that claim than to simply accept what G-Witch is literally showing you.

1) Cradle Planet

At age 6, Suletta has already been training to fly mobile suits. By age 11, she's the best pilot on Mercury. Eri states that Suletta handles her beam sabers with surgical precision and calmly pilots her mobile suit through dangerous terrain that would terrify any normal person. Prospera raised Suletta with the purpose of her piloting the Aerial in mind. She raised her to be the best.

2) Episode 3

So, I'll give reigning Holder Guel the benefit of the doubt and say he only lost the first duel because he dicked around and then got caught with his pants completely down. Surely he'll do better in round 2. Except, even though Guel knows what's coming AND he's in a better suit, Suletta would have ended this duel in about 20 seconds were it not for the Darilbalde's AI saving Guel from a head shot. That this 2nd duel lasts as long as it does is only due to Vim's interference, and even with that Guel couldn't win. Suletta doesn't even use the Gundbits for the final strike of the match, the decisive blow she scored against Guel was all her own piloting.

3) Episode 4

This is the episode most people continue to cite as evidence that Suletta is a bad pilot. But the facts are clear: Suletta was doing just fine in that test and would have passed with flying colors of not for bullies blinding her mobile suit. At that point she was piloting an unfamiliar MS, not allowed to use backup cameras, and needing to navigate using only someone else's word. Anyone would struggle. Imagine trying to drive a car through an obstacle course at full speed while blind with only an outside spotter. And that completely ignores that she was having an emotional breakdown the entire time because she was being bullied. And even then, with each successive attempt, she was improving! Would a "better" pilot have adjusted faster? Sure, maybe, but this wasn't the heat of battle; this was a high school test, and Suletta is using an unfamiliar machine. And Suletta's emotional state was compromised, leading to her struggles. Because that was what this scene was about: Suletta's emotional state, not her piloting skills.

4) Episode 6

Suletta holds up incredibly well considering she's using a cobbled-together-in-a-week thruster pack and still at a heavy disadvantage against the Pharact. Not to mention this time her pilot also has a Gundam with the benefit of the Gund Format. And while Eri's data storm resonance may have opened up the final blow for her, it was Suletta’s piloting that pushed Elan to go to Permet Score 4 despite his advantage. And even at Score 4, Suletta was pushing Elan into a corner.

5) Episode 9

This pretty much speaks for itself. Suletta holds off multiple mobile suits at once, eventually finding herself alone against 6 of the best pilots at Asticassia and none of them can take her down. She survives even through her self doubt, even through the GUND format being disabled and having to pilot normally. And then she activates Score 6 and it's all Suletta. Suletta was the one completely outmaneuvering the entire Grassley team, piloting the Aerial AND manually controlling the Gundbits the entire time. While also processing all the information the Gundbits were feeding her about the battlefield. Suletta survived that 1v6 and may have even won it if she was forced to. We'll never know because ultimately Shaddiq fell into Miorine's trap.

6) Episode 12

Gundam vs Two Gundams! Suletta has a new ride and it's arguably the strongest MS in Ad Stella. Still the best mobile suit means little without a good pilot. And Suletta takes on two Gundam pilots actively trying to kill her. Two Gundam pilots that just wiped the floor with Plant Quetta's professional security forces and also have the Gund Format. And yet Suletta fights them both off.

7) Episode 13

Okay, this isn't really fair. Suletta and the Rebuild are far and away superior to anything the lesser Benerit companies can throw at them. But it's still impressive she went through a gauntlet of what presumably the best of the rest could throw at her w/o breaking a sweat.

8) Episode 14

Sophie is ultimately killed by the Gund Format before there could be a conclusive resolution to their fight, but again, Suletta did not struggle against a trained child soldier using a Gundam trying to kill her.

9) Episode 17

Suletta does not lose this duel unless Miorine and Ericht betray her. In fact, it's not even a contest if Guel doesn't use the Darilbalde's AI. He even admits he's not a match for her without it. And to top it all off, the Aerial starts this duel still damaged from it’s battle against Sophie. Guel has some success this duel, and thanks to the AI piloting is able to put Suletta on the defensive, but despite having multiple shots at taking her antenna, he still couldn't close the deal, and once Suletta got serious, it was over. It took one of the best pilots in Asticassia piloting a top of the line new model MS using a top of the line learning and piloting AI just to get a solid shot at defeating Suletta 1-on-1 and he still couldn't beat her.

10) Episode 18

A short scene of Suletta easily passing one of her Demi Trainer tests. All while she's suffering from severe depression due to the divorce.

Calibarn

Her piloting the Calibarn as a whole is a testament to Suletta’s superb piloting skills. Suletta takes on Quiet Zero and Aerial all by herself, and she comes out of the battle with only some superficial damage. Before this battle, Ericht took on an entire SAL fleet of professional soldiers and was wiping the floor with them using her Gundnodes, before even engaging the override. The story establishes that Ericht + Quiet Zero > A fleet of trained soldiers. And Suletta takes her on all by herself and comes out on top. You can't even use the excuse that she benefited from an advantage with the Gund format and piloting a Gundam because so is Eri. And Ericht is perfectly synchronized with the data storm.

And yes, they weren't trying to kill each other, but that is actually more difficult in the heat of battle. In fact, you can see Suletta making the fight more difficult for herself by punching and kicking away the Aerial’s Gundbits instead of simply destroying them because she doesn't want to kill the coven. It's a testament to Suletta incredible skills that she's able to dodge all the incoming fire without accidentally dodging into it, all while dueling her sister without killing her.

And of course, she's doing this all while the Calibarn is trying to kill her. Even with her permet resistance, she is still under constant strain while piloting the Calibarn, you can hear it in her voice the entire time.

The only other argument I see made against Suletta’s skill as a pilot that isn't a double standard rooted in sexism is that the Gund Format elevates her from a terrible pilot to a good one. Which is pretty ridiculous because we don't see that with any other Gundam pilot in the show. Yes, they have a tech advantage being in a Gundam, but the format is not enough to turn a terrible pilot into a one-woman army. Otherwise Suletta would have been easily overwhelmed by Sophie and Norea at Plant Quetta. Would Lauda struggle against an AI-less Guel in a Dilanza, needing Guel to let Lauda score the finishing blow to win, if the Gund Format made every pilot as good as Suletta?

If your only other arguments are that Suletta isn't a good pilot because she pilots a Gundam, she's some form of enhanced human and/or she doesn't directly control the bits for most of the series, those can all be dismissed. Every Gundam MC pilots a Gundam, usually carrying with them a significant tech advantage over their opponents, does that make every Gundam pilot less skilled by virtue of piloting a Gundam? Nearly every well regarded pilot in the series is some sort of enhanced human depending on the setting. Newtypes, Coordinators, Innovators, X-Rounders, etc. Nearly every main series MC has some sort of supernatural and/or super human ability. Are you going to argue that Amuro, Char, Kamille, Judau, etc are all bad pilots being carried by Newtype powers alone? And regarding the bits, not every Gundam series has telepathically or directly controlled bits. Many are controlled by advanced onboard quantum computing systems. Suletta’s situation with Aerial is no different than many famous pilots over the years. No one argues that Lockon is a bad pilot because he's assisted by a Haro.

Every single one of the above arguments is rooted in misogynistic double standards. The things that people argue that prove Suletta must not be a good pilot are things virtually every male Gundam MC has, but are basically never used as an argument against their skills: it's just part of their skill set.

Ultimately you have to jump through more mental gymnastics to argue that Suletta is a bad pilot than simply watching the show and seeing what it's showing you: that Suletta is a tremendously skilled pilot with no peer except Ericht herself and maybe Shaddiq. Someone in Discord mentioned that Suletta as a pilot is very much the equivalent to an endgame Amuro or Kira. She was already raised to be an elite pilot before setting foot in Asticassia, and her only defeat in the entire show was not to another pilot with better skills or a better mobile suit. It was to Miorine, who attacked her heart and betrayed her at a critical moment. The show was not about her growth as a pilot because unlike a lot of young Gundam protagonists, she's already starting with elite piloting skills because she's been training in harsh environments since she was a child. Her only struggles piloting in the show are entirely due to people attacking her emotionally, something she was not equipped to handle due to her upbringing on Mercury. And that is where Suletta’s character growth lies.

I don't like comparing pilots across the different Gundam universes because there are way too many different variables to take into account. But I think the only reason the fandom in general doesn't consider Suletta among the elite pilots of the franchise is because she's a woman. Instead, I see her compared against other female pilots that fans will say are "average-to-bad" and then make the claim Suletta is worse because of some of the above arguments that they don't make for male pilots.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon; a fake cryptid and a real romantic.

“I think I’m gonna try making him a ruby and do that in a trilliant cut,” Superboy says decisively, which isn’t necessarily much progress towards “normal” friend-making but again, Clark doesn’t want to discourage either a hobby or a creative outlet for the kid. Or just literally anything that isn’t about being a superhero, even if the trilliant cut resembling the S-shield and making friends with a vigilante are only sort of “not about being a superhero”. 

Look, the kid’s six months old and was educated by ethically bankrupt scientists and absolutely exhausted grad student interns, absolutely none of whom had either normal childhoods or an interest in instilling any semblance of “normal” in their cloned Superman’s head. Clark’s not going to be picky here, he’s just gonna meet him where he’s at and go from there. 

Superboy has some unfortunate difficulties understanding the difference between celebrity attention versus genuine admiration and things like that, and also an unfortunate tendency towards causing a lot of unnecessary property damage and jumping to conclusions and temper issues, but he tries, and he clearly does think about things. There’s just a lot to figure out in the world, and he’s had to do it in speed-run mode and while being an active superhero. 

Really, Clark thinks the kid’s doing a lot better as a superhero than he would’ve done at his “age”, and he’d actually been that “age”. Superboy is frankly just about the best-case scenario that could’ve come out of a situation like Cadmus and also mercifully only seems to be minimally traumatized by the sorry excuse for a “childhood” he was provided, so . . .

“That sounds nice,” Clark says, smiling at him. “I’m sure you’ll do a good job with it.” 

“I’m gonna do a good job with it if it fucking kills me,” Superboy says, looking determined, which seems like a lot of intensity to put into making a gift for a friend, but again: six months old and educated by ethically bankrupt scientists. Clark is going to stick with the “meeting him where he’s at” approach. 

“Just do your best to start, maybe,” he says wryly, reaching over to pat the kid’s shoulder. Superboy grins at him, his expression turning pleased. 

“I will!” he says. “Wanna see some of the test ones?” 

“Sure,” Clark says, figuring Superboy will just–

Nope, no, Superboy just immediately stuck both hands into his jacket pockets and came up with two big fistfuls of a good dozen high-quality diamonds done in trilliant cuts. Very large diamonds. 

Heavens to Betsy, Clark thinks a little faintly. That is . . . that is so many diamonds for Superboy to just have in his pockets. They weren’t even zipped shut! They weren’t even buttoned! 

Superboy lays his series of diamonds all out in neat little rows on the ledge, because there are enough of them to require multiple rows, and then reaches back into his pockets for a few more, because of course there are more. Clark continues to feel vaguely faint and has absolutely no idea how to point out how much money this is. Even at lab diamond rates, this is so much money. Just–so much. 

At this point in his life Clark has seen entire planets made of diamond, mind, but he still grew up in smalltown Kansas as a farm kid, so there’s something about seeing quite this many virtually flawless ones just laid out on a Metropolis rooftop the same way he would’ve shown off his POG collection to his friends as a kid. Even the damn cuts are just shy of perfect. 

Well, at least Superboy’s enjoying his first hobby, he supposes. But also, Jesus H. Christ.

“They look good, kid,” Clark says, smiling at him encouragingly. No need to take the wind out of his sails, obviously. Though seeing them now, it does occur to him to wonder–“Where did you get the tools?” 

They must be good ones, because honestly he really wasn’t expecting results this good–or even half this good–from a six month-old teenager. Superboy could definitely ruin De Beers’s day with those.

Or their industry, again. 

. . . well, it is De Beers, so . . . 

“Oh, I don’t have any,” Superboy says, shaking his head. “I just use my TTK.” 

Clark . . . pauses, for a moment. 

Clark pauses for a long moment. 

“Tactile telekinesis can cut diamond?” he asks carefully. “This precisely?” 

“Yeah!” Superboy beams proudly at him. “Cool, right?” 

Clark looks very, very closely at the diamonds. The cuts on them are practically atom-sharp. 

Alright then, he thinks to himself even more carefully.

[rrxnjun]

potential • z. chenle

pairing. zhong chenle x fem! reader genre. rich kids au, childhood friends au, friends with benefits au. angst, fluff, suggestive. word count. 20k (20.079) warnings. alcohol consumption, swearing, mentions of sexual activity, sexual innuendos, a heavy make out session or two, use of lyrics from ariana grande and sarah close and masking them as my own words a/n. why do we call it a rich kid chenle au when he's a rich kid irl. anyways for the fact that this was one of the most spontaneous fics ive ever written it sure did take a lot of time to execute. took a lot of inspo for the lifestyle from the sky castle kdrama so if its not accurate dont @ me bc ive never been rich LMAO

playlist. in my head – ariana grande ; successful – ariana grande ; nonsense – sabrina carpenter ; supermodel – måneskin ; that's what i like – bruno mars

You saw his potential without seeing credentials. And maybe that's the issue.

August 28, 2020 – somewhere in the Bali sea, 1:27 AM

The music is loud. The weather is humid.

Wrapping up the summer before your senior year, dancing around in the bar of the cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, one last stop before your 28-day cruise around Southeast Asia is over, the loud music from the bar rings in your ears as you dance around, a glass of expensive Mendis coconut Brandy swirling in your hold. The taste of the alcohol on your tongue burns, not quite used to the burning sensation in your mouth– this is one of the first times you’re drinking, since your parents were always big on prestige and acting classy. Your parents went to sleep, though– excited to explore Benoa tomorrow, to immerse themselves in nature and explore Bali’s temples and heritage. You, on the other hand, took this as an opportunity to party– accompanied by none other than your parents’ friend’s son, who grew into the position of your childhood best friend solely because his and your family have always been close, choosing to spend vacations together; a relationship that was mostly fueled by the immediate closeness of you two during the summer breaks and ski trips to Swiss Alps every January.

And while you’re no stranger to pearls, charity events in your parents’ mansion in Hong Kong, golf courses in Miami and fashion shows in Milan, growing up in the world of designer bags and prestigious titles, you feel quite stranded in the middle of the sweaty teenagers, all of them with the same social status as you, drinking expensive alcohol and swinging your hips to the EDM music playing through the speakers. It almost feels like this is the first time you’re able to enjoy yourself without anyone’s supervision, screaming at the top of your lungs into Zhong Chenle’s face as he laughs at you on the dance floor, and truth be told, you could care less about the pictures you’re going to take for your Instagram tomorrow, showing everyone just how good you’re doing and how much fun you’re having on your lengthy cruises around the continent, because somehow, even though the bar is clothed in gold and you feel a bit like in The great Gatsby, this feels like the least pressuring part of the whole trip.

“We should go to parties more often!” you scream into Chenle’s ear, taking a sip of your Brandy as you twirl yourself around him, the straps of your sparkly spaghetti-strap tiny top falling off your shoulders in a moment of carelessness, your thoughts somewhere completely else. You may be 19 years old and insanely wealthy, but that still doesn’t mean you are experienced in the art of partying– quite the opposite, actually, having to always seem cultivated and presenting yourself in a way that would suggest that your family is high on prestige and recognition– so to finally be surrounded by people your age, dancing along to the music and jumping up as you all chant the lyrics to Barbie girl by Aqua (how ironic) feels quite ecstatic.

“Like our parents would let us,” Chenle rolls his eyes, lips almost pressed against the shell of your ear as he makes sure to get close enough for you to hear him.

Sighing at his argument– knowing he’s absolutely right, but also hating the fact that he had to ruin your mood by stating it out loud– you shake your head as you down the last bits of your drink, putting the heavy glass onto the tray of a waiter that’s passing by to gather the rest of the empty ones scattered across the shiny tables in the corner of the room. Your brain is starting to get a little fuzzy and you can’t help the giggling escaping out of your throat whenever your eyes meet Chenle’s, the flush on the boy’s cheeks hinting at the fact that he’s not any better at handling his alcohol than you, having just as much experience in heavy drinking and partying as you do. 

You’re only 19 years old and you don’t know a lot about the world. After all, you were brought up in a family that always did everything for you– you never had to move a single finger. You never even had to clean your room, because your parents had people that would come by every morning while you were in school, just so you could arrive home to a tidy place when you were done with your lectures. You went to a private school, so you were always surrounded by people with a status similar to yours. You spoke about your tutoring classes that cost more than groceries for a middle-class family a week, you talked about your trips abroad, and if you had time, you even went shopping with your classmates after school before your driver picked you up and drove you back into the suburbs; your neighborhood guarded by a gate, the asphalt behind it so much smoother than it is in the rest of the town.

You never got to experience partying like this– only gaping with an open mouth when you saw those scenes in the movies you watched on Netflix in your own private movie room. And if you’re being totally honest, you never imagined enjoying such a thing. You never had the experience, so you didn’t really yearn for it, but now that you’re here, surrounded by loud music, experiencing the weird emotional feeling that comes with being in a crowd screaming in joy at the same time first-hand on your own skin, you don’t think you’ll be able to go back to how you were before.

This is not how rich kids party. At least not when their parents are around.

“You’re gonna be hungover tomorrow morning,” Chenle mutters into your ear when your eyes light up at the sight of more alcohol, contemplating on getting another drink, just because. 

“And you’re not?” you tease him, pointing to his glossy eyes and lazy walk, his legs tangling with each other every few seconds from the haze he’s been put in just by having a few drinks. The sight is quite funny– the ever-so composed millionaire son is now a troubled mess in your eyes; one wrong step and he could ruin the image his family has spent years to build up, but it doesn’t seem like either of you care, tripping over your feet and lounging at each other in the middle of the dance floor. 

Feeling like you’re playing a dangerous game, hanging off his neck and swaying your hips to the rhythmic beat, you gape into his blown-out eyes and desperately try to get your brain straight. The more you drank and the more you spent time in Chenle’s close proximity, the less you were able to control your emotions and the weird thoughts in your brain that have been slowly eating up all your notions for quite some time now. Gaping at his plump lips and feeling his palms burning at your hips, his fingers ever-so-slightly hovering above the curve of your ass, you’re finding it hard to concentrate on the music or on the words spilling off his tongue, his voice never shutting up even in the loud bar. You always told him he talks too much, but he doesn’t seem to mind– he seems to actually take much pride in his annoying tendencies, talking your ear off on multiple occasions even when you tell him he should probably stay quiet for at least a minute, so your brain could recharge.

Truth be told, you listen to him most of the time anyway. He always talks and you always listen, rolling your eyes at the snarky parts and giggling at the jokes; so the fact that you suddenly can’t focus and just desperately want him to shut the fuck up must be the effect of all the alcohol you’ve been drinking tonight. 

And your next step might as well be the main consequence of the coconut Brandy as well– because even though you’ve been dreaming of his plump lips on yours for quite some time now, you’ve never actually dared to act up on the desire. But your intention to make him go quiet seems to be working when the train of words stammering out of his mouth is cut off, a surprised noise trailing out of his throat when you kiss him on the dance floor; and to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to mind your weird sign of protest to his endless talking– quite the opposite, really, as he lets you take the lead and taste the mix of alcohol in the Long Island cocktails he’s been drinking the whole night off his tongue, your hands mindlessly trailing up to thread themselves into his hair. 

This is not your first time kissing a boy– you once pecked Song Eunseok on the lips when the two of you sneaked out of class one day in 9th grade– but you never once kissed anyone with such passion and desire before. You’re not sure where you got all the courage from and you’re also not sure where you learned all of this– but it must be working, with how heavily Chenle’s breathing when you finally let go of his lips and he rests his forehead against yours. In no time, he’s chasing you down again, drunk not only on the alcohol now as he tilts his head to get closer, one hand resting on the side of your neck, just a few inches below your jaw, keeping you in place. 

“You should learn how to shut up,” you mumble against his lips, breathing heavy as you break away from him again and open your eyes to meet your gaze with his. The music is still loud in your ears, but you swear you hear a static noise somewhere in your brain, a tingle in your fingertips making you feel like you’re about to have an out-of-body experience. Your drunken brain is not allowing you to ponder about your actions that much, not letting you think and contemplate the fact that you just made out with your childhood best friend on one of the most expensive cruise ships, drinking alcohol you weren’t supposed to spend so much money on, and maybe that’s a good thing– because there’s nothing stopping you in having the time of your life, no overthinking making you doubt your next steps and no feeling of shame or regret making the whole experience bitter as you dance pressed against your companion, letting him press short, yet daring kisses to your lips as time passes.

“I think I’m good,” he snickers, when the music suddenly cuts out, an announcer telling you that the bar closes at 2 AM and that this song is the last for the night.

Sighing in disappointment– because who even knows when the next time you’ll have this opportunity will come– you let Chenle lead you out of the bar, his hand glued around your exposed waist. Your walk is a little loop-sided and you two almost smash into the glass door (doesn’t matter that it’s automatic and it quite literally opened in front of your figures). Soon enough, you’re met with the golden interior of the cruise walls again, the design a little vintage, yet still luxurious, reminding you of the movie Titanic. Tripping over the doorsteps, hands getting caught on the red, velvety curtains hung around, you giggle at every word that comes out of Chenle’s mouth, bodies slowly, but surely getting closer and closer to your suite bedrooms. You’re quite sure your parents could hear you talking outside in the hall, but you choose to not ponder on what they would think of you if they saw you in this state too much, instead making yourself believe that they’re long asleep and won’t be woken up by your voices resonating through the quiet space. 

“So I guess this is where we say goodnight?” you mumble, hanging off Chenle’s neck. His breath smells of the vodka-tequila mix when he hovers over you, bodies off-balance pressed against the cold wall just outside of your bedroom. Flashing you a grin, face looking close to a cheshire cat, he nudges your nose with his, a quiet hum landing to your ear, not heard by anyone.

“Or we could stay up a little longer.”

Squirming under his touch, his lips softly, yet still a little uncoordinatedly landing on yours, you waste no time in unlocking the door to your room– even though you have a bit of trouble with finding the key in your small purse, even surprised you haven’t lost the bag somewhere in the middle of the night– letting your childhood friend in to your space at the suggestion, your clothed bodies falling to the soft cushions of the water bed. 

You’re only 19 and don’t know much about the world when you messily undress yourself under your friend’s eyes, blinded by the glints in his deep chocolate orbs when he looks at you from above and attacks your neck with kisses. And you usually don’t regret much, considering yourself a responsible individual, always rethinking everything and making sure it’s the right choice, but when you look back at this day now, you don’t really know if sleeping with Zhong Chenle on a cruise around Southeast Asia was the brightest idea of yours, considering the mental turmoil it’s gonna cause you on the way.

Well, at least you can say you lost your virginity somewhere in the middle of the Bali sea, and at least that’s something to boost your ego with, am I right…? 

July 12, 2007 – Tokyo DisneySea, 2:21 PM

If anyone asked you for your favorite childhood memory, you wouldn’t have a hard time picking one. Sure, one would think you have too many pleasant memories to choose from, so realistically, you should take more time to pick and weigh the value of each one, contemplating if the trip to Rome was a happier memory than the summer you spent in Los Angeles when you were 10, but you are 100%, completely in tune with the fact that if anyone ever asked you this very question, the words falling off their tongue with interest and enthusiasm, no judgment and no hidden intentions behind their question, you’d have an answer ready with a smile on your face.

You don’t hold much emotion to your past memories. You’ve been on more vacations than you can both count and remember growing up, and so even though you do think the pictures you took in Italy came out good and your skin glistens prettily in the warm sun, even though you do think you experienced a lot of fun while going to the Target for the first time with your nanny– the woman your mum hired just because your parents were too busy with their business meetings the whole time you walked the streets of Los Angeles with the new woman you were supposed to trust with your life at the ripe age of 10– you wouldn’t say any of those memories are as close to your heart as the trip you took to Japan with the Zhong family when you were 6, the summer before attending first grade.

This was the year you and Chenle watched the Pirates of the Caribbean together for the first time, and even though it wasn’t in the initial plan, you two spent hours and hours and hours  of the flight persuading your parents to take you to Tokyo Disneyland, because you heard from his cousin Yizhuo that you could meet Jack Sparrow if you went. While your plan didn’t exactly work and the two of you didn’t get to go to the large theme park– because your parents were busy, mostly traveling because of business and so they didn’t have the time to arrange it, the amount of sulking you two did when you arrived to the rented house in the expensive part of Tokyo to the teenager that was supposed to watch you two for the time being was enough for him to take you two on a short train ride to the twin of the famous theme park– the Tokyo DisneySea. 

The 15-minute train ride you three took to the theme park was your first, and also last time you ever rode such a mean of transport. All you were used to were expensive sports cars and limousines– you never imagined that people took such transport even every single day, at times. You and Chenle were so immersed in the journey that it was hard for your babysitter to get you out of the train, your small, excited bodies almost tripping over your own little feet as the raven-haired boy dragged you through the streets of Maihama station. 

You could see the towers of the park and you could smell the salt from the sea even from a distance. The whole atmosphere felt magical, giggles often erupting out of your throat as Yuta– the boy your parents hired to watch over you for the day– bought a bubble blower from one of the stands and blew out bubbles you two chased around and tried to pop before they got to the ground. There were no expensive cars in sight, no people dressed in suits and designer shoes– well, except from the two of you, but you couldn’t quite grasp the idea of how much your attire cost at that age yet– and you felt truly, insanely happy. The adults that always watched you when your parents went to business meetings were stern and serious, never letting you have much fun, but today was different, and you find yourself wondering why your parents even let you be babysat by a reckless teenager in the first place. He was 16 at the time– 10 years older than the both of you– and when you look back at the day now, you think it was the time pressure that brought your parents into hiring him. You bet they paid him a lot of money, hell, you bet they even lended him a credit card he could use to entertain you two for the whole afternoon, and even though you found him using it a few times, you didn’t think he spent just as much as all your previous babysitters did. 

Not that you knew the value of money back then, after all. Maybe the fact that you couldn’t tell how much money everything was worth back then is what truly made the whole day so carefree and happy for you.

You were children of wealthy Chinese business owners. You always had everything they saw in your eyes– you didn’t even have to say it out loud and it was held up to you on a silver platter. This day, though, you didn’t even have to use that much money– if you truly compare it to other vacations your families have been to– and you can’t help but think it’s ironic how despite this fact, this day is still your favorite childhood memory. 

The Tokyo DisneySea was catered to a more mature audience– even serving alcohol in the premises, a thing no other Disneyland does– but even though you were just 6 and couldn’t drink and there was no Jack Sparrow waiting for you in the streets of the theme park, you and Chenle had a blast. Maybe it was a good decision on Yuta’s part to take you to the DisneySea instead; it catered to your Pirates of the Caribbean needs perfectly despite it not being the initial theme. The ships and wooden coasts and harbors were enough for your imagination to create stories about pirates in your head, the three of you attending various rides and screaming at the top of your lungs together over the course of the afternoon.

“Wanna go to the Tower of Terror?” Yuta asked you, his toothy grin on full display as he dragged you two to the scary ride when you finally got to the American Waterfront. 

The teenager was wearing a black muscle top with L’arc en ciel written on it– you found out only a few years later that it was a japanese rock band– and with his long, black hair falling to his forehead, he looked just like the person that would enjoy scary rides and horror movies. You, however– you weren’t prepared to get scared by green ghosts and eerie music. Not at 6 years old anyways, although you doubt you’d do better on this day.

If there’s one thing you need to know about Zhong Chenle, it’s the fact that he’s a lover of horror. And Korean dramas. But mostly horror– a few years later, when you were both the age Nakamoto Yuta was when he brought you to the Tokyo DisneySea, your friend came to a Halloween party dressed like the clown from IT and managed to jump-scare you every moment he physically got. There was no surprise in the small boy liking the idea of attending the scary ride, and no matter how hard you tried and protested, there was no use in you saying no. Because the two of them wanted to go, and you, quoting Yuta, ‘couldn’t just stay alone outside’, so you were pretty much forced into the darkness of the Tower of Terror, your small body pressed against Chenle and Yuta’s– you refused to sit anywhere but sandwiched between the two in the middle of the cart– shutting your eyes close when the scary music started playing and you could feel the anxiety forming in the pit of your stomach.

You trembled the whole time, panic resting in your beating heart, and somewhere along the way, you found yourself clinging to Chenle’s small hand, squishing it so hard he screamed at you in the dim lightning of the ride. You didn’t let go, though– that’s what he gets for dragging you along– fracturing his bones wasn’t in your concerns, if it made you feel more secure and safe.

The fond memory of the day ends with the moment the scary ride is over and you finally get out of the darkness– with Yuta having to carry your out of terror half-paralyzed body from the cart. To this day, you still don’t have a clear outlook on why this day is your favorite childhood memory, but you think it might be the mix of Chenle’s excited laughter as he scared you every two seconds after the ride, the apologetic hug he enveloped you in after you almost burst to tears the third time, the taste of the sausage Yuta bought you two for dinner, the taxi ride to the rented house you had to take in a rush before your parents got back from their business meeting, and the melodic voice of your best friend when he sang you the opening theme to the Pirates of the Caribbean before you two fell asleep on the same bed in your hotel room.

Either way, despite the terror, you don’t think you’ve ever had this much fun ever again. 

When you peed the bed that night, your parents decided to never hire a teenager to look after the two of you again. From that moment alone, there was less horror, but also less fun.

May 5, 2019 – tennis courts in Jinqiao, Shanghai, 4:17 PM

One would think that growing up with Zhong Chenle would put him into a position of your almost-brother. And while you did agree with the statement on most days– like when he laughed so hard that snot came out of his nose and almost fell into your lunch plate when you were 15, or when he shot you with his paintball gun so hard you had a bruise on your knee for three weeks when you were 17– you think you’re starting to slowly outgrow this phase. 

Zhong Chenle is no longer a brotherly figure to you when you two pick up tennis at the ripe age of 18. 

It wasn’t either of your ideas, of course. Tennis is not a sport a teenager just suddenly picks up one day because they’re interested– at least not when you’re incredibly wealthy and can pretty much afford any other hobby in the entire world. No, it was the idea of Chenle’s mother– because, quoting, ‘the kids barely go out these days, they might as well pick up a sport!’ – and with the copycat tendencies of your dear mum, you were dragged along into it as well. And so now, during the finals season, on top of that, you two have to go play tennis on one of the private tennis courts your families rent for three hours a day every Friday afternoon instead of studying or focusing on getting your stress out of your body doing other, much more enjoyable things.

“You know, you look a little too excited for someone who hates playing tennis,” Renjun– the neighborhood kid (your parents being business partners for quite some time now made you and the short boy become friends somewhere along the way)– states, snickering as he lays on one of the benches on the side, his own tennis racket thrown carelessly on the ground as he watches the two of you running around the court, playing.

“I only do it because I’m bored,” Chenle mutters under his nose, sending the little yellow ball over the net with much force, making you run to the other side of the court. 

“And I only do it because I need to prove to him that he’s not the best at everything he tries,” you add, sending the ball back to your friend. 

“Just say you want to impress him and go,” Yizhuo– Chenle’s cousin from his mother’s side– teases you from the bench, sitting next to Renjun. Her remark doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you send the yellow ball her way after her cousin passes it towards your side of the court again, aiming precisely for her forehead but missing, earning yourself a terrified yelp out of the girl when she scootches closer to the boy next to her.

“That’s totally not what’s going on, but sure,” you roll your eyes at her when she throws the ball back, but you don’t feel interested in continuing the game anymore. Tiredly walking closer to the two sitting at the little shaded bench, wiping the sweat off your forehead, you try hard to not think of the snarky remark that was sent your way. 

Is it really that obvious? Because sure, you’ve always found Zhong Chenle to be your brother figure over the years of growing up– but there’s something about the humid air of the tennis court and his competitiveness that have you eyeing him when he takes a sip from his water bottle or when he adjusts the hairband sitting on his damp forehead. He wears shorts that reveal his calves very nicely, and when you play 2 on 2, you find yourself focusing less and less on the game– earning yourself a frustrated yell from Ning Yizhuo herself as she plays along your side– and more and more on the Gucci tennis shoes adorning his feet as you scan the boy up and down, his figure growing taller and taller each passing day captivating you in a sense you’ve never quite experienced before.

“I can’t believe my mum dragged you all into this shit,” Chenle giggles when he sits next to Renjun on the bench, following you to the shade. There’s only 20 minutes left in the time your parents rented the court for and you figure that you can spend that time recharging your energy instead of playing the boring game. 

“Not me,” Yizhuo says, “she made my mother feel bad about not signing me up for any sports. You know, your mum’s pretty persuasive, especially when it comes to looking good in front of everyone. If it wasn’t for my mum, I wouldn’t be doing this shit,” she complains, shrugging as she adjusts her ponytail that’s always sitting neatly on the crown of her head.

“I love the fact that Renjun here is the least athletic out of all of us, but he is the only one here willingly,” you snicker, earning yourself a chant of amused laughs at the spoken truth. Now, nobody forced Huang Renjun to come play tennis with you every Friday– but the fact that he doesn’t have many friends in the neighborhood was what made him come along, too bored on his own and with nothing to put his attention to. He doesn’t like playing much, but everything’s better than sitting alone at home, am I right?

The three of you gossip about everything and nothing– the new family in the neighborhood, especially, because Renjun saw their son last Sunday and found his outfit absolutely atrocious (“You’d think people with money would at least know how to dress well, but no. That’s not the case with that Wen Junhui guy.”). The time passes by quickly, and when the timer on Chenle’s phone goes off, signaling that the three mandatory hours at the tennis court are finally over, you all stand up and walk over to the gate, shoes dragging along the sandy surface of the ground with much tiredness. At least you’re getting some cardio in…

“Is your driver coming to pick you up?” Chenle asks as you pay goodbye to your friends, both of them getting into expensive cars waiting for them at the parking lot. Turning to him, you hum in agreement, suddenly shy under his gaze. It’s not even summer yet, but the May sun is already harsh on the skin, getting redness to spread along his cheeks, only further sculpting his handsome bone structure you’ve grown so familiar with over the years. 

“What about you?” 

“Told my mum I’ll walk home instead. It’s not like it’s only a 20 minute walk anyway,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at the irony of you having to drive home despite living only a few meters away from him, in the same wealthy neighborhood. You grew up together, in the same mowed lawns, in the same green labyrinths of your families’ villas, in the same high ceilings and golden accents on the interior of your houses. After watching him from the corner of your eye, you start to wonder about what changed between the two of you that made you so weak to him now, that you’re both 18. Did he change? Was it the fact that you were now both adults? You don’t think that’s the case– because even though you were 18, there were no more responsibilities waiting for you than they were the years before. 

“My driver can take you,” you say, kicking the rocks below your feet, “well, unless you want to walk home alone instead,” you add, noting his previous sentence.

You see him take a sip out of his water bottle, shrugging at your suggestion. Chenle’s not a fan of inefficiency, no matter the fact that you can afford anything you could ever want. It’s a quality of him you find quite strange some days, but you don’t ponder on it too much. 

You’ve known each other since you were in diapers. And after replaying all the memories you have with the boy in your head, you think that your 18 year old self isn’t so stupid for falling for him. See– you’ve got to know a lot of men over the course of your life. Many tried to get with you barely before you even grew into an adult, seeing the vision of money and the social status you could give them. Some, on the other hand, never gave you back the attention you were giving them. All relationships you had in your life were blinded by the imaginary price tag you always carried around with yourself, and so everything always stayed surface-level and plain. No wonder you fell for Chenle– no matter how long it took you to get to this part of your friendship– he’s the only one that ever showed you his true self, he’s the only one that ever trusted you enough to go deeper in conversations with you and treated you like a real human being. You know him well and he knows you well; he’s like a book you always find yourself rereading, excited to find that your favorite characters always stayed the same. At the end of the day, you think you were always meant to fall for Chenle.

Standing under the blazing sun, you wait for your driver to get to the tennis courts. You wait for 10 minutes, then 15– and when you get a little too overheated, Chenle offers you his water bottle and mumbles something about being on time. When the time passes 45 minutes after your driver’s supposed arrival, your friend turns to you with a glint in his eye, a grin sitting on his annoyingly handsome face.

“Wanna walk home with me instead?”

And the truth is, you don’t find yourself disagreeing. And you also don’t find yourself hating the walk up the hills of the neighborhood– no matter how tiring it was to your already exhausted limbs– and you don’t find yourself complaining about the lack of AC or the vehicle driving your ass home to your, admittedly, too big of a house. Chenle entertains you with his talks– because he always talks too much for his own good– and when you stop paying attention to him and lose track of where you’re going, he drags you back to the sidewalk by your hand and your fingers stay interlocked when he teases you about the fact that you almost got ran over by a white Cadillac. 

“Listen, there’s this song I think you’ll like,” he hums when you’re 5 minutes away from your house, pulling out his phone out of his back pocket and opening up the Spotify app. He plays you a song by Ariana Grande, singing along to the lyrics of the chorus. His voice goes thin when he tries to mimic the singer’s voice, dragging along the english sentences of ‘it feels so good to be this young and have this fun and be successful, i’m so successful!’, irony seeping from his tone. Your hands are still intertwined as he swings them back and forth and you don’t even really care about the subtle implication of the lyrics he’s singing– because it’s Chenle, and despite being just as wealthy as you, he’s no stranger to calling you a snob. 

When you’re 18 and walking back from your weekly tennis endeavors, you can’t help but feel the fluttering in your heart when your friend twirls you around in your driveway, your white tennis skirt childishly fulfilling your unsaid dreams of becoming a ballerina, before he walks to his house standing on the opposite side of the road. 

You don’t even care that your poor driver got fired by your mother right after she realized he forgot to pick you up from the tennis court as much.

October 17, 2020 – a charity evening, Shanghai, 9:11 PM

Your whole life so far has been guided in the aura of money. When you were little, you didn’t realize it as much– your young, undeveloped brain couldn’t phantom the fact that your annual trips to Italy and summer vacations at yachts and in the Paris DisneyLand weren’t a normal occurrence to everyone. You couldn’t understand the value of money, and you think that maybe, you never truly will. Because you were born fortunate, never having to worry about a single thing, always living in wealth and with gold around your neck. 

The closest you are to understanding just how much money your family truly has is at the charity evenings you are forced to attend. Walking around, mostly bored– because truly, you didn’t have much of an idea just how much money you’re sending to the unfortunate parts of Africa and what the whole thing even has to do with you, when the money wasn’t really yours in the first place– you try to at least look through the flier your family made for the event, reading through the carefully crafted sentences, feeling at least a little sorry for everyone that doesn’t get to live the way you do.

“Isn’t it funny how this is the only way our families can present themselves in a good light?” Chenle mumbles when he reads over your shoulder, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

Turning around to look at your companion, you furrow your brows at his snarky comment. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we give to charity so people don’t hate us as much,” Chenle shrugs, taking a sip from the champagne poured in a tall glass you’re pretty sure your mother spent hours and hours picking out when renting this place, just so everything could be perfect. 

“It’s just jealousy,” you say as you walk side-by-side with the boy, the expensive fabric of his white button-down hugging his body in all the right places, leaving you light-headed when you let yourself indulge in your thoughts for too long and stare at the curves of his forearms. It’s been a few months since you slept with your childhood friend– and while you must admit that you regretted it a little when you woke up in the morning, with a hangover and sore limbs, you also didn’t regret it as much as to turn the offer down when it was next brought to you. And the next time, and the next… 

“You think?” Chenle asks, and his interest in your answer seems genuine.

“Yeah,” you nod, shrugging to yourself, “we have more money than any of them ever will, so it’s only natural for people to feel jealous and talk spiteful things about us.”

Chenle hums at your answer, licking his lips before he looks you dead in the eye, the smallest glint of irony shining from behind the dark orbs, making you shrink under his gaze. “It’s not like it’s hard work anyway,” Chenle mutters, “if it wasn’t all stolen money, at least the charity work wouldn’t feel as fake.”

You stop in your tracks at the comment, furrowing your brows. “Stolen money?”

The boy next to you snickers at your clueless eyes. It’s no wonder you never really cared about the source of your family’s wealth– you were born to it, so you never had a reason to doubt it. And truth be told, you never really complained either. You don’t think anyone in your place would, really. You just accepted it the way it is, and you never asked any questions. For all you know, your parents are hard working business owners– you bet their money is well deserved for the amount of effort they put in– so to hear that it’s stolen money, from someone who is in a similar position as you, on top of that, you can’t believe your ears.

“I mean, they’re business owners. Let’s not act like both yours and my parents don’t meddle with the taxes at least a bit, sweetheart,” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, “if I were all those people outside of it, I’d hate myself too.”

His words do little to comfort you. They do quite the opposite, really, and even though Zhong Chenle has no proof to show you of the fact that your parents might have at least a bit of dirty money on their hands, you can’t say you don’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth. You start to wonder if you’re that gullible– and who is the one lying straight to your eyes now, if it’s your friend or your parents– and you start to believe that you’d trust everything Chenle tells you, because that’s just the relationship you have with him. He could do anything and you’d follow him to the end of the world. It takes years to build that bond, and so even know, although you have the urge to scream at him for talking such things about the ones that brought you to this world– this perfect, shiny world– you find yourself holding back, the bubble around you bursting in a second, although you spent 19 years of your life living in the fake glory and bejeweled experience. Opening your mouth to ask him more about the matter– to get yourself out of the confusion you’ve been put in with just a few sentences uttered out of his always too-honest mouth, you turn to the boy when a man with a camera approaches the two of you, asking to take a picture of you.

And you comply, because what else are you supposed to do? This is how you’ve been raised. You smile for the pictures, you grin when you find yourself in the magazines, you nod when people recognise your name, you greet people with a polite nod, because you never know when someone wants to make business with your parents and you wouldn’t want to ruin good opportunities for them, would you?

With Chenle’s arm around your waist, your body instinctively leaning into his touch, you smile for yet another picture for the portfolio. Sometimes you feel like a princess– with everything it takes; both the royal responsibilities and the special treatment. More often than not, you find yourself enjoying the spotlight.

“Now they have proof that we were here,” Chenle mumbles into your ear, his lips gently brushing the smooth skin, “wanna get out of here? This party doesn’t look as enjoyable as the last one we went to,” the boy references the time you spent together at the cruise ship, with both the screaming on the dancefloor, and also the aftermath in your room, making heat puddle in your cheeks as you swat his hand away before it gets too low on your back in front of everyone in the room.

“I have to give a speech, but… maybe later?” you look at him, innocently batting your eyelashes at him, when the boy shrugs and takes a step back, downing the last drops of champagne from the expensive looking glass.

“I’ll be waiting back home,” Chenle says, “I bet our parents will stay until this all ends, so we have plenty of time for ourselves when you decide you’re tired of the gala.”

He disappears out of your sight the moment after, putting the empty glass onto a tray of one of the waiters carefully walking across the room, his back escaping out the front door. If you squint hard enough through the glass, you could see him getting into one of the sports cars he got from his parents for his 18th birthday– the vehicle driving off in the hands of his driver for the night, since he just had a glass of alcohol– and leaving you alone in the world of faux and feathers, fulfilling the responsibilities given to you by your mother. And for the first time– not only because you hate giving public speeches– you so desperately want to follow him, getting out before midnight like Cinderella, never attending another one of these evenings ever again. 

You don’t, though. You’re an obedient daughter.

And when you call him up from the entryway a few minutes after midnight, his rough hands welcoming you to his bedroom by undressing the thousand-dollar Tiffany dress you wore to the event– being the aftermath of his previous words or not, you start to think how ironic it is that your attire for the evening cost more than than the monthly rent of the people you were giving to in your speech. 

After a while, your words turn bitter.

March 23, 2020 – South Cape Owners Club, Namhae-gun, Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea, 1:17 PM

“Did you really have to choose the most boring thing to do for your birthday?” Chenle mutters under his nose when all of your parents stride forward to get another hole in one, beads of sweat appearing on your foreheads as you stand directly under the midday sun. 

“This wasn’t my idea, okay?” Renjun huffs, carrying his golf equipment with him, the silly-looking golf gloves tugged right off his hands when his parents are no longer in sight. “All I wanted was to visit my grandma, but they decided we needed to do something special for my birthday, and when I couldn’t tell them anything I’d like to do, they dragged everyone to play golf.”

“I was thinking more like… clubbing and then crashing at your grandma’s place overnight, but okay…” Yizhuo snickers, watching as all of your parents joyfully talk between themselves, their conversation rarely leaving business matters as they play golf with as much enthusiasm as one can have while focusing on this boring sport. You don’t really know who made this game and why they made it– you can imagine seventy thousand different ways you’d love to spend your afternoon doing instead, more than a half of them supposedly more mundane than the sport itself; but you still know you’d enjoy even sitting down and getting ice cream better than having to pretend you’re interested in, what Chenle called, rich-people-only sport. 

“Maybe I can sneak a bottle up into my room later, but I’m not promising anything,” Renjun shrugs, sighing to himself as he takes out his phone from his back pocket and shakes his head at the sight of the time appearing on his screen. You’ve been at the golf course since 10 AM, and with how interested in the game your parents seem to be, you’re not leaving any time soon either.

Not really engaged in the conversation– because Chenle once told you you complain too much (you truly thought he was the one doing so, but you believe pretty much everything that comes out of the man’s mouth, because he’s mostly right about things) and you think you’ve done your fair share of complaining on your way to the golf course in the first place– you look around, trying to find a thing that could occupy your attention instead. Finding anything fun to do while playing golf may just be the hardest thing to do, but when you notice your companion Chenle missing and his figure appears striding towards your small group in a golf cart, the vehicle going full speed (even the barely 40 km/h looks like it could kill when he seems to not give a single damn about running you over), and suddenly, your mind is occupied enough.

Screeching when the golf cart barely misses your figure, you jump to the side and watch Chenle laugh from the driver’s seat. His malicious instincts barely ever leave his body and the operation of a golf cart is seemingly bringing out the worst in him– thank god he barely drives anymore– and you can’t help but laugh at his little stunt when the cart comes to a sharp halt and he waves you three over with a motion of his hand.

“Hop on, motherfuckers, we have places to be!” he says, all of you following his footsteps and jumping into the small vehicle– you in the passenger seat, next to Chenle, and Renjun and Yizhuo taking the two seats on the back. Once you’re all in, the engine grunts with the speed Chenle’s intending to get to in the weak thing, the atmosphere shifts into one with much more fun and adrenaline– because you know you’re not supposed to ride the carts (not this fast anyway) and when your parents find out, you’re gonna get in a lot of trouble. No, you’re not going to get grounded– you’re not a kid anymore– but the silent treatment and nagging from them about being well-raised and respectable members of society is enough to leave you scared of their anger for the rest of your lives.

“Slow down, I’m gonna fall out!” you scream when Chenle takes a sharp turn, the golf cart almost toppling over on the green grass. 

“I got you, don’t worry,” he notes, one of his hands loosely falling to your thigh to keep you in place, your skin heating up even more from his touch now, enjoying the hold but also fearing the eyes of your friends from the backseat. Your earlier terror is quickly erased with another sharp turn the driver takes– having much more things to worry about now, surviving being one of them– and when he zooms past the group of middle-aged people standing a few meters ahead of you, you already know you’re in big trouble.

Now you’re gonna get scolded for abducting a golf cart. When it wasn’t even your idea in the first place.

Well, that’s something to worry about later.

Chenle drives with the cart all over the golf course, the vehicle providing you enough entertainment for the next few minutes until you get tired of the ride. Looking over at him on your side, gaping a little at the view of your childhood friend driving the cart with only one hand, the other one still securely glazing your thigh, you almost choke out with how attractive the strange sight is to your eyes. Forcing yourself to focus on the road– and thank god, because if you didn’t hold to the side of the cart now, you’d surely fall out despite Chenle’s reassuring words and his hold on your leg– when the man cuts through a small hill in the golf course, the vehicle jumping up and falling back down making you scream in terror mixed with just a bit of excitement.

“Fucking hell, at least warn us before!” Renjun screams from the back, followed by Yizhuo’s amused laughter. You can only imagine Renjun’s almost fallen out, and even though the mental image looks hilarious, you really don’t need him to get hurt today, because he wouldn’t shut up about it for the next 8 working days. And it’s his birthday, after all– you wouldn’t wanna ruin it by having too much fun.

And so, with a last giggle escaping the boy’s throat, Chenle brings the golf cart to a halt, the vehicle stopping far enough from your parents to not get scolded immediately for making so much ruckus at the golf cart, the four of you enjoying the silence, still recovering from the wild ride. Smiling fondly to yourself and gaping at the boy next to you again, you suddenly grow appreciative of him. If it wasn’t for his wild nature, you would still be sulking somewhere on the golf course, pretending to enjoy living your snobby life alongside your parents. You bet even Renjun himself will find this moment captured in his brain as a core birthday memory, and the more you stare at Chenle’s side profile, the more you want to hold his face in your hands and thank him.

“Ew,” you hear Yizhuo’s voice from behind you, bringing you out of your thoughts. Looking back to see what she’s referring to, you watch her gaze landing on Chenle’s hand playing with the flesh on your thigh, heat suddenly rising to your cheeks in being caught in the exact position you feared a little while ago. 

“What–” Chenle snaps his head back at his cousin, while you quickly shrug his palm off your skin, but it’s too late now– you’ve been caught in the act and now you can’t do anything to erase Ning Yizhuo’s memory.

“You know, I thought you two were cousins at first. Like, from your dad’s side, I mean,” Yizhuo sighs, shaking her head in disbelief at the two of you, her comment not doing much to ease the situation either. Chenle seems to be confused at her words, his face scrunching up as he glares at the girl.

“We’re not,” you note, clearing your throat and looking at her with a glare, mentally praying for her to drop the topic.

“Yeah, thank god,” Chenle adds, and you should’ve expected him to make the situation even worse– it’s Zhong Chenle, after all– but his next words shock you and leave you gasping, mentally killing him right here and in this moment, “that would make a lot of things weird.”

“Ew,” Yizhuo repeats, and suddenly, that perks up Renjun’s attention– the boy previously facing the other side of the golf course and not paying you three much care– as he looks around and watches you with confusion in his features.

“What are you talking about?”

“That they are–” the girl takes it upon herself to explain her findings, but she’s quickly cut off by a sound of a middle-aged woman screaming through the place, her small figure striding towards the golf cart.

“Zhong Chenle, what do you think you’re doing?!”

And with that scolding tone, the previous topic is dropped. Thank god.

June 12, 2020 – Zhong Chenle’s room, Shanghai, 11:21 PM

A hand stroking through his hair, smoothing back the bangs and revealing his forehead in the dim blue of the neon light in his room, you lay on your side next to your friend Chenle, a blanket carelessly thrown over your half-naked middles to shield you from the breeze. You hum a song under your breath as you play with his locks, the black disappearing between your fingers like sand, eyes carefully watching his tired expression. 

If you thought hard enough, you could see the little boy you first met at your parent’s conference room when you were 3 materialize in front of your eyes. His cheeks were chubby and he was short, waddling behind you almost a head less than your size, and his voice was thin as he asked you for your name. From that moment on, you knew you were supposed to stick together– and while your parents were the first relative to bring you two together, you didn’t mind always being glued to each other’s hips. 

When you look closer at him now, it’s hard to see that boy in him. Harder than you expected, if you’re being totally honest. Don’t get me wrong, you can still see in his features– even though his cheekbones are more prominent now and his jaw is more chiseled, lips plumper and his figure built more firmly than when he was a little boy– but there’s something about his demeanor that completely changed over time. He seems less enthusiastic, and while one would think that it’s just him growing into being a more laid-back and relaxed person– he’s not a kid anymore, after all– you think there’s something more to it, you just can’t quite put your finger to it. 

Seeing him close his eyes every once in a while, lids falling under the weight of his tiredness and the comfort your gentle strokes through his scalp give him, you feel your heart clench with all the care you’re currently putting into the boy, and all that you’ve been putting into him throughout your growing up. After so many years– after getting so close and intimate with him– you don’t think you’d be able to let the boy go, and just the sheer image of ever losing him or leaving him behind leaves you trembling with anxiety. 

And so, despite being afraid of ruining the calm atmosphere that comes after making love to him, you speak up with a weak voice, contrasting to what you’re logically supposed to feel after getting to know the news this morning– just because you have to know. 

“Lele?” you mumble, hearing him let out a hum, his voice sounding as if he’s half-asleep, but you know he’s listening to you. “What are your plans… after you graduate?” you ask. The day of graduation is coming faster and faster towards you, the years you’ve spent at high school finally fulfilled after all the effort you put in on your finals.

“Dunno,” he replies, eyes barely opened as his arm that’s been previously laid on the mattress in between your two bodies moves to your hip, fingers drumming over the soft skin, “why?”

“Just wondering…” you speak, voice barely louder than a whisper. The boy stays silent– his eyes once again closing on themselves as you continue to play with his hair. One would think he’s fallen asleep, not awake enough to have this conversation, and you would even believe the fact and let the conversation go, thinking you’d find another time to dwell on this topic, but then, as a surprise, his voice startles you from your deep thoughts when he curiously inquires you, the hand on your hip steadying.

“What about you?”

Taking a deep breath in and out, a smile battling to take over your lips, you lick your lips in the heartbeat that comes before your answer. Swallowing your nerves– because even though you should’ve told him the moment you got the news this morning, you’re somehow stressed out about the action of doing so– you open your mouth and finally break the rules to him. 

“I… I got to Yale,” you say, on your toes. The joy and relief you felt this morning when you saw the email appear on your phone screen is daring to creep into the way you speak to Chenle right now, but you’re keeping it in. Not letting yourself scream and shout the accomplishment from the rooftops, you look at the boy, not a change appearing on his face at hearing your announcement. “I got into their business program,” you add anxiously, waiting for him to say something– anything– to your news.

As your friend, he’s supposed to be happy for you, isn’t he? He’s supposed to hug you now and squeeze you and tell you how you’ve done a good job and that he’s proud of you and that he’s cheering you on in your dream. None of it comes, though, as he only hums and nods at your sentences, not even bothering to open his eyes to look at you when you oh so excitedly talk to him about your life goals. 

Something inside of you breaks just the tiniest bit, your mood falling as you anxiously chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Are you not gonna say anything?” you demand, halting your movements through his raven locks, averting your touch and looking at him curiously.

You watch him as he finally opens his eyes and looks at you with an empty look, licking his lips before humming again and asking you in a tone of voice that barely meets interest or excitement. “So you’re gonna be a businesswomen like your mum when you get your degree?” he asks, nodding to himself.

“Yeah,” you answer, clearing your throat. You’re a little confused at his weird stance towards the topic, but you battle out a tight-lipped smile. “I’m hoping for it.”

He hums again, the noise seemingly enough for him to consider it a valid conversation holder, a deadpan: “Good,” leaving his lips after a second, making you furrow your brows in confusion and utter disappointment. This is not the way you imagined the conversation to go– this is not how you wanted it to go at all.

Heaving out a sigh, you tug your arm to yourself, contemplating on speaking up– knowing you’re just gonna make everything worse if you do– but doing so anyway. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“I mean, what else is there to say?” 

Looking at him in disbelief, your face scrunching up in various different emotions, all mixing into one– disappointment being the dominant feel, you think, you scoff at him. This is not Zhong Chenle as you know him, and sure, he hasn’t been the most overly-excited, cheerful individual these past few months, but you still think you deserve at least a bit of praise for the achievement of getting into one of the hardest universities to get to in the world, no?

“I don’t know, you could… congratulate me, I guess…? Tell me I did a good job, I dunno… would be nice,” you mutter, snickering once more to prove your irritation with the man.

“Oh,” he says, looking genuinely surprised, taken-aback, even, “well, congrats on the legacy admission, I guess,” he says, nonchalant, as if his words aren’t a dagger to your heart each second that passes, your blood pressure rising as the reality downs on you that he’s being serious and that this is not a sick joke.

“The legacy admission?” you repeat, eyes big and shocked, your whole body moving an inch away from him on the bed without you realizing.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, not a bit caring about breaking you from the inside, the humiliation slowly creeping from the tips of your fingertips to the depths of your soul.

“So you’re saying I went through the whole admission process and put in so much effort only for you to say that I got in because of stupid legacy?” you chirp, gazing at him with sharp eyes, blood boiling from the impact of his words. “What legacy are you even talking about?”

“Don’t act like you’re not a nepo baby,” he snickers, rolling his eyes.

Gasping at his words, baffled at the unexpected reaction, you stand up on the bed and stare at him with sharp eyes. At a loss for words, you stutter a little when you speak up again and utter out the next words, hoping to hit him where it hurts. “Like you’re not?”

“Never said I’m not,” he shrugs, “don’t have a problem with admitting I am.”

“So you’re saying I only got to university because of my parents,” you get out, glossy eyes scanning his peaceful figure, “so you’re saying I’m not smart enough to get into Yale?” 

“That’s not what I said–”

“But you implied.”

“You only hear what you want to hear,” Chenle sighs, as if he was tired of your antics, which only makes you more furious at the whole interaction.

“No, Chenle–” you stutter, his name rolling off your tongue as if it was meant to stop him with hurting you even more for discrediting your efforts, yet, you can’t find any more words to say to him as you stare at this limb body laying on the soft mattress of his king sized bed, shaking your head in disbelief.

Standing up from the bed and scattering around the room for your clothes, ignoring the way putting them on in front of him makes you feel like you’ve been stripped away from all your dignity, you hurriedly come to the door of his bedroom, almost forgetting your phone that you gather on your way out from the messy desk in the right corner of the room. 

“Where are you going?” he asks monotonously, watching you move through the place.

“Home,” you bark out, running your hand through your hair as you walk back to the door, ignoring the hot tears pricking your eyes at the feeling of your whole entire world collapsing in on you when he mourns from the bed.

“Don’t be mad, it’s not like I said anything bad…”

“Goodnight,” you snap, not bothering to look back at him as you escape his house in the middle of the night, running through the street to your house much earlier than you anticipated, wiping at your cheeks with angry palms. 

This is the first time he disappointed you, and you can’t tell if that felt worse, or if it was the excitement slowly and painfully stripping off your bones, making you feel like you’re running around without your flesh, completely see-through for everyone around.

June 27, 2020 – IFC Mall, Shanghai, 4:33 PM

“Do you think this makes my ass look extra hot?” Yizhuo asks, gaze shifting from you to Chenle to Renjun, the four of you currently in one of the designer shops at the mall. Leaning on the wall, arms crossed on your chest and chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug, not a word escaping your mouth.

“I’m your cousin, I’m not looking at your ass like that,” Chenle mutters under his nose, sighing as he takes a seat on one of the expensive looking sofas situated in the changing room, resting his head against the neck rest and closing his eyes in what seems to be tiredness or annoyance– either of, or both mixed in, equal parts.

“Oh come on, I need to know!”

“It does look super hot, Yizhuo, now can you–”

“So you are staring at my butt!” Yizhuo excitedly yelps, pointing a sharp finger towards Renjun, a bright grin settling onto her lips when the accused boy stutters, cheeks reddening at her comment.

“You literally asked us to, for fuck’s sake!”

“You could’ve refused, just like Chenle did,” she shrugs, smiling to herself in victory. If anyone was listening to your conversation right now, they would surely have a lot of questions you wouldn’t be able to respond to. Hell, even you’re confused half of the time you hang out with Ning Yizhuo– what the hell is going on in her head?

“He’s your family, of course he refused,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head as he drags a hand through his hair in despair.

“Whatever you say, Renjunie,” she chirps, closing the curtain behind her and changing back into the pants she wore when she got to the store in one swift motion, leaving the boy puzzled with her next words as she walks up to the counter, “I’m only buying those because you think I look super hot in them, just so you know.”

Paying for her things and escaping the store, the rest of you tagging along, you notice the boy aimlessly trying to forget about the whole situation, and his prayers were listened to, after all, since Yizhuo seems to drop the topic after teasing him so much, turning to you instead. Walking alongside with you, leaving the two boys a few steps ahead, she nudges you with her elbow, raising up her brow in question.

“What’s up with you? You haven’t even tried anything on,” she notes, “and we both know you’ve been eyeing that new LV collection, so there must be something bothering you.”

Sighing, hating that the girl knows you so well– that, or you’re being awfully obvious– you roll your eyes in annoyance and try to shrug the topic off. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s obviously a lie. Is it something with Chenle? You two are usually all over each other, so–”

“It’s not about Chenle,” you snap, cutting the poor girl off, “so drop it.”

“Did he say something stupid? I know my cousin, come on. I can slap some sense into him, sweetheart, just let me know–”

“Please let it be,” you insist, tone of voice almost a little too sharp for your own liking, but it seemingly does its job as your friend only shrugs and takes a sip out of the coffee you all bought when getting to the mall, catching up to the men a few steps in front of you, talking about basketball.

“Well, if you need to talk to anyone about it, you know where to find me,” she says, and joins the discourse with her cousin and the boy she’s been teasing for whatever reason for the last few weeks instead, leaving you to trail behind them like a lost puppy, deep in your thoughts.

It’s been a few weeks since you last talked to Chenle. He tried reaching out to you a few times, sending you texts to ask what you’re doing that day to see if you wanna hang out. It seemed that at first, he didn’t really understand that he upset you. After you continued to ignore him even on graduation day, only greeting him and sparing him a few words, he seemed to get the memo as he let you deal with your emotions by yourself instead. You were never given an apology– and truthfully, knowing Chenle, you didn’t even expect to get one in the first place. But still, it’s been bugging you and you couldn’t get his words out of your brain, because you know you can’t do anything about them– if this is the image he has of you, the opinion he created, you don’t think you can talk it out with him in the first place.

“Everything okay back there?” Chenle asks, looking behind at you. His eyes are big and honest, and you find yourself nodding to his caring question. Sparing him a word seems like too much effort right now, and so when he offers you a tight-lipped smile, you don’t have enough energy to reciprocate it.

“Princess Yizhuo here has sore feet, so we are calling it a day. You wanted anything from the mall? I can stay behind with you and go get it,” he continues, his words jabbing into you only reminding you more of the days you spent ignoring him. Realistically, he should be mad at you for it– maybe you even wanted that to happen so he would ignore you instead, giving you the silent treatment, but this is your childhood friend Zhong Chenle we’re talking about. He talks too much in situations where he should shut up instead, and that’s exactly what’s happening in this very moment as well.

“I’m good,” you note, shrugging as you throw the empty coffee cup into one of the bins on your way, your small group now escaping the mall and getting to the parking lot.

Walking towards Chenle’s Zenvo TS1 parked in the corner of the parking lot, you hear the chatter of the group resonating in your ears, not really engaging in the conversation yourself, but choosing to listen to feel included anyway. It’s not their fault that you’re not in the mood, and frankly, you’re glad they even invited you to the outing in the first place. Everything’s better than being left out in your books, even if it means forcing yourself into social interaction. 

“My driver should be here any minute,” Yizhuo smiles, waving at Renjun currently getting into his Porsche Cayenne that he got after you all arrived from his birthday trip to Korea. Watching the boy drive off– while listening to Chenle bitching about his driving (he does have a point though, the poor boy almost crashed into a pole on his way out) – you feel a nudge to your elbow, making you turn to your friend.

“Wanna get back with me, neighbor?” he asks, eyebrows raised in question. 

In any other circumstance, you wouldn’t miss a heartbeat before answering. But now, you ponder on the question for a bit– you got to the mall with Yizhuo, having hanged out with her at her place before– but now that she’s getting a drive home, there was no use in you tagging along with her, since you live quite far from her house. Getting a drive home from Chenle is the most logical solution, after all, and that’s why you find yourself nodding.

Jumping to the passenger’s seat, waving at Yizhuo still waiting for her driver to get there– it should take only about 5 more minutes, with the speed her driver can get to when called– you silently gaze out of the window on your way back, not sparing the boy next to you a glance. He seems to not mind, carefully taking turns and waiting at the stop signs and red lights on his way to your neighborhood, humming along under his breath to the songs on the radio instead to fill the silence. You spend the ride chewing on your cheek, nerves eating you up from inside just at the sheer fact of being in his close proximity again, yet still being so painfully hurt at the feelings he expressed the last time you hung out one-on-one.

His car smoothly gets to the parts of the town that feel more rich– houses growing bigger in size, the gates taller in the sky and the lawns mowed more carefully, with more fancy bushes in the yards and pure-blood dogs running around in front of the gates. After a few minutes, your neighborhood appears in front of your eyes, his car driving past your house and into the Zhong property instead, making you furrow your brows in confusion and annoyance.

“You could’ve just stopped in front of my house so I could get out, you know,” you hum, sighing when he turns the engine off. 

“I was thinking we could hang out over at ours for a sec,” he shrugs, turning his face to you with a hopeful glint in his eye, which you dismiss with an annoyed huff and a roll of your eyes, reaching towards the door handle to get out and walk over to your house instead. 

“Come on, Y/N,” he calls for you, “are you still mad?”

“No,” you snicker, shrugging as you move towards the front gates, his figure quickly catching up to you as he grabs your wrist, halting you in your movements.

“I’m sorry. Let me make it out to you?” he mumbles, looking at you with eyes big and deep like honey, and suddenly, you’re a putty under his touch– just like always, you cave in– as you sigh, following him inside. You don’t miss the victorious pep in his step as he leads you inside, his hand still in contact with your arm, only letting go when you get to his room and he leads you to sit on his bed.

“Wanna play something?” he asks, thrusting a PS5 controller into your hands, not really leaving you much room for disapproval. Grunting and rolling your eyes at him, you watch as he opens up It takes two, your characters running around the split screen trying to figure out the way around.

The silence between the two of you is cruciating, suffocating, even, as neither of you have enough courage to open up the topic again. Tugging at your bottom lip, biting off the dry skin up to the point it bleeds, you sigh and turn to the boy again, putting the controller down. “Is this your way of making it up to me?” you ask.

Cocking his head to you, he shrugs. “I mean, I had a different idea, but that’s up for a discussion…” he mutters, the suggestion of his words making you roll your eyes at him, in disbelief of the fact that he still has the audacity to tease when he knows you’re clearly upset with him.

“Okay, I’m… really sorry, okay?” he says when he registers your mood, sighing to himself and running a hand through his hair. “I kinda fucked up, and I realise that. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re stupid, or anything– come on, I always cheated off you on exams, after all– so, I just- it came off wrong, is what I’m tryna say,” he concludes, looking at you hopefully, his face seemingly in tune with the words coming out of his mouth.

Humming, you shrug, not really knowing what to say. The apology settles a little in you, noting that at least he acknowledged that he fucked up, and so you pick up the controller again and avert your gaze from him. Seeing as his character refuses to move, you look at him from the corner of your eye, raising your brows in question.

“So you forgive me?” he asks, licking his lips in nerves– the action making your eyes travel down to the plump rosiness, involuntarily following his action. His glistening mouth has your gaze wandering around his body, eyes focusing on things you’ve been purposefully ignoring the whole day– the way his forearms show off in his short-sleeved shirt, the way his hair is parted in a way that shows his forehead in the most strangely attractive ways, and also the ever-so casual demeanor of the male. Chuckling to yourself, you shrug, taunting him.

“I dunno,” you mumble, “how can you make it up to me?”

And again, Chenle gets the hint– he’s not stupid, after all. 

Slowly lounging himself towards you, making you drop the controller to his sheets, you close your eyes in expectancy of his touch, already so used to the rhythm of his lips against yours. His hand holds your jaw in place, firm kisses pressed to your yearning mouth, you try to remember the way his touch feels– just in case you have to give it up soon again– a selfish action of your body as you thread your fingers through his hair. 

Lips ghosting over yours, he snickers against them as he speaks. “You taste of blood,” he notes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, taking matters into your own hands as you lock yourself to him again, pressing shaky, hurried kisses to his lips. 

He finds a better place to attach them to, though, as he gently pushes you towards his mattress into a lying position, traveling towards your jaw and your neck. His touch never stays long enough to leave a mark– at least not in places visible for everyone to see, saving you a lot of explaining to your parents and your friends– but the kisses still leave you breathless and yearning for more, hands traveling down his back and humming in pleasure.

“Missed this,” he speaks against your skin, breathless, “so much.”

“Missed my body or me?” you ask, a hint of bitterness on your tongue.

“A bit of both,” he smirks, gently sucking on the skin of your collarbone, leaving you to squirm under the feathery touch. Hands traveling up under your shirt, his fingers trailing across your belly and the curve of your hip, you’re left shivering under the contrast of the heated atmosphere and his stone-cold hands, giggling when he presses an unusually sweet kiss to your cheek in between the more risky ones.

“And which one did you miss more?” you tease, locking eyes with him as he hovers over your body, plopped up by an arm on either side of your head.

His eyes glimmer as he stares you down, cocking his head to the side. “I miss when you didn’t talk,” he says, leaning down again and taking your breath away with a kiss, a displeased grunt meeting his lips as you disapprove of his snarky comment.

In the sheer second where you two break away for air, his hands undress your top, leaving you under him just in your underwear, a position you two have found yourselves in a number of times before. Still, it leaves you shy away under his hungry eyes, only relaxing again when his raven locks tickle the underside of your jaw, lips attaching to every inch of your now exposed body, not afraid of bruising the skin you always keep covered, out of everyone’s eyes. Sometimes, you yearn for him to plant a lovebite to your jaw, to the juncture of your shoulder and your neck, wanting to show them off to everyone and claim the boy as yours– you know you don’t have that power, though, when Zhong Chenle will never be yours and the bruises of desire are always hidden away from everyone, like a dirty little secret; much like what you two have going on in the first place anyway.

“You know,” he mutters against your skin, in between the kisses that have now grown lazier, “I was starting to get a little crazy when you ignored me. That was a first,” he says.

Snickering, hands once again finding their place in his locks, you shrug. “Was the first time you deserved it.”

“Does my opinion really matter to you that much?” he asks, chuckling as he presses another kiss to your skin, to a place a few inches below your collarbone.

“We’ve been friends forever,” you say, “‘course it does.”

“Well, then you should’ve known that as your friend,” he huffs, lips pressed against your skin, “‘m not looking down on you.”

Humming, you let him work his magic as his lazy kisses inch closer to the fabric of your bra, his other hand playing with the fabric of it, twirling the little bow in between your breasts in his fingers as he leans on one of his plopped-up hands, looking at you from the side. 

“Guess I was just more curious about what you wanted to do after school, y’know,” you say, the conversation flowing despite his hands all over you, “before you called me a nepo baby, of course.”

He chuckles at your remark, rolling his eyes at you as his finger trails up your side, your skin growing goosebumps under his touch. “Dunno yet. Why do you care?”

“Wanted to see how far we’re gonna be,” you say, the moment suddenly growing more intimate. The relationship you two have was never inclusive– you two had sex sometimes, sure, but you never once told each other this was more than that. You two were just mere fuck buddies, childhood friends that found sexual attraction in each other somewhere along the way, and while that was enough for you for a while, you found yourself growing anxious of the fact that he was never going to be fully yours. And with the growing anxiety– the smallest remainder of your worries that overtake you in the middle of the night sometimes– your throat closes up on itself when you choke out the next words. “Wanted to see how much time we have left together.”

His hand settles on your hip, his eyes bearing into yours with a newly found heaviness in them. Furrowing his brows, he licks his lips in nerves before speaking up. “Well, I’ll always be your neighbor, so you can find me when you come back. Unless we move, y’know…” he jokes, an airy laugh coming out his lungs that doesn’t meet the expected intention of easing the situation.

You chuckle– but there’s not a hint of lightheartedness in the gesture, quite the opposite, really– as you avert your gaze from him, your head lollying to the side when you try to hide your slowly, but surely growing red eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

The hand on your hip squeezes the skin under it, his figure now fully hovering over you again, eyes desperately wanting to meet yours. A finger gently pressed to your chin makes you turn your head back forward, his worried gaze bearing into you, and for a moment, you two only stare into each other’s eyes, frozen in time. 

And again, Zhong Chenle isn’t stupid. 

But for a second, he acts like he is. 

“What are you talking about?” he chuckles. “You’re scaring me.”

And when you don’t give him an answer, but instead chew on the inside of your cheek– another place to bleed after you bite down too hard from the nerves crushing you from the inside– he seems to finally get the hint, an airy laugh full of disbelief meeting your ears. Having figured it out, still, he speaks it into existence– as if he needed a confirmation; 8 words tormentingly escaping from between his swollen lips.

“You don’t have feelings for me, do you?”

Sniffling, you shut your eyes close at the question, your silence a clear answer to your childhood friend as he peels himself off you, the feeling of cold air on your exposed skin like a painful slap to reality. You stay like that for some time, mentally counting seconds, each hammer of your heart in your chest like a threat to your existence. Finally, the silence is broken by a determined, yet a little weak sentence coming out of Chenle’s mouth.

“I think you have to leave.” 

Numb, you follow the orders.

July 25, 2020 – Ning Yizhuo’s room, Shanghai, 6:11 PM

“So I was right all along?” Yizhuo snickers, eating from the bowl of almonds she has settled in the free space between her lap and her crossed legs, staring at you with the hydrating sheet mask on her face. You heave out a sigh at her comment, rolling your eyes as you fall back into her soft mattress, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s all you got from this conversation?” 

“Almost,” she mumbles, but nudges you with her foot right after, “I’m joking. I was listening, I’m just… shocked that I was actually right and that you were fucking my cousin all along.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not happening anymore, so you don’t have to be disturbed,” you grunt, wondering why you actually told the girl in the first place, regretting the decision perhaps the most right now. Yes, she did bug you for the last few weeks about the reasoning behind your attitude, and the fact that you refused all the invitations to hang out with your friends in fear of seeing Chenle were starting to get a bit suspicious, so you figured you can’t hide it anymore and that Yizhuo was bound to find out either way sooner or later. And still, you think you needed a bit of girl advice too.

“‘m not disturbed,” she mumbles, voice suddenly considerate, “I just- the whole situation is all kinds of weird and fucked up right now.”

“Tell me about it,” you chuckle, the bitter taste on your tongue never leaving despite trying to drown your sorrow down in sweets. “I fucked it up, Yizhuo.”

“Now, that’s just not true,” she sighs, putting the bowl of almonds to her coffee table and laying next to you, reaching for your hand and swinging it around in failed acts of encouragement and affection. “It’s not your fault he freaked out and made it weird.”

“I made it weird!” you mourn, breaking away from her grasp and dragging your hands through your hair in frustration, the feelings bundling in your stomach making you feel like acid is just bound to shoot out of the crevices of your insides, throwing up from the stress and despair. “I’m moving across the world the next month and I won’t see any of you for a long time, since Jun is moving to Korea and you’re gonna work in your parent’s company as well as going to uni here, and instead of spending the last moments of summer break together, I fucked it up and made everything weird and awkward just because I had to fall in love with my childhood best friend. While we’d been fucking. Isn’t that fucking great?” you huff, closing your eyes shut with the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks at your own words falling from between your lips.

“We are spending time together right now, though,” Yizhuo tries to cheer you up, her pout heard in her tone.

“There are millions of different ways you’d love to spend your time with me instead of moping because of your cousin,” you note, sighing, “and I don’t even fucking know what he’s gonna do after summer break, and now, I won’t get to know.”

Yizhuo grows quiet next to you, suggesting the thickening atmosphere. Turning on your side to see your friend with her eyes glued to your figure, you chew on the inside of your cheek. She sighs, preparing herself for the mental tangent she’s gonna bring you on, and reaches over to smooth down your messy hair. 

“You know, Chenle never really liked… this life,” she says, shrugging, “he hates shopping, he hates hearing about investing, he hated traveling so much when you and your family didn’t tag along… At every family reunion, he just hid away in his room and never got out, because he found the whole situation snobby and fake and all those adjectives I’ve never really thought about calling my own relatives. He… he…” she licks her lips, trying to come up with the right words to say, “he sees the world around us with different eyes, and I don’t think he’s happy with it. So don’t- don’t be mad at him for not really… going anywhere with it, okay?” 

Furrowing your brows at her, you shake your head in confusion. This is perhaps the first time you really realized Chenle’s view on things– it’s not like you haven’t heard his annoyed rants about all the prestige and over-the-top lifestyle you all have, but that’s all you thought it was. Annoyance– because at the end of the day, your life is comfortable. You wouldn’t want it any other way. If money moves the world around, you were the one walking through every hallway, all opportunities opened up in front of your eyes; and you don’t think you’d enjoy your life more if you had a bit less money. Chenle, on the other hand, seems to be quite the opposite. His joy is not determined by money, and for the first time in your life, it seems like you’re getting what he’s been talking about your whole life, the words you heard but never truly listened to. It was right in front of you the whole time, but you never saw it, and now that your eyes have been opened, you find it hard to deal with the revelation.

“But what is he going to do?” you gurgle out, confused. 

“I don’t think he knows either,” Yizhuo shrugs, “he’s… figuring out things, I suppose.”

Chuckling, you shut your eyes in despair, thinking for a bit, but still failing to grasp the situation. “I don’t get it. He- he could have everything, but he’s just… throwing everything away? He could move across the world, he could start his own company, he could buy a house or work or study, but he just won’t,” you ramble, “I don’t get it.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Yizhuo shrugs, “but he sees it a different way.”

Laying flat on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling, your friend clears her throat and awkwardly shuffles around her sheets. “And at the end of the day, even though you’ve been friends for forever, I think you’re just in love with the version of him that you’ve created in your head. The version that you’re trying, but cannot fix,” she notes, pausing for a moment before proceeding,  “the only person you can fix is yourself.”

And maybe, Yizhuo’s right. Maybe you fell in love with the Chenle in his sports car, Chenle in the golf cart with his designer clothes on, Chenle on the cruise ship sipping on expensive alcohol. Maybe you fell in love with the version that has the whole world in the palm of his hand, the version of him that goes to Yale with you and rents out a luxurious apartment in the middle of the city, kissing you behind the tall windows, watching over the busy streets– the version in your dreams, the version you wanted to achieve.

But what about the version of him that walked you to your house after tennis class? What about the version of him that cuddled you in his sheets, the version of him that fell asleep soundly when you played with his hair, cradled your fingers through his scalp? What about the version of him that scared you in the dark, because he knew you get creeped out too easily, the version of him that ate cheap sausage with you in Japan, the version of him that studied with you and brought you to your bed when you fell asleep at the table? What about the version of him that cried to Disney movies with you, the version of him that danced with you to the tunes of One Direction in your room when you were sixteen, the version of him that threw rocks on your window in the moonlight the night you turned seventeen, wanting to be the first one to wish you happy birthday before slipping inside of your room in the middle of the night, only to fall asleep seconds later, huddling your sheets?

Did you make that up? Was that not him in the first place?

And maybe, there is a discrepancy between the dream you’ve made up in your head with him, the idea of you two staying together, trying to fix the view he has on the world you two live in, but at the end of the day, none of it was a lie. 

And maybe, Yizhuo’s right; you should change the way you view things to match Chenle’s better, because at the end of the day, maybe you’re the one too blinded by the gold and silver around your neck to see the real issue here.

August 2, 2020 – Lehai Villas, Baicheng, China, 10:15 PM

When you finally see Zhong Chenle after the night he kicked you out of his bedroom, both of you are a mess. 

You’re a mess in the more subtle sense. Your dress is neat, the jewelry on your neck was carefully picked out days before, the heels enveloping your feet are one of the most comfortable ones for you to walk in, since you prepared yourself for being on your feet the whole evening. Your makeup is fixed on your face, earrings dangling off your ears and your purse matches the outfit perfectly; your hair in a fancy updo that you even drove to a hairdresser for, all so that you could look flawless for another one of your parent’s gatherings. Their business partner’s son is turning 21, and while it doesn’t look like that big of a deal, they are celebrating the fact that Mark Lee is now one of the shareholders of their company– and in your world, this is the most moving moment of the child’s life.

You’re a mess in the more subtle sense– you keep looking around, restless, not really paying attention to anything anyone is saying. Aimlessly humming and picking at the skin of your cuticles, you try hard to both catch a glance of your friend, and to also avoid him at all costs. The reality that Zhong Chenle is a mess too hits you only when you finally see him– his tie loose on his neck, a grunt escaping his throat that you can hear from all the way to where you are, his walking a little wobbly and his hair messy as he runs his hand through the sprayed-down locks, his composure disheveled and so obviously out of the place.

And you want to stay away, you really do– to let him deal with his own things by himself, to pretend you weren’t cautiously looking for him all evening– but when he picks up another glass of alcohol from one of the tables and downs it in one go, cheeks getting rosier by the minute, you wonder how far you can let him go until he gets into trouble with his parents; and suddenly, you’re on your feet, just like you expected, dragging your figure closer to the one you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Don’t you think you’ve drunk enough?” you mumble when you appear behind him, his shoulders slouching at the tone of your voice. When he looks around and catches your eyes, he snickers to himself, shrugging, before he makes a face full of disgust at your remark.

“We’re celebrating, aren’t we?” he says, “Mark Lee’s a big man now, taking all the responsibility for a company that’s so great, and he loves the job so much,” he continues, over-exaggerating every word, “and we’re here to celebrate his birthday! Have you… seen the motherfucker anywhere, by the way? Would wanna congratulate him on… the thing…” he trails off, dramatically scratching his head as he speaks the last words.

“Chenle–”

“Right! We are celebrating a guy we don’t even know, or seen the whole evening, but that’s so great, because at least we have all this alcohol–”

“Okay, you’re getting out of here,” you snap, shaking your head at his antics and digging your nails into his forearm, dragging the boy out of the crowded place before he throws a tantrum. With how his voice was getting louder and louder, a few figures turned to watch your exchange, and you can’t imagine the turmoil this will take on him once his parents find out– it’s better to get him out of there before he messes up even more badly.

His feet stumbling on the stairs outside, he mutters something under his breath as you drag his half-limp, half-stubborn body through the enormous land. The gardens are full of fairy lights and adults talking to each other in hushed whispers, laughter erupting out of their put-together figures every now and then, and you take some time before you finally manage to find a silent corner in one of the carefully mowed gardens, Chenle’s complains silencing after a while, admitting his fate.

Carelessly throwing his body towards one of the benches, the lighting dim in the corner, you watch as he takes a seat and looks at you with defeated eyes, the emptiness behind his gaze breaking you on so many levels you didn’t even think you could master; Zhong Chenle is a mess– has been a mess for a while now, and you didn’t notice– you didn’t do anything about it until now.

“What happened to you?!” you yelp out, voice betraying you somewhere towards the end of the sentence, sounding more desperate than you intended. Eyes scanning over his slouching body, you notice him playing with his fingers in his lap, an action of calming himself down that he’s picked up after you slapped his hands every time he tried to bite on his nails growing up, and you take a few steps around the place, running your fingers through your carefully styled hair. 

“Don’t scold me like my mother,” Chenle grunts, rolling his eyes at your composure.

“No, Chenle, because I don’t get it,” you shake your head, looking him dead in the sparkless eyes, “I do not get it.”

When he offers you no explanation, rather just gazing your whole body up and down, eyes half-lidded, you presume he’s a bit out of it– the alcohol truly hitting his system now, making you result in a little tangent of yourself, because you presume everything’s better than his parent’s scolding, and maybe he just needs someone to wake him back to reality. “What happened, Chenle? What the actual fuck is going on lately? You don’t speak to anyone about it, you don’t tell me, out of all people–” a snicker leaves his lips to this, making you huff in frustration, “you don’t tell anyone how you’re feeling, and it’s eating you up from the inside, and believe me when I say, Chenle, it’s pretty damn heartbreaking to watch.”

Looking at him, you’re offered nothing but silence. His cheeks are rosy and puffed up from the alcohol, his frame is small– opposed to the power stance he usually takes– and you don’t think you’re getting a conversation from him any time soon. Ready to give up, you shake your head at him and scoff. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to talk to me, since you have an issue with the fact that I care about you more than I should,” you snap, agreeing to be petty with him, if this was how he was gonna play.

“I don’t talk to any of you, because you wouldn’t understand,” he says, voice almost a bit annoyed, tongue dipped in bitterness. 

“We grew up together, Chenle. Our lives are pretty much the same, why the fuck would you think that I, out of all people, wouldn’t understand?” 

“See, that’s the thing,” Chenle catches you off guard, charming in with an argument barely before you are able to finish the sentence, “our lives are pretty much the same, yet you love it. You fucking love it, all of you do– you love waking up in your little fancy bedrooms, doing great at school because if you don’t, your parents are going to threaten you with disowning you– and what else do you have if not your parents wealth that you coincidentally, also despise at the same time? You go shopping to your favorite mall with your equally wealthy friends, because you’re not allowed to befriend people that are lower class– that would just look fucking embarrassing in front of your parents’ contacts, wouldn’t it? You go to charity events and birthday celebrations of a guy you’ve never seen in your whole life before, just because someone told you to– and don’t you dare tell them you won’t go, because how the fuck are they gonna look all pretty in front of their business partners if their only son doesn’t attend a celebration of someone inheriting a share from their parents’ company– a thing you’re supposed to do as soon as you turn 20, if you don’t attend university they picked out for you instead. You go on fancy holidays and take pictures in front of all the attractions, and it doesn’t even feel special anymore, because you do this every month– and the only time you ever felt alive was when you were drunk and making out with someone that you shouldn’t even think about in that way in the first place, because it’s your parents’ friends’ daughter, and at the end of the day, they would just love the fact that we were together, because that could strengthen the business bond they have– the only reason why they’re friends in the first place, and I’m so fed up, I hate it, I despise it–” he stops to take a breath, his eyes getting glossy,

and suddenly, you’re helpless, you’re falling apart– because the issue is so much bigger than you anticipated and you don’t know how to do anything about it.

“And I don’t fucking feel real, Y/N, I don’t, and I don’t think I ever have, because I just wake up in the mornings and then somewhere along the way, I realise I’m alive and I laugh, because how could all of this be real? How could the money be real? How could anything be real, and– and it’s so confusing, because I should be grateful, but I’m not, because I can’t even fully grasp it,” he breathes, tears now streaking down his cheeks.

It feels like the whole world stopped for a moment; it feels like you are in a movie and someone pressed pause. You stare at him, you blink, and you pray for something to send you strength to deal with this, to tell you what to do or how to comfort him– because this must have felt so alone, and you can’t stand the image of Chenle ever being lonely.

Opening your mouth and closing it, you gasp for air. No words feel suitable for this kind of conversation, and so you just chime towards him– despite all your best assumptions– and hold him. Because at the end of the day, what helps more to ground someone back to earth than human touch?

Pads of your thumbs wipe at the teardrops strolling down his cheeks, every contact with the salty liquid hurting you, cutting through your skin like razor blades– because Chenle never cries, he never feels like something is worth indulging in enough to bring him to tears– and when he catches his trembling bottom lip in his teeth, you break; pulling him towards you and threading your fingers through his hair, the action once lullying him to sleep now used like a broken mantra– please be okay, please relax, please let me hold you until you’re glued back together again.

“I dunno what to do,” he shrugs, his head resting on your stomach, voice burrowing itself into the fabric of your expensive dress, “dunno where to go. ‘Cause Jun’s leaving, and Yizhuo’s gonna be busy with everything, and– and you’re moving across the fucking ocean, and I’m just– I turned everything down, because–” he says, voice breaking, and you shush him with a pat on his back, touch growing more affectionate.

“It’s okay,” you hum, “I got you,” you say; words he once told you at the golf cart, looking after you, or in the hotel room back in Japan when you were 6 and falling asleep, still scared of ghosts appearing in your bedroom– and you believed them, you always did, because Chenle was always there when you needed him– so you only pray he finds comfort in the sincere phrases, because what more is there to offer him?

His breathing grows steadier as you continue to play with his messy hair, his hands gently allowing themselves to wrap around your thighs, your standing figure shelved between his legs, and he laughs to himself, the whole situation kind of ironic to him now. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. ‘m kinda numb, you know, so it doesn’t even really hurt in the first place,” he says, and you wish you found the same humor in it than he did– or at least the bitter sense of soothing yourself with irony– but you can’t. Looking down at his body, latched to you like a lifeline, you wonder how you could ever leave him there alone, to deal with the burden by himself. How could you ever move so far away from him?

“My parents wanted me to go with you,” he starts, the sentence sparking up something inside of you, but he doesn’t pull away and meet your eyes when he continues, foreshadowing a sad ending to your hope, “they said I should study business at Yale as well, that it’s a great opportunity.”

You don’t reply to him, choosing not to push him. After a sigh, he continues. “And I didn’t get in, because, naturally, I was too stupid for it in the first place– no, I was–” he says when you gently slap the back of his head at the comment, “but then they paid the dean and suddenly I was allowed to go. Can you believe that?” he snickers bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Bad mouthed you for a thing I despised in myself, when you were the one that got in fair and square in the first place.”

“‘s okay,” you mumble, compassion dripping off your words.

“And I turned it down, ‘cause I hated the fact that they did that. I was okay with studying the fucking business program, even though I despised it, I was okay with moving across the world, because at least you’d be there, y’know, but I couldn’t bear the fact that they did that to get me in. I think I was too ashamed, too embarrassed, because they had to pay for me to get there, but– I don’t know…” he trails off, and you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It’s okay to take opportunities that are presented to you, Lele,” you mumble, “I know you hate it, but you can’t change who you’re born to. The best you could do is to not waste all of this,” you say, trying to find a source of light in the deep abyss of his thoughts.

You try hard to solve the problem– to offer him a solution that could work, that could let him forget about the pain for at least a second– to wake him up from whatever deep thinking that got him into this mess. You try hard to solve the problem– but you don’t know how to deal with it. All you know is that you’re trying to pick up the patterns; you’d fit in his skin if you could, you’d crawl in and fix everything– but at the end of the day, as Yizhuo said, the only person you can fix is yourself.

“Bought,” he says, fixing your mistake, “opportunities that were bought for me. I couldn’t do it,” he says.

Huffing, indulging in a spare second of your own pain– a spare second of the despair eating you up from the insides, the helplessness you’ve been feeling ever since you were forcefully kicked out of Zhong Chenle’s life– and you didn’t even tell him you loved him in the first place before he got stuck in the fire of the woods; before you two started acting like it didn’t matter and always ended up in feuds– you mumble a comment, voice barely louder than a whisper, but he can hear it because of the closeness of your bodies in the few stray raindrops that come over you two once the clock strikes midnight.

“We could’ve lived together, you and me,” you say, “us against the whole world,” you comment– a childlike yearning spilling out of your lips, “we could’ve gone to Yale together and you’d figure something out along the way. Maybe– maybe you’d find a purpose if you moved, we could–”

“Y/N,” he shushes you, uttering out your name, finally breaking away from you as he looks up and gazes into the swimming pools of your eyes, shaking his head with a faint smile, “‘s okay. It wouldn’t have fixed anything anyway, it– it wouldn’t have helped.”

“But–”

“You can move, Y/N, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause you’re taking yourself with you.”

August 20, 2020 – the backyard of your childhood house, Shanghai, 11:11 PM

You were never really that good at science– sure, your parents demanded you get good grades in every subject and your private school put quite the pressure on your education, but even though you always managed to pull satisfactory marks in exams, your understanding of the logistics sometimes lacked; you were much better at humanities or business-related courses, hearing enough at family dinners to find out your way through the lectures and apply the facts into examples from real life.

So, if anyone asked you how many stars there were in the universe, you wouldn’t be too confident in your answer. You wouldn’t know how to apply the Milky Way as your model– since it was said that it has around 100 billion stars alone– and multiply the part by the amount of galaxies in the universe– approximately 2 trillion– to get a number somewhere close to 200 billion trillion, also called 200 sextillion. 

You wouldn’t know how to do any of that, or how to even count this amount without a calculator, so you’d take a more liberal arts approach– literary, even– and say, that on August 20, 2020, at 11:11 sharp in your backyard, gazing on to the deep, dark sky and wishing for a star to fall so you could propose a selfish wish that could change everything, there’s still not more stars there than in Zhong Chenle’s eyes when your gazes meet after your friends leave for the evening, leaving you with your neighbor completely alone.

And it’s strange, seeing him like this– maybe because you didn’t even realize how used to the dull and emotionless Chenle you’ve been all this time– but it warms something inside of your heart as you take a hesitant step towards him, the first one out of the whole evening, and take a seat next to him in the corner of your terrace, sighing to yourself.

“You actually came,” you note, seeing as he turns to you and furrows his eyebrows at you in confusion.

“Should I not have? I mean, by the text you sent me, it seemed like you wanted me here, but if I misread the situation, I can go…” he snickers, teasing you just the slightest as he nudges you to your side.

You hum, shaking your head in disapproval. “No,” you say, “I just… I dunno.”

“Expected me to ignore you?” 

“Kinda,” you admit, snickering.

“Damn,” he giggles, “that’s fair, though. Considering the previous events, and all.”

Rolling your eyes at his composure, finally getting used to the old Chenle– the one that teases you over the smallest things, the one who doesn’t let his emotions show in his face– you watch him as he takes a seat on one of the rattan sofas and you follow him, body slouching next to his, feeling his head gently rest on your shoulder in the mere moment of silence between your two figures.

“Wouldn’t let you leave without seeing you for the last time,” he says, voice quiet and vulnerable, “god knows when I’ll see you again.”

“Chenle–”

“Just because you don’t want to talk about it doesn’t mean it’s not real,” he snickers, already knowing where your words are going– you’re going to try to stop him, tell him you don’t want to think about it right now, on the last evening at your house for the near future. 

“I’d rather not think about that, y’know,” you huff, frustrated. The anxieties of leaving everything behind are clenching on your insides right now, holding you back from moving freely and with enthusiasm, and you wonder– if you knew how this would feel all those months ago– if you knew how terrifying and painful the whole process could be, would you still apply to Yale? Would you still want to go?

“Okay,” he dotes, tone of voice casual, like it’s not a big deal. 

“Okay? Just like that?” you snicker, surprised at how easily he gave the topic up.

“Yeah. Don’t wanna make you sadder.”

Sitting in silence, you realize there’s so many words you’d like to say to him. You’d like to tell him just how much you’re gonna miss him and how you regret ruining the last few months you two had together, and how you’re sorry your feelings scared him to the point where he felt like he had no one to confide in. You’d like to tell him how you built a future with him in your brain, carefully placed him into your reality, only for him to break away from your grasp and go his own way, and how much it hurts, but how you’re always going to support him in whatever he chooses, because you care for him more than your little heart could take. You’d like to tell him how you’re gonna call him every day to check up on him, how you’re gonna send letters and press a secret kiss to each sheet of expensive paper you’ll get downtown, wishing he could feel the essence with the growing distance between you two. You’d like to ask him to visit you often– he’s gonna have more time on his hands, and god knows money’s not the issue. You’d like to selfishly tell him you find it hard to deal with the distance, and how you wish he wouldn’t find somebody else while you’re gone, and how you so dearly hope that somewhere in there, your feelings are silently reciprocated, but hidden away in fear of everything falling apart once again.

But instead, you don’t say anything. You tend to wait for him to speak up first– he’s always had a problem with talking too much in the first place, after all.

And he does– you can still predict his next moves. You know him that well.

“I’m gonna miss you, though,” he sighs, catching you off guard by saying something from the list of your silenced words, “don’t think that I won’t. Or that the way I’ll miss you is different than the way you’re gonna miss me,” he speaks, tone of voice laced in honesty and sincerity, his words heavy with the essence of what he’s never going to say out loud– or so you think.

“In what way?”

“I’m not gonna miss you like a friend misses a friend,” he says, “and I don’t mean the sex,” he snickers, brightening the mood with his comment.

Rolling his eyes at him, you feel him lift his head up from your shoulder, forcing you to look at him and meet his starry eyes again– the damn starry eyes that always make you spill the truth, because god knows you cannot lie to him– and you find yourself scanning his features, the structure of his bones you fear you’re gonna forget when you’re away, so desperately wanting to lock your lips with his for one last time, because when you come back one day, you may not have the right or chance to do so anymore. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, not a hint of teasing in his voice.

“You know why, Chenle.”

“Can you say it out loud?” he demands, and you shake your head– maybe it's best if the words are left unsaid. Doesn’t matter if they’re hanging in the air, for everyone to read.

“Why?”

“You know how I feel about you,” you snicker, “don’t make me say it out loud.”

Because even if you told him you loved him, it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make it all better, it wouldn’t make it all good– no matter how hard you wish that it would. 

“Okay,” he nods, agreeing too fast again– and with that, he smiles, the gesture so soft and sudden, and there you are– you’ve got a caving heart in your open arms, and Chenle takes it, carelessly choking out the hushed confession, “I’m in love with you. If you don’t say it, I’m gonna, because… you deserve to know.”

Heart sinking into your stomach, you watch him, frozen in your place, for a while. Your eyes carefully scan every curve of his face– the curve of his lips, the curve of his cheeks, the hood of his eyes, his brows, the thousand stolen galaxies in his orbs and mouth glistening like honey, inviting you in. Snickering under your breath, you choose to not give in to the temptation.

“You’re only saying that because I’m leaving tomorrow,” you say, shaking your head. 

“Maybe,” he agrees.

And you know that– you know that if you weren’t leaving, he wouldn’t tell you that he loves you. He wouldn’t allow himself to be this vulnerable, he wouldn’t tell you how he feels about you, because he had all this time– all those months and weeks spent with you in his bed, and you know his touches weren’t just shallow desire– and he never once said anything. He didn’t do anything about it, and now that there is nothing more to do about it, nothing that could change the trajectory of either of your lives, he chooses to speak it to the universe; because it doesn’t change anything, it can’t possibly do so– and so he doesn’t have to fear the consequences, he doesn’t have to fear the attachment that comes with such confession.

And for a minute, you think it’s selfish. You think it’s laughable, ironic, even, but you accept it. 

His hand reaches for yours, interlocking your fingers with his when he launches you forward into him, arms gently enveloping your body when your head settles itself to the curve of his shoulder. You stay like this for a while, in his hold again, breathing in his scent and trying to remember it for weeks and months before you’re able to smell it again, letting out a nosy question out of your lips– and truly, you don’t know why you do so, when you know the answer to it already anyway. Maybe you just want to hear it again.

“So… you do have feelings for me too, after all?”

He stays quiet for a while, before he softly laughs into your hair. “Yeah,” he nods, “but it doesn’t matter, ‘cause you’re leaving for Yale tomorrow, aren’t you?”

And he’s right– you are. Thinking for a while, feeling him place a shy peck to the crown of your head– the only kiss you two allow yourselves at this point of time– you come to the conclusion that  even though you love him, care for him like you’ve never cared for another before, you wouldn’t change a thing about your plan– wouldn’t change the trajectory of your whole life, wouldn't stay in Shanghai, wouldn’t drop out of university, wouldn’t stop everything because of him, because in a way, you strangely have it all figured out. 

And he doesn’t.

And you pray that one day, he’ll find the purpose in all the potential he holds in his hands.

[marvelfanfics1]

I just fell. I know a random start but when I was playing outside I fell and hurt my knee and it bleeded 😥 maybe you can do the same with daddy stucky x little reader x little Peter (Tom Peter) where the reader fell and it bleeded so her dada Steve toke care of it and put a cute little unicorn plaster (I'm not sure how it calls bc English is not my native Language) and she is still crying when they got out of the bathroom and daddy Bucky but her in his lap and hug her and little petie comes to the reader and put a kiss on the hurting knee and says "that makes u feel bwtter"

🩹<---- I mean this thing

Kisses make it better

(GIFs not mine)

The Super Soldiers Little Angels au

Pairing: daddy!stucky x little!reader x little!Peter

Warnings: Age Regression, hurt knee, mentions of blood, fluff, comfort

A/n: Hey guys 🤗 I'm really sorry for the lack of fics, I had a writersblock and have been struggling with family drama (ya know the usual 🤙🏻) anyway, I hope I overcame it now and can spoil you with fics again 💜

                                   ⭒𖥸⭒

It was a beautiful day outside so Steve and Bucky decided to take you and Peter to the compound so you could play outside with other littles from the Avengers group.

At the compound were so many fun things to do and with how much space they have you can find activities literally everywhere.

Now you were running around a play structure with Kate while Peter was chasing you both. It was all fun and games until you tripped over your own foot and fell on the rubber ground that was around the structure.

It all happened so quickly that it took you a few seconds to now feel the pain that was coming from your knees, tears already blurring your vision before you could even take a look at it.

Peter was a second later beside you, trying desperately to figure out what was wrong when he saw your bruised knees and quickly jumped into action.

"I go get daddies!" he said and rushed off to where all the caregivers were sitting and talking.

Meanwhile, poor Kate was trying as hard as she could to comfort you, Peter would most definitely almost suffocate you in a hug, Kate only rubbed your back, assuring you that Peter will be back soon with your daddies and it did comfort you in a way.

Soon enough you saw Peter coming back with Steve jogging after him and he quickly knelt beside you.

"Shh, it's okay, Angel. Dada's here." he grimaced a little when he saw your bloody knees. Your little sobs broke his heart, he and Bucky hate seeing either of their littles in pain, and in a quick motion, he picked you up and carried you inside to the nearest bathroom.

"Dada hurts." you cried while Steve was looking for some bandaids and something to clean the wounds.

"I know, sweetheart." he kissed your forehead. "I promise it will be better soon."

You kept crying silently, wincing when he touches a sore spot with the alcohol pad. When all the blood was wiped off he grabbed a colorful unicorn bandaid and put one on each knee, hoping to cheer you up a little but you were still sobbing a little.

"Let's go see what daddy's doing." he offered you a smile and you nod, raising your arms for him to pick you up which he happily did.

Your crying ceased to little sobs and hiccups while Steve carried you to where he was before Peter came in running and frantically pointing outside. There you saw Peter who was leaning with his back against Bucky's shoulder and playing on his switch but he quickly turned it off when he saw you.

"Our poor doll." Bucky cooed and you started to make grabby hands for him.

Steve handed you over to him and you got comfortable on his lap with your back against his chest and him wrapping his arms around you to make you feel secure and safe.

Peter frowned a little, seeing how some tears kept falling from your eyes. He got up from his spot beside his daddy to kneel before you both. First, you were confused, tilting your head to the side. He then leaned forward to kiss each of your knees carefully.

"Dis will make you feel better!" he smiled and you wiped the remained tears away, smiling back at him.

"Fank you, Petie."

He got back on his spot and took one of your hands caressing the back of it with his thumb, making your daddies hearts almost explode from the cuteness.

                                   ⭒𖥸⭒

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

Stucky masterlist:

@almostcontentcreator @stuckysgirl27

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!

[mendessi]

I see you haven't been active in a while but I'm asking a million people if you could please write a Javi Pena fic where the reader gets injured while they're on a job and he like feels something is wrong or something like that thanks

bambi | javier peña

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

summary: you assist peña and carillo in tulo to bring gacha down but end up getting hit before the job is finished

word count: 4.4k

warnings: canon-typical violence, season 1 narcos spoilers (go watch it already wyd), kind of established relationship already, angst?, mention of death (reader does not die), tender!javi, maybe more am not sure yet, there is def a little backstory before jumping into the main part

minors dni

You had been in Colombia for almost two years and had fought your way into the position you were in. Tooth and nail, one might add. Being a woman in this line of work, in this day and age was not easy in the slightest bit. You busted your ass in school and in training just to earn a spot in the DEA, even harder to get the approval to be sent to Colombia. Even with your father having a higher up position in the DOJ, it still wasn't easy and you didn't expect it to be.

The introduction of narcotics into the United States wasn't easy on you considering one of your closest childhood friends had overdosed on their birthday trip to Miami that you were on. There was no indication that she had even consumed any drugs let alone enough to OD on, but it happened anyways and when you found her the next morning it destroyed nearly everything in you.

You were always destined to work for the Department of Justice, but something in you shifted after the death of your friend. Once the war on drugs had been declared you knew exactly where you needed to be.

Your bags were packed within an hour of receiving the call of your relocation assignment and exactly twenty four hours later you were on a flight to Bogota, Colombia to meet your new bosses at the embassy.

There was barely any time for you to set your bags down before you were asked to meet Noonan at the embassy. You weren't set to begin work for another week so you could officially move to Medellín and settle down, but there were a few papers you needed to sign to solidify your acceptance of the job.

He remembers it clear as day, the second he saw you walking into the embassy. Hair tied into a ponytail, curly pieces framing your face sweetly. A powder blue button up was tied into a knot paired with light wash jeans that weren't too tight, but were just the right amount of loose, white sneakers on your feet. His eyes followed your every step as you shook Noonan's hand outside her office door, the smile on your face brightening the room. His stomach twisted at the thought of someone like you in the war torn country you were in, wondering what even brought you here in the first place. You looked out of place, like you didn't belong here and that made him nervous. As he watched you disappear behind the ambassador's door, he decided quickly that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.

About thirty minutes later, Noonan was at his desk with you by his side. He and Steve both rose from their seats at the sudden presence of the ambassador and the short guest standing next to her.

"Boys, this is your new partner. She'll join you next week in Medellín until further notice." Noonan said before turning on her heel and leaving you there standing in front of the two men that towered over you.

You had heard plenty about them and their work thus far into the hunt for Pablo Escobar and always admired their bravery for what they do.

"Right, hello. Steve." He held his hand out to you and Javier did the same, his name coming out more as a mumble.

"Sorry?" You asked.

"Javier. Peña." He repeated a bit louder and shook your hand, your name barely making it to his ears because how focused he was on taking in all of your facial features.

"I look forward to working with you both. I have to get to Medellín but, I'll see you guys next week." You spared yourself the awkward small talk and removed yourself from the situation. You could tell they were just like any other male in this line of work that were immediately doubting you upon first impressions.

What they didn't know was that you were top of your class at Quantico and could take down a man that was three times your size. You were used to people doubting you and didn't expect this to be any different.

Steve and Javier both were sharing the same thoughts and that was how someone your size could've been approved to join the DEA in Colombia. They kept that to themselves til after you had left the building.

"She's gonna get torn apart." Steve sighed gathering his things. He and Javi were only meant to be in Bogota for the day for a briefing before heading back to Medellín.

About 30 miles from home, they came across you standing on the side of the road, blood drenching your clothes and splattered across your face and your government loaned car completely totaled. The tires screeched as Javi pulled off the road behind you, he and Steve out of the car in seconds with their guns in their hands.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" Javi asked, reaching a hand out to you. "Is there anyone near? Who did this?"

You were in tears, barely able to speak as Steve slowly moved around the vehicle a wave of relief washing over him when he saw the deer plunged through the windshield of your car.

"I'm sorry- I'm not- I don't ever cry like this, I swear. I'm jet lagged and covered in-" You barely could finish the sentence you just let out a frustrated groan.

"Javi," Steve called him over and he hesitated before stepping around you.

"Deer." Javi said before walking back towards you. He rested his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him, "Are you hurt?"

"No, it's his blood not mine. Fucking disgusting." You sighed, almost gagging at the sticky feeling of it drying to your skin. He almost smiled at the bad word leaving your lips, almost as if it didn't belong there.

"Here's what we'll do. We'll get your things, you can ride with us and we'll sort out the vehicle situation tomorrow." Steve said to you.

"I have a shirt in the car you can change into. It'll do til we get to your place." Javi said.

You sat in the back seat on the ride home after the boys loaded your belongings into the trunk and resumed the drive home, Javier's sweatshirt engulfing you. They weren't thinking it, but being so used to having to defend your every action to get to where you are now you felt the need to say it.

"I'm not like this usually. It's just been a rough first day." You fiddled with the sleeves of the sweater that Javier had lent you.

"You don't have to explain anything to us." Javier said.

"I do, though." Your replied in a small voice, loud enough for them to both hear and they understood it. You wanted to feel inferior to them, your two new coworkers seeing you so vulnerable before you first official day, but you knew better. They brought your things into your apartment for you once arriving and you thanked them one more time before they were gone.

When you went in on your first day, brand new desk was pushed against the two that were so used to being a duo. You even already had a nickname. You went through stacks and stacks of files catching up on the details of the hunt so far and listening to Javier and Steve tell you stories of what they'd been through so far.

Javier was slowly becoming obsessed with the way you gave whoever you were speaking to your undivided attention, how your eyebrows furrowed in concentration or even how you used your pointer finger to scan the lines of a file. The tiniest things you did were intoxicating to him and he hated it. You caught him staring at you a few times and figured he was just once again, doubting your right to be sat at that desk.

The boys both became obsessed with you in their own way. Steve obsessed with the way you carried yourself in the field. You took charge and never took any ounce of shit from any man that would look down on you. He learned quickly that you were not one to be messed with. Javier was just obsessed.

Obsessed with how your hair framed your face, how you quite literally would stop and smell the flowers while on a job, how you said his name, or how he sometimes caught you stealing glances at him from your desk that was right next to his. How your hand looked as you scribbled down notes from the day, or how you sounded when speaking over the walkies, the look on your face when you were connecting dots. He obsessed over he way you laughed at the things he said and got jealous when you'd laugh at something Steve said. He loved how easily you fell into place between him and his partner Steve, like the two of them were missing you the entire time. He loved how quickly you picked up Spanish as a second language and how intelligent you were. How you embraced to culture of Colombia as your own and were able to so easily connect with the residents of Medellín. He was obsessed with your smile, your hands, the way your waist curved, he was fucking obsessed with the way you smelled. Even after sprinting across rooftops, he still loved your scent, it's like nothing to him about you was not worth obsessing over.

It was almost your one year anniversary of moving to Colombia when he kissed you for the first time. He drove you home after a long day at the office since your car was in the shop and was nice enough to walk you to the door. You knew he was into you, he was the worst at hiding it, even Steve would tell him to which Javier would reply, "I'm not into her and even if I was, I'm smooth, okay? She'd never know."

You did know. And you were into him too, but you wanted him to make the first move. He was so caught up with his informants half the time you didn't know if that would ever happen, so whenever he was ready, you'd be there. It irked you to say the least, that somebody else was getting those parts of him but there was nothing you could do.

But that night you two stood outside your front door, talking about your childhood homes and what you loved most about them, you dangling the keys between your fingers as he leaned against the frame and kissed you. His fingers were soft against your cheek and his lips sweet against yours and you didn't know he could be so gentle. You'd seen him kill people before yet here was kissing you as if you'd break under his touch.

"Good night, Javi." You said to him, as you stood on your tiptoes for one last kiss before disappearing into your home, the biggest smile on your face.

Your relationship was what some would call a slow burn. You took things slow, mostly because between the war on drugs neither of you had time to focus on and nurture a relationship. So you remained best friends and coworkers, alongside Steve who sometimes felt like a third wheel. When the two of you did finally find some spare time, things blossomed so quickly and beautifully and the man was head over heels. Steve had a hard time believing it, but he always knew that once Javi found the right one, he'd be 150% all in. Steve loved that it was you that brought out that side of him.

"Bambi, we're rolling out." Carillo said to you. Hearing the nickname is nothing new after all these years, but it still almost makes you laugh sometimes. Who knew having a deer sprint in front of you on your first day in Colombia would get you a call sign that stuck with you for the rest of your career.

"Yes sir." You nodded and stood up from your desk and gathered your things.

"No, no, you're not coming." Javier said.

"Excuse me?" There were very few things Javi did that pissed you off, but the one that did it most was when he tried keeping you from certain jobs.

"This is gonna get ugly and I don't want you there." He rested his hand on your elbow gently.

"You don't get to make that decision. I'm going and I'm monitoring the Search Bloc. This is the one thing I ask you not to do." You lowered your voice, looking up at him.

"And I don't do ever do this, but I don't like the feeling of this." He lowered his tone to match yours. "Por favor, mi sol." (Please, my sun.)

"Javier, don't ask me again." You pulled away from him and followed behind Carillo as you and the rest of the Search Bloc loaded into vehicles and began the journey to Tolú. He knew there was nothing he could say once you called him by his full name.

You and Javi barely spoke the entire ride to Tolú and it should be known that it was a long drive from Medellín. Even though you sat in silence, he still rested his hand on your leg, his thumb rubbing circles onto the fabric of your jeans.

When you stepped out of the vehicles upon your arrival you watched and counted the men that loaded into boats to cross the bay. The plan was to catch them from a direction they wouldn't expect. Javi was going with the aerial team which meant you were splitting up.

"Hey," he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him. "Be careful."

"You too."

He would've said the right words if he knew what would happen once you parted ways. He would've said them a long time ago if he had known. He knew it in his gut as he watched you walk away and board the boat alongside Carillo and yet he still let you go. He should've kissed you one more time. It wasn't his right to stop you from going on a job and he knew that. He let you go because of those words that he didn't say.

You and the rest of the Search Bloc trekked through the sand and the thick trees of the jungle quietly, nobody speaking a sound, guns up and ready to fire. You surely looked out of place being the only woman amongst them. A few inches larger and the gun you were holding would've been too big for you to hold comfortably.

You came across two men and the gun fire started almost immediately. This was something you were used to and certainly planned for long before you even landed in Colombia. You knew that once the first shots were fired that Gacha would try to flee.

You held your ground until enough of his men had dropped and it felt safe to start moving in. Half of those men had probably never even fired a gun before this moment. You stayed next to Carillo, taking the first steps out from the treeline only for your body to be thrown through the air as a shot from a rocket launcher hit the ground near you causing a big explosion. Your gun slammed into your face sending a piercing pain through your nose. Your ears were ringing and your vision blurred when you opened your eyes, looking at your surroundings. You felt the blood trickling down the side of your head and tasted it as it leaked from your nose.

"Bambi, are you okay? Hey! Bambi!" You looked up at one of the Search Bloc members attempting to reach you. He pulled you up to which you groaned in pain, and looked to Carillo who also looked to have a head wound. The sound of the voices and gunfire were in and out as your ears kept ringing but you racked your brain trying to focus on what was happening.

"Sí. I'm okay." You sat up and watched Gacha and his son rush down the stairs and into a red chevy parked under the house while Carillo screamed for a radio. You only allowed your body to be in shock from the blow for only a split second more before the shock was filled with anger.

"Wait, Bambi. Wait!" You clenched your teeth together and stood up, repositioning your gun as you shot down multiple men running under the house screaming in frustration as the red chevy pulled off. You fired at the truck, no bullets hitting anywhere that would help stop them.

You fell forward to your knees feeling two shots fly through your shoulder and one through your abdomen from behind. You turned and fired your gun sending three bullets into his chest, falling onto your back once he hit the ground. Multiple men ran past your body, most likely trying to flee like their boss and eventually the gun fire stopped.

You felt somebody's arms hook under yours as they dragged you back to where Carillo was with the radio. He said something along the lines of Bambi... down... tell Javier... it was all a blur.

"He's down. We'll put the bird down and recoup." You heard Javi's voice over the radio, a small smile creeping on your lips. "What's the situation there, is it safe to land?"

Carillo hesitated as he looked down at you drenched in blood he wasn't sure was your own. He knew the blood coming from your head and ears were from the rocket launcher and he could tell you had been shot, he just didn't know where or how many times. Your vest clearly didn't do its job or somehow so unluckily each bullet managed to hit you in a place you weren't protected in.

"Safe to land. Make it quick." Carillo said cupping your cheeks, forcing your eyes to focus on him. The drowsy and somehow slightly smiley look on your face told him all he needed to know. "I need medics."

"They're already on the way. Where's Bambi, put her on." Javier's chest tightened immediately as if he knew. He felt it the second Carillo got on the radio instead of you, he knew it before you even made it into Tulo. His worst nightmare was becoming a reality. "Put Bambi on."

"Hey, stay with me." Carillo slapped your cheeks once your eyes started to close. "Talk to him." He tossed the walkie to Trujillo who began describing everything to Javi except for what state you were in. You could hear Javier's panicked voice flooding the speakers of the walkie sounding angrier than you had ever heard in the entire time you've known him.

"Put her on the fucking radio!" Javi yelled at Trujillo, he had tears brimming his eyes but he didn't dare let a single one spill. Anxiety was flooding his chest at the idea that you weren't okay, but he knew it from the second it happened. "Please tell me she's okay. Please." He begged.

"Trujillo, tell me she's alive. Tell me she's not dead. Please." Javi pleaded.

Everything was in and out of focus, men shuffling around you, Carillo and Trujillo saying your name over and over again, Carillo constantly slapping your cheeks to keep you awake. You hardly noticed that your vest had been pulled off and Carillo was working to keep pressure to your wounds, but you couldn't even tell where the wounds were at that point. You felt numb. Words weren't words anymore and instead just loads of gibberish filling your ears.

"Where are the god damn medics?" You heard Carillo curse. "We're not losing her."

When your surrounding came into focus once again, Javi was running towards you, taking Carillo's place, holding your body close to his.

"Hey, hey." He said with a shaky voice. "Hey, stay with me. Where are the fucking medics!"

"My love," you looked up at him, those words leaving your mouth for the first and maybe the last time, struggling to keep him focus. His brown eyes were filled with fear and that's when it became apparent to you how bad it was. You were shot three times. Everyone was panicking and it clicked that you were possibly dying.

It clicked for Javi that you were possibly dying. That this may be the last time he look into your eyes, or the last time he heard your voice. That when he woke up this morning could've been the last time he'd wake up to your beautiful sleeping face. Or that today would be the last day you two shared coffee from the same mug at work. Or even that Steve and Connie wouldn't have you for dinner this weekend like they promised. He began shaking his head, trying to rid these thoughts. You were drenched in blood like the night he found you on the side of the road, but this time it was yours and that made him feel physically sick.

Carillo was the only one at your sides now as Javi held you in his arms, tears still refusing to fall from his eyes. Everyone moved away to give space to the normally mean man who's love of his life was dying in his arms.

"Don't do this to me, please. Please, baby." He whispered into your hair. "Please, don't leave me."

"It doesn't hurt." You said to him, your hand barely finding his, squeezing it as tightly as you could manage.

"What?" He asked, bringing your fingers to his lips. He didn't care that they were covered in blood.

"It doesn't hurt." You repeated and all he could do was release a shaky breath.

"I love you," You whispered. Your thoughts were barely thoughts anymore but as you approached what seemed to be death, the only thing you thought about what how he needed to hear it from you before you died. You weren't even sure if he heard it and the last thing you thought of before shaking hands with death himself was that you never got to hear him say it to you.

"They're here." Carillo sighed in relief as the sirens from the ambulances sounded. "Peña."

Javi looked at Carillo who was staring at you, so he followed his gaze and it felt like his heart completely stopped beating. Your eyes were shut and there was blood dripping from the side of your mouth, joining the streams that had left your nose and side of your head.

"I love you." He said to you. "I love you." He said it again and then once more after that for good measure, praying to whoever would listen that you heard it at least once before you died because he was sure you were going to die and he hated himself for not saying it sooner.

He watched as they cut your shirt off of you and began working hastily simultaneously lifting you onto a stretcher and rolling you away into an ambulance.

Carillo put his hand on Peña's shoulder and looked at him. Despite the love his life being sent away, and not knowing if you'd survive this, there was still a job to finish. Carillo, Javi and the remaining men filed into trucks and drove to the scene up the road where Gacha and his son had died. Javi felt some sense of relief knowing that this was a big hit to the Medellín Cartel.

As soon as the scene was cleared Javier and Carillo went to the hospital you were being treated in and Javier called into Medellín and Bogota to let them know that you had been injured in the line of duty. Steve and Connie were on the next flight to Tolu from Medellín and there within hours. Carillo was talking to the doctors because Javier couldn't bear to hear the news that you were dead. It would kill him.

"She's out of surgery, in recovery. She's going to be okay. She's strong, they say. You can see her soon." Carillo said to Javier and he nodded, finally taking a seat in the waiting room chair.

"Good." He nodded again, finally covering his face with his hands as the tears he fought so hard to hold back finally spilled from his eyes.

Carillo sat next to him, patting him on the back as he cried silent tears of relief knowing that you had survived.

A few hours passed and Carillo had left to make his way back to Medellín so Javier was alone in the waiting room when the nurse called for him to see you.

"Hey," You said to him, your throat scratchy from the tube they had shoved down it. His heart hurt at the sight of you. Your arm in a sling, stitches in your temple, two small stitches in your nose, and a bruised face to prove that it was in fact broken. And somehow you still made all of that look beautiful.

"Mi sol," Javi whispered as he sat down next to your bed, taking your hand into both of his, kissing each of your fingertips. "I'm so sorry I let this happen."

"It's part of the job." You told him. "I made a mistake out of rage. It's my fault."

He stared at you, "I thought I lost you. They told me you died twice. Twice."

"I had something to fight for." You said, squeezing his hand.

"I am so sorry I didn't say it before and I'm not saying it now just because of the situation pero mi amor, I love you. So fucking much that it makes my chest hurt so bad that I feel like I can't breathe and when I lost you today I regretted not ever saying it to you before." He rambled on and you could subconsciously hear the monitor beeping faster as your heart rate went up. "I love you, mi amor. Mi Bambi. Mi sol."

"I love you too." You said to him and you never meant it more than in that moment after almost losing your life, accepting the idea you'd never see him again. Now that you'd been given a second chance you'd never miss the opportunity to say it again.

He leaned forward, brushing the hair from your face with the gentlest touch, and leaning in for the gentlest kiss being so careful not to hurt your nose or any other part of your body. His thumb rested on your chin as he held it so softly kissing you with such delicacy as if not to break you and it was the most favorite kiss you had shared to date.

Javier stayed with you and a week and a half later you were on a flight home to Medellín for the rest of your recovery period. Not long after that Javier moved in officially where he helped you recover and still stay sane in the midst of not being able to go out in the field. Your dad even came to visit after hearing the news where he met Javi for the first time.

When you were finally cleared to return and leave strictly desk work to re-enter the field, Javi kept you at his side more than usual to which you had to scold him sometimes but could he really help feeling so worried all the time? Nearly losing you was scariest thing he ever experienced in your life and gave him PTSD to which he still had nightmares about.

It took navigating and discussing and finding time between being work husband and wife to actually taking care of and paying attention to your very real and personal relationship, but you finally found the well deserved balance.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for the request! This was kind of fun to write and it was nice to write something after so long away

[umiewrites]

LIBRARY

(17.7.2024)

FLUFF ❀˖° SFW ❀˖° Can be read platonically, romantically, or familial ❀˖° Reader can also be any character insert

Rei Sakuma × GN! Reader (Fluff, no pronouns, gendered terms, clothing mentioned for reader. SFW, slight angst! Mentions of loneliness, childhood trauma for Rei. Platonic, Romantic, Familial ok. Rei calls you dear once. Character insert ok)

Syn: It's been so lonely for Rei when he's up at night, spending his time in the library. Worried, you decide to accompany him...

Mm, that's a twist he didn't expect. That's rare... With how much he's read in his life, he hardly comes across a plot twist he hasn't seen or predicted before. He sighed, sinking into the couch of the library.

It's strange. He's got more friends than ever now, and yet it's like he's back to his old childhood days. Unable to be with the other kids in the sun, he turned to books to keep himself company... It won't make him cry, but it is a rather saddening memory.

Such is the norm, the expected, the fate of being born this way. He'll always be different, alienated somehow even if no one means to. Indirectly or not, he's always going to be singled out... He knows he's being dramatic. It's not like he's lonely again. He's sure there are people up at this time. Kaoru is just busy. Adonis and Koga are sleeping. He can't bother them. Still, that didn't wipe the way his mouth naturally slid down to a frown even if he's unaware of it. Nothing to smile for, not now.

"Some company would be nice..." He thought to himself as he closed the book with a thud. A small thud like that was usually enough to echo throughout the whole library, being quiet and lonely as it is at this time.

So surprise and curiosity was sparked on his face, when he heard the even louder sound of the door swinging open. He couldn't have mistaken that, no. He hadn't been aging that much...

Rei stood up and walked calmly over to the door, his face transitioning to a confused one. He surely wasn't mistaken... He heard it open, and while he stepped over, he knew he subconsciously heard another pair of footsteps. As much as a paranormal activity would be exciting, he doesn't expect or want that right now.

...?

"Excuse me—" you try to get his attention.

!?!?!?

Rei hadn't flinched like that in a long time— nothing could've prepared him for the surprise. He was in the middle of thinking, and you... You snuck up on him...

But he breathed a sigh of relief quickly and calmed down when he only sees that it's you.

"Goodness, you scared this poor old man half to death~" Rei picked himself up and smiled at you. It'd be embarrassing to jump in fear... Besides that, though...

"What are you doing here, at this time? You should take this old man's advice and go to sleep... Don't tire yourself out, if there's something bothering you, let this old man help, feeble as he is." He smiled so gently, not at all bothered by the spook earlier. He's just worried for you.

"Actually..." You try to explain to him.

The way you've noticed him walk outside alone, every time you're around the Seisoukan. How his silhouette walks out alone to the direction of the library when everyone else drags their feet to bed... You couldn't help but wonder what he's doing. Maybe you can't help your worries either, seeing him alone... He did look like it whenever he walked off after all.

"Mm...?" He listened, his face telling you that he hadn't expected this, and he really didn't.

Someone who noticed something so small... And yet because it's so small, he thinks he wasted your energy worrying for him. Shame on him, he shouldn't worry the others like this...

...but he smiled regardless. A look of relief on his face, and thankfulness.

Want to or not, shame or not, disgrace or not, perhaps he wished secretly that someone would accompany him. How thoughtful of you...

"A worried attitude and a desire to help every little thing would tire you out one day, I warn you." He warns, but it doesn't feel that cautionary.

"But this old man will accept your kindness. I am thankful you came, and it'd be rude to turn you away after you've stayed up and walked all the way here... So let this old man entertain you for a while. Come, I'll indulge a little chat with you. Would you like me to read you a book, like old grandpas do?"

[amberskyyking]

Step 1: Tech fucking lives. Step 2: His brothers get some hella emotions about it.

It’s been a few days but the next chapter in my taking-canon-out-for-a-joyride-Tech-Lives fic is finally up 😈

Implications of Being Alive

Chapter 5: A Good Day At The Beach (And The Comm That Kinda Complicated It)

Hunter had almost managed to doze off on Pabu’s south beach. All this time later, letting his guard down still didn’t come easy, but with his feet in the sand, the sun on his face, and his brothers close by, he usually made the effort to relax. Some days he was successful, other times he wasn’t, but today was shaping up to be a good day.

Crosshair had fallen asleep an hour ago. Hunter had been able to tell the exact moment it happened because the little glass he had been sipping slipped from his fingers and landed in the sand with a soft pff, and shortly after, his little brother began to snore. He thought for a moment of taking a holovid of it. Crosshair always denied snoring. But that would have required moving, and Hunter was just so comfortable in the sun.

Wrecker’s booming laugh and Batcher’s excitable barks drifted down the beach from not too far away. Age might have slowed them all down a bit, but it had done nothing to taper Wrecker’s spirit. He and Batcher together were still the most formidable volleyball team on the island, now that Omega had gone off to join the rebellion and Phee all but retired from the game. Hunter wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to train the hound to play in the first place, but she seemed to have a great time jumping and hitting the ball towards Wrecker with her snout any time it flew near her.

Sometimes, Hunter was unable to settle. His thoughts would spiral, his body grew agitated, and he struggled to know what to do with himself out here at all. It would get especially bad when he couldn’t get his mind off of someone in particular.

After all, Omega hadn’t even been gone very long. If she were here, she would be at the net with Wrecker, daring him to play her one on one and stomping his shebs like she damn well should. Echo still visited from time to time, usually while recovering from yet another battle wound when the Rebels insisted he take some time off. If were here, even against his will, he would definitely be taking that holo of Crosshair. But he would also be scooping up his drink out of the sand, making sure they had a fresh one in the cooler for when he woke, and reminding Omega to re-apply her sunscreen, even though she didn’t really need it - he would do anything for his brothers and sisters, even the little things. And… Tech had been gone for a long time, but Hunter had no doubt in his mind what his brother would be up to. Tech would hardly be able to sit still and relax in a place teeming with so many interesting things to observe. He would be walking the shoreline, or maybe out for a swim with a rebreather and his goggles, looking for fascinating creatures or plant life in tidepools and on the ocean floor and everywhere he could find them, in a bid to satisfy his endless curiousity.

Hunter missed them all.

If this were a bad day, he would do one of those activities for them. He would challenge Wrecker at volleyball even if his back would ache for it later, and he would pretend not to notice that Wrecker took it easy on him. He would dote on his brothers, making sure they had towels and snacks and drank enough water and didn’t spend too much time in the sun, even if they grumbled at him for it. He would take a walk and try to appreciate all the unique things this island had to offer, trying to spot something new, even if he’d walked these beaches a thousand times by now. If it wasn’t a good day for him, he would have a good day for one of them.

But today was a good day already, and Hunter knew he could enjoy it his way. He breathed deep, closing his eyes and resting his senses. It was peaceful out here. His brothers were safe and content. The sounds of gently lapping waves against the rocky shore and the feeling of warm light on his skin slowly started to lull him to sleep…

Until the sharp ping of his wrist comm jerked him from it.

“Mmmmmmmhh,” Crosshair groaned at the sound. “What is it now?”

Hunter blinked several times to re-adjust his eyes to the bright glare of the sun overhead and shook his head to orientate himself. “Not sure,” He grumbled, squinting to read the ID. “‘m not expecting any…”

But he knew that ID, and his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly Hunter was wide awake. “Omega!” He cried. “Wrecker get over here! Cross! Wake up!”

“Omega’s calling?” Wrecker shouted back, sprinting towards them in an instant.

“Why?” Crosshair gasped, rubbing frantically at his eyes. “She wasn’t due to check in for another-“

But Hunter wasn’t about to wait or question it. He accepted the comm right away and a little holo of Omega flickered to life on his arm, just as Wrecker skidded to an ungraceful halt behind him and Batcher bowled them both over. Hunter went sprawling in the sand.

“Hunter!” Omega gasped. “Wrecker! Are you okay?”

Hunter spat out a few grains of sand that got stuck to his lips as Wrecker laughed and Batcher bounded all around them with glee.

“Oh he’s fine,” Crosshair sneered overhead. “Just got a little sand in that hair, I’m sure it won’t take more than a tenday to wash out.”

Batcher nearly pounced right on Hunter’s wrist at the image of Omega before Wrecker got ahold of her and he scrambled upright. Omega let out a relieved little giggle at the antics.

“Sorry bout that, kid,” Hunter muttered a little sheepishly, shaking some of the sand from his hair. “How have you been?”

“Still kicking ass, I bet!” Wrecker said enthusiastically.

“Is something wrong?” Crosshair asked worriedly. “Do you need our help?”

“I’m okay,” Omega said. “I just got back from a mission and…”

She swallowed hard, and Hunter frowned. A quick glance at his brothers told him they noticed it, too. Omega had just taken a step and winced, her face was blotchy, and if the injuries weren’t enough, her voice had just hitched.

“What’s going on, ‘Mega?” Wrecker asked, huddling in closer to Hunter and Crosshair in the sand in concern. “Are ya hurt? Do ya need to come home for a little bit?”

“I - No, I mean - yes I got hurt, but I’m okay, I broke a couple bones but Echo already made me get to the bone knitter so it’s just sore now, but…”

“As he should. How’d that happen? I thought you were running relief last we heard,” Hunter said, trying and failing to keep the alarm out of his voice.

“…Relief doesn’t mean risk-free,” Omega countered. “You know that.”

“Well it’s a good thing you know how to handle yourself in a fight,” Wrecker said solemnly.

“But you’re calling us about it,” Crosshair observed. “Something else happened.”

“It’s alright, Omega. You can tell us,” Hunter almost pleaded. The longer this went on the more obvious something really was wrong, and Hunters stomach was clenched in a million knots at the prospect of what that might be.

“I… I know this is going to sound impossible,” Omega said with a nervous sigh. “After all this time. But… The Empire sent an assassin after us. We didn’t lose anyone… yet… one of our pilots is in pretty critical condition.”

All three of them stayed silent at that, nodding or pursing their lips or letting out long concerned sighs, but waiting for her to continue. That wasn’t the news, and they all knew it.

“But the assassin was… I… I recognized him. I thought he was that CX trooper who hunted us and-“

“That trooper is long gone,” Hunter cut in soothingly to reassure her, like he did back when she still had nightmares about her ordeal, silently cursing the trooper who traumatized her that way, conditioning or not. “I made sure of it before we took care of Hemlock and got you off Tantiss. He can’t hurt you, Omega, I promise you that.”

“No,” Omega shot back. “No, Hunter, I - It was him. It was definitely him, he survived, and it’s not what you think.”

Hunter felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He felt Crosshair go rigid beside him and practically stop breathing, and Wrecker’s hands clenched into fists. If that CX was back, if he had the audacity to come after Omega again-

“I’ll come out of retirement for this one,” Wrecker growled. “Unless you killed him already.”

“I didn’t, he - he wasn’t in his right mind, he didn’t know what he was doing. It wasn’t his fault and-“

“It’s been ten years, Omega,” Hunter said in a tight voice. “That should be enough time to figure out that the Empire is wrong, and if he hurt you-“

“That CX trooper was Tech.”

The world around Hunter went suddenly deathly cold. Even with the sun shining overhead, a dreadful, icy set of realizations curled in his veins.

“Tech?” Wrecker eeked out at his side in disbelief.

“Y-yes… It… It’s him,” Omega confirmed with a shaky nod.

Hunters head was spinning. He couldn’t believe this. The CX trooper, who blew up Rex’s base and killed so many of his men.

Who tried to drown Crosshair.

Who invaded and burned Pabu, tore Omega away from them, and dragged her back to Tantiss to be used for a fucking experiment.

Who Hunter had impaled through the gut at the end of an electrospear-

Hunter was only vaguely aware of a heavy hand settling on his shoulder and the way Crosshair suddenly smelled strongly of fear through the frozen static of the world caving in around him. Tech, his brother, had been right there! He had been within their reach and Hunter killed him, or damn well tried. They’d never been able to check for a body when he fell from the rail car, no one should have survived a fall like that, but if this was true then Tech had, and they left him, and they left him again and again and again until Hunter KILLED HIM and then they LEFT HIM YET AGAIN-

The sudden image of a pair of feet dangling limp just above the floor flooded his mind and he gasped, clasping a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting.

“Hunter?” Omega’s voice nudged the edge of his mind, but Hunter couldn’t form words, not right now. There was only one thing echoing in his head. Even if Tech had somehow lived, Hunter spent the last ten years thinking he killed that CX trooper, hell, being proud of it! If that had been Tech this whole time - if he had killed his baby brother -

“You couldn’t have known,” Omega was saying. “None of us could.”

But that shouldn’t matter. She had somehow figured it out after ten years. Ten years that they left Tech with the empire, ten years after he sacrificed himself to save them all-

“B-but he… Is he…” Wrecker choked out, his one handed grip increasing on Hunters shoulder, but Hunter didn’t even flinch.

Omega took a shaking, sniffling breath and smiled up at them all. “Yeah. Tech is alive… And he even remembers me,” She said in a voice full of relief, and even smiled up at them. “At least a little.”

“Be careful,” Crosshair rasped, and Hunter realize she was shaking. “You don’t know what he might be like after… What they did.”

“I know,” Omega answered solemnly. “Echo is with him now. We’re taking a lot of precautions. He was hurt in our fight too, and had some issues from before but… We’ll help him, won’t we? He’s our brother.”

That, finally, managed to help Hunter find his words again. “Of course we will,” he said, even though it came out sounding fragile and strained. “Whatever he needs. Anything.”

He felt dizzy saying it, and clamped a had onto Crosshair’s shoulder to steady himself, both their shaking be damned.

Omega nodded, and Hunter saw silvery tears start to stream down her face in the holo. “Good,” She said fervently. “He’s going to need all of us, I think. We can’t change what already happened but… But we can do better now.”

“C-Course we can,” Wrecker stammered. “But just thinking, he’s alive… He’s really alive… An’ we get to see ‘im?”

“Yeah,” Omega assured them. “He was in bad shape but… He’s doing better now. As soon as he’s cleared, I’m bringing him home.”

Hunter nodded, too choked up to speak again as his own eyes and guts burned. But Omega was right. She had grown up and grown wise. Most days he wondered who learned more from who, if he was honest, but he took her assurances and tucked them carefully away in his heart.

He believed Omega, even if his heart was having trouble catching up with her words. Tech was alive… And after all this time, his brother was desperately going to need them.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Full Story Link: Implications Of Being Alive

*Update* Ima try to post these on Wednesdays now providing I have the drive to write - this thing is no buffer no beta we die like Tech didn’t, feed me comments and I’ll probably churn out more content cause external validation makes me go -squee!-

[zecretsanta]

to: @goggles-girl

from: @mortellanarts

prompt: Junpei and Akane decide to adopt a pet together (and it doesn’t come as naturally as they would like at first)

I also made a fic for this one! I feel like the first thing that would go wrong is that Akane wouldn’t be comfortable taking care of animals again at all, the second would be that Junpei’s canonically an impulse adopter. So this ended up being more about getting Akane to come around about the idea in the first place (also many catgirl jokes at her expense lmao) Also about the drawing I imagine she quickly comes around to enjoying the little head boops while reading :3

Hope you enjoy!

——————

Junpei and Akane had gone through hell to be by each other’s sides. That was true, sure, but a few years into their ‘happy ending’ and the picture perfect act has begun to feel rather unsustainable. Not to mention it should have long since stopped being an act to begin with.

The I love you’s are very real… when they are apart.

It’s not as bad as when they first reunited at least, it wasn’t a very fun sort of tension like she vicariously lived through a little by playing June all that time ago. No, it was more comparable to the tension between a bleeding wound and the injured hand applying pressure to it. They both knew it, felt it, then let the matter join the many subjects which they don’t talk about. Ever. Despite the fact that they probably should.

As counterintuitive as it sounds, their counter to all of that was wanting to be with each other as much as possible. Maybe that’d make the pain fade. To get to know each other better like any normal couple, maybe a bit to prove to themselves they still liked each other’s company and that they hadn’t changed completely from what brought them together as kids.

Big problem with that is, the farthest thing Akane wanted for any of those outings, especially the rare ones where she was somehow convinced into going outdoors, was for it to so closely remind her of any of the things that brought them closer together at that terrible tender age of twelve.

Wandering into an animal shelter wasn’t the intention behind this little stroll. Neither of them even knew it’d be here- really, it wasn’t even much of a proper shelter to begin with, it seems more like an adoption fair. One that was hopefully backed by an indisputably good-faith, locally known and reliable organization– and not by any other corporate entity with history that she’d be tempted to add to her criminal record over. Every time Junpei tells her that the ever-present instinct to suspect and look into every little thing she comes across is bad for her he also fumbles and asks what are the chances she’d just happen to bump into that kind of huge conspiracy so often in her life without actively looking. She answers it’s always a non-zero chance in the end, and they risk far more if unsuspecting. That’s always when he drops the subject.

Though at a certain awkward distance from the fences, she’d elected to just go along with it and follow him for as long as the detour entertains him. It’s not like she hates getting to see the little critters around the place, she’s not that messed up about it, of course not… There’s even a comfortable amount of people around too! Which is to say, far less than there are animals.

There would have been an attempt to just keep walking past where this was taking place, if not for the fact that it really hadn’t taken long for Junpei to start playing with one of the dogs. Not that the rest of the pack wasn’t jumping at trying to grab his attention too, of course, but he took a liking to a particular one.

Noticing she’d stayed behind, barely budging an inch, his voice turns into that clumsy but cute stammering, like it always does whenever he’s trying to sound sensible.

“Oh uh, do you- uh… do you have a fear of dogs?” It helps ease her into a grin just a little.

“No. ‘Afraid’ isn’t the word I’d use…” She just doesn’t know what to do with her hands at the moment other than hold onto Junpei’s, which wasn’t helped when he suddenly let go. And well, it’s not like she knows the temperament of the animals just by looking and it’s really a lot of sudden movements to keep track of in just one place, it’s also not like she would want to risk bothering them when she barely wants to be touched ever without initiating it either, not to mention the space they’re in seems quite small– she makes herself smile again and tilts her head squinting, realizing she’d forgotten to ask. “Is… that a Boston terrier?”

“…Got it. Well, you are more of a cat person I guess. And uh- I don’t know? If you say so, then it must be? I’m not really good at remembering the names for these.”

She steps closer and leans down next to him, who is just sitting on the floor without a care, palms on her knees for support.

"It’s not like I hate pups just because I get along better with the cats.”

"Of course not, just look at them. Aw… it’s hard to imagine anyone could hate these guys.”

Avoidant as she may be, after a solid half minute or so of her watching him have fun she also extends her hand out to pet the dog who, while not showing clear distaste for it or anything, only goes back to wagging its tail when circling back to Junpei. He quickly took over once more when she retracted her hand, vigorously pulling his hands along the fur around the collar and talking to it in a jumbled baby-talk that was apparently really enriching judging by how it earns enthusiastic barking back, as if in conversation. Exactly matching all that energy that Akane couldn’t imagine keeping up with even on a good day.

Between laughter, his voice starts being directed at her again, even if what he says is more of a musing to himself.

"Wait, I think I’m beginning to remember what this little guy reminds me of…”

Oh. Only now? Come on Jumpy, this one’s even black and white as well.

That’s it, she’s got to mess with him now.

"You mean like… a wrestler? The spots on its face already look like a mask but I’m sure a fun little costume would be a really cute look. Clover could DIY a big belt spelling out ‘winner’ for them as well! Unless- or was it a retired wrestler…?”

"No- what are you talking about?! Everything that you just said was absolutely bananas–” Even if his tone poorly feigns appalment there’s humor in it too. "I mean- what’s wrestling got to do with anything, what the hell–?”

"You mean you don’t know?”

It was just ‘bananas’ enough to pull his eyes away from the dog and, apparently, being met with her expression looking down at him while knowingly and visibly holding in laughter, was all it took for it to finally dawn on him.

"Ohh— ” She starts laughing before he facepalms and, from the sound of it, he hits far harder than intended too. Pulling her partner to his feet by hooking her arm under his, she speaks cheerily only once he seems to have recovered enough.

"You shouldn’t touch your face without washing your hands first.”

"Come on, give a guy a moment, okay? This is an overwhelming amount of emotion to feel all at once…” It’s endearing to see him engage in his own variety of theatrics, even if only for the sake of unfunny jokes that she can’t help but be fond of anyways.

"Dork.”

"But hey, you’re right. It would be pretty funny to give him a little wrestler costume… You sure there’s no place for him back home?”

Home as a single stationary place still sounds so foreign to her, and that’s just the part she doesn’t want to talk about.

"We’re here just looking.”

"You say that as if I were a stranger asking and not part of the we in question.”

"Very well. I did not intend on being here today and I won’t indulge in what’s essentially impulse buying a living being, Jumpy.”

"Come on Kanny, what could go wrong? I mean, we’ve got space, we’ve got more than enough funds, I think it would be–”

”What could go wrong?” Sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s being dense on purpose. “Do you really need me to say it?”

"I… thought you liked animals?”

And with that, it’s finally safe to assume Junpei’s chances of getting his tact back are long gone. Not that she thinks he ever had any to lose.

Flat shoes walk away into the fair, but that’s only because the best way out is through. Akane gets pretty far in before Junpei decides to stop dancing around the subject and puts himself square in front of her, blocking the way.

"Look, I never heard of a single other person who had luck as shitty as we did that summer. Alright? It wasn’t a subject I looked into much but even hearing from people in law enforcement it was a freakish animal cruelty incident that doesn’t happen often. That whole area had issues with that sort of thing anyw–”

"I never heard of luck as poor as I was left with that whole entire year.”

"Y-yeah, there’s that-” When they do bring up a subject that should be buried, there’s not much to do except measure the reaction. That’s what’s between them, if they can’t look away then it better mean something at least. "And… I wasn’t there to help at first, but I came around eventually. I won’t let something like that happen again.”

It’s sweet, he even holds her hand in his… but it’s still a little conceited.

"What makes you think I would?”

"Perfect! Then, we’re both in agreement. There’s nothing bad that could possibly happen and we can totally bring one of these guys home uh… if you two click?”

"Excuse me? At which point did we agree?”

"It doesn’t have to be permanent, these kinds of places do all sorts of trial runs, foster–”

"That’s just cruel.”

"Well, but it doesn’t have to be. I’m sure the little fella will love us and we’ll end up keeping them.”

"What if I don’t want to get attached to a creature with hardly a sixth of a human lifespan?”

"Did you want to uh, take a look at the cats since that’s more comfortable for you?

"Junpei.” None of this is comfortable.

"Okay, okay.” He puts his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender… before plunging into his pocket and pulling out his phone for some reason. ”… Here goes a last ditch effort…”

“What are you doing now?”

"Hey man, can you help me convince your sister of something?”

Before she can even begin to reprimand him he’s clicking his tongue and dialing up again. When Aoi picks up again she can hear even from the arm’s length she’s being kept at.

"Whatever this is about, what makes you think I could possibly be on your side instead of hers?!”

"I don’t! Just hear me out, okay- gimme a second.” He opens the video option in the call and turns the phone in her direction. He has a mildly confused look urging her to explain the situation but it’s a few moments until she says anything, because Junpei has a stupid grin on his face and they both know he might win this.

”…Junpei wants a pet. And we happened to walk into a kennel. Cattery–”

“Adoption fair.”

"And he’s being really stubborn.”

Takes a second for her brother to process the absolute nonanswer he comes up with.

"Oh.”

"Oh?”

"There are worse arguments you could be having out there.” Though Junpei wouldn’t be the one pulling him into those. "Guessing that wasn’t on your itinerary?”

"You think? Why am I not hearing you antagonize him anymore?”

"I mean, I think it could be good for you? You used to beg me for one all the time- until I said Santa couldn’t send animals in boxes with little holes poked in them for air like in the movies.”

She yanks the phone out of Junpei’s hand and turns off the video before putting it up to her ear, looking almost embarrassed.

"Aoi.”

"You’re right, you’re right– it’s a ton of responsibility. Wouldn’t be trying to convince you sis, I’m just saying–”

"You think that’s the part I’d take issue with??”

Akane takes off, pacing away from Junpei, wanting some distance at least if not privacy to continue one of the silliest sibling squabbles in recent memory. Which is completely fine by him, there’s plenty to do while she talks herself into it just to prove a point.

After a few minutes, Akane’s standing next to Junpei again. Turns off the phone and extends her arm out for him to take it without looking at him, pouty like a child while Junpei’s looking smug. This is like the first marital dispute he’s won.

”…Only if we come across one I feel is a good fit.”

“I’ll take that.”

Aoi and Light had recently gotten a cat of their own, though insistently not as a couple, Akane doesn’t really understand what her brother’s love life is like (and she’s grateful to be spared of the details) but they have something going on, why else would he move in with them after she decided to move in together with Junpei? Actually, she might have heard him mention that one of Clover’s coworkers found the little calico abandoned and she offered to take it in, so really it wasn’t even like it was his responsibility any more than the Field’s by a long shot but still… he was so happy over it, which used to be such a rare sight, that Akane found it hard to be a buzzkill about it by voicing what came to her mind.

In truth, it wasn’t just the rabbit hutch thing giving her pause. Aside from the obvious glaring reason for her to be hesitant to hold such a tiny creature in her arms, despite her love for them, she just didn’t think she knew how anymore. At this point she’s more used to stuffed animals, not that she kept many of those around either.

While they visited recently, she sat very stiltedly holding the feline in her lap, her brother went from gushing about it to joking about already having experience looking after a weird ‘kit cat’ his whole life. After she complained Junpei followed up on it by sneakily referring to her as ‘kitten’, just that once, and even if by some metric seeing them getting along was cute she’d have kicked them both if not for the purring fluff ball snoozing on top of her thighs. This was far more anxiety inducing than a plush, she noted, and it only became more evident each fleeting second, each motion coiling for breath she felt against her skin. It was so precious and so easy to ruin and her hands were too singed to hold it. The fact her body deeply rejects such simple gentleness despite it having come so easily to her once is a mourning unto itself.

Most of the cats they see around are cozily lazing about, some snuggling together, staring back at them curiously at most. She could genuinely smile at that. It’s calmer with none of them seeming in the mood for interaction at the moment. They slow their pace now that Akane is actually participating, the unexpected unexpectedness of the situation no longer weighing her down as much.

Though it was still a bit much, so they sat together by a bench for her to rest a little. It wasn’t far at all, it’s right behind one of the cat houses in fact just where it starts leading away from the event.

She’s so completely lost in thought that she’s surprised to hear a small high pitched gasp before even realizing it was a sound she herself had made. Then looking down at her leg she understands why.

A little black cat scratched at her leg, accidentally, it looked more like the tiny little fuzz ball was attempting to climb her leg. Well, technically not black, she notices the fur is a dark grayish color with tons of off-color patches when she gets a better look and she only gets that better look because it succeeds at its task. At which point she has to attempt to scoop the very tiny cat with both hands so it’s not at risk from falling back down. Only stopping its determined meowing when he settles on her lap.

"Why do they always choose you?”

"Because I don’t try chasing after them like they’re dogs, Junpei.”

"Hey, that’s not something I’ve done since I’ve grown up, okay? Well- except–”

"If you say I’m the exception, I swear–”

"Okay! So, where did this little fella come from?”

"I didn’t see…” She leans in and rubs behind the cat’s ears, earning a soft little purr of gratitude. The fur really is weirdly patched when you look close, it doesn’t feel like the coloration should be that way, the texture’s also a bit different. Wait, are the eyes not open yet? Or is one–

It isn’t long before an employee? Volunteer? A lady in a friendly colored vest comes to gently whisk away the culprit, she seems young and a bit anxious to have to talk to them.

"Oogh, I’m so sorry ma'am, are you okay? These little nails didn’t do a number on you, right?”

Akane gets on her feet to more steadily help the kitten trade hands.

“Oh, oh no, I’m perfectly fine. Really, I could barely feel it. Thank you.”

“That’s good.”

And that’s where the interaction would have ended if Junpei didn’t also get up.

"Hi, I’m with her. So, how come he’s popped up all the way over here?”

"You see this guy’s a little escape artist– every time there’s people around he tries to hide away from visitors by sneaking out into the desk with us, so… then why today did he decide to bother such a nice couple instead? What’s up with you?”

The cat is still trying to climb out back to where it was a minute ago, which the volunteer seems to know how to handle, though it’s funny to see it go from her arm to her shoulder then back to the other arm. A lot of effort is going into making sure he doesn’t throw himself on the ground. Junpei waits for a moment where the pace’s slowed down a bit to also try to pet him, seems to like him too.

“Aww, I think that’s a really good fit, actually. What’s his name?”

“Oh we don’t know actually, this friend was found without a nameplate. He’s made a name for himself but it’s not been that long at all since he’s been with us, we haven’t agreed on a name yet since he’s been back from the vet. Wait, did you say you two were interested?”

He looks at Akane for her to answer. She looks back with what doesn’t seem to be a look of aggression to the general onlooker, but they know he’s putting her on the spot like this so she won’t be backhanded about agreeing.

"Well, yes. If possible, I mean- isn’t the saying that the pet chooses the owner and not the other way around? We sure sound like we’ll get along, we both aren’t super sociable either–”

The awkward little laugh got to Junpei, who’s more comfortable with failing at humor in front of strangers than she is to even attempt it.

"He must have thought ‘oh these guys are off by themselves away from everyone too, we’ll get along great!’”

That’s just silly enough that she can look at him funny behind crossed arms and it’ll be an entirely appropriate reaction. She can only hope that’s the only thing that he sensed in them.

The kitten settled into a nap on the volunteer’s arms by now, tired himself out. Really is an adorable sight.

"That’s just great! One of you just has to come fill up a questionnaire at the table and a few more things, we can sort out real quick- uhm… I guess I should- oh right! So, like I was saying, this fella may come with extra expenses due to health complications, is that okay with you? Are you new pet owners?”

"The issue isn’t money…” “We are? New to it- kind of…”

“Oh, don’t worry too much. He’s all healthy now, neutered and the vaccinations all in order too, it’s just… it’s a little bit of a hard sell to some people since he needed stitches and lost an eye so he’s always going to be a bit wobblier than average when moving around.”

"A-ah… why is that?”

Akane’s hand suddenly has a vice grip on his. For once, the resolve in her voice is undeliberate, shaky.

"We don’t need to hear the story.” She turns away from the volunteer and her voice turns small so only her partner hears. “Can you go take care of all that? I’ll go get my brother to help get things in order before they go do a housecheck, if they’ll do one.”

"There’s not much there to cat proof I don’t think, but sure. Guess you’d- uh, have a better eye for that stuff… Also let me guess, you want me to tell you when that is happening so you can go to his place while there’s strangers over?” A smile confirms that. "Alright. But I’ll check in with Clover too to make sure you two aren’t skipping town instead.” Another smile, more mischievous this time.

"Oh no, my plan’s been found out.” First off, if she really intended on making an exit she wouldn’t bring it up to him first, duh, as if she were an amateur. Second, maybe this line of teasing can get far too draining, far too quick, so she changes the subject one last time. "Tell me your name ideas when I get back.”

She places a kiss on his cheek and saunters off. Does she wish she didn’t get shoved into bringing painful color back into a memory that had just barely grayed and numbed?

Yes.

But she wouldn’t have been convinced if she didn’t genuinely think they were capable of giving it a try. Maybe any place they stay at together will feel more like a home when there’s someone living there with them that isn’t walking on eggshells, that is just uncomplicatedly happy to have survived whatever it did before it ended up there. Maybe she’ll learn to do that as well. Things already are complicated enough.

[ofmermaidstories]

But... What was the ending?? You gotta tell us the ending you came up with, I got invested in your time traveling kids!

LOL alright. 🥹 i’ll tell u BUT‼️ we’re gonna pretend it’s an x reader bc it’s. easier. LOL. 🥹🥹🥹

you don’t know this, ofc, but the kids are worried that their being there—with you, their age—has ruined everything. that maybe they ended up here to make sure you and their father happened, to make sure they end up existing. but it’s a disaster; their father (and he is their father, they’re sure of it, he makes the same ugly face when he’s trying to decide if something or someone is worth responding to) has no interest in dating, or you. and while this version of you (before them, before you grow into the adult they know) romanticises everything, even you can’t deny there’s anything more to his disinterest but disinterest. maybe he like, snickered once when you turned around too fast at the front of the class and banged your knee (painful) but beyond laughing kinda meanly there’s just—there’s no in.

“is there someone else?” your daughter asks, worried.

your son swats her away; they’re huddled together near one of the empty classrooms. everyone already thinks they’re weirdoes, because they’re so clueless about the things the people are into, or watch or listen or know. everyone thinks they’re just codependent homeschoolers but it’s still annoying.

“i don’t think so,” your son says, tapping his foot as he frowns. it’s a habit he’s picked up from you, your impatience for standing still. “he just kinda talks like everyone here is an idiot.”

“glad he hasn’t changed, then,” your daughter says tightly.

they know the story. their dad walks home with you one day, and then the day after, and then the day after that and then eventually you spend a saturday together, where on the walk home you end up jumping a fence and lingering, until the late dusk, when your mother—their grandmother—calls you, furious. your kids have tried everything. getting the two of you to walk the same way home, making that saturday happen by inviting you both out and trying to abandon you, much to your confusion—everything! hyping you up to each other, learning one another’s favourite bands and artists, suggesting it to the other. but it’s having the opposite effect. their father now sees you, in the courtyard at lunch, and immediately turns around. you walk into the library during study and he’s the only one there—leaving you to hide in the aisles, too embarrassed by their interference to face him.

the worst of it happens at a school function. your daughter, who’s come to know you as someone her age, someone dreamy and romantic who reads grandma’s romance novels, gets it into her head maybe, dressed up and in the low lighting of this stupid school thing, that things will change. will slip into place, just like those novels.

(it doesn’t; your son goes along with it because he’s desperate, because when he wakes up now it takes a moment for him to realise parts of him are slowly fading, that he now needs to concentrate to actively be apart of this world even as he and his sister are changing things, for the worst. but the night is a disaster. he convinces his anti-social father—a boy his age, stubborn still like the man who will hold firm with his decisions, in the future—to go, while you and your daughter arrive, and when you two are pushed together the disgust on his face is enough to stop you all in your tracks.

“why do you keep doing this?” he asks your son. his son, who doesn’t have an answer.

“leave me alone!” he says, glaring at you as he does. the betrayal you look at your son and daughter with, afterwards, is the worst feeling they’ve ever felt.

“i don’t get it,” you say, your eyes shiny with the embarrassment. “please stop it.”)

they concede defeat. its making you all miserable. their father won’t talk to your son, now, and while you’re polite you’re awkward. but then something happens—whether it’s them trying to force the future and failing, or just the end of their time here, your son collapses. your daughter races to you, the instinctive, knee-jerk reaction for her mother to fix things never leaving her, no matter the version of you you are—and when the pair of you get there, out of breath, it’s their father who’s kneeling beside him, his brow furrowed in concern as your son fades, for just a moment.

(“i’m sorry,” the boy says, to him and to you and to his sister. “i’m sorry.”

his father’s worried, now, every inch his age. “you’re fine!” he says, though he has no idea what’s going on and that frightens him. “hey, you’re okay.”

his sister is crying noisy tears; you’re holding her hand, frightened yourself and then the boy before you fades again, translucent like a ghost as the girl next to you startles, afraid.

“i’m— ” you think he’s going to say he’s sorry, again, but instead he whispers, “i’m afraid.”

he’s looking at you as he says it. the boy next to him grabs his shirt, his hand, tightly, like he can hold him back from the fear.

(it doesn’t work. he disappears and the girl next to you screams.)

(you and their father become closer, after witnessing that. the girl—your daughter—turns mute, thrown into a despair that you can’t help her out of it. you and your classmate—the boy they keep trying to set you up with—try to find out what you can, go to where they were staying (a motel? someone older who’ll be in their future who took their story at face value, because they saw a pair of scared kids who needed help?) and piece together an idea of the truth: they have things you’ve never seen before. dead technology that’s the advancement of stuff you have now.

“are they aliens?” you ask him, one day at lunch. you’ve taken to sitting together, trying to puzzle out what the fuck you saw. everyone else, who’s been watching the mess caused around you, just shrugs this off as a result of it.

“that’s stupid,” your classmate says. “but whatever they are…” he trails off, and you know he’s thinking of the boy’s big, shinning eyes as he choked out his apologies.

“is he dead?” you ask, quietly.

his mouth thins, eyes meeting yours and you can feel yours tremble, in answer.)

anyways. maybe the girl—your daughter—comes back to herself when she realises she’s starting to disappear too. she freaks out, and you freak out in turn because you don’t understand and then she disappears and you are devastated. you don’t understand. you couldn’t help and now they’re both gone and you don’t care what he said, maybe they were aliens—

their faux-guardian, who’s heard and learnt enough of the truth, is heavy with it. they tell you and your classmate both that sometimes things happen, that you can’t fix everything for everyone. that the best you both can do is live your lives.

you are summarily dismissed. and your classmate walks you home. you’re crying; he’s shellshocked. there’s safety in numbers.

(he walks you home again the next day. and the day after that. and the day after that and then one saturday you spend the day together. he tells you he knows a place, and you jump a fence and spend the afternoon in the shade and the golden green isolation of a forested creek, as you both talk out your final theories.

—somewhere in the future, your son wakes up in his bed, whole and safe, with a gasp.)

[tigreblvnc]

BLUE LOCK MATCHUP — @modern-day-corpse-bride

Your match is...

— Charles Chevalier

✦ How happy I am to finally be able to match this little French imp with someone.

✦ Actually, Charles came to mind very clearly when I read your bio, mainly because I think you two share a few similarities.

✦ And you both give off a similar energy.

✦ 'I’m a veryyy talkative person' There's something special about Charles—he can be very talkative, and I can totally see him chatting with someone on the field in a random way while the match is still going on...

✦ ...and also, there are chapters where we almost forget about him?

✦ Especially because when the match loses its excitement, Charles stops investing in it. We see this when he literally asks Julian if he can leave the game because it's getting boring.

✦ 'A lot of people think I’m mean but I'm not!!!' Clearly, with Charles, there's an insolence that reflects his young age and the fact that he's so good on the field that there's not much that unsettles him. He easily teases people and likes to do the opposite of what he's told. In jargon, we call that a troll.

✦ 'I’m really big on complimenting and boosting other people’s confidence' I like to think that you met during one of his training sessions at the stadium. You found something a bit funny and unusual about him, and your eyes followed his run on the field. At first, he might not have noticed you, but eventually, he realized that someone was regularly commenting on his crazy passes and turned towards you.

✦ He froze for ten seconds before signaling you with both arms raised as if you were someone he had known for ten years.

✦ I think that normally, encouragements leave him quite indifferent, but coming from someone he doesn't know at all, it might amuse him and even make him laugh a bit.

✦ At the end of his session, he turns to you and, quite unexpectedly, throws the ball at you from a distance. Just to see how you’ll handle it.

✦ Maybe you dodge the ball, maybe not, but either way, it makes him smile. He strides over to ask, "T'es qui ? Tu fais quoi là ?" – 'Who are you? What are you doing here?'

✦ You’re not sure if he’s really listening even though he’s the one who asked the questions, but he’s smiling at you widely, with his shark-like tooth showing.

✦ 'I think that the notion that I’m “mean” comes from the fact that I’m very honest.' Well, you see, I think this amuses him because he likes controversial opinions and people who aren’t afraid to say what they think. Charles finds conventional and controlled people boring. You can see it on the field—he prefers to get along with Shidou, someone more original and aligned with his philosophy of play, rather than Rin, who is very structured and strategic.

✦ 'My main love languages are physical touch and gift giving' I can’t see Charles being into giving long speeches or spending time listening to others; I think his love languages would be more like yours, maybe with acts of service included. I imagine he’s the type to rush and jump on the people he likes, climbing on them without shame (like he does with Shidou when they score together).

✦ The cool kid you never get bored with. He prefers outdoor activities over indoor ones, and he takes you to see the cool spots in Paris. The amusement park is his favorite place.

✦ A bit uncontrollable, he’s all over the place and wants to try everything with you. He pulls you by the sleeve: "Allez ! Ça a l'air trop bien !!!" – 'Come on! This looks awesome!!!'

✦ He enjoys teaching you curse words in French.

✦ Buys you ridiculous trinkets from attraction stands.

✦ Tons of selfies that he posts on Instagram, tagging you every time, even though it’s his face in 80% of the photo.

✦ Emoji abuser. His messages are unreadable, and he sends forty of them in a row.

✦ Sends voice messages too, many of which cut off prematurely (the worst kind). He records them again right after but never finishes them; he’s already moved on to something else.

✦ 'I like to collect vintage items like dolls or photos which kind of creeps a lot of people out, and I also like to hand-build with clay from time to time.' Honestly, that intrigues him. He finds it weird and judges it out loud, but it doesn’t scare him.

✦ He tries to make a clay sculpture of you and totally messes it up.

✦ He gives it to you on some random day with no particular significance.

✦ The sculpture’s aesthetic is questionable, and you can barely recognize yourself...

✦ ...But you keep it anyway, because a gift from Charles is worth gold.

A word about your match: You’re kind of the partner-in-crime duo that everyone dreads, that people secretly like a little, but that no one will admit to liking.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | AUGUST '24 MATCHUPS EDITION.

[moonlit-mystery-writer]

Ranking reveal please ! "5 most compatible with the oc of your choosing amongst khr cast' ✨️ ( — romantic ! or not! it is up to you.) maybe, with explanations?

Gonna try my best to answer this with Fina and Hideko lol.

Fina

1. Levi - I know you’ve read the explanation as to why, but I’ll link it here for anyone else

2. Lussuria - We’re jumping from most likely to maybe in some distant timeline lol. Because Lussuria is the head of the Sun division, I headcanon he oversees medical things that happen in the Varia at least a little bit. Therefore, he knows all of Fina’s issues and spends a lot of time with her for her treatments. For Fina, Lussuria reminds her of the more vibrant side of her big sister. It’s a comfort to have him around just as much as it can overstimulate her. Thankfully years by Xanxus’ side and tending to others has helped Lussuria learn how to dodge things thrown at him in a rage.

In the normal verse for her, they’re just friends. And that’s even a bit of a stretch.

3. Spanner - This would be exclusive to future him. But even then, she’d feel a little awkward as a woman in her 30s and he’s like vaguely in his twenties? (Pretty sure he’s Shoichi’s age when he shows up in the present day, so???) Either way, they’d mesh pretty well.

If she met him in normal verse, they’d be just friends.

4. Shoichi - Same reasons as Spanner above, this time the two can also bond over gut issues.

In normal verse, she’d also only be friends with him.

5. Bianchi - Future arc version again, since present day Bianchi is only 17. Honestly, I’m putting her here because these two would have such a toxic yuri relationship lol. Bianchi is basically everything Fina’s sister wasn’t as a sister and that would drive Fina crazy. She views what her sister did for her growing up as what an older sibling should do for their younger sibling. But she also wouldn’t be against eating poison cooking. What’s the worst the could happen? Fucking up her body even more than it’s doing on its own?

Hideko

Before I start her rankings, I wanna say, not only is she a lesbian but she’s also technically taken already by a different oc of mine. (Whether they’ll be poly lesbians or not is up in the air right now)

1. Haru - So! This’ll get into some of the plotting I have for the Rewrite. But in the arc Hideko shows up, Haru’s the one who tries to fight her first because Hideko hurt Tsuna and they just happen to go to the same school. By the end of the arc, the two are still antagonistic towards each other when around each other, but neutral any time else. So while Haru ranks high, their relationship would be extremely rocky at first.

2. Kyoko - The relationship is very similar to Haru’s above, but with one step up in difficulty. As unlike Haru, Kyoko doesn’t get to see Hideko actually improve her behavior a little at school.

3. Hana - The closest to a neutral option I can give Hideko! However, the fact Kyoko dislikes her much makes it even more unlikely.

4. Adelheid - These two could almost work! Except one crucial detail; Hideko thinks Enma is a bigger loser than Tsuna. And like she is with Tsuna, she’s very shameless and vocal of her opinion. This would drive Adelheid insane.

5. Shittoppi - These two ultimately have very little chemistry. She only ranks because Hideko is used to odd people thanks to one of her own guardians being odd. But that’s where it ends. Their lack of chemistry plus Hideko’s thoughts on Enma as stated above would ultimately drive these two apart.

I didn’t do friendships here, as none of these lovely ladies would actively want to befriend Hideko. At best, pleasant business partners with her.

[finnritter]

Turgon, Eärendil and an impromptu swimming lesson

Thank you so much @la0rie for the prompt! Here it is in its entirety:

“Earendil and Turgon have a good afternoon together across the city just weeks before the fall”

I originally wanted to make them explore a lot more of Gondolin but then... this happened. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Also, this was not even intentional but while revising this fic, the beginning reminded me of @imakemywings fic about Turgon showing baby Eärendil the fountains of Gondolin. Pls check it out, its such a sweet little fic!

Eärendil was growing alarmingly fast for a child. Turgon noticed it despite it being centuries since he had seen a child being raised in such close proximity. Elves who only got to see the young prince a couple of short times a year were often taken aback when they laid eyes on him, almost dizzied by the fast pace at that he was growing.

Even those elves born in Beleriand, during times of active war, who were prone to ageing a lot faster than Turgon had known it, in those far off lands of the Blessed Realm, even they got a good few decades of sweet, innocent childhood. Unlike the children of men who, if they were lucky enough to make it through their first year, were throwing off the cloak of childhood a good while before even their twentieth summer.

Turgon had never visualized this sheer intimidating speed, until he saw it himself in his little grandson, who was already not that little any more.

Even so, Tuor assured them, that most seven year old mortals he had known had indeed been a lot taller and less chubby-cheeked than his little son. He was, however, surprised at the boys quick mental development, particularly in his first three years of life, which in turn none of the Gondolidhrim found particularly conspicuous.

In the end, it was decided that Peredhel was Peredhel and that none of them could ever accurately predict how the child would develop. Turgon wouldn’t have cared much himself, had not the thought of seeing his grandson grow up and possibly die in the blink of an eye, grieved him more than he would ever admit.

He chided himself for the thought as soon as he had it, though. Why, especially now that Eärendil’s childhood was still bright in front of him, should he waste the time they had with melancholia? Maybe Idril, in her endless teasing, was right and he was becoming a sad old fool. And yet, those last years, despite all their happy news, had been tinged by a looming threat, as much as Turgon wanted it to stay out of the walls of his city.

Little Eärendil though did not know, or at least not fear, any of those concerns. His concerns were, obviously, of a far more tangible kind and surely much higher in priority. At the moment he was running around the rim of one of the fountains, barefoot as not to soil the brilliant white of the stone with his shoes, and trying to stay out of the perimeter of the falling water right next to him.

“Was I faster this time?”, he clamoured in his grandfather’s general direction, while his glowing cheeks and the gleam in his eyes indicated, that he himself for sure expected that he had improved his best time. Turgon though, tragically, could neither confirm nor deny that matter.

“Were you even looking?” The small voice was sounding rather annoyed and Turgon quickly tried to reassure that of course he had been looking, he had been looking for the last half hour, maybe Eärendil could just do it again, one more time-

“You weren’t even looking”, Eärendil repeated, deeply belied in his hopes, but very brave about it: “Alas, it matters not. Now watch me jump into the fountain!”

“No-”

…

It was a good thing that many long years of being the father of a rather lively child had ingrained certain reflexes in him. Surely there were elves quicker and more graceful than him, but he could proudly say that he did catch the little imp before more than his bare feet could get wet.

He cradled him up into his arms, where Eärendil laughed and playfully tried to escape until he settled with his legs slung around his grandfather’s waist and leaned into the strong grip that was holding him steady.

“No swimming in the fountains”, Turgon said – sternly, but not fully able to ban the soft affection from his eyes.

“Fine”, Eärendil generously acquiesced. “I can’t swim anyhow.”

This, Turgon had not known. If he had, he would not have let the boy run around next to the water so freely, nevermind how fast he could have fished him out. He thought that there should definitely be a talk with his parents, about giving him the necessary lessons, especially so that he would be safe if he were ever to attempt stunts like this when no one was around.

But then he looked up, and it was warm and sunny, the water of the fountain trickled almost invitingly and he had already cleared his schedule until this evening, when Eärendil would long be asleep. The perfect day, he found, to teach a young boy how to swim.

…

Half an hour later, the ruler of Gondolin, High King of the Noldor and heir of the proud house of Nolofinwe was standing in his undershirt and knee-long pants in the middle of a shallow little pond right outside of the main city walls.

His clothes had been neatly folded and set aside in the least dirty spot, crown on top, hopefully out of the splashing zone. He hoped that nobody would think of taking a walk around this edge of the fields right in this moment, and held out a hand for Eärendil, who had rid himself of all of his clothes, safe his underwear, in the matter of seconds – this was the same child who claimed not being able to get dressed on his own on every other morning, when he didn’t feel like it!

Turgon had to look at him very sternly to keep him from just jumping into the clear blue, and Eärendil obediently took his hand and stepped in slowly instead, eyes bright with excitement as soon as his toes breached the surface.

“You’re very eager, aren’t you?”, Turgon asked as he guided the boy to a point where the water reached up just under his chest.

“Attô sometimes goes bathing with me”, he exclaimed. “He hasn’t taught me how to swim yet, but I like the feeling of the water. It’s almost like flying!”

“Are you sure that your father would be alright with me teaching you, then, instead of himself?”

“Sure! I can show him what I learned next time and he’ll be quite proud! Come on, what to do, now?”

“Well”, Turgon said. “I showed you the movements and you were doing them quite well. How about I hold you under the arms and you just do the leg moves for now? Just take care to hold your head up to not-”

Eärendil had already grabbed his grandfather’s arms and lifted his feet from the slippery bottom of the pond, flailing his legs around like an over-excited frog.

“Good”, Turgon said, carefully moving backwards. “But slow down a little or else you will tire out too quickly.

The water was so shallow that he had to bend down far enough for his hair slipping over his shoulder, the tips getting wet in the water. He couldn't even stroke it back, seeing as his hands were currently holding something far more precious, and he knew he must look very silly.

And then his grandson beamed up at him, and Turgon found that he didn’t care all that much.

…

Eärendil was a shockingly fast learner. It could not have been due to Turgon’s less-than-ideal abilities as a teacher, though, that much was clear. And yet, after practising his leg strokes, and then his arm strokes separately, Eärendil insisted on attempting a couple of strokes entirely on his own. Turgon still held a hand under him to catch him if necessary, but it would not even have been required since the boy grabbed for his arms on his own in the moment where he noticed his strokes faltering.

“Did you see that?”, he shouted and almost swallowed a mouthful of water. “I was swimming all on my own!”

“You did! I’m very proud, you learned a lot.” Eärendil beamed at this compliment and Turgon slowly moved in the direction of the shore. “Come on, let’s leave it at that for today. Before you get to cold.”

“Fine. But one last thing!”

And before Turgon could protest, Eärendil had just dove down, face first until he was fully submerged under water.

Turgon felt a spark of panic shoot through him, white and cold, but before he could act, the child had stemmed his feet into the ground and stood up again, grinning up at him, soaking wet and completely happy. He shook his hair like a dog and then leapt at Turgon, almost making him loose his balance.

“I love you, grandpa”, he mumbled against his skin and Turgon’s chest clenched with affection.

Turgon gathered him up into his arms, not minding how his shirt immediately got drenched, and Eärendil pressed his cold, wet face into the crook of his neck.

“I love you, too, little one.”

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“Everything.” While this was the truth, Turgon knew at the moment the word had left his mouth that he should not have said it. Too late, the mischievous gleam in Eärendil’s eyes already revealed that he would cold-bloodedly exploit his weakness.

“You should dive down, too.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why not? Do you not like water?”

“Well… I am standing waist-deep in it, with you, am I not?”

“Amil does not like water.”

“I know. That is why I was teaching you.”

“Well, then.” The child smirked at him, clearly aware of his power over him.

Turgon sighed, and yet as he turned to face the shore, he was only waiting for the expected pout to appear on Eärendil’s face before making sure that the water behind him was deep enough.

“Oh no”, he then said, with over-exaggerated shock in his voice and began leaning backwards in a ridiculously slow way. “I think I’m slipping. Oh dear.”

Eärendil squealed as Turgon let himself fall backwards with a splash, holding up the child over the surface while letting himself dive under for just a moment. As he came up, the wild cackling of his grandson ringing through the air, he felt a sense of wild, pristine joy he hadn’t felt in a long, long time, despite the discomfort of his drenched underclothes and his wet, soaked hair that immediately began clinging to his skin.

“Think of all the poor fishes you scared off”, Eärendil said, still giggling and clinging to him like a tiny, wet bundle of joy. “You look funny. Like a very wet horse.”

“And you look like a hairy, blond frog, dear. Come now, let’s get you out.”

…

They surely looked even funnier when they were making their way back to the palace a couple minutes later. Maybe, Turgon thought in retrospect, he should have thought to at least bring towels. But then again, if this would be his legacy, walking through the city in just his tunic and trousers, a little boy wrapped into far too big robes in his arms, both of them with dripping wet hair and in the middle of calling each other stupid names, he would surely count himself lucky.

[dddomenstarstwst1]

I was thinking about how you said Ace had a little bit of an exhibitionist kink. And then I got to thinking about Ace sitting in your lap, cockwarming you while he "studies" in his room, only hidden by a small blanket over your laps. Then maybe Deuce comes running in asking for hw help or maybe to hang out and just. Refuses to leave hehe

That got me horny, shit. Thanks for requesting!

Hidden

Character: Ace Trappola

Genre: Smut

Warnings: sub!Ace, dom!gn!reader, amab!reader, exhibitionism, deuce makes an appearance, cockwarming, anal sex

a/n: a character is aged-up and depicted as 18+ y/o

"I can't do that! Pull it out, please." Ace shifts in your lap. You let out a 'tsk', ignoring his pleading eyes. It was his idea to study together, but you knew that the word "study" was a bit too unrealistic.

"Stop moving or I'll make you wear a cock ring. You just gotta answer correctly to all of those questions and we're done." Your hands steady him by his waist, lingering there, before you grabbed a blanket and covered your legs.

Time went by as Ace was struggling to get pass question number five, he kept glancing back at you and clench around your dick. He was cursing himself on choosing to study in the library and not in one of your rooms. He knew that even though you were in a pretty secluded corner, still someone could walk by and see you.

And, unfortunately, that someone turned out to be Deuce Spade. He waved at the both of you and landed his butt on a chair on the opposite side of the table. "Phew! I almost thought I wouldn't find you. Thanks for letting me study with you both, [Name]!"

"Ah, no need!" You felt Ace's hole squeeze hard around you, "You said you need help, right? Don't mind Ace, he's got the hang of it. You'll answer those yourself, wouldn't you, Ace?" He nodded at your question, gripping a pen in his hand. You motioned Deuce to sit next to you.

"What's with the blanket?" He pointed at the fabric draped over you and Ace, "Are you cold?" You nod, before telling him to open his book. Deuce drops the subject and shows you things he didn't get from Crewel's lecture. Ace lets out a sigh, pressing his legs together.

"...Yeah, and if you add a sprinkle of Golden Powder it'll make your potion glow..." You shifted yourself closer to Deuce, the tip of your dick pressed against Ace's prostate. He grabbed the edge of the table, a low groan formed in his chest.

"Ace, you good? You look kinda pale, buddy." The ginger waved his hand, leaning against your chest. "Yeah, yeah! 'M good. Just, uh... Just hit my knee on the table, haha! A-anyway! Deuce, aren't you supposed to be on a club activity now?"

"Ah. Yeah, but the exams are coming soon, so I decided to skip a couple of practices and study. Ace, are you sure you're okay? Your legs are shaking." Deuce reached his hand to Ace's thigh, making the latter jump. Trappola tried to move away, but your cock in his hole didn't give him much opportunity.

"A-ah! I'm fine! [N-Name], tell Deuce about that powder more!" You laughed quietly, before averting Spade's attention to something in the book. Ace bit his bottom lip, grinding down on your dick. He couldn't believe his friend was sitting right next to him, while Ace was trying to fuck himself on your cock.

What would Deuce think? Somehow it only aroused Ace more. He wanted to be caught, he wanted Deuce to find out. Ace was considering to subtly shift the blanket off of himself to reveal what was going on under the fabric. Your fingers tapped his thigh, drawing his attention to you.

"Ride my dick. Deuce won't notice, he's too busy." The ginger stifled a whimper, his studies long forgotten. He, as carefully as he could, lifts his hips up and sinks back down. He struggles to keep his sounds in, breathing erratically. "Don't cum. If you do, I'll make sure to fuck you in front of a whole Heartslabyul dorm."

"Hm? What did you say, [Name]?" Deuce whips his head to the side, facing you. You notice a slight tint of pink on his cheeks. Interesting. "No, no. You must have misheard it! Let's get back to studying."

He knows. He definitely knows. More so, did he just get hard from knowing his friends fuck right next to him?

[marvelslut16]

Meeting Hop for the first time

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Wheeler!reader (platonic at this stage)

Synopsis: Overwhelmed 14 year old (Y/N) sneaks out of her house and runs into recently returned Officer Hopper, and they unload on each other in the early hours of the morning.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Swearing maybe? But none that I can think of.

Author's note: OMG I'm alive and so is this series? Who would of thunk it? These 10 hour days are kicking my ass, by the time I get home from work I'm too tired to write and I'm creatively drained. But I'm making a conscious effort to post more. So wish me good luck.

Everything is so loud: Holly screaming from the room next to mine, and the wails crackling loudly through the baby monitor attached to my Mom’s hip; Nancy listening to her Kate Bush’s The Dreaming cassette for the millionth time- far too loudly- to drown out the sound of Holly’s cries; Mike is practically screaming as his action figures fight in a life or death battle in his room; and my mom is calling for my dad to make a bottle for Holly and all dad does is turn the TV up a notch higher every time she calls down to him, pretending he doesn’t hear her.

Even in the dead of the night the house is too loud, my mind echoes the day's activities, and my brain hurts from all of the studying I secluded myself in my room to focus on. It’s hard to breathe when I think of all of the things I have to do. I have to wake up early tomorrow to make everyone breakfast since mom is still healing from having Holly, then I have to get Mike and Nancy up and to the table, fix Holly a bottle, feed burp and change her, quickly scarf down what’s left of breakfast, clean the dishes, get dressed for school, make it to the bus stop in time, go to school, come home, take a turn with Holly, help with dinner, clean the dishes, shower and then finally do homework into the early hours of the morning. 

I close my copy of the Catcher in the Rye and set my pencil down as I finish the first draft of my AP English essay on the theme of maintaining happiness and keeping up appearances that are clearly shown in the story. My open window and the cool breeze blowing in isn’t providing me with enough fresh air to breathe properly and to stop my rising panic. After a good five minutes of debating, I sneak out of the house for the first time.

I debate walking all the way to Jonathan’s house, but there’s no way Joyce wouldn’t tell mom if she caught me there in the middle of the night or sneaking out in the early hours of the morning. Well later in the morning, given that it's almost two already. I aimlessly walk for about ten minutes before I end up at the neighborhood park. It's been ages since I have been there in a capacity that isn’t watching my younger siblings. I breathe in the fresh air, plopping down on a swing and soak in the quiet and peaceful early hours of the morning. 

“What do we have here?” a gruff voice from behind startles me a few moments later. I jump from my spot on the swing and turn to look at the owner of the voice, getting my legs ready to run back to the house if I’m in danger. 

But instead I’m greeted by the most handsome man I have ever seen, he looks to be in his mid thirties, close to six and a half feet, he’s sporting a little stubble on his face, his blondish looking hair covered by his hat, and he’s wearing a Hawking police uniform. He must be the big city detective everyones been talking about, the one that just moved back to town. 

“Um, hi,”  I answer timidly, unsure if he and his big city ways will arrest me for breaking curfew. 

“What brings you to the park in the middle of the night?” the man asks, sitting down on the swing next to the one I’ve just abandoned. 

“I uh- I just wanted to get out of the house for a little while. It feels like my baby sister is always screaming, and then everyone else in the house gets louder to compete with her. I just wanted a break from the noise and from endless homework.” I’m not quite sure why I’m sharing everything with him, but it feels good to get it off my chest. I haven’t even told Jonathan, he’s been too consumed with cheering Will up after another broken promise from Lonnie. 

“Oh, so you must be the (Y/N) Wheeler, the one that just led Hawkins high to their first ever Scholastic Decathlon, and won.”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” I huff out, annoyed that that’s all anyone ever knows me as, the freakishly smart freshman.  

“Well you were in the newspaper for it,” I roll my eyes at his sly smile. “Your face was the first thing to greet me when I opened my newspaper on my first day back.”

“So you must be Jim Hopper, the war hero and big city detective,” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“I see my reputation precedes me too,” his whole body shakes when he laughs. 

“Well, when someone actually gets out of this town, people talk when they decide to come back.”

“Where are you planning to escape to after graduation?” he asks, and I don’t blame him. Anybody who has the chance usually runs, and with my intelligence I’m a shoo in at almost any University I could dream of, so it’s only natural to assume that I’ll run too. 

“I’m actually planning on staying here,” I sit back down on the swing and start to push myself back and forth. “Ever since I was four and I could read my picture books on my own, everyone assumed that I was meant for great things. My mom forced me to do more, to do better, and when I was old enough she forced me to join every academic club I could. I never got to be a kid, I never got to be in ballet like Nancy, and I couldn’t play with toys like Mike. I was a genius who’s meant to do great things, just something for my parents to brag about when they go to dinner parties. 

They put me on this pedestal, and I constantly feel like I’ll fall off of it the moment I do something to disappoint them. My mom expects me to be a doctor or a lawyer, or some big wig in a fortune 500 company. And no one has ever bothered to ask me what I want, what I like to do. I don’t even know what I like to do, I don’t have time for hobbies- if I’m not at school or doing homework I’m taking care of my little siblings. I just want them to realize that I’m not some perfect jewel that they can show off, I’m a person who’s bound to mess up and who deserves to have her own life and do what she wants to do.”

“The people here put me on a pedestal too,” he says after a minute, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette and lighter. “Back when I was your age I played football, I was the youngest starting quarterback in Hawkins High history.”

“You led the Tiger to their first ever football championship, they still have the trophy front and center in a glass case,” he shakes his head before lighting his cigarette. 

“The people in this town, my coach especially, expected me to play college ball, and I thought about it for a while, only disappointed everyone when I saw what was going on in ‘Nam and decided to enlist. But then they all expected me to be some brave hero, and I ain’t. I was just someone who wanted to see justice. So I went to New York and became a police officer there, and the people here thought highly of me ‘cause I was some fancy big city cop.”

“You still went on to do amazing things, you never really disappointed anyone,” I stare off at the monkey bars in front of me. “I know I’ll disappoint everyone, especially my mom, when I don’t go to any of the schools she has picked out for me. If I’m not their little genius, I’m nothing to them.”

“They ain’t worth your time if that’s all they see you as, even if they are your parents,” he tosses his now finished cigarette. “You have a good head on your shoulders, you’re bound to do good things, no matter what you choose to do after graduation.”

“Ya know, you’re a really good listener, and strangely easy to talk to,” I fight the tears that cloud my eyes, this complete stranger has made me feel more seen than my parents ever have. 

“Could you tell my ex wife that?” he cracks a small grin. 

“And you’re funny too?” I giggle. “I wasn’t expecting that with how intimidating you looked when you first caught me, I thought you were going to arrest me for breaking curfew.”

“If I catch you again, I may just have to,” he stands from the swing with a groan. “C’mon I’ll drive you home, ‘ll be sure to keep the lights off and go slow so none of your nosey neighbors notice.”

“Thank you,” I smile at him, forever grateful to him for listening to me tonight. “Have you thought about going on a higher pedestal and becoming the Chief of police? You’re a lot smarter and kinder than the rest of the idiots in that station.”

“I’ll have to start kissing the Mayor's ass,” I giggle again and thank him as he opens the passenger side door for me.

The car ride is spent in silence, with the exception of giving him directions here and there. He waits until I’ve climbed up the trellis and slip back into my room before he drives off, turning his lights back on at the end of the street. I sleep soundly that night for the first time in a long while, it feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders and I feel lighter, freer and happier. 

CFTF tags: @letaliabane @ilovethatforyou @gay-forspace @ffantasylandd @iwamaye2 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @l0ve-0f-my-life @moonstarsandsongs @euphoniumpets @noshi-chan @astream-ofconsciousness @rentheanonymous @southsideacademythings @peter-beter-barker @tinynshykitten @captainstilinskis @krazykatkay456 @sara-stark-rogers @jayybear @lolitagirly02 @wolfieellsworld @lolacolaempath @idkitsrandxm @agirlinherhead @miss-goldenweek @gaspyghosttt @sharp-cheekbones-locked @stitchattacks @tomshelbystits @piper570 @kaylahat @evyiione @strbyallycow @bigenergy777 @unatempesta-dipensieri @minispice-1

[filet-o-feelings]

For your prompt ask, I'm gonna go with the obvious: slushy!

Thank you, friend! I definitely took my time getting that electric blue drink down so not really feeling any effects of the alcohol, but you helped shake some words loose. In fact, over 700 of them- way more than I expected from this!

So it's a bit of a college AU, and a meet cute, I guess? I'm almost tempted to continue this but I don't need any more active wips lol

It’d been a long week, and Patrick thought he deserved a little treat.

His professors had all seemingly banded together and decided to assign the most difficult and time intensive projects all at once, he and Rachel had broken up for the fifth time (or was it six now?) and his mother was having health problems (she claims it’s nothing major, but he worries). He’s made it through to Friday, and all he wants is a nice big cup of tea that he doesn’t have to make himself once he gets home, because once he walks through that door he plans to plant himself on his couch and not move until he’s watched enough mind-numbing entertainment via Interflix that he passes out. 

He thinks he deserves just one night of thinking about absolutely nothing.

He steps inside the convenience store and heads straight to the self-serve beverage area to prepare his tea when the buzz of the nearby slushy machine catches his attention, which is immediately drawn to the man filling the large plastic cup with the most unnaturally colored liquid imaginable. 

It’s not the neon blue slushy that has him so hyper focused that he nearly knocks over his own beverage, narrowly avoiding a painful interaction between his skin and the scalding liquid, but the man himself. He appears to be close in age to Patrick, perhaps a few years older, but he couldn’t be any more different in the way he presents himself. He’s wearing tight, ripped jeans, but Patrick gets the sense that they are ripped carefully and purposefully. His sweater (despite the fact that it’s the middle of the summer – maybe that’s why he needs the ice cold drink?) is nearly all black, yet somehow just a bit over the top. It’s a statement, for sure, with the large white lightning bolt sweeping across the front. 

He realizes the man is looking at him now, as he pops a domed lid on his cup and reaches for a straw, and Patrick blushes and turns away to add a bit of milk to his tea before capping off his own cup as well.

“Hi,” the man says, and oh, fuck, he’s even more gorgeous up close. Even if he's only moved a few feet.

“Oh, uh. Hi." Smooth, Brewer.

“Look at you with your little tea, judging me with my slushy. I’ll have you know I’ve had a very long day and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with treating myself to a sugary drink,” the man says, affronted.

Patrick smiles, “I wasn’t judging you, promise. This–” he holds up his tea, “is my own treat for a long week. So yours is a little more, dayglo? Nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Okay,” he says, and Patrick can see how hard he’s trying to remain offended, but the man is clearly having some difficulties keeping his own face in check, a smile creeping slowly up one side of his face while his eyes unmistakably light up.

Maybe that’s what gives Patrick the confidence to say what he says next. “In fact, I was hoping to take a walk to the park down the street and enjoy this, you know, to relax after my long week. I’m kind of hoping you might want to join me?”

The smile has grown to a definite full, complete smile and the man agrees. “I’m David, by the way.”

“Hi, David. I’m Patrick,” he says, reaching out to shake David’s hand, where he’s met with a jolt of electricity that he swears runs through his entire body,and for a brief moment he imagines the lightning bolt has somehow jumped off David's sweater and struck him down, but he's still standing and David doesn’t seem concerned, so he pulls back slowly, with high hopes that won’t be the only time he touches David and he makes his way to the counter where he pays for his tea along with David’s slushy.

“No, it’s my treat,” he insists when David tries to pay.

“Thank you, Patrick.”

Patrick isn’t sure if it’s intentional, but he feels David’s hand brush his shoulder as he turns back to the cashier, once again feeling that rush of warmth. He isn’t sure what this means, but he’s pretty sure his day is turning around.