#Fashion Designer!Barbie!Reader
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vanteguccir · 6 months ago
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── ୨୧ ! 𝗧𝗜𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗞 𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦 | 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟰
         𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader
SUMMARY: 4 times that Y/N and Matt made a couple's trend on tiktok.
WARNING: None.
REQUESTED?: Kinda?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
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1. Decorating my boyfriend's car super girly and seeing his reaction
Going downstairs quietly so as not to wake anyone, considering it was still too early for any of the triplets - and even Y/N - to be awake, Y/N entered the garage. Matt's car, an impeccably clean black one, was there, parked and oblivious to what was coming.
The girl turned on the room light and made sure she had closed the door before finally unlocking the car ones by simply touching the small control in her hands.
Opening the driver's door with her unoccupied hand, Y/N climbed in, sitting down on the seat, a sound of complaint escaping her throat as she noticed how far and low the seat was - obviously adjusted for Matt's height. She quickly adjusted the position of it until she felt comfortable and, finally, put her phone in the support attached to the lower center of the windowshield, exactly where the boys supported their camera during car videos, her right hand instinctively flying towards the ceiling lights, turning it on.
Y/N unlocked the device and quickly browsed through the apps until she found TikTok, opening it and entering the recording space, adjusting the focus to ensure that every detail was captured, and pressed the red button.
"Good morning, TikTok!" The girl muttered in a low tone, a mischievous glint clearly apparent in her eyes. "Today, I'm going to do the biggest trolling of all in my boyfriend's car. Let’s turn it into a real preppy car!"
Y/N started by taking the first piece from the box of items she had prepared: a pink fuzzy cover for the steering wheel. The cover was a vibrant pink, with a soft, cozy feel to the touch.
Y/N carefully slid the cover over its right place, making sure every inch was covered and fitted perfectly. The fluff glowed below the yellow light, giving the steering wheel a luxurious, exaggerated appearance.
Then, she picked up two pink cup holders, filled with glitter, both twinkling every time the light hit one of them, as if it was full of little stars. Y/N laughed to herself as she placed them on the center console's cup rests, fitting them in and smiling widely when she noticed how perfect the size was.
"Matt will love putting our morning Starbucks here, for sure.” The girl murmured, looking up and sending a wink towards the camera.
The next step was to decorate the air conditioning vents. Y/N had bought several mini pink decorations, also full of glitter, each one more extravagant than the last. There were little hearts, stars, and even some fake diamonds. She carefully attached each to the air vents, adjusting until they were all secure and at a good enough distance to notice them all.
"Get ready for style and glamor to be blown throughout the car when Chris asks Matt to turn on the air conditioning during videos." She joked while still adjusting the last small items.
The car's gearshift could not be forgotten. Y/N pulled out a smaller sized pink fuzzy cover, specially designed. It was soft to the touch, matching the steering wheel cover perfectly. She slid it over the gear, adjusting it so it was secure, her right hand closing around the cover, smiling as she felt the small hairs caressing her palm.
Finally, to complete the look, Y/N took a pink diamond-shaped pendant, stretching her upper body upwards and extending her hands, hanging it around the rearview mirror. The pendant swayed slightly by itself, reflecting the light and casting small colored reflections throughout the interior of the all car.
"I feel like I'm in Barbie: a Fashion Fairytale." Y/N said, letting out a nasal laugh, resting her back against the backrest of the seat so that her eyes could analyze every corner of the car, admiring her final work.
She then turned her attention back to her cell.
"Alright, guys, the car is ready. Now we just need to wait for Matt to wake up and see his reaction."
The video stopped at that moment before it returned seconds later.
"I went upstairs after fixing the last details and woke up Matt, I made up that I was hungry, but that I wanted to have breakfast at a café." Y/N began with a hushed tone, now sitting in the passenger seat, her phone now in her hands. "I waited for him to get up and get ready before telling him I would wait for him in the car."
It didn't take long and soon Y/N heard Matt's footsteps coming down the stairs that led to the garage, her eyes looking up in time to see the silhouette of her boyfriend appearing in the doorway. She pressed her lips into a thin line in an attempt to contain her laughter.
Her eyes followed Matt's steps, who walked quickly towards the driver's seat door, the sound of the door opening echoing through the small space was followed by anticipation on Y/N's part, who looked at the camera to Matt and back again, waiting for his reaction.
"Hey, sweet girl, I'm sorry it took me so..." He interrupted his own sentence, his movements instantly stopping for a few seconds. "Y/N! What- What did you do to my car?!" Matt's voice echoed in a tone of disbelief, the surprise evident on his face not yet visible to the phone camera.
"Come on, babe, sit down so you can take a better look at this incredible work I did just for you." The girl asked in a fake sweet tone, smiling openly and leaning her upper body over the console, extending her right arm so that her hand could touch Matt's, holding it firmly and pulling him inside.
The boy, still wide-eyed and surprised, obeyed, sitting on the leather covered seat - already arranged again to his own taste - and closing the door with a thud.
"Where- When did you even get all those things?" Matt questioned again, his blue eyes quickly traveling over every pink detail before turning his attention back to Y/N, his mouth slightly open.
"Yesterday, duh." The girl answered as if it was obvious, shrugging her shoulders before her neutral expression broke into a smile again. "Did you like it? It's pretty, right? I'm sure your videos will be much cooler now."
"Babe, oh my God." Matt's voice sounded airy, eliciting a laugh from Y/N. He didn't know where to focus his attention, different shades of pink calling his eyes from every corner. "I can't lie. It looks so good." The boy finally reached out with his hands, his fingers curling around his steering wheel, pressing lightly against the extremely fluffy fabric over his palm.
"I know, right?" Y/N responded excitedly, briefly glancing at her cell that was still recording them. "Look at the cup holder, babe!" Her tone rose as she reached out toward the console, pointing to the pink cup holder with her index finger.
"So I can put in your favorite Starbucks drink every morning, huh?" Matt lowered his gaze to the item, shaking his head amusedly as he heard his girlfriend agree excitedly.
"Next step: getting the car wrapped in pink."
"Are you crazy?"
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2. Pretending to be asleep to see my boyfriend's reaction
Y/N was home alone, comfortable silence filling every corner as she waited for Matt to return from the street. He had gone out to get a specific sweet that she had been asking for for days, and the only place where they sold it didn't deliver.
Sitting comfortably on the grey couch in the living room, the girl was immersed in TikTok videos when a new couple trend appeared on her For You Page, catching her attention; Pretending to be asleep to see my boyfriend's reaction.
Y/N didn't think twice before making the decision to join the cycle of famous couples replicating the trend, quickly leaving TikTok, and opening the location app she shared with Matt. Watching his icon move across the colorful map, she calculated that she still had a few minutes before he arrived, rising from the couch seconds later, running down the small hallway that led to their room.
First, she took the plush, gray bedspreads off the bed, folding it and leaving it on Matt's gaming chair. The soft light from the already turned on lamp created a calm and welcoming atmosphere, perfect for what she had in mind.
She then adjusted her phone on the nightstand on her side of the bed, ensuring the camera was pointed directly at the mattress and the space Matt would enter, propping it against the lamp and organizing the minimal decorations that was always above the furniture around the device in a way that it disguised its existence there.
Checking the app again, she saw that Matt was just a few blocks away. Y/N hurried to lay down, adjusting herself comfortably but naturally.
She turned slightly to her back, rescuing Matt's pillow and hugging it to her chest, not stopping herself from lightly exhaling the natural scent of her boyfriend's male shampoo and cologne that permeated into the fabric, closing her eyes and regulating her breathing to make it seem like she was actually sleeping.
A few minutes later, she finally heard Matt's footsteps echoing across the floor, going from quieter to louder, indicating that he was getting closer to the room. She kept her eyes closed, trying to contain a wide smile as her heart beat fastned.
Matt's footsteps approached the door, the sound of it opening echoing after, the familiar sound of the paper bag he was carrying filling Y/N's ears.
"Babe, I found the one that you wanted, and guess what? They had just made it!" Matt started talking as soon as he entered the space, his voice excited and loud, before noticing the silence in the room.
The boy looked up, his eyes running around before noticing his girlfriend lying on their shared bed, lowering his voice when he noticed her apparently sleeping figure, his expression softening immediately, a small smile settling on his lips.
He closed the door behind him with a soft click, walking with steps of a feather towards the bed, the sound of his sock-covered feet tapping against the wooden floor gently echoing through the four walls.
His busy hand placed the bag with the sweet on the nightstand beside his side before he approached the edge of the bed, admiration written all over his face as he looked at Y/N.
He bent his knees slightly, curving his upper body over the mattress and bringing his face closer to Y/N's head, using his left hand to support his own weight, just watching her sleep for a few seconds, a tender smile on her face.
Matt then lowered his head so that his face was close to hers, sealing his lips over her forehead and head repeatedly, but very lightly and slowly, without the intention of waking her up.
"You're so beautiful when you sleep, you know that?" He whispered, his voice filled with affection, stroking the side of her face lightly with the tip of his nose before reaching out with his right hand, gently brushing away the loose strands of hair with his fingertips, taking them away from her eyes, being careful. His touch was light, almost like a gentle breeze.
Matt looked around, noticing the phone on Y/N's nightstand, but didn't suspect anything thanks to the low brightness of the screen. He just smiled, enjoying the moment, taking note of how the surroundings seemed as calm as ever.
Taking the corner of the duvet that was at the foot of the bed, he gently pulled it over his girlfriend, making sure she was comfortable and warm, petting the thick fabric lightly, molding it to his girl's body.
Then he got up again, reaching his hands to his bedside table, taking the bag with the sweet he had brought between his fingers. It was an angel cake with strawberry filling and whipped cream, Y/N's favorite.
The boy took the box with the cake out of the bag, being careful not to make any loud sounds, leaving the brown paper bag on the wood surface before walking towards Y/N's bedside table slowly, leaving the frame of the phone's front camera for a few seconds, placing the small white cardboard box above it.
"Hope you like it." The brunette murmured again, more to himself than to her.
Matt then returned to his side of the bed, resting his right hand on the mattress and taking off his socks before finally laying down next to her, being careful not to make too much noise or sudden movements.
After snuggling as best he could under the duvet, he turned on his side, bringing the front of his body closer to the back of Y/N's one, wrapping an arm around her waist slowly, gently pulling her closer, his hand automatically finding its way under the oversized t-shirt that covered Y/N's upper body down to her thighs, snaking his hand across the soft skin of his girl's stomach and finding home beneath her right breast, just as he did every day, not seeming to notice the shiver that ran through her body, closing his eyes.
Y/N couldn't help but relax her body even more under her boyfriend's gentle touch, snuggling closer, feeling a deep peace settle in her chest, momentarily forgetting that she was even recording something.
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3. Trying the spray trend on my boyfriend
Y/N was in the bathroom she shared with Matt, her hands working on resting her phone on the marble sink in a way that it wouldn't be obvious that she was recording, the screen with low brightness already open on the TikTok app. She made sure the frontal camera was well positioned, capturing the perfect angle from the bathroom door to the area where she would be standing.
Then, Y/N bent down slightly and opened the cabinet under the sink, her right hand retrieving a spray deodorant she had recently purchased, taking off the cap and setting it aside. With everything ready, the girl turned to her cell again, pressing the record button with her thumb.
Y/N smiled playfully at the camera before turning away from the device and extending her right hand, opening the bathroom door.
"Matt!" The low, muffled sound of Matt's voice shouting back echoed down the hallway leading to the bathroom. "Babe, can you come here for a minute?"
She waited, listening to her boyfriend's footsteps approaching. His figure quickly appeared in front of the already open door, a confused look on his face.
"What's wrong, babe? Do you need help with something?"
"I bought this new deodorant that says it's unscented, but I think it has a slight lavender scent. Can you smell it and tell me what you think?" Y/N asked, her tone sounding naive, holding the spray deodorant at the height she knew would be ideal for him to reach it, and pointing the hole where the product exited upwards.
"Sure." Matt nodded, still a little confused, but willing to help. He entered the bathroom completely and approached Y/N, tilting his head closer to the area where his girlfriend was holding the spray.
Y/N pressed the button on the top of the deodorant, creating a white cloud that slowly rose. Matt leaned even closer to smell the scent, a look of genuine concentration written across his face, and at that exact moment Y/N moved quickly, closing the distance between their faces and pressing her lips softly against his.
The kiss was quick and surprising, and she could feel Matt's slight shiver of surprise, a sound of shock escaping his throat.
When she pulled away, Matt's eyes were wide, his eyelids blinking rapidly as his brain tried to assimilate what had happened, his cheeks slowly turning into a bright red hue, a small smile appearing on the corner of his lips.
"What?" A loud laugh escaped Y/N's mouth as she watched his reaction, noticing his shy expression.
"You're a little devil." Matt shook his head comically. His tongue acted on its own as it escaped his mouth, passing his lips carefully, the taste of mint flooding his palate. "Is that mint?"
"Maybe." Y/N replied with the ghost of a smile, vaguely remembering how she had applied the Space Camp mind lip balm a few minutes earlier.
"Can I have another taste of it?"
"Matt!"
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4. Using my scary dog ​​privilege to walk alone at night
It was a quiet, cool evening as Y/N and Matt were taking a walk after a nice dinner at a home-cooked Italian restaurant close to their home.
Y/N's eyes swept the deserted streets in front of her, quickly looking back over her shoulder, taking note of Matt a few steps behind her body, vaguely remembering a TikTok she had watched earlier that day, the environment around them reminding her a lot of the one in the video.
With that, she decided to record one, too.
And how she was when she was beautiful
The girl was now holding her phone in her right hand, her screen with TikTok already open in the recording area staring back at her, the sound of the Babooshka song melody playing at a low volume from her speakers.
Her half-closed eyes were fixed on the front camera, which recorded her face contorted into a small smirk, her hair moving around her face as if it was planned, a consequence of the light wind that surrounded her and her measured steps, which never stopped.
She signed the letter
Y/N slightly raised her hand that was holding her cell so that the camera now captured the view from behind her back.
All yours
The video captured the image of Matt following in her footsteps, his body completely covered in black clothing, making a perfect contrast with the yellow night lights coming from the tall poles above their heads.
His posture was erect and his head remained high, his arms crossed so that his biceps were visible against the thin fabric of his black shirt and a serious expression resting on his face - as usual -, his eyes fixed straight ahead, as if he was on alert of everything, accompanied by his furrowed eyebrows, giving an impression of anger to anyone who saw him from afar.
Y/N, watching the image through the tilted phone screen that was still recording her boyfriend, felt a shiver run down her spine; a small, satisfied smile blooming on her face.
Matt was definitely a scary Doberman by her side.
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taglist:
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(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)
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862 notes · View notes
nymphomatique · 1 year ago
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your nerd miguel fics are so good i didnt even know id like dom!reader this much
imagine slutty!reader getting ready for another party and she's barely wearing anything, pretty tits n ass spilling out of her clothes. she's leaning forward over the vanity to do her make up, and miguel cand help but get distracted from (her) homework, and just looks at her plump ass peeking from under her flimsy skirt. he begs her to let him rub himself on her and with hesitant hands he grips her hips and dryhumps her like a dog in heat
well, yes!
cw: slight dom!fem reader, sub!miguel yall know the vibes, me indulging in fashion for a moment, dry humping, miguel cums in his undies, this one’s a lil sweet i fear, awkward ending soz, edited AND proofread y’all 🙏🏾 (can’t guarantee no mistakes however)
wc: 1.6k
❤︎ a/n: i’m a dirty liar and forgot to upload this yesterday but!! she’s here and she was a labour of love! everyone who survived the great barbie drought of winter 2023-2024 gets a pin and goodie bag at the door. nevertheless, enjoy!! 💋
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“hey, four eyes, this dress or should i wear a skirt instead?”
brown eyes you’ve come to know so well, more than you’d like to admit, flit up to meet yours momentarily until they look at the two articles of clothing hanging on hangers between your manicured fingers. in one hand, a mesh cut out dress with a deep plunging neckline, and a khaki mini skirt in the other.
“um, skirt. y-you looked pretty in it when you bought it, so um- you should wear it,” miguel mumbles, a pink tint sweeping its way lightly across his face. you’re feeling particularly sweet on him today. it’s been hard to keep your eyes off him as of recent, his chiseled jaw, thick lips, and who could ever forget the resplendent pools of brown that takes form of his eyes. eyes that make your face heat up, setting your body ablaze and feeling feverish under the slightest of glances.
he’s classically handsome, that much you won’t deny, as much as it kills you.
you silently take his suggestion in heed, quietly stripping in front of him to change into the skirt he suggested, and pulling on a black long sleeved crop to to match. you silently lament on the memory of the day you bought the skirt, how you had dragged miguel by his shirt alongside you that day to the mall to sit and watch you buy clothes at any and every store, designer or department, and shuck your bags into his strapping arms. you had wandered into miu miu, miguel trailing not too far behind you with your bags from blumarine, versace, cavalli and more comfortable in his hands. he sat patiently in the waiting chairs as you picked up an array of shirts and skirts and accessories, until you were ready to try them on. miguel sat and watched as you said no and turned your nose up at nearly everything until you tried on a khaki skirt, sitting so low on your hips the straps of your red thing peeking above the waistband.
you turned and twirled in the mirror, admiring the skirt on yourself until you turned to miguel himself, walking up to him as he’s sat to ask him, “you like it?” and like it he does, a hefty hand trailing up from your thigh to your hip, tapping your your hip softly. “you know i do, baby,” and you giggle at his answer, twirling for him before walking back the dressing room to change, not before biting your lip and beckoning miguel to follow at your heels with a pink painted acrylic nail. and follow he does, because he’s such a good boy.
you feel roused at the memory of your dressing room quickie in the same skirt you’re wearing now. and you’re sure miguel feels the same, and you don’t miss the opportunity to provoke him at any moment.
you bend over, slow but curt, fixing up your makeup in your large vanity while your ass sits out in direct display, the short fabric of the skirt lifting as you bend. your black thong is made visible as you bend and wiggle you hips. you steal small glances in the mirror to where miguel is on your bed, sitting in a sea of linear calculus books, and sure enough the methods of linear are long forgotten to focus on your exposed backside. you giggle and turn your head to look at him, and his lips purse when he realizes he’s been caught. before he can sputter anything out, you stand and turn to him and ask him, “see something you like, dontcha?”
a silent swallow and a nod is miguel’s response, his growing erection answer enough for you.
“beg me for what you want.”
and there’s a brief fleeting moment after the words leave your lips. an unspoken fervour in the air, perhaps a mix of what hasn’t been said and all that’s left to say about the two of you. you feel hot, your gaze burning through miguel’s clothes, burning his skin all the way across the room. you want him, you want him, you want him. and he’s looking back at you, a subdued but still present lust in his eyes. you see the submission, his compliance. yes, mistress.
his knees hit the floor, and then his rough palms follow suit and he’s crawling towards you until he’s not, and his sat like a good little boy in front of you painted feet, and he does what you ask, he begs for your touch, your taste, your mercy.
“please let me touch you, i need it, please please please. can i have it? can i touch you, mommy? i don’t even have to be inside you, j-just your touch and i can- i can cum. please? oh god please-“ miguel babbles, his hulking form looking up at you from the floor. you feel like the wind has been knocked out of your chest. he just needs your touch. you card a hand through his thick wavy locks, gripping at the nape and pulling his head up to look at you.
“just need my touch, hmm?” you look at him and he nods. whimpers. so fucking pathetic. “i’ll let you hump me like you want. my subservient little puppy needs it, huh?” you coo mockingly. a string of yes’s and thank you’s leave miguel’s lips and you get up and turn around, bending over to brace yourself on your vanity.
you’re fully presented for miguel, and there’s an empty beat of stillness between you both, you make eye contact with him in the mirror and quip, “gonna keep me waiting?” and he knows better than that. he’s up on his feet, unbuckling his belt and shucking his jeans down and off him, standing in his boxers, swollen and full with his erection. he moves behind you, placing his hands on either sides of your hips.
“no ma’am.”
you can’t help but pulse in anticipation. you look at him in the mirror and find that he’s looking at you already and you feel yourself heat up. please don’t make me wait anymore, you think. like he’s read your mind, miguel’s covered erection is pressed up against the gusset of your panties, perfectly slot between your ass cheeks.
and experimental hump sends you bouncing forward a little, your breasts jiggling a bit, a soft sigh of satisfaction leaving you. finally. another hump, miguel’s strong hands pulling your hips back towards his crotch and you gasp a bit and the pleasure. another thrust of hips, and again, and again until it becomes a steady rhythm of soft sighs and low groans. and it goes on from a thrust to a trust and grind, and oh! the meat of miguel’s dick rubs up against your clit and you can’t help but moan.
your moans are joined by miguel’s whimpers, his hips rocking so intensely it has you burning up inside so much that you think you might cum from the stimulation. “s-so good baby, fuck,” miguel let’s out and you keen at his praise. you’re so good, you’re his baby. you push and grind your hips up in time with his, feeling yourself begin to soak through your panties and maybe onto miguel’s dark boxers. you can’t hold yourself together anymore, feeling yourself come apart so you drop your head onto your vanity’s surface, hoping to salvage some semblance of your pride.
the thick hands on your hips move to find purchase within your skirt, grabbing fistfuls of the short fabric before pulling your hips back with a staggering strength. you feel your knees buckle a bit, and your head shoots back up with an accompanying moan.
miguel pulls you down while pushing himself up into you and it feels so fucking good. your palms feel clammy and you feels as if you’re still sanding by the grace of god. every nudge of your clit feels as if it’s short circuiting your motor functions temporarily and you feel so overwhelmed to the pleasure, you can do nothing but succumb to it, and the man granting you it.
“m’gonna cum miguel. so good, so fucking good. wish you were inside me so i can feel you. wish you could feel me cum around you. f-feels so good please don’t stop! i’m gonna- oh!” you’re mumbling and babbling incessantly, canting hips and soft whimpers that turn into heavy groans only further pushing you past your limit through this titillating pleasure.
“fuck, gonna come with you baby. come with me, please mommy i need it,” miguel moans. his hands release your skirt and dig into your hips once more and you’re sure you’ll find salacious marks there in the morning but you don’t care, not when you’re so close.
a particular hard thrust sends you reeling forward, head almost hitting your mirror and you can’t help but give out within your legs. you feel them shake and almost go numb at the pleasure. you’re left helpless, cumming violently and soaking the fabric separating both you and miguel as miguel continues his assault against your poor pussy. he fucks it- humps it?- raw, overstimulating you to the point of pain when finally he finishes with a final thrust, his nails digging into the meat of your curvature. you feel his cum seep through the material of both of your arguments and you moan as it hits the gusset of your thong.
miguel lets go of your hip and you wobble a bit, using your upper body upon your desk to stabilize you. you’re both panting and heaving, taking in the intense and carnal display of lust between the two of you. you’re quiet before you hear miguel pipe up, breathlessly, pulling you from your daze.
“thank you, mistress.”
smug bastard.
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cheonstapes · 1 year ago
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hi! i absolutely love your spider-barbie x miguel fic! could you pls do a miguel x fashion reader who loves wearing pretty dresses and skirts but he gets a little possessive and then other stuff ensues..
miguel o'hara stars in... 'MY DRESS UP DARLING' ♡(>ᴗ•)
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a/n~ this request is so cute omg i always wanted to be a fashion designer so i kinda channelled that. i was thinking of valdrin sahiti's dresses the whole time, also POSSESSIVE MIGUELL AHHH!! enjoy my lovely 💗💗💗💗
summary; miguel loves it when you dress up, only for him though. no one else.
wc; 1.6k+
pairings; husband!miguel o'hara x wife!fashion designer!reader
cw; SMUT!!, voyeurism, breeding kink, possessive behaviour, fingering, meanish-soft?dom!miguel, sub!reader p in v, tit slapping like once, a guy watches you two fuck, is dirty ( ̄▽ ̄*)ゞ, nawt proofread - this took me like 2 days to write m a busy girlie
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you were just so gorgeous. ever since you and miguel started living together you completely took over the space in your shared closet with the most beautiful pieces of clothes he’s ever laid eyes on, eventually leading to miguel spending a whole week making you your own walk-in closet. he took you out shopping after that, since you had all this new space - why not fill it with even more clothes?
typically, you liked to design your own. dresses of all shapes and sizes, skirts too, but miguel loved spoiling you too much - besides, he loves it when you dress up for him. he booked you a private fitting in one of the top boutiques in nueva york, you would talk his ear off about how badly you wanted a dress from them, sending him pics of all the new pieces they’d put out. what’s better than spending quality time with his baby?
when you two arrived at the boutique, you were greeted by a young man. he was handsome, not as handsome as your husband, but still handsome. he smiled brightly at you whilst handing you a glass of champagne before turning to miguel and doing the same. “good afternoon mrs. o’hara, mr. o’hara. we’ll sure to make this the most memorable experience for you, seeing as your husband booked the most expensive service we offer. but a beautiful lady like yourself deserves the best, regardless.” the little fucker winked at you. miguel was slowly starting to regret coming here, seeing you blush faintly from the compliment made his blood boil.
the man attempted to put his hand in yours, trying to guide you to the fitting rooms - did he want to get fucked up? miguel let out a low growl, wrapping an arm around your waist a pulling you close to him. “well? lead the way then.” 
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for the most part, miguel was enjoying watching you dress up so prettily. everything fit you like a glove, all of the dresses chosen specifically from your instagram collections and your pinterest boards. adjusting himself, he eyed you hungrily. this dress was just perfect. it looked so similar to your wedding dress, you looked so beautiful in it - even more so when he fucked you in that same night. he had picked this dress out for you specifically and he was secretly crossing his fingers in hopes that you liked it, and like it you did. but someone else liked it too, a bit too much.
the shop assistant stood at the side of the platform, gawking at you. obviously, miguel knew his wife was a whole goddess, too good for this world - but this guy was staring so shamelessly at you. he couldn’t allow that, nuh uh. “d’you like the dress, my love? i picked it out for you, knew you’d look so sexy in it.” miguel stands behind you now, large hands caressing your hips as he presses himself against you. he whispered into your ear but it was 100% loud enough for the assistant to hear, seeing as his face started to turn a deep red at the pda.
this only fuelled miguel to go even further, lip’s latching onto your sensitive neck, sucking on the skin. one of his hands moves up the dress, skimming the fat of your exposed cleavage before pushing under the fabric to grope your tit, thumb rubbing teasing circles over your pert nipples. “this dress was made for you, doll, no one could wear it like you do.” he spun you around, both hands gripping onto your ass. his hard cock presses into your stomach, your hand coming up to his chest, pure embarrassment on your face. “h-honey,” you had to get on your tip-toes to whisper to your behemoth of a husband, holding onto his shoulders. “what are you doing? can’t you wait till we get home, baby?” 
he smiled, brushing his hand along the side of your face. “how else am i gonna teach that little perv a lesson if we’re at home, hm? look at him, love. he’s probably gonna get off to this later.” you would think the guy isn’t even there with the way that miguel completely disregarded his presence, talking about him so openly like he wasn’t even there. but miguel didn’t give a fuck, patting your ass to get you to jump onto him, wrapping your legs tightly around his thin waist.
he sat down on the sofa in front of the mirror, deftly hiking up the dress to bunch up just above your plump ass, palming his hands over the skin. giving the assistant a view to remember, he pushed your thong to the side, creamy strings of arousal cling onto the fabric. you were wet, so wet - your sexy husband was feeling you up, what else could you do? “mírate, empadada para mí. you’re such a dirty girl, eh love? or is it that you like being watched?” three fingers plunged into you, he moved them teasingly slow, pressing them up against the most sensitive spots - curling them, moving faster and faster until he feels you clench around his thick fingers. 
“you gonna cum, sweetheart?” he slows his fingers down to a gentle grind, thumb flicking your swollen clit. your soft whines and whimpers were just too cute, he can see the guy’s hard-on - his shaky hands dipping under the waistband of his slacks. “mmh - y-yeahhh, feels so g-good.” your hips were moving so salaciously against his hands, the urge to give in to you was becoming harder to resist for miguel. but he had to make sure that idiot learnt not to fuck with what’s his. he pulled his fingers out of your soaked cunt, licking your essence of his fingers before lifting you up and turning you around in his lap, your pussy exposed for the assistant to see.
“baby, what’re you-“ you could hear the sound of a belt unbuckling behind you, and the wet slap of your husband’s tip against his toned stomach. he places a hand on your lower back, arching it whilst the other comes to pull the front of your dress down - perky tits spilling out of the lacy front. “lift your hips for me, love.” he slips his thick cock under, smacking his tip against your clit, pre smearing all over it. “fuck, honey, please i need you.”  of course, he could never say no to you. 
he pushed himself inside of you, pulling you back down. keeping a fast pace, the wet sounds of your ass meeting his hips reverberated throughout the room, one of his hands groping your tits. “you like that, baby? you - fuck - you like getting fucked like the little slut you are, moanin’ my name like that.” drool was slipping out of your mouth, running down your chest. all you could let out were garbled whimpers and moans, your smaller hands gripping his arms as he used you like a fleshlight.
the assistants hand was moving rapidly under his slacks, his eyes trained on the sight of miguel’s cock stretching you out so deliciously. you lost all feelings of embarrassment long ago, your shaky hands rubbing tight circles against your swollen clit. miguel cursed under his breath, his own voice slightly shaken, his large hand splayed against your stomach. the outline of his cock pressed against his hand, he was so, so deep in you. “shit…would you look at that.” he ran his thumb over the outline of his tip, hips stuttering as a jolt of pleasure racked both of your bodies. 
“god, fuck - ‘m gonna fill this sweet pussy up. you always wanted me to knock you up, right love?” he smacks your tit, the flesh jiggling in his palms as he quickens his thrusts. “see my girls swollen with milk, this beautiful belly of yours all heavy with our babies. everyone will know you’re mine, ‘m never letting you go - i’ll fuck as many babies as i have to in this tight cunt to make you remember that.”
your thighs trembled at his words, fingers on your clit sloppy as you clench tightly around him, a broken whine of his name leaving your lips. squirting all over the sofa, his cock almost pushed out of you from the force of your orgasm. the faint whimper from the corner tells you both the assistant finished too, his arm draped along his face. miguel was so close, pushing his cock as deep as it could go, forcing more liquid out of your quivering cunt.
“thaaat’s it, baby, you’re so gorgeous when you cum. f-fuck - take it, fucking take all of my cum.” his hips push against you two, three more times before he spills his load inside, the thick, creamy liquid seeping out and pooling at the base of his cock. he ruts against you slowly, pushing his cum back into you - pressing kisses down the side of your sweaty neck. “you did so good for me, i love you so much.” you smiled deliriously, pressing a deep kiss on his spit soaked lips. “mmm, i love you too, honey.”
his gaze then locks onto the assistant, eyes narrowed and demanding. he hold you tightly against him, hand caressing your ass lovingly. “you. ring up all of this shit, she’ll keep this one on.” he nods frantically, tripping over himself as he grabs all the dresses on the racks. “one more thing,”
“when you’re done, do me a favour and quit. i don’t wanna see you here again.”
“miguel!”
- mírate, empadada para mí. - look at you, so wet for me
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-come into my mouth, come into my mouth in the name of the lord
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buckys-little-belle · 9 months ago
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Im scared to but my first Barbie, but I really want one! Sooooo bad. Can you maybe write Steve and Bucky meeting a she/her reader in the Barbie spot in a store and being nice to her? Maybe buying her a Barbie and some clothes? And they are just nice?
Barbie Aisle Buddies
Stucky x Shy!Little!Reader (She/Her Pronouns Used)
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Warnings - The reader is generally a worry wart so she has a bit of 'panic' and worry during this fic, it gets resolved by the end and fluff ensues after her worry.
Notes - I honestly pulled inspiration from a fic I had written a while ago about a shy reader in a toy aisle, so I hope it's okay that I made the ready shy. This is also pretty short! But also so cute!!! Also I know it can be scary going to a store and buying toys but I promise you it's okay! I have bought so many Barbies and Barbie toys like clothes, and I described a Barbie I own in this story! Don't let worry eat you up, go buy the Barbie! Trust me when I tell you it's worth the worry, having fun dolls that I get to play with and dress up is so fun and I don't regret getting them! You only live once bubba, don't let the worry get you down for too long! I hope you get a Barbie soon!!! <3
SFW - Keep all interactions with the post, and this blog, SFW!
. ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ .
Y/n had been hyping herself up for a month now. Twenty dollars in her pocket, and a determined state of mind were all she had as she walked up and down the Barbie aisle of her local grocery store. It was a small selection of dolls, yet so overwhelming at the same time.
Some dolls had different jobs, chef, doctor, fashion designer. Others had fancy outfits or animal sidekicks. It was hard to pick just one doll, but seeing as she only had enough money for one doll, she knew she had to pick just one.
"Hello." A man's voice broke through her overthinking, a man stood just a few feet away, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, some worn out sneakers on his feet. He looked familiar, though Y/n couldn't place just where she had seen him before. "I'm Steve." He smiled, turning to look at the same shelf she had her eyes on previously. "It's hard to pick one, isn't it?"
"Um." Y/n panicked, trying to remember the excuse she had made up regarding why she was in this aisle. Did she land on 'getting a toy for a friend's kid' or 'I have a birthday party to attend'?
"Steve!" Another man's voice called out. This time a man dressed all in black, combat boots and gloves included, planted himself a few feet away. "Hi there, Doll." He smiled, Y/n couldn't help but smile back, the man's charm winning her over. "Which one do you have your eye on?" He asked as he scanned the shelves, hands crossed over his chest, looking at the plethora of choices like he too was thinking about getting one.
"Oh, I'm not, I'm just, you know, a, I don't, I." Y/n began stuttering, trying to get out an excuse, any excuse, to make them believe she wasn't buying a Barbie doll for herself.
"Dolls don't have an age, Doll." The man without a name chuckled. "If you're looking for a Barbie to play with I would suggest one that comes with a few items." He began pointing to a few sets she had looked at, but sets that were over her budget.
"I like this one." Y/n quickly grabbed a doll she had her eye on. She was a chef and came with a pan and what looked to be a fried egg. She had a chefs hat and coat, and looked fun enough, but the biggest pull was it was the only doll with accessories that was in her price range.
"She'll need some everyday clothes." Steve squatted down to a lower shelf, rummaging through some small containers for a set of clothes.
"I can't, I just. This is all I can get." Y/n smiled with a hint of self conciseness. Admitting you didn't have a lot of Barbie money to strangers wasn't the end all be all, but at the same time it still felt extremely venerable.
"Well, Doll." The unnamed man with a smile full of charm spoke again. "It's your lucky day then." He pulled the cart Steve must have brought closer to the shelf. "Pick whatever you want."
"What?" Y/n shook her head taking a step back, confused as to what he meant.
Steve was the one to speak up this time. "You don't know who we are, I'm guessing." His smile was softer, more gentle. "I was formally known as Captain America." The truth felt like a weight had been lifted off Y/n's shoulders, her happy to know that she wasn't crazy for thinking he looked familiar.
"And I'm his sidekick, Bucky Barnes, formally known as The Winter Soldier." Mr Unnamed added on.
"Oh." Y/n nodded her head, taking in the two men, even more confused as to why they were wasting their time in a local stores Barbie aisle with her. "Sorry for bothering you."
Y/n was ready to dash with her doll, worried that the super soldiers she just met would grow tired of her quiet demeanor. "Doll." Bucky called out, his voice commanding yet it still had a joking tone to it. "Come back here and pick at least four things."
"Buck." Steve whispered loudly.
"Steve." Bucky said back, his tone condescending. "Doll, please let us but you some dolls. It would make our day." She still hadn't turned around and had half a heart to run, yet for some reason she turned around and took a good look at the shelf.
There really were some sets she'd love to have, like the farmers market stand and a little dog set, and Steve was right, her doll needed everyday clothes. "You won't make fun of me?" She asked, worry surrounding each word.
"Wouldn't dream of it." Steve put his hand over his heart, an action that made her giggle.
"I'm Y/n." She finally gave them her name, a small smile breaking past her worried expression.
"It's nice to meet you, Y/n." Bucky and Steve said at the same time, the three of them laughing.
"Which outfit do you think your doll would look best in?" Steve held out a few options, letting Y/n ponder over them as Bucky tried to convince her to pick the Barbie camper as one of her choices, as if she had a spot for such a big play set.
"I like this one." She pointed to a package that help a blue dress, pick shirt, and jean skirt. The shoes were cute too, and she got excited at the idea of dressing her doll in the outfit.
So there they all stood, Steve and Bucky trying to convince Y/n to get super expensive things, and Y/n trying to figure out how she got so lucky to have two super soldiers worrying over her new doll collection.
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rrxnjun · 2 years ago
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potential • z. chenle
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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.
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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…? 
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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madsfrank · 4 months ago
Note
How would the Dead by Daylight Killers(Mastermind, Trickster, and Ghostface) would react to a Survivor! Himbo! Male! Reader that's a bit like Ken from the Barbie movie?
Himbo! Reader is a 6'6 powerhouse of a guy whose heart of gold, cheerful demeanor, and great sense of fashion makes up for his lack of braincells!
He's just so nice to literally everyone, even Killers lol
(you can delete this ask if you want)
'*•.¸♡ SFW II HC 𝕶𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝕳𝖎𝖒𝖇𝖔! 𝕾𝖚𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖔𝖗 ♡¸.•*'
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-ˏˋDirectoryˊˎ -ˏˋ Masterlist ˊˎ -ˏˋ Mastermind ˊˎ -ˏˋ Trickster ˊˎ -ˏˋGhostface ˊˎ
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- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
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………..Chris?
No like seriously this man is going to stare at you and be like “ah my long lost Redfield.” Especially if you’re nice.
Honestly, he’s probably going to maul you more since you remind him so of his beloved friend-zone situationship.
However, if you start giving him fashion advice? He’ll hook you….but you may or may not see him in the next trial with more than just black leathers.
I feel like you would always be the last alive and of you play into his silly mind games, he may let you get hatch. Maybe.
Either way, all your fellow survivors are extremely jealous you’ve somehow managed to survive even sometimes around Wesker.
It may get so bad that wesker will actually discard the real Chris Refield because your too much of a fun toy to play with.
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- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
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First of all, who hurt you? Why are you trying to befriend this man?
Secondly, the trickster is hardly nice in any trials. You will be getting some knives launched at you. Advice? Sharpen his blades for him and after each trial to win him over.
Yeah, he’s still gonna kill you. But at least it will be more painless than what the others get.
If you’re really insistent and somehow convince him you want to really befriend him, not just another fan, he may even let you stay in his realm. The little studio apartment that the entity lets him keep.
I swear the man would probably completely change. Instead of the hyper on stage attitude he’s probably be a bit more…chill? How he is with his manager mostly.
You are physically at an advantage against him, he’ll probably admire you for that, which will give you some lenience with him on allowing other survivors into his realm.
Just don’t get too cocky and don’t trash his place either!
Not to mention that every time you go back to the campfire, you are getting some major outfit changes, he’s totally going to force you to dress like he does. Not even an option to say no. If you have any taste, it’s gonna be his.
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- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖋𝖆𝖈𝖊 ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
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Now this, this is fun.
You’re a powerhouse of a man, yes? Perfect.
Danny is a short king. Ideal.
You are carrying him on your back. In trials. To hunt down other survivors. He does not care.
Ok yes, the other survivors are laughing their asses off but also getting slashed in the throat so who really wins?
This is the fastest friend setup you will ever witness.
Also you’re carrying him bridal style now everywhere. Final.
Not to mention this man is gonna want your help in designing his new costumes. You think there should be hot pink flames on his mask? There should be hot pink flames on his mask. You get the point.
Needless to say you are getting hatch every single trial. Also, any of your closest friends are also getting hatch. Plus, a houseparty at his realm.
Danny is pretty chill ngl, so expect him only to kill you if he wants to show you a new technique he just learned.
“Dude, check this out” and you get gutted, but hey! At least it was pretty cool right? You literally end up giving him pointers while verging on blood loss.
So great, you’ve become the Ghostface’s #1, and you’re never getting rid of him!
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago
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The Dollhouse 3
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 
Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 
Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 
This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Polly and Ann. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.
Note: 💗
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 
Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖 
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Barbie sets up her vanity on the desk. She opens the little plastic doors on the mirror to reveal the built-in lights before bending over to plug it in. You’re amused at her efforts as she reaches around the legs in search of a socket. 
You’re so excited. You’ve been counting down the days since your best friend came up with the idea. She found the ad online and forwarded it to you. It was almost too good to be true. You came together to meet the building manager, Jonathan, and he showed you all around. You can’t believe you both snagged a room. 
Barbie stands and pushes a button on the base of the mirror. She fiddles with her phone and there’s a chiming noise. Music starts to play from the speakers behind the vanity. Nifty. 
She lifts her makeup chest onto the desk and unrolls her collection of brushes and other tools. Her passion is admirable. You guess that’s why you are friends; she doesn’t shy away from what she loves. For her, it’s cosmetics, for you, it’s clothes. 
Lulu watches her as she hovers around the door. The girl hasn’t stopped moving since you go there. She’s like a hummingbird, always fluttering. She has this nervous laugh that seems to escape her without notice. 
“What are you taking, Lu?” You ask, hoping to distract her from her nerves. 
“Oh, uh, mathematics.” 
“Math? Wow.” 
“I’m not much for numbers but I have to do accounting courses if I want my business degree,” Barbie snips as she sorts through her makeup pads. 
“Business? That’s cool. What about you, Polly?” Lulu sways and tucks her hands behind her back. 
“Interior design. My mom forbade me from going into fashion but I convinced her to let me do this instead,” you explain. “It’s good money and I can still sew on the side, I guess.” 
“That’s interesting. I don’t know much about fashion. Vogue or whatever,” she tentatively peeks over at Barbie. “You have so much makeup.” 
“I’m a collector,” Barbie trills. “You want me to do you up? I don’t mind and I’m religious about cleaning my stuff.” 
“Oh, uh, you don’t have to,” Lulu waves her hands. 
“I don’t have to but I want to,” Barbie insists. 
“It’s her hobby,” you say, “just don’t let her get you with the glitter.” 
Lulu shrugs, “okay, nothing too heavy. I have sensitive skin.” 
“Oh, you don’t need much,” Barbie assures her, “your eyes are the perfect shape.” 
You hide a yawn as your leg bounces, jiggling the whole bed with it. You lean back on the heels of your hand, bored but not unhappy. The music fills the lull as Barbie searches through her palettes. 
You flinch as you hear something in the hallway. You get up as Barbie asks Lulu her opinion on lip gloss. You open the door and peek out. A girl carries and old looking suitcase down the hall, a box cradled in her other arm. You step out and she tosses the box in surprise. 
“Oh, hi,” she touches her chest and catches her breath. She looks over in dread at the scattered contents of the box. “Uh... sorry. You scared me.” 
“I’m sorry, I was just coming to say hi,” you go to her as she leaves her suitcase to the side and gets down to gather up her belongings. You help her, picking up a framed photo of a woman. She looks a lot like her. Maybe her mother? 
“I’m Ann,” she says as she takes the frame. 
“Polly,” you reply. “There’s some other girls in there,” you point over your shoulder. “You’re welcome to join us once you get your stuff down.” 
“Uh, sure, maybe,” she lifts the box and stands. “Tired.” 
“Right, yeah, I think everyone is. Been a long day.” 
“Is everyone else already here?” She asks. 
“I think. There’s two others downstairs. I guess you didn’t see them on your way in.” 
“Just the boy, uh, Peter? He’s nice. He wanted to play some ping pong but my hands were full,” she backs up to grab her bag, “I’ll knock on the door if I get a chance.” 
“Sure, yeah, we’d be happy to have ya. I know we were thinking of drinks so... maybe later.” 
“Okay,” she nods and lets herself into the last empty room.  
You go back into Barbie’s room as she bends to ply powder to Lulu’s face. “Someone here?” She asks. 
“Yeah, the last girl. Ann.” 
“Ann? That’s so pretty. Was she nice?” She asks. 
“Oh, super nice. She seemed a bit tired but I think we all get that. I told her to stop by if she has the energy.” 
“Awesome,” Barbie preens and stands back to examine Lulu. 
You wade around the room restlessly. Now that everyone is here, you’re impatient. You go to the window and glance out at the yard. It’s green and lush and perfectly groomed. You touch the window. The glass feels peculiarly thick. You twist the latch between the panes and push out. Heavy, too. 
As you do, you notice the figure below. Steve notices you too. The large blond man turns and peers up. You stand dumbly as you are. He raises a hand in a casual wave. You frown and pull back without returning the gesture. 
“Oof, that pollen’s going to get me good,” Barbie sniffles, “honey, will you look in my bag for my claritan?” 
“You’re always so dramatic,” you tease her as you tuck down your concern. 
You go to Barbie’s purse and search around for the pills. You don’t want to worry her by asking about that man. If everyone’s here, shouldn’t he be headed out. Jonathan touted the new security system and he mentioned routine check-ins. You really don’t like the idea of constant surveillance, even if it’s for your own safety. 
“You okay?” Barbie asks as you approach her with the box of tablets. 
“Fine, fine, just... adjusting.” 
“We all are,” she sets down her brush and take the medicine. “Right, Lu?” 
“Oh, yeah, everything’s so new,” the girl wiggles on the chair and giggles. “And far from home.” 
You give her a sympathetic smile. You can’t even imagine what it’s like to be in a whole different country. The more you think about it, the more your own homesickness mounts. Your family isn’t the best but you can’t help but miss them just a little bit. 
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You put the portrait on the empty desk next to the box. You’re too exhausted to unpack. You drag your feet and sit on the bed. There’s a tidy stack of folded sheets on top, next to a card. Strange. 
You reach for the envelope and tear it open. Inside, you read the little welcome; ‘Consider this a housewarming. Please don’t hesitate to call should you have any issues with your housing. Jonathan Pine.’ Under his name, he’s written the number you already have in your phone. You lower it to your lap and something slides out of the envelope. 
You bend forward to take the gift card from the floor. Huh. That’s a bit too generous. A gift card to the local mall. You wouldn’t spit in the face of kindness but this all seems a bit much, especially after staying so long with Marla. 
You put it all back in the envelope and lay sideways on the bed, legs still over the edge. You were so happy to get a room there; clean, affordable, great location. Not that you’re there, you’re overwhelmed by it all. All these pretty girls, younger yet well ahead of you. 
It won’t do to get hung up on age or time or whatever. You should at least try to make friends. They seem lovely so far. Besides, you didn’t just miss out on classes for all those years you took off, no, you lost out on the social scene. 
You huff and push yourself up. Better be a human and go and meet your roommates. The long you wait, the more awkward it’ll be. Besides, you’re done with being left behind. 
You peek out into the hall before you emerge. You step out and shut the door gently. You cross the white carpet with blue roses and knock on the same door that girl Polly came out of. The moment your knuckles hit the wood, a brew of nerves begins in your stomach. 
It doesn’t take long for an answer. It’s almost like Polly’s waiting for you on the other side. You smile and give an awkward wave. Why did you do that? 
“Hey, offer stand?” You ask. 
“Oh, hi! Yes, come on in and meet everyone,” she steps back. You poke your head in before the rest of you and push your shoulders up, “hi, I’m Ann.” 
“Barbie,” the one standing up introduces, her focus on the other as she draws on her eyelids with liner. “This is Lulu. She’s an exchange student.” 
“Hi,” Lulu squeaks then giggles as she keeps her eyes closed. 
“Stay still,” Barbie tuts. She gets an apology and another tinkling laugh. 
“It’s just the three of you?” Ann asks. “And Peter?” 
“And Molly,” Barbie answers as she pulls back and caps the liner. “Quiet but sweet.” She sucks her teeth as she looks over Lulu. “We’ll do your mascara and gloss and then we’ll go do some driiiiinks.” She shimmies as she sings the last words. 
“I brought vodka if you wanna share,” Polly offers, “Barbie only drinks tequila.” 
“Can’t go wrong with a margarita,” Barbie counters. 
“I’ve never drank,” Lulu says. “My mom never let it in the house.” 
“Oh my god! Alright, well, we’ll make sure to give you a starter drink,” Barbie chirps. 
“Vodka’s fine, thanks,” you say to Polly. You look around and take in the large makeup chest with its many shelves and the roll of brushes in all sizes. 
“Barbie’s really into cosmetics. We go on dates to Sephora.” 
“They know me by name,” Barbie brags. 
“Mm,” you nod and clasp your hands together. You don’t know what to say. “So, uh, super nice building huh?” 
“Oh, it’s fucking perfect,” Barbie says. “I lived on campus last year and the showers were always clogged with hair. Ew.” 
“Hah, yeah, well, just wait a couple months,” Polly scoffs. 
“Mm, and there’s good security,” you suggest as you drag your hand up your arm, “I met that guy on the way in. Steve.” 
“Ah, yes, he’s nice,” Barbie says. 
Polly hums and her lips thin as she glances at the window. Lulu giggles again but doesn’t add anything. 
“And Jonathan is a sweetheart. That accent, too,” Barbie laughs. 
“Oh, uh, yeah, he’s nice.” 
“Sy is... nice too,” Lulu says. “The gardener.” 
“Honey, I need to do your lips,” Barbie chides. 
“Sorry,” Lulu stills and lets the other girl paint her with pink gloss. 
“There’s a gardener?” You ask as you share a look with Polly. 
“Done,” Barbie announces and stand straight. 
Lulu looks at herself in the mirror and bats her lashes, “oh my god, it’s awesome! Wow! I don’t even look like me!” 
“You do. I just highlighted your beauty,” Barbie assures her. “Ann, how about it? You want a glow up?” 
“Uh, no, that’s fine. Lulu, you said there’s a gardener?” 
“Of course,” Barbie shrugs, “I mean, look at the yard. I’m not trimming the hedges, are you?” 
“Yeah, he’s a big guy. Super helpful. The other day, I got locked out by accidents. Oh, you gotta be careful with the front door.” 
“Right,” you squint. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 
“We got all year to complain about the house, guys, let’s go get the others and get the party started,” Barbie whines as she looks around and flits over to a Louis Vuitton bag, “let me just get my tequila. Pol, go get your bottle and we’ll ball out.” 
You force a smile but it’s not entirely fake. You’re excited. You’re finally getting started on your life after dwelling so long on the end of it. You just wish your mom was here to see it. You wish you could call her so she could tell you she’s proud. 
She would be, wouldn’t she?
81 notes · View notes
averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year ago
Text
Barbie Girl 💄 | Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin Imagine
Takes place before, during, and after the events of Top Gun Maverick
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TGM Masterlist
Characters & Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Barbie!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)
Content warnings: light profanity, fluff | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4.3k
Requested 📨 yes/no (for @kayla-swiftly)
Premise: They say the sky is the limit and anything you set you’re mind to will be achieved as long as you’re dedicated to it. For most people that testimony is nothing but a mere fantasy. But for one woman, with too many dreams to count on her fingers, she took that statement to heart. Proving you can be anyone you want to be and maybe even a few others give or take 😉
Note: Anyone else obsessed with Barbie lately?? Omg y’all I saw the movie last week and absolutely fell in love and i had this request from around the time the final trailer dropped and knew it was the perfect time to write this. I know I know I haven’t been living up to my promise of being consistent but man they having me working my ass off at my job. Also I’ve been traveling and I saw Big Time Rush last night (i felt like a teenager again and it was amazing 😭) anyway I hope you enjoyed this and let me know what you think!
—————————
“Hi, Barbie!” The familiar greeting fills Y/n’s ears as it does every morning she arrives at the hangar. With it comes an instant smile, hand raising to wave at the person responsible for it, “Hi, Phoenix!”
“Hey there, Barbie,” winks another friendly face.
“Hiiii, Hangman,” her tone is playful like his, turning energetic for Bob when he goes, “Hiya, Barbie!”
“Hi there, Bob!”
“Hey, Barbie.” “Good morning, Barbie.” “What’s up, Barbie Girl.”
“Hello, Rooster.” “Good morning to you too, Fanboy.” “Nothing much, Pay. And yourself?”
Unlike her fellow pilots, clad in their deep green flight suits, Y/n stood out in the crowd for hers was a little unorthodox when one thinks of a naval fighter pilot's uniform.
It was pink. Completely as in her combat boots were also the bright color and the patchers were white and pink tones rather than red, blues, black and any other color seen in the ones attached to her coworkers arms. ‘Barbie’ in pink cursive writing instead of traditional bold Times New Roman lettering.
And don’t forget the little flower dotting the ‘i’.
Growing up, Y/n took ‘you can be anyone and anything you want to be,’ quite literally. At no point was it a joke to her when she would tell her friends and family, “oh I’m gonna be a fashion designer and Olympic Gold medalist when I’m older,” “I wanna go to space, fly in planes, and see all the wonders of the world,” “I’ll be a doctor, a teacher, and movie star!” They’d smile and laugh, thinking it was adorable for a little girl to dream big. No way would it be possible to achieve all of those careers. Everyone only gets one life to live and time goes so fast one can only set their eyes on one path and hope for the best.
But Y/n was a dreamer. And if you’re going to dream, might as well dream big.
All through middle and high school people took Y/n’s intelligence for granted. Focusing more on her beauty rather than brains, it came as an under shock to everyone when Y/n had the credits to graduate at the ripe age of 15. Exceeding in her standardized test scores with a high school resume taking up three pages with extracurricular and academic achievements, she had colleges from all over the country begging for her to apply.
Stanford. Cornell. Pratt. Juilliard. NYU. John Hopkins. Harvard. UCLA. Duke. Top medical and law schools. Ivy League universities. Performing Arts schools calling for auditions after sending scouts to watch her perform in school plays and dance recitals. Coaches from high ranking NCAA gymnastics teams sending emails after emails.
So many to choose from….And so the story of Y/n L/n becoming a real life Barbie Doll begins.
Setting her eyes in New York, Y/n attended not one but two of the best schools in the country. While obtaining her bachelor’s in both astronautical and aeronautical engineering at NYU Y/n also completed a two year degree in Fashion Business Management at the Fashion Institute of Technology. During this time she continued training for the Olympics in hopes of making the 2008 Beijing team in gymnastics.
“How do you do it?” Her roommate at NYU constantly asked. “You go from here to FIT, working on two degrees that are completely on opposite sides of the spectrum and career paths,” she emphasized with hand expressions, “and still have enough to time to go to the gym to practice, eat three meals a day, have all your assignments done early, and sleep a reasonably about of hours each night.” Letting out an exhale, her roommate looks at Y/n as if she’s an alien from another world, “What’s your secret? Are you some kind of Barbie doll the government created as a test robot?”
Each time Y/n would pause, think for a moment before smiling, “I don’t know if I should find that as an insult or compliment, but I’m gonna chose it as a compliment and say it’s because I want to live a life where I can look back on and go, ‘I took a risk and tried something new even if it didn’t look possible but it was all worth it.’”
By the time Y/n turned 20 she had accumulated a vast list of credentials to her name. The list included getting her fashion business degree at 17, Bachelors in astronautical/aeronautical engineering at 19–receiving her Master’s for it at 20–An Olympic Gold and Silver medalist, dancing with the Radio City Rockettes, performing with the NYC Ballet Company in their rendition of Swan Lake, landing a role on Broadway, walking a runway at NY fashion week, and appearing on episodes of SVU, 30 Rock, All My Children, Sex and the City, and Ugly Betty.
So yeah, New York was a success in experiences for Y/n.
Following the high note, she packed her bags to leave the golden apple for the flashing lights of Hollywood, California. This time Y/n was working on her doctorates at USC, running her own business with her fashion degree called ‘Dream Closet’, and auditioning for film and tv shows.
Hollywood was a dream come true just like New York. Again she attended two different schools, this time flight school and USC. During the day she was occupied running from class to the hangar and then the observatory. Coaching dance and gymnastics on the side, designing clothes for her online shop which developed into a pop-up chain store in malls across America.
It wasn’t long until Y/n’s name grew into nationwide popularity. People started realizing the Y/n L/n who won the Gold and Silver medals in the 2008 Olympics was the same one responsible for the most recent fashion trends and guest starring on their favorite tv shows. What really set it in stone was when Y/n landed the role of an engineer officer in the 2009 reboot of Star Trek, going on to appear in both the 2013 and 2016 sequels.
Impressive was the only word her costars could use to describe her. What else was there?
Anytime there was a question involving, “who’s most likely to become president?” “Who’s most likely to try something new or create a new hobby?” “Who’s most likely to win a Nobel Prize?” Along those lines…the answer was obvious.
“Oh Y/n,” Zoe Saldana waves her hand, “Always.”
“Yeah,” Chris Pine agrees with a laugh, “That woman, I-I don’t know how one has the energy to do all that she does—a-and still want to do more.”
The Interviewer laughs with them, “didn’t she just race in the Daytona 500 last year?”
“Yes!! And she did a song with Lady Gaga when they were on American Horror Story,” Zoe’s tone is in absolute awe, “All while teaching at USC and creating new technology at NASA.” Chris lifts a finger.
“Don’t forget she had her own Mac Viva Glam line a couple years ago.” Zoe made a sound along the lines of ‘see what I mean,’.
“I’m telling you, she’s gonna be a name in the history books.”
What all has Y/n accomplished career wise? Let’s take a look.
Model, dancer, actor, singer, fashion designer, entrepreneur, athlete, engineer, race car driver, and professor.
And now she can add pilot to the list. Although she got her license to fly way back in 2009, Y/n didn’t put it to use full time until 2016, wanting to wait until after the release of Star Trek: Beyond to say goodbye to Hollywood for the time being and set forth on her next adventure.
Boy did it come as a surprise what she had planned.
The Manila folder containing her resume hit the desk of the Admiral, his eyes wide as saucers. “You wanna join the Navy?” Reading the front page for a fifth time, Cyclone glanced back at the woman in front of him. Doctor Y/n L/n. Or is it professor L/n? “And you wanna be one of my pilots?”
“Yes, Sir.”
”Ma’am, I apologize if this comes off as offending,” he really didn’t know any other way to put it. “But you are more qualified than any person on this base. Doctorates in aeronautical and astronautical engineering from the University of Southern California,” he counts off on his fingers, “you recently developed a groundbreaking advancement in space technology that’s going to help our astronauts—on the road to becoming a Nobel Prize nominee.” He raises his eyebrows, “And this is only what relates to this career field. I’m not even mentioning your acting, athletic, and fashion credentials. Why join the Navy?”
Y/n only offers a shrug, “I think the better question is, why not?” Cyclone lets out a sigh.
“What did you say your callsign was again?”
“Barbie.”
There was no stopping the small smile trying to break free, “I should’ve guessed.”
After completing OTS there was much debate on what Y/n’s rank would be coming into the Navy. Civilian lawyers and physicians often are Lieutenants (O-3) right away, but considering Y/n had two doctorate degrees and her pilot license they felt it was only fair for her to come in as Commander (O-5). From there Y/n was sent to North Island to attend Fighter Weapons School.
Better known to its flyers as Top Gun.
Y/n was used to the looks she received on a daily basis. From head to toe she was covered in variations of pink depending on what she was feeling. When teaching her briefcase and pantsuit were baby pink, in the labs her coat was hot pink, at auditions she wore pink leather jackets. Even her race car for the Daytona was pink.
Shoutout to Mac cosmetics for the sponsorship.
So it’s no surprise her flight suit would be the color she was known for—despite it being out of regulations.
Being more qualified than your superiors had its perks.
If she could have a pink F-18 she would but unfortunately that wasn’t possible. That was okay for Y/n. After all, she managed to get her own custom flight suit. One which had everyone having to do double takes whenever she walked into a room.
“Is she wearing…?”
“How the hell did they allow that?”
“Does that mean I can have mine in purple?”
Her first day at Top Gun Y/n met Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace. They were paired as roommates in the dorms and quickly became good friends. Phoenix was beyond amazed with Y/n’s accomplishments and experiences. Every conversation led to a new discovery. “Do you ever burn out?” Nat stag criss crossed on Y/n’s satin pink bed sheets, admiring her wall of photos from when she traveled to see all the wonders of both the ancient and modern world. “I feel I’d be a walking corpse from exhaustion. And you mentioned you’re still running and designing clothes for ‘Dream Closet’?”
Y/n removed her diamond studs, placing them on her desk she was using as a vanity. “I have a team dealing with the business side of things for the brand. I’m still CEO and creative director—usually I work on designs for a couple hours before bed to prepare for the next launch.”
Nat was in awe, “I have to ask….what’s been the best career you’ve done so far?” A common question Y/n heard, there was never a true answer. She loved every career. They all had their perks and their flaws, but at the end of the day it left her satisfied she achieved them.
“I don’t know yet,” she spoke truthfully, “I still have a few to check off on my list. When that happens I’ll let you know.”
Fast forwarding to 2019, Y/n answered the phone to Admiral Simpson’s voice with the news she needed to report back to North Island for a highly confidential mission. The details were unknown, but Y/n packed her bags, loaded her pink vintage corvette convertible and high tailed it to sunny San Diego.
The squeals initiated by Y/n and Nat the moment she stepped foot in the Hard Deck had heads whipping in their direction. “Hi, Barbie!” Nat’s arms opened for a hug.
“Hi, Phoenix!” Y/n accepted the embrace, still grinning ear to ear. The guys around them were looking at each other like, ‘what the…?’ Y/n wasn’t in her standard Khakis like they were—minus Rooster. She bore a pink denim number with matching boots with her hair curled and pink eyeliner surrounded by tiny rhinestones.
“You got selected too?” Nat complimented her outfit before cutting straight to the point.
“For the special detachment? Looks like it,” she winked.
“What happened to the Artemis program? Weren’t you up as a candidate?”
“Oh I still am,” Y/n affirmed proudly, “They’ll be announcing who’s to be selected in the coming months. So for now I’m still with the Bounty Hunters. Plus,” she leans in to whisper, “this will look good on my resume.” The two giggle before Y/n drifts her gaze to the boggling gazes in front of her. “Oh! I’m sorry for being so rude. I’m Y/n L/n,” extending her hand to the first person who’s name tag read Fitch, Y/n added, “But you can call me Barbie.”
“Barbie,” the blonde holding a pool cue repeated like a question, “like the toy Barbie?” Nat chuckled, throwing an arm around her friend after she was done shaking everyone’s hand as they introduced themselves.
“Fellas, if there is anyone who is a life sized version of Barbie, it’s this one right here.”
“Now, Phee…” Y/n’s tone was that of, ‘Don’t start.’
“It’s true,” the pilot defended. “Not only is she Commander Y/n ‘Barbie’ L/n,” jaws drop, “but she’s Professor and Doctor L/n.” The jaws hit the floor, “On top of founder, creative director and CEO of ‘Dream’s Closet,’” Javy makes a sound, familiar with the brand, “Emmy nominated actress,” Fanboy chokes on his water, “Olympic Gold Medalist and soon to be astronaut for the Artemis program.” By now all the guys are on the verge of losing their minds.
Bob rapidly blinks, “uh—.”
“Now I’m not an astronaut yet,” Y/n points out, “I’m a candidate for one.” Nat scoffs lightly.
“They’d be stupid not to pick you, Barb,” she then slaps her side, turning back to the guys, “Oh and how could I forget Broadway, Vogue, and the Daytona 500.”
“Daytona 500!?” Payback practically screeches.
“You were on Broadway?”
“—featured on Vogue—?!”
“Wait a minute I recognize you from Star Trek!”
“—How in the hell—.”
“Guys, guys!” Y/n laughs with her hands slightly raised, “Please, one at a time.” They were in for a long night of questions and story times. And just like Nat was years prior when she first roomed with Y/n at Top Gun, the officers were in complete amazement over the woman in front of them. Never had they met anyone like her.
“Wow,” Jake whistled once she finished bringing them up to date on her most recent careers. “You really are a real-life Barbie.”
“Shhhh,” a finger went to her lips, followed by a wink, “don’t tell Mattel.”
And thus the dagger squad was formed. Two and half weeks of hell bearing training preceding a face-with-death mission brings people closer. Every morning Y/n arrived at the hangar to a chorus of “Hi, Barbie.”
She waved at Reuben, “Hi Payback.”
“Hey there, Barbie Girl,” Javy threw her a peace sign.
“Hiya, Coyote!”
“Good morning, Barbie,” Rooster tipped his hat.
“Mornin’, Rooster.”
“Hi, Barbie!” “Hi, Barbie!” Her favorite duo harmonized.
“Hi, Bob! Hi, Phee!”
And for some closer than others….
“You know I was thinking,” Jake commented, taking Y/n’s hand before leading her to the pottery class he signed them up for. Every Friday night was reserved for date night. Dinner and a movie. Walk on the beach. Spending $20 worth of quarters at an arcade. Attending a comedy show. Paint and sip. Following the successful mission, Jake and Y/n hit it off and began seeing each other.
“Famous last words.”
“It’s not bad,” a chuckle left his lips, stopping at the door. “I just thought it was funny. You know how you’re basically Barbie?” His cheeky smile resulted in her mirroring it.
“Yessss.”
“This means I’m pretty much your Ken, right?” The question makes the woman visible ‘awe’. Jake ruffles a hand through his hair and gives his best blue steel, “we kinda look alike. Don’t you think?”
Laughing, Y/n kisses his cheek, “I mean…name a more iconic duo than Barbie and Ken.”
“Barbie and Hangman?”
“Exactly.” It was safe to assume what their Halloween costumes were going to be.
Time went on, missions were run. And after a year of anticipation—though it felt like forever, it was finally announced in 2020 Y/n would be one of the astronauts selected to be part of NASA’s Artemis program launching in 2024.
Making Y/n the first woman to go to the moon.
The call came in from a restricted number when they were in a meeting, and knowing she was to expect a call within the month everyone quickly shut up so the pilot could answer.
She excused herself to leave the room, staying in front of the window so the team could see her. Throughout the conversation Y/n’s expression remained neutral to the point none had a clue whether the news was good or bad. Only when she reentered the room did they get the answer.
“I’m going to the moon!!!”
“Ahhh!!!!” The team exploded in an array of cheers, Y/n jumping up and down, careful not to drop her phone that was in her hands when Jake lifted her in his arms.
“I’m so fucking proud of you!” Despite being unauthorized to show pda in uniform, Jake gave her a big kiss on the lips, not caring who saw. “You are the most exceptional human being on this planet.”
“Jake,” tears welled in her eyes, which he kissed away. Her heart filled with warmth and gratitude. Feeling on top of the world with her closest friends supporting her.
Once all calmed down and they finished the meeting, Mickey jumped from his seat, “Come on Barbie, let’s go party!” Everyone sped to the Hard Deck to celebrate the news. Mav bought the first round, followed by Payback.
“Guys you don’t have to do all that,” Y/n said once she realized they all agreed to buy her drinks for the night.
“We want to,” Nat tapped her beer with Y/n’s cocktail glass, the guys voicing agreements. “For years you’ve been dreaming about this and it’s finally happening. Your hard work is paying off and we want to celebrate—show you we love and appreciate you, Barbie.”
Y/n fought back tears, never afraid to show her emotions. Some may find it childish or thinned skin, but to Y/n that was what being human was all about. “I love you guys.”
“We love you!” The voices echoed together.
The night had been going well with the squad hanging out by the pool tables like they usually did when Y/n approached the bar to pick up the next round Mickey was paying for. Not paying attention to those beside her, she smiled at Penny and repeated the order before waiting patiently.
But what’s a night at a bar without someone who lacks boundaries.
“You must be the one they call Barbie,” a voice says, flirtation seeping through the words. Glancing to her right, Y/n recognizes a gentleman from the flight line whose name she could not recall. “You’re quite the talk around base. In fact, weren’t you in some Hollywood blockbuster?”
“Yes,” she politely responds, keeping the answer short. Though she was known to be a sweetheart and kindhearted to anyone she met, Y/n could tell where the interaction was heading toward and did not feel comfortable entertaining it any further. “A long time ago.”
“I’m Lieutenant Paul Billings,” he extended his hand, and she immediately clocked he was trying to show off his rank. ‘Boy he’s in for a treat.’
Not wanting to make a scene, she accepts the handshake. “Commander Y/n L/n,” there was emphasis on the Commander, displaying the woman was of higher rank and therefore a silent warning to Billings to not cross a line.
There was a flash of surprise on his face. Y/n held back an amused laugh, ‘guess you didn’t hear everything.’
“Something the matter, Lieutenant?”
“No,” he brushes it off, “Nothing. Say,” he nods to the bar, “can I buy you a drink.” Did he not just hear her order a round for the people she came with?
“That’s kind of you,” she starts just as Penny arrives with a try full of cold beers and her usual cocktail. “But I’m all set, thank you.” Hands moving to take the tray, she jumps slightly at the feeling of his own coming to her wrist.
“What about lunch this week?”
“I’m sorry but I am spoken for, Lieutenant,” removing his hold, Y/n takes a step away.
Now Paul had lost his reasonable composure. Scoffing, he says, “What? Am I not enough for you?” The question results in her raising a brow.
“I beg your pardon?”
He makes a face, “You think because you’ve done all these careers and occupations that you’re better than the average person? I’m not a pilot and an actor or researching the cure for cancer while creating a documentary series,” venom seeps through his tone, obviously depicting his jealousy, “Basic is not up to your standards, so you have to throw our failures in our face as if we don’t already know.”
By now a crowd has formed. Jake started moving the second he noticed Billings etching too close to his girl, followed by Nat and the others who were ready to back him up. Behind the bar, Penny was fixing to ring the bell until being stopped by Y/n’s wave of the hand.
“Are you done?”
Paul’s expression was that of, “what?” No audible response was voiced therefore Y/n continued.
“Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and say this, Paul,” Y/n drops her shoulder. The change in body language let Jake and her friends know she wasn’t taking anything that the man said personally. “I know I should be offended by your insults and insinuations, but the truth is I’m not.” A small smile forms on her lips, “I don’t view myself higher than anyone because of what I accomplished. The only person I do that to, is myself—because I don’t have to prove to no one but me that I am capable of achieving what I set my mind to. And yeah,” a light chuckle escapes, “I’ve set my mind to a lot of things—way more than the average person. But that doesn’t mean you or anyone else can’t do the same.”
Pausing Y/n takes a breath before exhaling, “You look at me, and hate the way it makes you view yourself. Makes you believe you’re a failure because you didn’t follow the path you hoped to make for yourself.” Paul’s expression shifts to one of solemnity, like he was thinking of his younger self who had dreams and aspirations. Mourning what could have been.
It made Y/n sad for him. Empathetic despite him attacking her. “One thing I’ve learned over the years…is time is what you make of it. Life is about taking risks. You can still set out to do whatever it is you wish, as long as you’re committing to taking the risk no matter how scary it is. Sure you’ll find obstacles and it’ll feel like the whole world is against you. But determination will guide you through the walls, and you will be successful so that you can look back and think, ‘it was worth it.’ As cliche as it sounds,” she couldn’t hold back a laugh, “Barbie isn’t a person or an object you can obtain. Barbie is a mindset. And you have to unlock it in your own way, Paul.”
It was so quiet in the building, a pin could drop and everyone would hear it. Their looks of awe, admiration, and even newfound motivation by Y/n’s speech. Impressed by how classy she handled what very well could have been a scream match between rival squadrons.
Behind Billings the Dagger squad stood with proud smirks at their friend. Especially Jake, who caught Y/n’s eyes and threw her a wink. Nat gave the woman a salute, a silent gesture to say, ‘you inspire me everyday.’
And Billings? Well he was at a loss for words.
Patting his shoulder, Y/n grabbed the tray of drinks, “I wish you luck, Paul.” Thanking Penny, who gave her a proud nod and replied, “this ones on the house,” Y/n returned to her friends where she was met with a sweet kiss from Jake, claps on the back and “You go girl!” “Tell them who’s boss.” “Damn, you made me wanna go out there and live life the way I should.”
“What’s stopping you, Javy?” she handed him a beer, “the world is your playground.”
A couple hours later it was time to call it a night. Hugs went around, promises to meet up the following night and tabs were closed.
On their way out, Jake dropped a kiss to Y/n forehead, pulling her close to him as he led her to the door of the parking lot, “So what’s next for you, doll? You’ve proved you can be anything and anyone you chose to be,” he grins at her, “What will you set your mind to now after space?”
“First, I want to write a book—I think that’s something a lot have been waiting for me to do. Afterwards, well, I’ll have to wait a couple more years, but,” The corner of Y/n’s lips lift up before flashing a dazzling smile, “I’m thinking….the Oval Office is in need of a makeover. Don’t you think?”
Then, before he could answer, Y/n turns her head in the opposite direction as if she’s trying to find a hidden camera. Makes eye contact with you, the reader, winking before turning back to Jake where she sets off on her next adventure.
…………….
TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris
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biblio-smia · 1 year ago
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Hiiii! Love your work! This is gonna be a lengthy I apologize in advance lol. Do you think you can pls do a tasm! x fashion designer reader? (I’m a fashion major lmaooo) Like where the reader has a big debit show coming up and Peter misses bc he’s out on his spiderly duties. The reader doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man. Very angsty then very fluffy. Love confessions. Thank you!!!!!!
thank you + thank you for the request!! i loveee this idea <3 also definitely watched barbie a fashion fairytale while writing this LMAO
masterlist | requests are open!
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Emotions swirled in your chest - beginning with anxiety and just a touch of nausea.
Then came the elation - it was like the feeling when people praised you for your designs only intensified by about a thousand.
You'd spent hours on the pieces now being carried on the runway, survived on less hours of sleep than you'd thought possible, and worked through headaches you were positive where going to split your skull open. You'd pricked your fingers, created permanent callouses on your fingers, and probably caused irreversible damage to your back to make your patterns and ideas come to life. It was one thing to draw them out on paper and another to create them, altering them and scratching out ideas that had looked good on paper but had not ended up liked you'd imagines - and something completely different to see them on models, to watch the audience awe and clap for what you'd created.
Your heart pounded with each excited congratulations! and hug after the show had ended, still reeling a little from the experience. It'd been over so quickly for all the time you'd poured into the preparation and how long the show would take to clean up, but you were sure your work had made an impression that would outlive the night.
But as the crowd died down and people filed out, you stood, waiting, for the congratulations you'd been anticipating all night - the one that'd probably mattered the most to you.
But as the crowd thinned into only a few heads of people that had begun occupying themselves with cleaning up, so dispersed there was no way Peter could've possibly missed you, that's when the realization had set in.
Peter hadn't come.
Now, there was a new feeling a chest. Your heart hadn't stopped pounding, but now there was a pain accompanying it in your chest and a lump in your throat you were struggling to swallow down.
You turned when you heard your name called, not sure what you were expecting - it was only one of your colleagues, asking if you'd like to grab drinks to celebrate.
You teeter, almost let the idea persuade you, but ultimately decide against it with a small maybe next time! - because you're not really sure if you'd be able to hold the tears in if you got intoxicated.
Plus, a little piece of your heart holds out hope that maybe your boy would still show up - maybe he got pushed out by the crowd, or couldn't find you and decided to wait for you outside.
But as you stepped out into the dark night and looked around at the empty street, any last hope died.
The journey home created an ideal environment for your disappointment to brew into a strong, dark anger, scowl on your face sure to scare any strangers on the sidewalk off and away from you. You were nearing furious by the time you reached your door, shoving your keys into the lock and hurting your hands with the intensity you pulled them out with, cold metal painfully digging into your hot fingers.
Your anger didn't mellow as you turned your phone off, refusing to let Peter have any way to contact you - at least for tonight. You needed a few hours away from him. Maybe longer. You'd decide that later.
A shower tamed your flames, water burning you out and leaving behind something that craved only the soft comfort of your bed.
You'd only made it a few steps into your room when your ears perked at the sound of tapping at your window. Your eyes followed, trying to identify the source of the noise, and you jumped when you saw Peter on your fire escape.
If it hadn't been so cold out, you would've left him outside.
At least, that's what you told yourself afterwards.
But that searing rage had returned, warming your entire body and making you resistant to the cold air that blew in along with Peter the second you opened the window.
"Did you climb up here?" You spat out, immediately backing up and crossing your arms, scowl making its way on your face again.
Peter didn't need to look at you to feel your anger.
He'd been so close to making it this time - but, like always, something had come up. That'd been his excuse so many times, to so many people, it was starting to become pathetic even to Peter. He'd paced for close to an hour, biting the inside of his cheek raw while wondering how he was going to make it up to you. Peter knew how much this night had meant to you. He'd promised to be there, to support you and all the work you'd put in; the long hours you spent beside Peter, refusing to accept his help. The days where Peter had to force you away from your desk to have a break, all the snacks he'd made to fuel you and your beautiful brain.
And now, as Peter was so famous for doing, he blew it.
"W...what? Oh, yeah, I just-" Well, Peter had swung here, but he'd get around to explaining that. For now, he was more focused on trying to get his words out without stuttering pathetically. "I just- I needed to tell you something."
You stood, silent, arms crossed and eyes dark. Peter didn't need a translation to know you were telling him to spit it out.
Peter swallows thickly. He takes a deep breath. He forces himself to look straight into your eyes.
"I'm Spiderman." Peter goes the extra mile and tugs on the neckline of his shirt, revealing a sliver of the suit in case you don't believe him.
It's silent, which Peter begins to believe is the worst outcome with each second it drags on. You falter for just a few moments before your eyebrows furrow, somehow even angrier this time, because you, in all your hot anger, cannot bring yourself to fully process the information Peter has just thrown at you - or, frankly, care.
"So? You think that's just gonna fix everything?" You step closer to Peter, words like venom.
"I-"
"You what? You think I'm just gonna forgive you because you're Spiderman? Peter, you know how much this meant to me. And now you show up, hours after you're supposed to, telling me you're Spiderman?"
"Well, I brought these," Peter offers weakly, pulling a bouquet of flowers out of his bag. Crushed. Peter watches as a petal falls lamely to the ground.
"Impressive," you say so sarcastically it hurts, rolling your eyes with a sigh. "God, Peter, you are such a dick!"
Peter can sense you're about to send him out of that window flying, but he just can't leave before saying everything he needed to say.
"W-wait! Please, just hang on, I... I am so sorry," Peter starts, hands on your shoulders desperately. "I really am. Truly. I wanted to be there tonight, I tried so hard to be there, something got in the way... but that doesn't matter. I should've been there, or at least texted, or something, you're right, I'm sorry. And this," Peter motions to his chest. "is not an excuse, at all. I just wanted to tell the truth. I owe you at least that."
"Yeah, you owe a lot more than that," you scoff, shoving Peter's shoulder. It's not hard but Peter winces painfully in a way that fills you immediately with guilt. You roll up Peter's sleeve but see only a pattern of red and black. You look at him expectantly and he does his best to slide his arm out of his suit from under his shirt - all to reveal a nasty bruise, right where you'd hit him.
"Well, now I feel bad," you murmur, dragging Peter to your kitchen for some ice, trying not to think about how dangerous the things he got involved with as Spiderman probably were - how he'd clearly been doing something more important while missing the show.
"Don't," Peter insists, letting you sit him down and press ice against the bruise, focusing on not wincing. "I deserve it."
"You don't, Pete," you sigh, careful not to let your eyes wander to Peter's - it's hard, though, feeling him stare at you so woefully from your peripheral.
But you slip eventually, Peter catching your eyes before you can look away.
"I'm sorry," he says again, reaching for your hand slowly, tenderly, wondering if you'll let him.
You do.
"I know you are, Peter."
It's quiet for a few moments before you sigh, examining Peter's arm for any other bruises.
"It's just the one," Peter confirms, before asking shyly, "Kiss it better?"
You roll your eyes but you push Peter's sleeve up further, careful not to touch the bruise as you place your lips on the top of Peter's shoulder, right next to a small freckle.
"I meant here," Peter taps his lips with a smile.
"Don't push it." You move away from Peter and he stands, following you around as you stop at a cupboard and dig around until you find an empty vase. Peter watches silently as you fill it with water and wordlessly back into your room, where you pick up the flowers from where Peter had left them on your nightstand and place them carefully inside the vase.
"They were beautiful when I bought them," Peter mutters.
"They're still nice," you insist. "So," you begin, taking a seat on your bed. "Do I really want to hear the details about all the dangers Spiderman has faced?"
"Depends on how much you still hate me," Peter replies, opening up a drawer full of your sleep shirts, sure he'll find one (or a few) of his among them. He does, and he's quick to start pulling his clothes off. Unfortunately, Peter hasn't come up with a better way of getting his suit off just yet.
"Is watching people undress part of the job?" Peter asks with a grin, slipping his head through your (his) shirt.
"No, we usually watch them get dressed," you hum.
"So it's just me then?" Peter drops next to you on your bed, pulling your laptop from its place on your nightstand.
"Okay, you were the one who started taking your clothes off in front of me."
"You looked."
You rolled your eyes but you smiled as Peter pulled you into his side, balancing your laptop between the two of you. He's quick to pull up clips of the show and you're surprised to see it already online; you're also surprised to see the few hundreds of views already, considering it had only been a few hours since the show.
"Tell me everything," Peter insists, propping himself up to focus his attention back on you.
So you do.
Peter has always been a good listener when it came to you, captivated by the way you speak. He's told you before that he could listen to you talk about nothing for hours, but he makes an extra effort to really pay attention tonight. He asks questions about the show and about intricacies that he doesn't quite understand.
You can tell when you're beginning to lose him, at some point where you're talking about the different stitches you had to use to create a certain design on one of your pieces.
Some of it Peter has heard already, but he listens regardless. He's set the laptop aside now, fingers drawing figures on your arm as he hums and nods.
You've gotten to the end, where you casually mention the invitation for drinks you got. Peter frowns, head propped on his hand so you can see the severity of his pout.
"What would you have done then?" You ask curiously.
"Waited," Peter said like it was obvious.
"What if I stayed out all night?"
"Well then I would've had to break in," Peter grins.
"You're a nuisance."
"The person you've turned me into," Peter rolls onto you, pressing his head into your neck.
"I have a feeling you've always been like this."
"Maybe," Peter hums against your skin, pressing his lips into your skin.
"I haven't forgiven you yet. You're still a dick."
"I am," Peter agrees, pulling his head away to look at you, arms caging you in at your sides. "The worst. Call me Penis Parker."
You can't help but laugh at that one, which of course makes Peter grin.
"You still owe me," you say sternly, hands meeting at the back of Peter's neck, capturing him in a loose hold. "For, like, the rest of your life."
"I owe you," Peter nods quickly, pressing a kiss to the inside of your arm. "For the rest of my life. Just as long as you're in it."
Peter's voice goes quiet towards the end, implicating something you hadn't intended for originally. Peter notices how your eyes widen slightly and he bites his lip.
"Uh, well, I don't think this is really the best time to tell you, but... uh," Peter hesitates, moving off of you, choosing to sit up next to you instead. "I... I love you."
You're sitting him, mouth slightly agape. All you'd expected tonight was a congratulations from Peter, not a love confession.
The silence scares him until Peter manages to hear your elevated heart rate (only barely over his own). Your face is hot and Peter's about to insist that you don't have to respond right now when you're pulling him in, slowly. Your hand is on his cheek and Peter's arms have shyly wrapped around you. Your noses bump and Peter tilts his head, not quite shutting his eyes just yet. His breath comes out a little strained and you know he's not gonna go for it until you do.
"I love you, Peter," you whisper. "But don't ever do that again."
Peter nods, moving to place a hand on your chin. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Good."
And you lean in, finally, capturing Peter's lips in a kiss he was terrified he'd never experience again. He savored it now, hungry, refusing to let you go. He relished the funny feeling that your words created in his chest, pulling you close and making you feel every little ounce of love he had for you.
Peter wouldn't risk losing you again as long as he could help it.
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hearts4golbach · 6 months ago
Text
Get the Angles Right!
chapter 1.
pairing:
Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.
warnings:
smoking
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"Excuse me, excuse me!" You shoved through the crowd of people. downtown New York is not the best place to be running late. running late to your own photo shoot. a photo shoot you planned. how embarrassing is that?
you barged through the doors of the venue. only two minutes late. that's a record.
your client still seemed annoyed you were late, even if it only was two minutes. "Jesus, I am so deeply sorry. you know how these sidewalks get and-"
"Shut it," she interrupted you, "you're wasting my time by yapping. are we going to do this shoot or not?"
you were taken back by her attitude. you chose not to say anything. you were the late one, after all. "Right."
you were a small alternative fashion designer. by small, you meant less than 200 followers. you didn't have a problem modeling your own clothes yourself. You just knew you could be more professional. you figured if you were, you'd be able to get out into the industry. of course, that was honestly stupid. but, alas, you were already here.
your mother's will had funded all of your adventures. she had died a few years back. she had been your main motivation through it all, ever since you were a kid. you made paper clothes to fit your barbies. whenever you got good at it, she brought you scraps of fabric from her own creations. she owned a whole company dedicated to her clothing pieces, which is why she left you so much. she wanted you to pursue your dream and make it big, just like she did.
luckily, you had dropped the pieces of clothing off at the venue this morning. you stopped while running errands.
"Your first piece is over here, lovely." You gaked a smile, directing her towards the rack. you pulled out a hanger. "Go put it on, and we can start the shoot."
"Okay," she huffed, making her way to the changing room.
you slumped down onto the tiny sofa right outside of the changing room. your Instagram was dry, per usual. you checked your dms, hoping someone would get back to you for your next model shoot. nothing. you felt your heart break a little more as you shut off your phone.
"y/n, what the fuck?" she called from the changing room.
you stood up immediately. "What's the matter?"
"This dress does not fit at all."
"What? that can't be right. those are the measurements you sent me." You ran your fingers through your hair. this shoot was a total bust now.
"are you saying I've gained weight since I sent those?" she scoffed. she walked out of the dressing room in her clothes from before. she shoved the dress into my arms.
"no, no. that is not what I'm saying. i-"
"forget this." she stormed out of the building.
"wait! we can-" the door slammed. "fuck." you mumbled to yourself.
you walked out to the front of the building. you pulled a cigarette out of your pocket. but you had no lighter. Just your luck. you sat on the curb. all you wanted was to go home and scream into a pillow.
"need a lighter?" a man's voice startled you out of your thoughts.
you looked over, a pair of black boots and skinny jeans greeted you. you looked up. the man had a kind smile on his face. red eyeshadow was smudged under his baby blue eyes. you could've drowned in his eyes right then and there.
"Uh, yeah, actually. that'd be great." You forced a smile. he sat on the curb next to you.
he passed you his lighter before lighting his own cigarette. "I don't think I caught your name."
you let out a small laugh. "y/n. I don't think I caught yours either."
"My name is johnnie." his soft smile never faded. "why are you here fucking moping around, if you don't mind me asking?"
"it's a long story."
"I have all of the time in the world." he didn't, you knew he didn't, but it still made you feel a little lighter.
"Well, I own a one man fashion business. I never get to find people for photo shoots to promote my clothes. only making alternative wear doesn't help, either. i mean, I did today, but the clothes didn't fit the girl, even though she sent me her measurements. I don't know." You shortened it up the best you could.
"shit," he took a drag from his cigarette. "Well, y/n, I volunteer as your dummy. I mean, if you want. I'm here for a month for," he hesitated, "business, I guess."
you looked at him skeptically. "Are you playing around?"
"Hell no. you seem cool as fuck. I definitely want to see some of your work, though." Johnnies voice was genuine.
"this might be the craziest thing that has ever happened to me. okay, well, follow me." you stood up and walked back into the venue. "I don't have anything now that'll fit you, obviously. you'll have to come to my apartment so I can fit you and blah blah blah."
he admired your work that was hanging up. "holy shit. these are sick as fuck."
your face heated up. "really? thank you. I just put my mind out on a plan and then make it. I'm glad you like it."
"your mind sounds really fucking cool." he turned to you.
"I can't thank you enough."
"I'm free tomorrow. does that work for you?" he offered turning back towards the front door. you followed close behind him.
"yes!" fuck, too excited, y/n. you cleared your throat. "tomorrow works."
he handed you his phone. "can I get your number?"
"no," you said sarcastically. you quickly typed your number into his phone, adding your name as to the contact. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"for sure. I'll text you what times work."
"sounds good." you smiled. "well, i gotta clean up here."
"boo, that fucking sucks. I'm sorry. I'd help, but I gotta be somewhere." he knitted his eyebrows together.
"oh, don't worry about it. it's not much, don't worry." you patted his arm gently. "thanks for lighting my cig."
he laughed. "anytime. I'll text you soon, y/n."
you gave him a little wave before he walked out. your heart was beating quickly. what a way to turn this day around.
he did, in fact, text you soon after. you had just finished packing up whenever your phone buzzed thrice.
000- hey, it's johnnie :)
000- can I get a little teaser for what you're gonna fit me for?? if you know yet that is
000- Actually, I want it to be a surprise
your face lit up as you read his messages.
me- if you insist, I'll keep it a surprise.
me- I'm free whenever tomorrow.
johnnie- I'm free after 4. does that work?
johnnie- maybe we can go get dinner afterwards. on me.
me- that works, I'm down for dinner. we'll split the check.
johnnie- really, it's on me.
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Text
Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!Reader—General HCs
(A/N): I’m obsessed with the Barbie movie. Margot is so stunning as always and she’s one of my favorite actresses. I absolutely adored Ken in the movie. He’s such an icon! Let me know if you guys want more! Sorry if this isn’t the best. This is my first head cannon and I’m using to writing stories and not this format. So beware with me and enjoy!
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Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!Reader
The ultimate Golden Retriever (Sunshine) x Black Cat (Grumpy) trope
Fashion Designer!Barbie!reader is honestly very similar to Cruella de Vil from the 2021 Film—minus being evil part. More so, your creativity and chaos vibes are on the same level as Cruella’s.
Ken thought he was in love with Stereotypical Barbie until he locked eyes on you.
You were absolutely perfect. Your style was one of a kind and the hottest in-style in Barbieland—everyone wanted to commission outfits from you— and you seemed so elegant and confident.
Non Evil!Cruella de Vil vibes 1,000,000,000%
He literally tripped right in front of you in his haste to make it over to you, but he pulled himself up and gave you a killer golden smile.
You wanted to say you weren’t amused in the slightest, but even you couldn’t help but give a slight smirk at his goofball antics.
You’d never given him much thought beyond the facts that he was super loud, always freakishly happy, acted like a shaken up soda bottle you accidentally opened up.
You thought you might be able to scared him away with your sharp wit, sarcastic and mocking smart remarks. You were sure that your over all jaded and blunt personality would do the trick.
NOPE!
He falls even harder for you. Finding your honestly, transparency, and overall confidence to be so endearing but so unbelievably HOT. Not even Stereotypical Barbie could touch your level.
Imagine his surprise when he finds out you and stereotypical Barbie are very close friends who go way back. TOTAL Pikachu face!
He loves watching you work. You’re so in your element and hyper focused on what your doing. He’s left in awe while watching you tear apart and shred different fabrics. It’s total chaos but he’d never question you. He trusts your masterpiece process almost religiously.
He asks you a zillion and one questions about what you’re doing but lowkey you kind of love it. Someone taking a genuine interest in your art? Everyone else is either too afraid of the consequences of interrupting you or is uninterested in gerenal.
This is one of the many small things that soften your resolve towards him. 
He insisted totally begged you to let him help you carry your bolts of fabrics, material for accessories, and supplies as you went from shop to shop. He refused to let you carry anything.
He talks the whole time and doesn’t really think you’re listening, until you ask him a question about whatever it is he’s babbling about at that point in time.
He could feel the tears of joy welling up in his eyes at the notion that you were actually listening. That could only mean one thing—you respected him.
Don’t even get me started on how Ken acts when you ask for his opinion on a decision or if he likes what you’ve made! He LOVES everything you make btw.
This only sets Ken’s love for you in stone.
Totally asks to be your date to the Barbies parties.
If you thought he was nervous asking out Stereotypical Barbie then oh boy! Fingers crossed, eyes squeezed shut, lip biting—the whole nine yards!
High-key wants to cry when you say yes.
Everyone is always so excited to see the new unveiling of your outfits at any and all parties.
Barbies and Kens never really know what to expect but they all know they’ll be guaranteed the best appearance from you.
Ken is totally smug af that he holds your affections and so he completely and unapologetically rubs it in the other Kens’ faces. 
The first time you genuinely smile at him, he really thought he might die! Your smile is so stunning, perfect, opulent, gorgeous, goddess like, and—
He could go on forever. The point is, you smiled at him! HIM. You never smile at anyone! You smirk plenty, but never smile.
Even on the rare occasion that you do, it’s very small—almost none existent.
You always thought he was very funny. He never had to try hard seeing as he was just a naturally silly fella, but the first time you couldn’t hold back and you laughed loudly at something he said, he was in absolute awestruck.
What he said wasn’t even that funny, it was the way he said it.
All the Barbies and Kens ship the two of you. The definition of opposites attract.
Stereotypical Barbie is totally the official president of the OTP ship fan club for you two.
1000% you look at Ken like this 🥺🥹 and you look at everyone else like this 😒🖕 pretty much!
The patience and softness you exercise with Ken makes others feel like they’ve fallen through the looking glass.
You go from being a ferocious she-lion like this to a total mushy docile kitten with him Like this
Seriously, it so easy for you to snap on someone’s case and put them in their places, but with Ken you have a seemingly bottomless pool of patience.
Legit tho. This was you and him at the beginning of your budding relationship in general…you were over it at first. You really weren’t tho
Someone or something please help the person that hurts Ken—accident or not—whether it be emotionally, physically, or mentally. It’s gonna be a dark day in Barbieland.
It warms Ken all over to have a girlfriend who cares about him and his wellbeing so much. He feels so important, loved, and cherished.
And that’s all baby boy really wants!!!
He loves holding hands and linking arms together.
He’d say it’s his favorite but let’s face it, cuddles are his kryptonite.
Your embrace is so warm and soothing, and surprisingly to him, you secretly adore cuddling.
Though you did tell him if he ever told anyone else that tidbit of information you would never cuddle him again! 
Honey…He sticks to those words like the gospel!
He cannot and will not lose cuddling privileges💯
Now listen. If Ken’s going to date you then his outfits got to be on point, and you make sure of it. You know what he loves outfit-wise and set to work for making him a one of a kind wardrobe.
He actually does cry when he sees the final product of all your hard work for him.
You hate seeing him cry in anyway, it hurts you to see him cry, but at least these are tears of happiness.
You suppose you can live with happy tears…
You guys become the IT couple in Barbieland. You’re the highest standard for couple goals.
Speaking of boyfriend/girlfriend goals.
He has so many adorable nicknames for you but he will never grow tired of hearing you call him by the term of endearment you chose for him.
You call him Baby Darling…
He. Is. OBSESSED!!!
He just about melts into a puddle whenever you call him Baby Darling.
He’s never heard any other Barbie call their Ken that and it makes him feel so special.
Who else loves and ships Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!reader?
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swissboyhisch · 1 year ago
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Halloween Surprise
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Pairing: Matthew Knies x Marner!Reader
Summary: The team's Halloween party seemed like the perfect time to reveal to everyone who you were dating.
Word Count: 2546
Warnings: Alcohol, blood, a little bit of 18+ content towards the end.
THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD
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Halloween. Your favourite holiday by far. Growing up, your parents decorated the house with tons of decorations and your mum always went all out with family costumes. When you moved to Toronto to live with your older brother and his girlfriend, you were always in charge of organising the Halloween parties or costumes. 
And nothing changed. As soon as it was announced it was Mitch’s turn to host the team’s Halloween party, he came straight to you. It was your job to organise everything but luckily, since Mitch will be busy with the start of the hockey season, Steph is more than happy to help you. It would give her something to do. And it means the two of you can spend more time together. 
First thing was to create a list of people who would get the invites. Then organise a time and place for the party. Mitch and Steph said they’re happy to have it at their place instead of hiring out a place. Due to game schedule conflict, the party was going to take place on the Friday before Halloween.
Once the who, what, when and where was decided, Steph and you designed the invites and sent those out as soon as possible. Next was the entertainment. You had a couple Halloween Playlists from previous parties you had hosted so you just said you would bring your audio system and set it up around the house and use Spotify. Food wise, Steph said that she was thinking the two of you make the food the couple days leading up to it. She loved to cook, and you loved to bake so it was the perfect pair. Drinks were just going to be bins with cans of alcohol and soft drink in them and pitchers of cocktails. Then it was just costumes for you guys and decorating the house and backyard.
“What are we going to dress as?” Asked Mitch as he joined the planning party of you and Steph on the couch. 
You just smirk, “You two are going to be a ken and barbie variant. It fits so perfectly.”
Steph let out a squeal of excitement. It really was perfect for them. “Oh my god, yes!”
“And Auston is going to be Alan. A permanent third wheel.”
“What are you going to do?”
“It’s a surprise,” You retorted to your brother. As a fashion major, you had an endless number of options. But one in particular was the number one choice. It wasn’t hard but it was a fun one. “You’ll see at the party.”
Then it was onto planning the couple’s costumes. For Steph, you were thinking of a cute pink satin dress that stopped mid high. Low cut but not as low as you could go. A pair of cute white heels and white accessories. Her hair is in waves with pink makeup and hints of silver. A white clutch to top it off.
Mitch, luckily, will go with whatever you choose. Which is going to be matching pink pants, a white button down not fully buttoned and a pink satin scarf in the pocket. That will be made from the same fabric as the dress. His hair will be styled and maybe you can convince him to have a little makeup on.
Auston was a little harder, but he was going to be dressed in blue pants that are the same as Mitch’s and shirt striped like Alan’s sweater in the movie. A permanent third wheel who you question their involvement in a relationship.
You lived in an apartment in the city, close to where you work. Since Mitch and Steph got married, well a bit before that, you managed to find an apartment and skedaddle out of there. So, you found yourself the night before the party organising your bag full of your costume to take over to Mitch’s place early in the morning. It was late but it had to be done now and you had gone to the game against the Stars.
Your apartment's buzzer going off surprised you. No-one was expected. When you peaked at the camera footage, the familiar boy dressed in the same suit as earlier was standing there waving at the camera. You were quick to let him in and eagerly await his arrival. 
“Hey,” Matt greeted as you let him into your apartment. Pressing a kiss to your lips. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? What are you doing here at this time of night?”
He shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it up on your coat rack, “Was on my way back to John’s from the arena and thought I’d stop in.”
“And does John know where you are?” You question. 
“Yes, I told him,” Matt whispers, his lips brushing against yours softly. His warm breath mixes with your own. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
You had to shower so despite Matt already showering at the arena he took up the opportunity to join in on your naked task. The two of you took a little longer than necessary but it was all in good fun. Now you were cuddled up in your bed with Coraline on the tv.
“Seriously?” Matt chuckles when he sees the movie title card. 
You just shrugged innocently, “it’s a favourite at this time of year.”
“This time of year?” He laughs harder knowing the truth behind that statement. “You mean any time of year.”
The next morning you were up early regardless of Matt’s whining when your alarm went off. The brunette tried to keep you in bed a little longer, but you wanted to get ready and head over to Mitch’s. The boys had a morning skate so you knew Matt would have to get up anyway. No sympathy from you.
“I’ll see you tonight. You have your costume right?” You mumble. 
Matt hums, pressing a reassuring kiss on your lips. “Yes, I have everything. I get dressed then just have to style my hair and splatter some blood from that bottle over my face and hands.”
“Perfect.” You pressed a kiss to his lips one final time and headed out the door. “Lock up on your way out!”
Steph and you had done most of the cooking and baking yesterday. The big decorations were already done as well, just the main decorations and little bits and pieces were to be put in place. 
The drive to your brother’s went quicker than you expected. But it was welcomed as you and Mitch crossed paths; him heading to practice and you arriving. He gave you a quick hug before you retreated into the house where Steph was eagerly waiting.
“Let’s get this started,” She says excitedly, pressing play on her phone.
Halloween themed songs started playing through the music system you guys had set up the previous day. You two finished off the food first giving it time to rest and cool. Then onto decorations. Starting with the inside, you decorated the entryway, then lounge room and dining room before finishing with the backyard.
“I think we are finished,” Steph states happily, looking over the pair of you’s hard work.
With a glance at your phone, it was 3pm. Perfect time to slowly start to get ready. “I’m gonna go have a shower and start getting ready.”
“Good idea.”
You went straight to your old room that had an ensuite and started to lay out your outfit. A pair of black booty shorts, a black lace corset bra, a blood splattered white button down and a pair of fishnets. That was the basis of your costume. Then a mask that was the same as Matt’s, both lighting up blue.
First things first, shower and prep first before starting on your hair. Then onto make-up, pretty simple, before getting into your costume. The last touch was blood splattering over your make-up. When you finished getting ready, you went downstairs to make a cocktail for Steph and yourself.
“Oo, what’s on the menu?” Steph questions as she comes downstairs in her costume.
“You look so good!” Steph did a twirl for you. “Ah, I picked the perfect costume.”
At the mention of that, Mitch came down solidifying the choice. He was the perfect Ken. Complimenting Steph’s barbie. When he came into the kitchen, he looked you over. Looking at your costume. “What are you?”
“From the purge,” You answer. You poured two cocktails into nice glasses and slid it over to Steph. “Cheers to another successful Halloween.”
“Cheers.”
When you took your first sip, the doorbell rang. Mitch went to greet whichever teammate had arrived first. And knowing the team, it’s either Mitch’s boyfriend (Auston) or the captain and his wife.
“What’s up little Marns?” Auston greets as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I like the costume.”
“Thanks Aus.”
The group all enjoyed the music that was playing and the alcohol while waiting for others. Soon Will and his girlfriend arrived dressed as Fred and Daphne from Scooby Doo. Penny joined the other two girls drinking cocktails while the boys sat around outside chatting.
“So, are you still talking to that guy?” Steph asks.
Penny immediately turns on you. “Guy? What guy?”
“Uh,” You stutter. Steph was the only person to know you were talking to a guy. But she didn’t know who he was. “Yeah, I’m still talking to the guy.”
“Who is he?” 
You shrug and go to answer the door as an excuse to leave the conversation. The person knocked at the door again as you walked down the hallway. 
“You will tell us sooner or later,” Steph calls from the kitchen.
The door opened to reveal Matthew, dressed exactly how you envisioned. God, he looked so good. Even with the blood splattered all over him. The brunette lifted his mask and smiled down at you. Well, more like smirked. 
“Heya babe,” he muttered, making sure to peek over your shoulder before pressing a kiss to your lips.
“Hey, you look good!”
“So do you.”
You shut the door behind him and lead him through to the kitchen. As soon as Steph took in Matthew’s costume, she knew exactly who you were talking to. Her eyes lit up as she ran to hug the boy. It was the first team event for Steph to meet the rookie player.
“Hi, welcome to the team,” Steph rushes out excitedly. She looked over the pair of you and your matching costumes. “How are you liking Toronto?”
“I have a good guide,” He replies, sending a small smile to the girl beside him.
“Where’s the captain?” Mitch asks when he sees Knies. 
You waited for your brother’s reaction but it seemed like it wasn’t clicking. Oh well, it will make sense at some point in his golden retriever brain. 
Matt shrugs, “He and Aryne were waiting on the babysitter.”
“Ah, come join the boys out back,” Mitch suggests, already making his way outside again. 
Steph lets out a chuckle, “We’ll see if it clicks for him at some point.”
Matt just shrugged again and kissed you once more and made his way to join his teammates outside on the patio. When the backdoor shut, Steph and Penny both turned and gave you a look.
“The rookie? Really?”
“He’s cute,” You argue.
The pair both agree with a laugh and start to ask you a billion questions. When did you meet him? Where? What was your first date? At the arena before a preseason game. Then he took you out for a late-night meal at a diner.
Soon the house was full of team members and staff dressed in every type of costume you could imagine. Funny, scary, awesome, iconic. You name it, someone is dressed in it. Everyone was mingling and snacking on all the things you and Steph had made during the week. 
“Hey,” Matt greets as he comes up to you talking to Aryne. 
Aryne smiled at the two of you dressed up together. “I love the costumes.”
“That was all her,” The brunette grinned. He pressed a kiss to your temple but soon was interrupted by a yell.
“What?!” You turn to where Mitch was standing with William and Auston. “No way.”
Steph was quick to drag Mitch inside, with the other two of the trio following suit. Luckily not many people had seen the scene created. Knowing your brother, if you and Matt delayed the conversation any longer, he’d come and drag you too in as well. 
“Let’s get this over with,” You mutter, slipping your hand into Matt’s.
As soon as you stepped foot into the living room, Mitch only paid attention to the joint hands. “Oh no, no, no.” He speeds up to you two and separates you both. “Not for the life of me are you dating a hockey player.”
“Come on Mitch.”
He shook his head. “No. I told mum and dad I’d protect you when you moved out here with me.”
“Mitch, I’m not 18 anymore. I’m a big girl. I can date who I want without your permission.”
Knowing he wasn’t going to convince you, he turned on Matthew. He got up in the rookie’s face. “And you! I told you that my sister was off limits!”
Matt couldn’t get in a word before you stepped in and pushed your brother a step back. But he was quick to pull you into his side. 
“Mitch,” Steph murmured.
“I’m serious about her,” Matt spoke up. “She’s perfect. Smart, beautiful, talented. She’s not your sister, she’s just her own, amazing person.”
You teared up. That last point he said was an insecurity you had shared with him. People only want to be with you because of your brother. “Matty.”
“She’s my person,” Matt stated. Making sure to look your brother in the eyes to convey how serious he was. 
“Let them be Mitch,” Auston chuckles, “They like each other. If he hurts her we can beat him later.”
“Fine,” your brother huffed. 
You skipped up to him and hugged him. “Thanks Mitchy. Love you!”
Without another word, you intertwined your fingers with Matt’s and dragged him to your old room.
“Door stays open!” Mitch screams when he realises where you were going. 
You didn’t listen to your brother’s order though. Matt made sure to slam the door loud enough for your brother to hear it over the music. When the door was closed, Matt immediately pulled off your mask from the top of your head before kissing you hard. 
“God you look so good,” He groaned “And your ass in those shorts.”
After making sure the door was locked, you pushed Matt onto the bed. First piece of clothing to come off was the button down. Revealing the lacy corset for all to see. For Matt to see. 
“Damn baby.”
You giggle and dance along to the faint sound of ‘I Put A Spell On You’. Matt grabs your hips guiding you close and flipped the script, making you on the bed and leaned over you. His hand gripped onto your hip as he rubbed his hard dick against your pussy. You let out a quiet moan which only spurred the man on more.
“Yeah, I’m gonna make you scream,” He smirks.
Matthewkniews posted on Instagram!
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Liked by mapleleafs, johntaveres and others
matthewknies: What a killer halloween 🔪 tagged: y/nmarner
user: Holyyyyy. This was not on my 2023 bingo card
mitchmarner: Still not over this
y/nmarner: did I ask for your opinion?
stephmarner: be nice you two
user: KNIES OMG
user: new kink unlocked Liked by y/nmarner
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TAG LIST
@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings
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kairiscorner · 1 year ago
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Hello! Can I ask for a scenario where Spider-Noir meets the reader who is a Barbie? I LOVED THE NEW BARBIE MOVIE and wanted to know how Spider-Noir would get along with a Barbie reader. I think they would make a nice couple, they are the total Barbenheimer.
You can have them meet in the events of the first movie by making reader Barbie as spider-woman or by having them meet in the spider-noir dimension. As you like, but I would like to emphasize the great color contrast between the dark palette of Noir with the colorful pinks of the Barbie reader.
Crystal ✨💞
HI AGAIN !!! OMG YES PLEASEEEE my barbie brainrot refuses to go and so does my atsv brain rot so...... i hope you like this :DDD
(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)
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pretty in pink, great in gray
"oh, and before anything else, there's someone who's running fashionably late. sorry fellas, she had to fix up her makeup and hair, it's a very important priority of hers, as you can see." noir told the others as they looked at him in confusion. soon, their spider senses all turned on as they sensed yet another one of their kind in the room. "oh, well hello, cuties!" exclaimed a cheery voice from above as they heard the faint clacking of stilettos on the ceiling, pretty pink and glittery ones, in fact. they looked up and saw, hanging from the ceiling, a spider woman dressed in hot and light pink. she waved to them, with the others awkwardly waving back at her confused.
the spider woman from above shot out a pretty pink web from her pink webshooter and swung down after doing a somersault in the air and landing on her feet, with one in front of the other as they pointed outwardly in the opposite directions, a bright smile on her face still as she looked at everyone; all of which were thoroughly impressed by her acrobatic capabilities. "can you please adopt me?" gwen whispered underneath her breath as she looked at the woman in front of them intently. the spider woman giggled and walked forward to extend her hand to them all.
"spider barbie, at your service! it's so lovely to meet you all, and you, dear... of course, i will adopt you! would you like to live in my dream house or would you like me to arrange for the construction women back in barbieland to design a house of your choosing?" she asked gwen as gwen held on to miles from both sheer excitement and thoroughly getting weirded out. "did she just say she was barbie, or..." "pretty sure she said she was barbie." miles replied in a manner that showed he was just as stunned as gwen was.
noir moved to the front of their little group and shook barbie's hand first. "nice to meet you, barbie. i'm parker, peter benjamin parker, not to be confused with this guy." noir said as he pointed his thumb at peter b, who folded his arms and shrugged. barbie smiled widely at the monochromatic man as she held his hand tightly and shook it back. "and nice to meet you, peter!" she responded as she noted how dark peter's whole get up was. "i must say, i love the shades you've got going on here. i was considering making a darker outfit for myself, but pink feels more natural for me. i love how you look by the way, it's so... mysterious." she said as peter chuckled and scratched a little at the side of his head. dare he say miss barbara here was flustering him a little with her charisma and cheeriness.
"why, thank you, barbie. i love the abundance of... pink in your costume. very striking, and very powerful, i must say." he said with a slight smile underneath his mask as barbie's smile widened. she thanked peter, and the two went on and on about each other's costumes and quirks that came with them. they were hitting it off so fast, surprisingly. the group was actually questioning if what they were seeing was reality; because even though all of them are quite weird already as mutant spider people (and animal) a real, live, talking and walking barbie was also a mutant spider woman and was getting along well with the dark, brooding, and mysterious version of peter parker?
"so... care to maybe visit my dream house sometime, peter?" barbie offered noir, to which he felt a little flushed in the face at the prospect of visiting the beautiful woman's plastic home. "i... i'd be delighted to, my dear." he responded, to which barbie clasped her hands together in delight. soon, she wrapped her arms around noir, who tensed up a little at the abruptness of the situation, but loved every second of it. "this has got to be the craziest sight i've ever seen in my life." peter b said in tired disbelief as gwen and miles held themselves back from begging barbie to show them more of her pastel pink moves, and with peni and ham teasing them from behind about this new little couple they have in the group. well, not quite couple yet; barbie can be barbie without her ken, or peter--but she can be her own spider barbie with a spider man. it's not spider barbie with her spider man, it's spider barbie and spider man.
a/n: I NEED THE BARBIE MOVIE TO BE STREAMING NOWWWWWWWWWWWWW
tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @sabcandoit @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck @k4tsu3 @maxoloqy @fictarian
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thebestofoneshots · 1 year ago
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✩ Star
hey luvv!! can i please request a romantic matchup for marauders era :) ? you don't have to rush it, take your time in writing! 🪽💕🌸🤍
i'm a capricorn, infp, and an asexual sapphic. though i don't mind being matched up with a man because i'm sapphic and not lesbian :) maybe you can match me both with a girl and a boy hehehh
i'm 173 cm, i have brown long hair (with bangs) and brown eyes. i love doing skincare/just taking care of my body. i love the colour pink! i'm quite girly and feminine. my clothing style is basically this fashion brand called ozlana. i love wearing pearl jewelleries. i feel prettiest when i do my hair well. i also love barbie fashion! i'd love to be a fashion designer and have my own fashion boutique one day.
i'm a good listener and i can understand people well. i consider myself as open minded. i'm a huge feminist (gender equality and really just social equality in general 🫶) and i resent people that makes fun of others for being excited over something they love. i love reading (preferably english classics). i love the wizard of oz a lot. i would love someone who respects women and a gentleman.
i consider myself as quite smart :) (don't wanna be too self indulgent tho). my hobbies are reading, stargazing, and making dresses/clothing. i love plants and flowers <3 i also love fruits! my favs are strawberry, grapes, and blueberry. i enjoy baking too! love making french desserts recipes. i'm scared of being a failure. my biggest fear actually. so i tend to push myself as hard as i can to ace what i want.
i think that's all!! don't wanna make this too long. if you don't want to write this then i totally understand 🌸🤍💕🪽🫧
If you want to participate in "TBOS' 400 Followers Celebration" too, you can look at this post for all the options of prompts you can choose form &lt;3
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☆ Star: send a short description of yourself and I’ll tell you who I ship you with!
Chasing Butterflies
Pairing: James x Lily x reader Prompt: The story of how you ended up dating James and Lily. Word count: 1.5 k Warnings: None, (bit angsty / what feels like unrequited love but actually isn't).
Hey beatiful! I ship you with Lily and James! The first time you saw Lily, you thought she was the prettiest girl you’d seen in the world. She was wearing this beautiful flowery pink dress and looked so in awe of everything around her that you couldn't help but stare. Having been born into a magical family, it was interesting to see it from a different perspective. You were just about to approach her when she said hi to a disagreeable-looking boy that stared down at you as you took a step forward, which deterred you from doing so. Instead, you scurried away inside the train. That’s where you met James Potter and Peter Petegrew.
James was a very well-spoken boy who saw you wandering the train by yourself and invited you to sit along with him and his friend. He had been the one to introduce you to Peter and had also bought a bunch of treats for everyone once the Trolley Witch came around. James had been so nice to you that day that you felt like a princess. When both of you were put in the same house, you became close. James was always really, really nice to you, and you liked that about him, especially compared to the way his friends treated you - Sirius always trying to flirt and Peter being so awkward all the time. You also became close with Remus, and he would lend some of his muggle books, and you would borrow some magical ones to him. It became a habit, and Sirius would call you both nerds for it. You didn’t mind it all that much; you knew it was all playful banter.
In 5th year, when you discovered your passion for making clothes, the first person you told was Lily. You politely asked her if you could design a dress for her, and she felt honored. Once you handed her the dress, she instantly put it on, and it fit her like a glove. That weekend, when you went to Hogsmeade, she wore the dress, and even though you thought she looked absolutely lovely, you couldn’t help but feel a pit in your stomach whenever you realized people were staring at her. It was as if you didn’t want them to look, and their staring was affecting you somehow.
“That sounds an awful lot like jealousy to me,” Remus had told you. You gasped in that moment, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Maybe you didn’t just like Lily as a friend. Maybe you liked, like her. Romantically liked her. And it made you feel miserable because you were very aware, like pretty much the entire school, that James was absolutely hung up on her.
At Marlenes’s party, organized by Mary a year later, someone had the brilliant idea of playing spin the bottle. When Lily had to kiss Marlene, she didn’t budge, which made you both jealous but also a little curious. Could that mean Lily was interested in girls too?
You, in turn, had to kiss James, and even if he was your friend, you had to admit he was a really good kisser. You were both panting a little when you separated and awkwardly went back to your places in the circle. From that day on, James stuck to you like gum, following you around and carrying your books and bag a lot more often than he did before. And even if you appreciated how nice he was, making you feel like a princess again, you were also bothered because you felt like you were his second choice, his consolation prize after he gave up on chasing after Lily.
“I’m not a pity prize, James!” You told him one day as he tried to hold your hand.
He looked at you, hurt in his face. “I’d never see you as one, kitten. I thought you knew.”
You looked at him taken aback. “What about Lily?”
He averted your gaze. “She… She’s like a star. Unreachable.”
“And I am within reach, right?” You continued, a little angry still.
“That’s not what I…”
“James, I like her too!” You somehow blurted out.
He looked at you in shock, eyes wide open as you told him the truth. “You like–" he started, confused "–like I do?”
You looked to the side and nodded. “Yes! Like you do.”
“And you don’t like boys like that?”
“I… I wouldn’t say that either…”
“Then what’s the issue?” He said, reaching for your hand again. You stared at him with a frown, thinking of pulling your hand away. But his hand was warm, and just as James always did, it made you feel nice too.
Both you and James started to spend a lot more time together since then. People would find him sitting beside you at dinner and in some classes. He made sure to always keep some kind of contact with you, whether it was holding your hand, having his arm over your shoulder, or a hand on your waist. You actually grew to like it; you felt appreciated and loved. Maybe you really weren’t a second choice to him, maybe he really had chosen you over Lily.
But then it was Halloween, and somehow you convinced him to dress as Ken while you'd dress up as Barbie. You designed both of your outfits, and he even hung out with you while you were sewing and adding beads and glitter to both of your costumes. Even Peter was helping you with the costumes, since you’d promised to help him with his. You were all sitting in the common room, and you were on the floor, sitting between James’ legs and resting your head on his chest as you sewed some details onto a coat when Lily walked in.
You smiled and waved at her, but she just looked at the two of you, looking hurt, and stormed out. “What’s with her?” Peter asked with a shrug. You and James looked at each other with a frown and nodded, both getting up and chasing after her.
“Lily!” You shouted as she picked up the pace.
“I’ll take a short cut,” James told you. “We’ll intercept her.”
Soon enough, James was blocking Lily from the front, and you stopped her from behind. “Hey! Lils, stop running, will you?” You told her, breath a little ragged, as she tried to walk past you. Her eyes started to water, and you looked at her concerned, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Hey love, what’s wrong?” You asked.
She started to cry then, and your heart broke. Whatever you had done, you were sure to never ever do it again; you could not bear to see her cry. James looked as mortified as you did.
“Evans,” he said, not daring to place a hand on her, like you already had. “What’s wrong, darling?” He asked softly.
“I… I don’t know… I…” She started between sobs. “I just, I suddenly felt so angry at the two of you being together like that. I just… I didn’t…. I’m an asshole.” She said as she placed her hands over her face to hide it from the two of you.
Realization hit you like a truck. “You like James,” you said dryly. James looked shocked at the two of you. “You’re jealous.” You said with a bitter laugh. “I’ll leave you to talk,” you said as you started to leave.
Lily finally raised her head from her hand and shook her head, you couldn't be more wrong. She grabbed your arm. "I wasn't jealous of you!" You turned surprised. "I wanted to be James!" You looked at the two of them, shocked. James looked so confused in that moment; if it hadn't been for the situation, you would've loved to capture that expression in a picture. "Or rather, there, like… in between the two."
You looked at her even more shocked. "Does that mean you like… both me and–"
"–Me?" James finished.
Lily just looked at the two of you in desperation. "See? I AM an asshole!"
You shook your head and exchanged a glance with James. He nodded, and the two of you embraced Lily in a tight hug. You buried your head on Lily’s shoulder, relishing in the smell of her signature lavender perfume, while James wrapped his long arms around the two of you, drawing you both towards his chest. From that moment on, the three of you somehow started dating each other. Lily was the perfect companion; she understood and related to all of your girly needs, gifting you a pearl necklace on your birthday and wearing all the dresses you made for her. James always cared for the two of you like you were goddesses, giving you the best cuddles in the world and enjoying all the desserts you prepared for him. He was absolutely obsessed with the way you baked. You were so happy together; you almost couldn’t believe it was real. But it was, and it was beautiful.
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A/N: Hey sweetie! I really hope you enjoy this little ship (it totally got out hand and ended up being a mini ficlet, but I hope you like it); also I really hope all the cuddling doesn't bother you &lt;3
Much Love, Lilly xx
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pawnshopbleus · 1 year ago
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Put Me in a Movie - Chapter Ten
Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader
Summary - You’re a famous actress and he’s one of the greatest directors of all time. What happens when you get cast in his new movie? 
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Chapter Nine
Parties weren’t something that you hosted very often. Dinner parties, yes, but full-on parties, no. From the wrap parties that you went to they were mostly just the cast and crew members drinking and celebrating the end of the film. You wanted to impress the people that were attending. You wanted to show them that you were just a cool twenty-six-year-old woman that knew how to throw a party. The thing is, you didn’t know how to throw a party, but you knew who did.
Stella was over at your house in less than thirty minutes. Stella was a party girl through and through. If anyone knows how to throw one of the best wrap parties of the century it’s Stella.
She politely knocked at your front door. Usually, she would just take your spare key that was hidden under a rock and let herself in, but the two of you were setting boundaries. You were glad that she was respecting them. It’s the least she could do.
You opened the door and let her in. Stella followed you into your kitchen where she put her bag down on the marble counter. She took a seat on the bar stool and looked around. Stella was a pale woman with golden hair and brown eyes. She always wore red lipstick that could rival that of Taylor Swift. She is an underappreciated beauty that so many girls have.
You studied the way she looked around your home. You knew she wanted to say something, but she knew that it might upset you. The last thing she wanted to do was upset you.
“What is it, Stella?” “Nothing.” She crossed her legs and pressed her red lips together.
You sighed, “Look, I know you have something to say so just say it.” “This is no place for a party.” There it is! “I mean, it’s too light and too clean and too quiet.” “Well, can you fix it?”
Stella jumped at the opportunity to help you fix what could have been the world’s most boring party. People were expected to arrive at seven. It was three right now.
Stella had a lot of people in her contacts. That was the life of an agent. There was this caterer that wanted to help kick-start his son’s acting career. Stella got the son a leading role in a Marvel movie. The caterer endlessly thanked Stella and said that he will forever be in her debt. Same thing with a DJ. By five o’clock, people were running in and out of your home, getting and setting up equipment. By six o’clock, the DJ and caterer were set up outside in your backyard which had a beautiful view of the Los Angeles city skyline. The sun was about to set and in no time, the twinkling night sky would be a decoration to the party that Stella helped you throw.
“Now, what are you going to wear?” Stella asked.
You looked down at yourself and examined your outfit. You obviously saw nothing wrong with the white t-shirt and blue mom jeans that you were wearing. Stella, on the other hand, did. She didn’t want to say anything though, but by the way that her lips were pressed together again and her hands were clasped behind her back, you knew that she wanted to help you.
“If you want to pick an outfit for me then you are more than welcomed to.” You laughed at the way Stella jumped for joy when she heard your response. In under ten minutes, Stella was back downstairs. She nearly threw your own clothes at you and urged you to go put them on. It was like she was a six-year-old girl dressing up her Barbie.
Stella picked out the black Iwona Corset Mini Dress that was made out of recycled polyester from Vivienne Westwood. She brought out your red bottoms and some gold jewelry to match. She really could have been a fashion designer or a stylist if she wanted to but being an agent was the career that she choose.
Stella wanted to do your makeup. You didn’t need any, but since there were going to be cameras everywhere tonight you needed to look your best. She just put on a bit of concealer, powder, mascara, eye shadow, and lipstick. The look was very natural yet chic like your hair.
Guests began arriving a few minutes after seven and soon enough, the party was starting to look like a party. People came up to you and congratulated you on hosting such a nice party. You simply thanked them and directed them to Stella, the real hero of today. Without her, your ass would have been stuck in blue jeans and a white t-shirt.
Jessica arrived in style like always. She was wearing a custom-made Chanel pantsuit. It looked great on her considering that she was very tall and lean. On her feet, she wore pointed-toe heels that could poke someone’s eye out. Peter arrived soon after that with Mary-Jane by his side. Peter was wearing something boring like every other male actor in the universe while MJ wore a green slip dress that made her stand out in the crowd. Peter and MJ made a beautiful couple and they were so head over heels in love with each other that it made you sick with envy greener than Mary Jane’s dress.
You gave both of them a hug and then asked them if they wanted anything to drink. The caterers had brought along with them an expert mixologist.  Peter asked for water while MJ asked for a shot of tequila. She was a new mom, she needed it. You gave them their drinks and watched as MJ took the shot of tequila. She threw it back with ease and walked away to get another one. Peter just stood there, mesmerized by every step that his wife took.
Jessica joined the two of you soon after and struck up a light conversation. Things weren’t as tense as they were yesterday. She hadn’t mentioned the fact that Miguel chose to hug you instead of her. It’s not like she was angry, she was just a bit suspicious. After all, you were her friend and friends don’t date friends ex’s. Even if said friend cheated on her ex.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone going upstairs. You explicitly told everyone that upstairs was off-limits to everyone. You excused yourself for a moment and followed the person upstairs.
You angrily made your way upstairs and mentally cursed Stella for making you wear such elegant shoes in your own house. Your gaze was directed at the floor, making sure that you didn’t trip on any of the steps which meant that you couldn’t see in front of you. The person that you were following most definitely could hear you coming.
“You-” Was the only word you said before you realized who you were following. Miguel was wearing the simplest outfit yet it made him look absolutely unique. There was nothing in this world that could make that man boring. He even spoke two languages. Spanish left his mouth sometimes when he got angry or was passionate about something. Everything that this man did made you fall for him harder and harder.
“Sorry,” he said looking at you. He gave you a once over and nodded his head in approval. He then directed his gaze to a painting on the wall. “The Birth of Venus is one of my favorite paintings. I saw it when I first came into your house.”
“Came? More like broke in,” you shook your head as you took place beside him. “It’s fake. The painting's not real. I printed it at Staples and put it in a picture frame.”
“I could tell.” Miguel points at a watermark on the bottom left corner of the faux painting. “Botticelli painted it. Not some dude named Robert.” The way he pronounced ‘Botticelli’ made you shiver with need.
The two of you were now standing so close to each other that your arms were touching. Your skin was growing hot with the anticipation of what he might do or say next.
“What are you doing up here, Miguel? I told everyone that upstairs was off limits.”
He looked down at you, “Why are you following me?”
You laugh, “It’s my house.”
“I like your dress,” he said. Miguel's hands found their way to the front of your dress. His fingers played with the black strings that were fashioned into a bow. The entire time he did this, you were looking at his face. His features were soft as he played with the strings that were attached to the front of your dress. Miguel’s hand then snaked its way to your back and brought you in close.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispered. Now, you were looking into his eyes while he looked into yours. He was searching for the answer in those beautiful eyes of yours, but he knew that he couldn’t do anything without your verbal consent first. His thumb teasingly traced along your mouth as he waited for an answer.
You wanted this. You wanted him, but everything in you screamed at you to run away. He was danger packaged into the man of your dreams. So, you did the thing that your brain told you not to do. You went with your heart and your heart said, “Yes,” and he was kissing you.
His hands were rough at your waist as he kissed you with such fierce passion that was kept inside for so long. Your eyes were kept open for a moment, but only for a moment before they closed as you melted into the kiss.
He couldn’t believe it. You were kissing him! He was kissing you! Miguel had spent the past several weeks wondering what you would feel like and taste like. He finally had you and he stupidly let you go.
“I can’t,” Miguel shook his head, “I can’t. It’s too soon after the divorce. I can’t. I’m sorry. I thought I was ready, but I’m - I’m sorry.”
Miguel left you there in the middle of your own hallway. You were still high off of the adrenaline and the feel of his lips on yours.
Chapter Eleven
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