#but I will post them anyway to let them go

[bobur-the-berry-guy]

Random horny thoughts abt my fav blue lock men!

ᯓ★୭˚

•written in the trenches of the end of my period the power of sleep deprivation stress and my clit, enjoy

•made the banner myself too hihi (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

••requests are open btw

ft. Isagi, Hiori, Nanase, Bachira, Rin, Karasu, Yukimiya

Cw : 18+ obvi, afab!reader, biting, hickeys, oral (f/m receiving), fingering, jerking off, lowk sadism, rough, hand restriction, edging, overstimulation, sub/dom/switch dynamics kinda???, size difference kink, degradation and praise, being fucked in someone else's clothes, they're all kinda freaky in some way shape or form, generally just a horny post

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✩₊˚.��☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆.˚✮•𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂•✮˚.⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

ᯓ★୭˚ To preface this, i must say i want Isagi BAD. Anyway, everyone and their mama knows he has a thing for thighs. Yours especially. It's just the way they jiggle a bit when you walk, the way they shift when you move your hips and how they practically melt when you sit. In his eyes they're the most delicious thing he can lay his eyes upon. And the perfect earmuffs. He can spend hours between them, licking up your juices and playing you with his tongue. He keep you mostly clean, but that doesn't stop him from eating messy. By the time he's done pretty much his whole lower half of the face is soaked and dripping, sometimes he gets a but of it on his fringe too somehow. He gets off on just getting you off - the visual of you shaking and your teary face paired with your cute moans is more than enough for him.

more under the cut!

He likes it best when you're on your back or sitting on his face - he lives for the moments you squish his head with your thighs, drowing out any other sound and lowkey choking him like that. He doesn't care if he can't breathe or if it feels like he's gonna have his jaw relocated - do it! Squeeze his face, tug on his hair, put him in a headlock, squirm and trash around. To him that's only a sign he's doing his job well. And don't get me started on what a sucker he is for eye contact. When you look down at him with these wet eyes and you're doing your damnest not to roll them back in your head he might just cum in his pants.

"No, no— not yet. Let me keep going. Please."

Next morning you wake up and your legs still feel funny and you've got hickeys and little bites all over the insides of your thighs, and he's clinging onto you like a koala. Isagi really liked his meal.

He doesn't expect you to return the favour, but he won't stop you if you want to. He gets all shy and red, and he whimpers!! He's all twitchy and he can't keep his voice down, and his doing his hardest to look you in the eyes but it's so hard - he's too embarrassed about just how easily you have him like that yet he's too captivated by the sight in front of him to look away. He will hold your hair out of your face if he thinks it could be making it harder for you even in the slightest. Though he has to psychically stop himself from gripping your hair too hard or squishing your face with his thighs. Lowkey, I'd like him to squish my face with his thighs. #needthat

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ I know lately everyone's been talking about the Hiori ultra-sadist thing, and you're here to listen to me talk about it too. Now, just let me speak. He's so cute and he's so gentle and careful with you outside of.. activities, but the second he's gotten you in bed it's like a switch flips. I don't think the fact that he's 6 fucking ft tall really registers until you're under him and he's caging you between him and the mattress. You've got nowhere to go and the look on his face tells you that you'll be staying there for a while.

Whatever you let him do, he will. His deal isn't pushing your bounderies but trying to see how far he can push you. And let me tell you he is skilled with his hands. He's making you almost cum over and over again until you're basically sobbing and begging him to just do it. Other thing he does every time is holding your wrists. He won't tie them, no - he wants to hold them together himself, making sure you can't touch neither him nor yourself. Might pinch your nipples if you let him. When he finally decides to let you finish he's not giving you more than a minute to catch a breath before he's sliding his dick in you. And he's not gonna go soft now either. The hand that he was getting you off with will be gripping your hips with enough force that you'll see faint bruises the next day, and when he's close to cumming himself he's gonna move it back down to play with your clit. He switches biting and sucking on your neck and kissing you until both of you need to break the kiss so you can breathe. Won't stop you if you bite him back though. With the way he's fucking you, you'd think he's on a mission to break the bed again. Your neighbours hate you.

"Ya like it that much, huh? Don't even try to keep quiet, or I'm gonna keep going till ya beg me to stop."

HIS ACCENT UGH. He won't shut up. He keeps talking and cooing even when he's pretty sure you can't even process a word anymore. It's like his goal is to fuck you senseless. It is actually

After it's over he's taking real good care of you. He's wiping you clean, bringing food n water, running a bath - the works. Whatever you say you want it's yours. What kind of a man is he if he pounds your brain out and doesn't treat you like a princess after? Though, he may press on the bruises and bites a bit to see you squirm before he gently kisses you again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ Nanase is a simple man that knows what he wants - someone who can lead him. That counts in the bedroom too. Tell him what you want and you have it - he lives to make you happy. If it's your first time or you don't have an exact idea of what you want he's going gentle and sensual on you - he takes his time with everything. He's undressing you slowly, peeling each layer, kissing and caressing you all over. He holds your hand while he fingers you with the other, murmuring softly into your ear. And even when he finally slips his dick in you he still holds your hand, groaning and moaning into your mouth as he kisses you. All in all, he treats you like delicate china porcelain.

If you want him to rock your world he's more than ready. He's holding you by the hips and he's pouding into you like he hasn't touched you in a decade, leaving little crescent nail marks and biting your shoulder. He's going fast and hard, but if you want him too keep going for too long he's gonna get overstimulated himself and he's gonna be all jittery. He's real sensetive. The only thing he won't do is hitting you or degrading you - he can't bring himself to do that. Now, if you want to rock his world, he's more than happy and willing to sit back and let you do whatever you want with him. Bite him, scratch him, have fun - he likes it when you take the lead. And I'm gonna remind you he gets overstimulated easily. You could be denying his orgasm once or twice in a row an he's gonna be almost in tears, but it hurts so good. All he's gonna do is squeeze the bedsheets, or preferably, your hand and give you more room to work with. Likes it best when you're riding him and hes sitting with his back leaned to the pillows and headboard - he can feel your body pressed into his while you're boucing on him into oblivion, holding his hand and scratching him with the other while he's holding yours and squeezing your hips, foreheads pressed into each other as you try to kiss but you're both too out of it for it to be anything more that sloppy and uncoherent try that will end with a string of salive between the two of you.

"Ah— keep going— mh- ngh— just like that!"

He keeps babbling on, his accent making him sound even cuter. AGAIN THE ACCENT UGH. He begs you for something, and he's not even sure what exactly he's begging and sobbing over. He's whimpering and twitching and whining, and he's having the time of his life.

By the time you guys are done you're practically melting onto the matress, huffing and puffing and you're coming down from your high. Aftercare comes after a small window for you both to come back to your senses. You'd really need it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ Bachira is a fucking pervert, and he's proud of himself for that too. He can't keep his grabby hands to himself - he's constantly holding and pinching your waist, feeling up your tits and ass, playing with the waistband of your pants. He's shameless. And that's while you're out in public too. Sometimes you'd have to drag him back home to do him so he can stop acting like that.. for today and maybe tomorrow.

You know the saying "great minds think alike"? Because, just like Isagi, this man could die suffocated between your legs and he'd die the happiest man on earth. And he's not quiet about it either. He's slurping and gasping and talking trough your juices as if he isnt tongue deep in you, bumping his nose into your clit and pinching it every now and than. He treats how many times he can many you cum like a game - the more, the higher the score. He's keeping track too. At some point he'd have to hold your legs apart so he can keep going at it, before you basically become like jelly anyway. If he decided he doesn't wanna eat you out anymore and finally wants to actually fuck you instead, he's having you in any position he can think of. And he's trying each at least twice too, just to be sure if you both really like it or if you did it correctly the first time.

"Ah— yeah, you like that! No, no, i wanna keep going—! You look so cute like that-, ngh—!

As i said, this man is NOT keeping it quiet. He doesn't see the point in it - if you're making him feel good why wouldn't he show it? Keeps the same mentality about you too. If you even try to quiet yourself down he's gonna go harder just to make you question if it's really worth trying to keep the volume down.

Next morning you wake up and see him as snug as a bug, staring at you all soft and innocent as if he didn't rearrange your guts in at least three different ways a few hours ago.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ For someone as intense as Rin, you'd think he'd be rough, but in reality he's probably the most sensual and caring lover you could have. He'd be really unsure in the beginning, but it's not like he would show it anyway. He's never really been that close with anyone, definitely not nearly close or trusting enough to be so open and vulnerable. So if you've got him in bed, expect the intensity to be to the max. He's not gonna be nasty, but he's not holding himself back either.

He'd like it best when he can see your face well. None of that stuff where he can't see how glossy your eyes are or how good he's making you feel. He's already drooling from just that. He's holding your hand too. If you're under him, you're basically caged between him and the matress. One arm thrown over his neck and your legs over his waist, his face switching between being all up in ypur neck and inhaling your scent to kissing you sloppily, too pussy-drunk to really even kiss you well. You're clawing at his back from how deep he's going, and he's trying not to bust right then and there from just how good you sound moaning and whimpering in his ear. If you're on top of him, he'd have to be still at least to some extend sitting up so he can feel your torso brushing against his as you're bouncing on him. He's all about that skin to skin contact, as he is for the eye contact. He'd have to try real hard not to let his eyes roll into the back of his skull so he can still look at how good you look like that. If he notices you getting tired, he's taking the job in his own hand and will have you hold onto him and grab your hips to bounce you on his dick himself.

"Nhg— ah— yeah, just like that, keep your eyes on me— mmh!"

I don't think he'd really be loud, but he's noisy, you know? He can't keep himself silent. He's constantly letting out little sighs and groaning, along with the jolting and and the occasional trembling. And if you're treating him real good, he'd whimper too. I mean, imagine you're pretty much laying on top of him, kissing all over his face and neck, whispering softly as you're jerking him off with one hand and he's just.. whimpering. Whimperig and jolting. Join my whimpery Rin agenda.

And when you're finally done with it there's nothing on the planet that would make Rin move in the next few minutes. He's just holding you, trying to catch his breath. After that he'd have you both shower quickly, maybe grab some water and snack and back to bed you go. He's gonna be real cuddly after. He won't say much, but he'll hold you close and caress you lovingly every now and then until he falls asleep.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ International backbender Karasu awakens something in me. Him and his bigass attitude n that bigass nose💕

He's gonna talk up a big game and that confidence is definitely rooted in something. I mean, this man is ginormous even if we're not talking about what's going on in his pants. Just seeing you looking up at him gets him going. Seeing how big he looks compared to you does something to him. All that is to say he's taking his sweet time with prepping you. You both know that if that doesn't happen and you guys just try to force his dick in with no prep, it would not be a good experience. That, and he just really likes teasing you. He'd start out with eating you out first, making sure you're nice and wet before slipping his fingers in. He's scissoring and circling against your cervix with his fingers while he switches between licking your clit and pressing his nose against it. To be honest, he doesn't even really need to use his fingers for all that long. When his hand gets tired he just eats you out until you cum against his mouth and nose.

Now, when he's finally sure he can fuck you without hurting you, he'll go slow at first. He's having you sandwiched between his body and the bed and he's slowly pumping in and out of you, making sure he's not going too fast too soon. And despite how gentle he wants to be, it's flaking off the more you moan and the more he looks at you going stupid over barely anything. And honestly, seeing how much he fills you you doesn't help him at all either. He's steadily pumping up the speed into a quick rhythm that makes your eyes roll, and along with that he keeps that same rhythm with his fingers on your clit. Only when he's just so close to cumming does the rhythm go unsteady and jerky.. but he's so cute like that it only makes it better.

"Tryin' to force it in yourself, huh? That's kinda hot. Don't ya think you'd need a little help first?"

He won't shut up. There isn't a power on this earth to make him shut up. He's gonna be talking and groaning and moaning the entire time, and honestly he wants you to be vocal too. He's got a thing for voices, so hearing you sass him back or try to babble something back through whimpers gets him going even more.

With all that energy he's got he could go a few rounds, but when it's all done he's so damn clingy. You're not going anywhere without him doting and leaning on you lovingly. After you're fresh and showered and back to bed he's acting like a koala. Head in your chest, arms around you, practically purring. And even then he's still talking. He's gonna talk, talk and talk.. talk into sleeping like a log. But just so you know, he snores a bit.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

ᯓ★୭˚ Your resident dreamboat Yukimiya is here. He's always so gentle and so sweet you can feel your teeth ache at just the sight of him. He's doting on you and always looking for a way to make you happy.. sigh, the things I'd do to that man. Anyway, regardless of just how charming he is, that doesn't mean he doesn't have his own crazy side. I mean, he is in the blue lock program after all. Have you seen anyone normal in there?

Said crazy side is his unmatched possessiveness. He won't act like some crazy jealous boyfriend but he's gonna make sure you and everyone else knows that you're with him, and he's gonna satisfy that possessive side too. He's proud to have you, so is it really so shameful to want everyone else to know that? Even with all that, he's gonna be sensual. He'll make sure you're all good and comfortable while he's balls deep in you, holding you close and breathing you in and whispering into the shell of your ear. Doesn't matter if you're under him or on top, you're chest to chest with him, clawing at his back and moaning into his ear while he's meticulously rearranging your guts. He makes sure to leave you breathless with kisses throughout the whole thing, only letting you get a few breaths in so he can leave a hickey or two somewhere.. he also has a thing for fucking you while you're wearing his clothes. If you're wearing his shirt he's tearing everything expect it right off and he's lifting it up just enough to see himself entering in and out of you. He he likes it a bit too much, but he can't help himself. He might cum a bit earlier than he'd like, but thankfully he has enough stamina for more than one round.

Also! If we're talking about the egoist bible and the canon fetishes, i wanna talk about my take on the ephemeral things. Honestly, my mind goes to a specific time of day, or specific ambience. I can see him liking to fuck you in certain light - he likes how play of light and shadow look on you. He likes it when the sun sets and the golden hour shines on you just right while he's bringing you to tears with just his fingers. He likes it when the dusk makes your bluish afterglow look even softer while you're recharging for the next round. He likes it when it's the dead of night and only the moon let's him see your gorgeous face changing expressions because of him, he likes the calm gentleness of it. He likes it right before the sun enters the horizon and it's just cool enough to keep you even closer so you can be warm while taking another orgasm out of you. I also think he's particular about the sound atmosphere - it's either a calm quiet, a playlist he's made or the sounds of the sea.

"You like that, love? Yeah, feels good— mmmh—!"

Oh he's not keeping his mouth shut. He's got a good voice and he knows it. He's murmuring right in your ear, either talking you trough it and what to do now or whimpering about how good you make him feel and how gorgeous you look fucked out like that. If he's not talking he's moaning and whimpering softly, but he's still loud enough to make you soaked with just noises.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆.˚✮•𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂•✮˚.⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

When you're all done and finished he's holding you like you're the dearest thing to walk on this earth. He's talking in your ear all soft and gooey about how gorgeous you are and good you made him feel, and after a while of holding and sweetness he's bringing you to the bathroom to freshen up before returning to the bedroom again.

ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ★｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+° as always, requests are open!

•made yukimiyas part just a but longer bc it was his bday recently so have a treat :P

[fuddaround]

HOME² › paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary : after ending on what you two would consider “good terms”, you end up surprising her in dallas.

warnings : mentions of slight panic attack, angst angst angst, mood swings, strap (r!receiving), fingering, cunnilingus, slapping (ish)

word count : 7.6k

original

kay’s notes : yes! i did skip the after game presser but 😛😛 anyways thank you guys sm for being patient i had finals this week 🤧

you land in dallas mad as hell. at yourself, at the weather, at the stupid ass decision to book this flight in the first place.

you said you wouldn’t come.

you promised yourself that you would let her go. let her leave uconn, let her grow up, let her start over without you.

but you’ve always been way too weak when it comes to her.

the air hits different the second you step out the airport. hotter. heavier. like even the wind knows you’re both here now.

you check into the hotel. hoodie up, sunglasses on. you act like she might see you in the goddamn lobby even though she’s already said in an interview she’s moving in somewhere.

you try to kill time. go for a walk. hit a smoothie spot. wander downtown.

and still—she’s everywhere.

her rookie poster’s on a billboard right off elm street. mouth parted. eyes locked in. all attitude and promise.

you look away too fast. like the city’s doing this just to remind you of everything.

you step into a store to cool off. and of course she’s on tv inside. a highlight reel running on loop. the strap of her jersey slipping off her shoulder in slow motion. smile all teeth as she laughs with her new teammates. your stomach drops as it switches to her post practice interview.

“you play minnesota tomorrow, that one’s gonna mean a lot.”

she smirks at the camera, “yeah i’m really grateful for the experience, i wanna show out for them and my new organization.”

you leave. can’t breathe. can’t think properly. your chest is on fire.

you swore you’d stay invisible, sit in the nosebleeds, just see her with your own eyes one last time. nothing more. no texts. no calls. no more damage.

but dallas already feels like her hands, like her breath on your neck, like her voice in your head saying “you’ll never outrun me, baby.”

and deep down? you already knew. you didn’t fly here just to watch. you came here to break your own heart again.

you make it back to the hotel by seven.

door locked, curtains shut, and tv playing some random movie just for background noise.

it’s quiet. too quiet.

like the city went still just to let your thoughts eat you alive.

you sit on the bed. scroll through your phone.

see the game promo again.

“bueckers vs the hometown,” her face lit up in the picture. still cocky. still so goddamn beautiful.

your hands start shaking.

you throw the phone on the bed behind you.

pace the room.

turn the ac colder.

peel your hoodie off.

still sweating.

you feel like you’re gonna throw up, like your chest is caving in, like you should’ve never come here in the first place.

but you also knew you couldn’t stay away.

you sit down again, hugging your knees.

bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

you cannot go to that game.

you cannot see her.

hear the crowd scream her name.

watch her in her element like she didn’t fuck you up just a few weeks ago when she left.

you cover your face, try to breathe.

in.

out.

in—

nothing.

your heart won’t chill. your brain’s too loud.

it’s all her, her, her.

what if she sees you?

what if she doesn’t?

what if she’s already moved on?

what if you can’t?

you cry, just a little though.

quiet. alone.

not because you’re still in love with her.

but because that love never got to end right.

it just dragged.

split open and left you both bleeding and calling it normal.

you crawl under the covers around midnight. heart still pounding. eyes burning. you tell yourself you won’t go. you’ll just stay in bed. maybe fly home early. maybe even try to explore the city again.

you wake up slower than you expected.

no panic, no cold sweat—just sunlight slipping past the curtains and the hum of the city outside. your body’s tired, but your mind is strangely still.

you don’t feel good, exactly.

but you feel better. like maybe the worst already passed, and now all that’s left is this moment.

you get up, shower too long, and spend forever picking an outfit, even though you told yourself this was supposed to be lowkey.

but you put the cargo pants on anyway.

the black ones she used to sneak her hands into when she thought no one was looking. you pull your hair back into a slick ponytail, clean and tight.

the mirror doesn’t lie—you look good.

good enough to be noticed.

you leave the hotel and hit a store three blocks down, just to browse, but you walk out with a bueckers jersey in your bag. but not the uconn one.

not the one you used to wear religiously.

this one’s fresh. navy and green. number five bold across the back.

you swore you wouldn’t go that far.

but your heart was never good at boundaries.

you slide your airpods in and hit shuffle on the playlist you swore you wouldn’t touch again. the one with all your shared songs. all the slow ones, the loud ones, the late-night-in-the-car windows-down ones.

and just like that, she’s in your ears again.

singing along off-key.

hand on your thigh at a red light.

you walk through the city like a ghost. one foot in the past, the other chasing whatever this is. and you don’t stop until you’re at the arena.

ticket pulled up on ticketmaster, heart in your throat, and her name already on your skin.

you find your seat thirty minutes before tipoff. lower bowl. row eight. center court.

close enough to see the sweat on her forehead, but far enough that she won’t notice you right away.

the arena’s smaller than the big ones—but louder somehow. intimate. packed. already hers.

you sink into the seat and try to act like your heart’s not rattling in your chest. like you’re not gripping the edge of the chair every time she dribbles past your side.

like you don’t still know the way her legs look in motion better than your own name.

paige looks locked in. bun tight. jaw clenched. dallas practice gear fitting like it was made for her.

she’s warming up with the rest of the team—all business, all rhythm. that is until she runs past the sideline closest to you.

she hesitates. just for a second. like she felt something.

but she doesn’t look.

not yet.

the lights go down, introductions start. crowd roars and the music blasts and her name gets called last.

number five, paige bueckers.

and you’re on your feet before anyone else. just like old times. hands clapping, the feeling of knowing your voice would be gone from cheering, chest open like it was never broken.

you don’t even think about it. your body just moves. like natural instinct.

and that’s when she sees you.

at first, she freezes. not completely. just—a pause. mid-step. blink too long. eyes stuck on one face in the crowd.

no way.

she looks away quick.

blinks again.

shakes her head.

keeps moving.

gets into the huddle, but her heart’s in her throat now.

is she seeing things? did the lights play with her head? there’s no way you’re here. no way you flew out. no way you’re sitting in the stands, in her jersey, cheering for her like nothing ever changed.

but then she hears you again. first one screaming when she hits that first three. the same way you used to in storrs. like the shot belonged to you, too.

and now she can’t ignore it. she glances back once. sees the ponytail. the cargos. the goddamn smirk.

her chest stutters, her vision flickers.

for a second, she’s not in dallas. she’s not a rookie. she’s back home in connecticut with you.

you. it’s really you.

and the whole game changes. her hands tighten around the ball. her steps get sharper—sharper than they’ve ever been.

because you’re here and she can’t fuck this up now.

she plays like she’s got something to prove, and she’s convinced she does. because you’re still watching.

and if you’re watching—there’s still time.

she’s locked in when the anthem ends. or at least she’s supposed to be. first game. rookie debut. full house. new home court.

but her skin’s buzzing, and it’s not the nerves. it’s not the cameras or the crowd or the lights too bright on her face. it’s you.

she saw you, she knows she saw you.

you were on your feet, clapping like you used to, yelling her name like it was yours.

tight ponytail. cargos she loved to pull down slow. her jersey on your back like nothing ever changed.

and now she’s out here pretending to breathe normal. pretending to listen in the huddle. pretending her heart’s not punching against her ribs so hard it hurts.

coach is talking about defense at halftime—about switching on screens, about setting the tone early—but all paige can think about is the way your eyes lit up when she hit her first three. that split second when she let herself glance over and saw your face break into the kind of smile she hasn’t seen in weeks.

she told herself she was done. she swore after the last time that this was it. she was moving on. new city. new chapter. clean slate.

but you being here? you just being here ruins all of that.

because now her stomach’s twisted. now her shot feels too heavy in her hands.

now every time she drives to the rim, she swears she sees you out the corner of her eye, front row, lips parted, hands clenched in your lap.

and it’s not just seeing you—it’s what seeing you does to her.

because you didn’t just show up.

you dressed for her.

you put her name on your back again.

you made sure she’d know exactly what you came for.

and now she’s pissed.

not at you—never really at you, but at herself.

for not being able to let go, for knowing exactly what it means that you’re here, and still acting like it doesn’t matter.

she tries to shake it off. gets a steal, runs the break, finishes with a clean layup. crowd roars. she slaps hands with her teammates. it should feel good.

but when she glances over and sees you nodding, biting your lip, pride all over your damn face—she forgets how to breathe again.

she can’t unsee you. can’t unfuck the memory of your moans. can’t stop thinking about the last time she had you pressed up against your kitchen counter, saying her name like it was gospel, like it still meant everything.

and it fucks with her.

all game long.

her passes are now a second late. her eyes keep drifting to your row. even when she tells herself not to. even when she reminds herself she’s done.

and then there’s the jealousy. because she’s not stupid. she knows you’ve probably got someone new now. knows that little break between when she left and now was enough time for someone else to slide in.

someone else got to touch what’s her’s.

but if that’s true—why the fuck are you here?

why would you fly to dallas? why wear her jersey? why cheer for her like that?

every look you throw her during the game sets her on fire. it makes her play harder, faster, sharper.

she starts talking more shit on the court. starts clapping in defenders’ faces. starts calling for the iso plays just to show out in front of you.

because if you’re gonna sit there and watch—then she’s gonna make damn sure you you stay watching her.

she hits a step-back mid-third quarter and doesn’t even celebrate. just turns, locks eyes with you, and raises her eyebrows making sure you were still watching.

your reaction is instant. you stand again, biting that same damn lip, hands in your hair now like she’s stressing you out. she watches your mouth form the word fuck.

she almost laughs, almost loses her cool completely.

and that’s when it hits her—she’s not mad that you’re here. she’s not confused. she’s relieved.

because now she doesn’t have to pretend. doesn’t have to fake that she’s moved on. doesn’t have to lie to herself every night and say she’s fine without you.

you’re here.

you came.

and that means you’re not over her either.

and that’s all she needed. all she ever wanted. just to know she wasn’t the only one stuck.

the game ends with a dallas win and she’s still staring at you.

from the bench. from the court. from the corner of her eyes. trying to figure out if you’ll stay.

and deep down she already knows. you didn’t fly here just to leave.

not a chance.

you’re not leaving yet. not before you see her up close. not before you break each other open again.

the second the game ended, her crashed.

not physically—her body’s still moving, still running on adrenaline, dap after dap, towel slung over her shoulder, head nods to the fans, cameras flashing left and right. but inside? she’s spiraling. full speed.

because you’re still sitting in that seat. because she caught you watching her walk off. because she knows you’re not leaving until you see her again.

and that should make her feel good. should be a win. but all she feels is the slow, familiar burn of what the fuck happens now.

the locker room’s loud. music bumping. celebration in the air—first game, first win. everyone’s hyped.

but she’s quiet.

sits on the bench with her jersey half pulled up, legs stretched out, towel over her head like she’s cooling off. but she’s not tired. she’s thinking.

and thinking always leads back to you.

“yo, p,” dijonai yells from across the locker room, half-laughing, but watching her too close, “you good? you look like you saw a ghost mid-game.”

paige doesn’t answer right away. just rubs her hands over her face and lets out a breath that’s too shaky to be chill.

arike’s next, leans back in the chair, smirking a little, “nah, look she’s in her feelings. she’s going through something.”

“shut up,” paige mutters, not even defensive. just exhausted. because they’re right. they’re so right.

“damn,” dijonai says, eyebrows raising, “it’s really like that?”

paige shakes her head, like maybe if she moves fast enough, the thoughts will fall out. but they don’t. you’re stuck in there, just like always.

“she was here,” paige mumbles finally. quiet. soft. like the words hurt just to say.

they both freeze, look at each other, then back at her.

“who?”

“you know who.”

“oh.”

paige leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it’s gonna give her an answer.

“i didn’t know she was coming,” she says, “like, she didn’t say shit. she just showed up. i looked up and there she was. in my fuckin jersey.”

arike lets out a low whistle.

dijonai nods slow, like it makes sense now.

“that’s crazy,” dijonai says. “how you feel about it?”

paige laughs, bitter and breathless. how does she feel? she doesn’t even know the answer.

“i don’t know,” she lies first but then her mouth starts moving. like her chest can’t hold it anymore, “i wanted her here. i wanted her to care enough to come. and she did. but now all i can think about is how bad it’s gonna hurt when she leaves again.”

no one says anything. just silence thick between the three.

she looks up, eyes glossy but hard, voice lower now. heavier, “i still want her,” she admits, “like, still want her. and that’s the fucking problem.”

dijonai leans in, not joking anymore, “so why’d y’all stop?”

paige shrugs, jaw tight, “we were toxic as hell. we fought all the time. jealous. possessive. too much history, too much pain. but it was always real. and when it was good—fuck, it was so good.”

she runs her hand through her hair. laughs again, but it sounds like she might cry.

“she made me feel like home. like the only version of myself i actually liked. but we kept breaking each other and pretending it was love.”

arike’s quiet for a minute. then she says, “but she’s here. after all that, she still came.”

paige nods, eyes stinging.

“i know,” she whispers, “and that’s what’s killing me.”

she looks back down. lets herself feel it now. lets the pain bloom in her chest without fighting it off.

“’cause if she walks out again, i don’t know if i can keep pretending it didn’t matter. like i didn’t just see the love of my life sitting courtside, looking at me like she never stopped being mine.”

the room moves around her. teammates laughing, music still thumping.

but paige is somewhere else. in your arms. on your couch. in your bed pressing her lips to your collarbone and whispering promises she knew she couldn’t keep.

she closes her eyes.

she wants to go out there and see you. wants to touch you. wants to tell you everything she just said in here.

but she’s scared. scared that wanting you again is a mistake. scared it’ll feel perfect, just like before—right up until it breaks again.

and still… she knows she’ll go. knows she’ll look for you the second she changes.

because this is you. and when it comes to you, paige bueckers has never known how to stay away.

paige doesn’t leave the locker room right away.

she paces behind the row of lockers, pulling her hoodie on slow, hands shaking like she just finished playing a double-overtime game. she keeps checking her phone even though there’s nothing new. no texts. no missed calls. no you.

dijonai squeezes her shoulder as she passes. arike throws her a look telling her to go.

so she breathes. and then breathes again. and finally forces herself to leave.

the walk to the hallway is the longest one she’s ever taken. every step feels like a gamble. because she knows there’s a fifty-fifty shot she’s about to get her heart cracked open in public.

what if you already left? what if you saw enough and bounced? what if she blew it, and this was your way of giving her closure without saying a damn word?

she rounds the corner, chewing her lip, hoodie pulled low over her eyes—and freezes.

you’re still there. right outside the double doors. leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

her chest pulls tight.

you’re in her jersey and you stayed. you really stayed. but she plays it cool, she has to. walks up slow. hands in her pockets. eyes soft but guarded.

“hey.”

you look up, and for a second she sees it. sees that flicker of something real in your eyes. but then your face smooths out and you say, “congrats.”

your voice doesn’t shake, but hers nearly does. “thanks,” she murmurs, kicking her foot lightly against the floor, “wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

you shrug. like this is nothing. like it didn’t take everything in you to show up. but that’s not important now.

“you played good,” you say, eyes skating past her, then right back again.

she nods. tries not to let the silence stretch too long between you. tries to find the version of her voice that won’t sound so desperate.

“can we… talk?” it comes out too fast, too quiet. then she clears her throat and says again, steadier, “you wanna come by the house?”

she was playing her cards smart, you both knew that. she wanted to talk and to have you back in her home again and with her.

you blink. and for a second she thinks you might say no. might shut it down before she even gets a chance.

but you just nod. once. sharp. like you don’t trust your own voice either.

and just like that, you’re walking side by side again. just like that, it’s her and you in motion. i again.

but this time feels different, heavier. like both of you are holding something inside your mouths and neither of you wanna be the first to spit it out.

you don’t touch. not even close. but the energy between your bodies is unbearable. her hand brushes yours once and she swears she hears you exhale.

she doesn’t look at you. she keeps her eyes forward, jaw tight, throat dry.

the whole walk through the tunnel is quiet.

but not empty.

she wants to say something. she wants to reach out. wants to pull you into her and ask you why you stayed, why you came, why you’re doing this again.

but instead, she says nothing. because she’s scared of what you’ll say back.

because she knows once it starts, it won’t stop.

you make it to the lot. paige hits the unlock button and the lights flash. you both flinch at the same time.

she opens the passenger door for you but doesn’t look at you. just stands there, waiting.

you climb in slow as she walks around the front and gets in next to you.

and for a second, in the low light of the car, she lets herself feel it.

you.

this.

the weight of your presence beside her.

the smell of your skin and the heat of your body and the fact that you’re here again, in her space, in her life.

she starts the car, doesn’t drive yet, just grips the steering wheel and stares ahead.

“you look good,” she says, voice raw, like it’s been buried under too much silence.

you don’t say anything back, but you don’t look away either.

and in the stillness of the car, as the engine hums beneath her feet, she fights the urge to reach for your thigh, to pull your hand into hers, to kiss you stupid right here in the lot.

but she doesn’t. not yet.

you both stay quiet. both pretending it’s no big deal. both drowning in all the things you won’t say.

and when she finally pulls out onto the road, all she can think about i s how long she’s waited to be this close to you again.

and how dangerous it is that you said yes, that you came, that you’re sitting beside her and pretending you’re not just as ruined.

the city passes in flashes. neon signs. red lights. the occasional burst of headlights from the opposite lane. you’re watching it all through the window like you’re in a dream, like none of it feels real.

paige is calm now or at least pretending to be.

one hand on the wheel, other draped lazily over her thigh. eyes on the road, lips twitching like she might say something, then thinks better of it.

finally, she speaks, “so, uh how long you in town?”

your heart flinches at the question, even though it’s casual. you keep your eyes forward, “just for the game,” you lie not even well because for a second there’s that smirk that knows you only bought a one way ticket. your voice sounds thin, like it’s trying to hide how heavy your chest feels.

she hums, nods slow, “cool. i mean cool that you made time. that you came out.”

you glance at her. she’s not looking back. her jaw’s tight. her knuckles a little whiter on the wheel than before.

“dallas suits you,” you say, softer.

she lets out a short laugh. not sarcastic—just surprised.

“you think so?”

you nod, turning back to the window, “yeah. you look settled.”

it’s not a compliment, not really. you just don’t know how else to say “you seem different.”

she catches it anyway, always did read between your words too well.

“settled doesn’t mean happy,” she says. and that’s the first honest thing either of you has said since the hallway. but then she flips the vibe again, like she regrets letting you in for even one second.

“you still working that job that was killin’ your sleep schedule?” she asks, voice light again.

you nod, “yeah. still can’t sleep past 5 a.m.”

she huffs a laugh, shakes her head, “some things don’t change.”

and for a minute, it almost feels like old times. like you’re just driving home from her practice. like there’s no breakup. no history. no heartbreak in the middle of the console.

she reaches out and adjusts the air vents and you have to pretend not to notice how that same hand used to rest on your thigh every time she drove.

“you still listen to our playlist?” she asks suddenly, and it’s almost a challenge. you swallow, “yeah.”

she nods, barely, like that answer mattered more than she wants to admit, “me too.”

silence again. but it’s not uncomfortable. not as much as it should be.

you’re both better at this than you should be. better at pretending it’s nothing. better at pretending you’re not dying to ask the questions neither of you can afford to hear the answers to.

you see her exhale slowly, grip loosening just a little on the wheel. the further she gets from the court, from the team, from the memory of you in the stands—the more armor she puts back on.

by the time she pulls into the driveway, she’s damn near stone. cool. smooth. unbothered. mask on. voice leveled. like she didn’t spend the last hour remembering what your skin smells like.

she parks, lets the engine idle, doesn’t move to get out right away. you unbuckle. she does too. but neither of you opens the door.

you both just sit there, quiet again, staring forward. the house looming in front of you, waiting for what’s coming next.

her voice breaks the stillness first.

“you ready to come in?”

you nod, heartbeat heavy. but you don’t say yes. you just reach for the door handle. and her fingers twitch like she almost stopped you. like she almost touched you. but she doesn’t. she can’t. because the moment she touches you—you’ll both stop pretending.

the door shuts behind you with a low click. it’s quiet inside. not cold, but still bare. the kind of quiet that says someone’s here, but not settled. not rooted.

you toe off your sneakers near the door, not even thinking about it. you’ve done this before. your body remembers even if your heart’s still catching up.

paige drops her keys on the counter and shrugs off her hoodie, throwing it over the back of the couch. her place smells like her. detergent and sweat and something earthy. you try not to let it hit too deep.

“it’s still a mess,” she mutters, waving a hand at the half-built shelf in the corner, boxes by the wall, basketballs everywhere, one of her shoes on the kitchen counter for some reason.

you raise an eyebrow, “looks about right.”

she smirks, just a little. leans on the opposite side of the island as you pull yourself onto a barstool, thighs sticking to the leather. her arms fold across her chest, like she’s trying to make the distance feel like control.

“wasn’t expecting company,” she adds.

you nod slowly, rest your elbows on the counter, “wasn’t expecting to be here.”

paige tilts her head. lets the silence stretch. then says, too casually, “so why are you?”

you blink. it’s not a soft question. it’s not cruel either. just too careful. too light. like she’s trying to sneak it past your defenses. you stare at her. try to read her face, but her expression is all calm.

your heart’s doing too much. your brain is screaming but your mouth moves anyway. “i don’t know,” you lie, even though you do.

paige huffs a laugh and leans forward on her elbows, “bullshit.”

your brows lift, “what?”

“you do know,” she says, voice low but firm. “you’re not the type to just pull up to a game in a city you don’t live in for fun. especially mine.”

you look away. jaw clenching. you don’t want to start this here.

“it was your debut,” you say.

“so?”

“so i came.”

“why?” she presses again.

and it hits different this time. like she needs to know now. like her hands are tightening on the wheel again. you look back at her. eyes sharp.

“why do you care?”

her expression doesn’t change. but something flickers. something quiet. something raw. “just asking,” she shrugs, and that shrug sends heat through your ribs. because it’s not just a shrug. it’s armor. it’s her way of hiding again.

you scoff.

“you always do that.”

her brows pull together, “do what?”

you laugh, but it’s bitter “act like you don’t care. act like nothing ever touches you.”

she straightens up, arms still crossed, “what do you want me to do, huh? cry? beg?” you shake your head, fingers gripping the edge of the counter, “i want you to stop pretending like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”

paige’s jaw flexes, “you think it doesn’t?” she shoots back, voice still low but tighter now. “you think it was easy for me to see you in that crowd, knowing you weren’t mine anymore?”

your chest squeezes. but she doesn’t stop.

“you think it was easy not to touch you in the tunnel? not to pull you into me right there and forget all the shit we never fixed?”

your throat’s dry, your fingers tremble.

“then why didn’t you?” you ask.

and your voice is small now.

real. scared.

paige looks at you for a long second, eyes sharp but glassy. then drops her gaze.

“because i didn’t wanna make it worse.”

you swallow hard. the space between you feels like fire now.

“i wanted you to care,” you whisper.

“i do care,” she says, louder. “fuck, you think i don’t? you think i haven’t been thinking about you every damn night since i left?”

your lips part, but she keeps going.

“i see you in every goddamn city. every time i lace up. i hear a song and i think about you. i can’t even take a nap without dreaming about your dumb ass and the way you always steal the blankets.”

your eyes sting.

“then why’d you leave like that?” you ask, voice cracking.

paige laughs bitterly, “you know why.”

you shake your head.

“no. i don’t. all i know is you left and then started pretending like we weren’t even real.”

she pushes off the counter, running a hand through her hair, pacing once before turning back.

“because if i didn’t pretend, i wouldn’t survive it.”

you stare at her.

your breath catches.

and for a second, neither of you speak.

then paige’s voice drops, quiet again. tired.

“i’m sorry,” she says. “i didn’t know how to love you from a distance. so i acted like i didn’t.”

you wipe your face. don’t even remember starting to cry.

she walks around the island. slow. careful.

stands in front of you, hands hovering like she wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if she’s allowed.

“i don’t know how to be around you without falling,” she says. “and i’m so fucking tired of pretending it doesn’t kill me to see you.”

you look up at her. and for the first time in months, she looks like yours again. and it’s terrifying.

you don’t move at first. just sit there with your face tilted up toward her, cheeks wet, throat burning. and she looks down at you like she’s seeing a ghost. like you’re everything she ran from and everything she missed all at once.

then her thumb brushes your jaw. soft. trembling. and she leans in like it hurts to get close, but not getting close would kill her. she kisses your tears. one at a time. and then all over; forehead, cheek, chin, nose. not rushed. not desperate.

like she’s making up for every time she didn’t show up, for every time she closed herself off when you needed her open. you exhale, shaky, aching. your fingers curl around the hem of her shirt, tugging her closer like muscle memory.

“it’s okay,” you whisper, your voice cracks right through both of you, “just let me in, p.”

her breath hitches and then she’s crumbling. her forehead drops to yours and she’s crying now. not loud. not messy. just quiet tears that feel like thunder in your chest.

you wrap your arms around her middle, pull her into you, and she sinks.

into your lap, into your body, into the only place she’s ever truly felt like she could fall apart.

“i fucked everything up,” she whispers, her voice breaking in a way you’ve never heard. not even the night she left.

you run a hand up her back. slow. grounding.

“no, baby,” you say, brushing your lips against her hair. “we both did.”

she shakes her head, fingers gripping your shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling through the floor.

“i got scared,” she admits. “when the draft came, when everything got real—that i was leaving connecticut—i didn’t know how to hold onto you and chase this shit at the same time.”

you blink through your own tears, “so you let me go.”

“i thought it would make it easier,” she says, and it sounds like a confession she’s been holding in for months, “i told myself distance would help. that cutting you off clean would hurt less than dragging it out.”

you close your eyes, bite your lip. “but it didn’t.”

she shakes her head.

“no. it made everything worse. i kept waking up expecting you to be there. i kept wanting to tell you about shit—practice, media, everything—and then remembering i couldn’t.”

you tilt her chin up, make her look at you.

“you could’ve,” you say. “i would’ve picked up.”

her eyes are red, lashes clumped.

“i thought you hated me.”

you suck in a breath, “i did,” you admit, soft. “for a minute. but mostly, i just missed you.”

her hands find yours and squeeze. tight.

“i hated seeing you with someone else,” she says suddenly. it’s a whisper, but it punches through the room.

you nod, “i hated hearing about the girl in your insta story two days ago.”

paige blinks. her mouth twitches.

“she’s just a friend. her brother plays for the mavericks. she was helping me move a dresser.”

you stare at her. try to believe it. try to let it be that simple. and for once, she lets you in without resistance.

“i didn’t fuck her,” she adds, eyes locked on yours. “i haven’t touched anyone since you.”

your chest caves in.

“i wish i could say the same,” you whisper.

paige swallows hard.

“was it serious?” she asks.

you shake your head, “no. it was nothing.”

she nods like she understands. she hates it, but understands.

“it felt like dying,” she says. “seeing you with her. but i couldn’t say anything. not after the way i left.”

your fingers brush her cheek. her skin’s warm. eyes still wet.

“why’d you stop talking to me?” you ask. you’ve wanted to ask that for so long.

she exhales.

“because every time i talked to you, i wanted to come back. and i knew if i did i’d never leave again.”

your stomach twists.

“so you shut me out.”

“only because i thought it was the only way,” she says. “to be great. to focus. to do this the right way.”

you nod slowly. you get it. but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “i just wanted you to fight for me. that’s all,” you whisper.

“i wanted to,” she says. “every damn day. i just didn’t know how to fight without ruining everything else.”

you lean your forehead to hers again.

“so what now?”

paige is quiet for a beat. then she brushes your hair back behind your ear.

“now we stop lying.”

you sniffle.

“about what?”

“about how we feel. about what we want. about the fact that we’re still in love with each other.”

you bite your lip. your whole body feels like it’s been cracked open.

“we still got all that shit we never figured out,” you remind her.

she nods.

“so let’s figure it out,” she says. “not tonight. not all at once. but don’t leave dallas yet. please.” you look at her. really look.

and she looks terrified. but hopeful. like maybe—for once—she’s ready to let you in and keep you there.

you squeeze her hand. press your forehead back to hers.

“okay.”

she breathes out. and then she kisses you. slow. salty. full of everything she never said. and this time, she doesn’t pull away.

you barely get the chance to breathe. she kisses you deeper, rougher. like her mouth’s the only way she knows how to fully open up. her hands grab your waist and she groans into your mouth like the taste of you has her losing her mind.

“let me be the last person you’ve fucked,” she mumbles against your lips, low. gritty. like it’s a promise and a threat all in one. your body tenses.

“p—”

but she’s already got her fingers curled around your thighs, lifting you clean off the barstool like you weigh nothing.

you gasp. wrap your arms around her neck on instinct, legs around her waist like second nature.

“where are we going you’re house isn’t unpacked,”

“bedroom, ma, don’t worry,” she mutters.

you look at her. her eyes are dark. blown wide. not just from want. from need. you don’t say anything. you just let her carry you through the still-mostly-empty house. boxes lining the hallway. half a couch in the living room. but none of it matters.

not with her holding you like this. like she already has you right where she wants you. once again.

when she kicks open the door to her bedroom, it’s chaos. half-unpacked bags. two pillows. barely any sheets. but all she sees is you.

you. in her jersey. number 5 and bueckers stretched across your back like it belongs there.

“keep it on,” she whispers, setting you down on the bed. you’re breathless. flushed. aching already.

her fingers trace up the side of the mesh, eyes glued to how it fits your chest, her voice is lower now, rougher, “you wore this for me?”

you nod, cheeks hot, “i bought it this morning.”

her jaw flexes. thats all it takes, that seals it, “lay down on your back.”

you blink, heart pounding, “paige.”

“jersey on. panties off. now, please.”

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body floods with heat. you lay back on the bed slowly, eyes never leaving hers. her hand strokes your cheek, then grips your jaw.

“you still mine?” she asks quietly. not a question. a test. you nod, “say it.”

your voice shakes, “i’m still yours,”

paige breathes out like she’s been waiting her whole life to hear that again.

“good,” she says, “then i’m gonna make sure no one else ever even tries to take you from me again.”

“face down.” her voice is sharp. not yelling. not soft. just serious. low. firm in a way that makes you obey without thinking.

you crawl up the bed, still in her jersey. bare from the waist down. thighs already slick and trembling. you don’t even get all the way before she’s behind you again.

her hands grip your hips and drag you back toward her, rough.

you gasp, elbows sinking into the mattress, back arching. you feel her eyes all over you.

“damn,” she mutters. “you look so fucking good in my name.”

you shiver. her hand smooths up the jersey, bunching it at your waist, fingers brushing the letters across your spine.

BUECKERS.

“this how you wanted it?” she asks, voice dark, “wanted to surprise me? pull up in my jersey just to end up face down like this?”

you whine, face buried in the sheets.

“answer me.”

“yes—fuck—yes.”

she groans. you hear the low click of her lube bottle. the shuffle of her strapping up. you’re panting just from the sound. but she doesn’t fuck you right away. she gets on her knees behind you. pulls you open with both hands and leans in. and then her mouth is on you. your back bows.

“paige—”

she sucks your clit slow at first. like she’s tasting. savoring. then her tongue slides down, curling in circles, making you shake. and when her fingers slide in—two, deep, smooth—you sob into the mattress. she groans behind you like your moans are fuel.

“so wet for me already,” she says, voice thick. “who made you like this?”

you try to answer but your mouth is useless. just open, gasping, drooling on the sheets. she curls her fingers up and pumps harder.

“i said—who made you like this?”

“you—fuck—you paige—”

she hums like that’s what she wanted. her fingers stay deep, knuckles slapping your pussy, her mouth never leaving your clit. she’s feasting. messy. loud. relentless. your thighs shake. your voice breaks.

“paige i need to—” she pulls back before you can even finish the sentence, breathing heavy.

“you think you get to cum when you want, ma?”

you whimper, shake your head fast.

“no—no, i don’t—”

“damn right,” she mutters, standing.

you hear her spit in her hand. feel her palm smooth over your ass, the slap that follows. you jolt. cry out. and then—she’s in.

deep. slow. filling you all the way. strap thick, stretching you open until your jaw drops in a silent scream. her hands grab your hips again.

“that’s it,” she growls. “take it. take me.”

you try to breathe but your lungs don’t work. you clutch the sheets and push back into her, already addicted to the feeling. she pulls out almost completely, then slams back in. your whole body jolts forward. and she loves it.

“look at you,” she pants, thrusting harder. “taking dick in my jersey. fucking pathetic.”

you moan. “paige—please—”

she’s pounding you now. fast. hard. each stroke louder than the last. the bed creaks. your skin slaps. your moans echo off the walls. and the whole time—she’s staring at her name on your back. she grips your shoulder, pulls you up by the jersey.

“who’s pussy is this, baby?”

“yours—fuck—yours paige—”

she slaps your ass again. deeper stroke.

“that’s right. you can fuck a thousand girls, and it’ll still be mine.”

you cry out, feel your orgasm crawling up your spine. and she knows, “you gonna cum for me, baby?”

“yes please—”

she leans forward, her chest to your back, teeth grazing your neck, “do it. cum for me in my name.”

and you do. screaming. shaking. falling apart. and she doesn’t stop. she fucks you through it, hips slamming, hands greedy. she’s starving for the sound of your pleasure. you collapse. limp. wrecked.

you’re buried in the blankets. face in the pillow, back towards her, barely able to think. “you with me, baby?” she murmurs, voice low and warm.

you hum. barely. a lazy, muffled noise that says you’re here. barely. her lips kiss the top of your spine. then lower. then back up. slow. soft. a different kind of love this time.

“you okay?” she asks again.

you nod this time. a little more alive. “yeah,” you whisper. she kisses your shoulder and breathes in, “good.”

she stays there for another minute. not saying anything. just rubbing your side, helping your body calm down.

when she finally sits up, it’s gentle. she peels the jersey off you with care—no teasing now, no smirking. just her hands, slow and warm.

and then she’s slipping one of her dallas wings sweatshirts over your head. it swallows you whole,

soft and oversized.

you give her a tired smile, “thanks.”

she helps you get back under the covers, then slides in next to you. wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close like she’s scared you’ll vanish if she’s not careful.

for a while, you both just lay there.

sweaty. sore. hearts still too full. but the silence isn’t heavy. it’s warm. safe.

“you tired?” she asks after a while.

“kinda.”

“body okay?”

you nod.

she presses a kiss to your cheek, then your temple, then your forehead. her gentle routine.

you turn to look at her, eyes a little glassy still.

“i don’t want this to be a one-night thing.”

her expression softens, the shield she always wears finally falling, “me either.”

you swallow hard, “we can’t do that to each other again. we either try, or we don’t.”

she nods. and for once, she’s not defensive. not snarky or flirty or trying to dodge.

“you’re right,” she says. “we either show up or we let it go. no more half-assing.”

you blink at her. this version of her—the grown one, the honest one—it makes your chest ache.

“so what do we do?” you whisper.

she shrugs, brushing your hair off your face.

“we try. starting tomorrow. not perfect. but real.”

you nod. you can live with that. you want to live with that.

“okay.” her thumb strokes your jaw.

“okay,” she echoes, like it’s a vow. then she pulls you into her chest, wraps her arms around you tighter.

the city outside is quiet. the room’s barely put together and it’s your first time here, but somehow, this still feels like home.

you fall asleep with her heartbeat under your cheek. wrapped in her sweatshirt. and for the first time in a long time—you believe her when she says she’s gonna try.

© fuddaround

[littlespoonevan]

and maybe, just maybe, i'll come home

some post-8x17 fic bc it got me thinking soft thoughts that were then further exacerbated by promise by ben howard (hence the title)

enjoy 💛

-

“Hey, scooch over.”

Eddie gives up the guise of trying to sleep and sits up in time to see Buck rounding the couch in the dark. He pulls his legs back just as Buck sits down on the cushion next to him.

“First he takes my house, now he’s taking my bed,” he grumbles – but it’s fond – as he rearranges himself, bracing his feet against the edge of the coffee table and yanking the blanket out from underneath Buck.

“S’my couch,” Buck quips back, taking the blanket from Eddie’s hands and draping it over both of them before he slouches a little in his seat.

It reminds Eddie of late nights at the firehouse when neither of them can sleep. The pang of longing at the thought is so fierce he clears his throat to force it away.

“Yeah, and it’s making me miss my couch. Yours isn’t as comfortable.”

Buck casts a sidelong glance in his direction, the silence stretching for a second too long until he says, “Yeah. I uh, I like your couch better too, honestly.”

It feels like he’s saying something else but Eddie isn’t going to pull on that thread. Instead he tips his head back against the back of the couch.

“It’s weird,” he says after a moment and Buck hums in askance.

“That you living here doesn’t feel weird,” he clarifies, picking his head back up again.

Buck’s expression doesn’t quite change but it almost seems like he’s holding his breath and Eddie feels like he has no choice but to continue.

“I don’t know…even though it’s all your stuff, I still feel like I’m-”

Home.

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t finish the sentence because it feels too revealing. Buck looks like he knows what Eddie was going to say anyway.

Buck looks down, and away, and then back up again, the faintest smile at the corners of his mouth. “Tonight was good.”

It’s a subject change but not quite.

Sitting around the dinner table with Chris and Buck and Pepa. That felt like home too.

“Chris missed you,” Eddie shrugs. As if he didn’t lie in this same spot last night, stewing, until he’d called his son way past his bedtime and asked if he’d come back to LA for a little while to see Buck.

Chris has said yes before the words were even out of Eddie’s mouth and Eddie was booking him a flight as soon as he hung up the phone.

“I missed him too,” Buck says, pillow-soft as his shoulder pushes a little more firmly into Eddie’s. He’s playing with the edge of the blanket, where the hem is fraying just a bit.

And the thought is still itching away at the back of Eddie’s brain. If Chris would say yes to coming home just as easily. He doesn’t dare ask – too afraid of an answer he doesn’t want.

For now, he lets himself lean into Buck, arms overlapping and hips pressed together under the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs after a beat. He knows he’s effectively said it already but he doesn’t mind saying it again. Especially when it makes Buck look at him, eyes wide and vulnerable.

Buck breathes out a hushed, “Me too,” and then he’s moving, slouching even more to drop his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

And it’s-

It’s different. Eddie knows he throws the selfish accusations at Buck but when it comes to this Buck rarely takes.

Eddie is usually the one to reach out, to get in Buck’s space, to find that same spot where the base of Buck’s throat meets his shoulder over and over again. Buck, who is so open with his affection, never asks for more than what he’s offered with Eddie.

That he’s asking at all now reminds Eddie what the root of all this is in the first place. It makes his heart twist inside his chest as he lifts his arm, dislodging Buck for just a second, until he can get his arm around him and pull him in more securely.

Buck’s breath is shaky against his neck and Eddie closes his eyes, turning to press his forehead against the crown of Buck’s head. Buck’s arm slides around his middle – hesitant at first and then in a vice-like lock.

“Can I make it about me for a sec?” Buck asks, the words half-muffled but still loud enough to make Eddie laugh.

He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Sure.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” As if to prove his point, his fingers twist where they’re gripping Eddie’s t-shirt. “Having you here- having both of you here…Feels like I can actually breathe for once.”

Keeping his eyes closed does nothing to stop them from stinging but Eddie tries anyway. His hand moves of its own accord, sliding from Buck’s shoulder and up so he can drag his fingers through Buck’s hair.

“Yeah,” he croaks. Rueful. Apologetic. “I don’t think I want to leave either.”

And it’s not a promise. It can’t be, not really. Not yet. Because he told Buck he refused to choose between him and Chris and he meant it but maybe-

Maybe it doesn’t have to be a choice.

Maybe it never really was.

Tonight, he lets himself sink into Buck’s warmth, lets their overlapping limbs hold him in place like a weighted blanket, lets himself feel something akin to peace for the first time in weeks.

He’ll hold onto home for home as long as he can.

[minothtime]

I'm a translator, which is sort of linguist-adjacent, so let me try to shed some light onto this! Lengthy sort-of-explanation under the cut

(Disclaimer: English is my second language, so please forgive me for any mistakes, oddities or typos ^^;)

first of all, the whole "referencing posts or known sentences to evoke feelings" is what linguistic in-groups are like! Tumblr has its own set of specific words and references that are constantly being flung around. This exact thing happens in other circles -4chan boards, kpop stan twitter, tiktok comments- or even smaller groups like fandoms! References are what separates the in-group from the out-group, as Etymology Nerd explains in this tangentially-related short.

But... Tumblr feels different, somehow, right? Because it's not just very specific references made in a relatively close-knit fandom. We're not talking about the Zohar or about Hyunjin actually being part of Odd Eye Circle. These references are SITE-WIDE! They're extremely easy to come across and you can find an explanation by asking literally anyone! How come?

Well, I'd wager this has to do with two things: Tumblr's unique features and the Tumblr userbase itself.

Tumblr is unique among other social media for many reasons. One of them is the interaction with old posts: there's no stigma surrounding it, unlike other social media, and there is no deterrents put in place by the website itself either. This way, posts can live in the common consciousness for much, much longer, cementing them in people's minds and becoming part of the website's zeitgeist.

To be fair, I personally believe that this is the case thanks to those "popular" or "iconic" posts being spread across the internet, giving new users the chance to look for them and reblog or interact with something they are familiar with. This naturally extends the lifespan of such posts. This is also why humorous posts like "the tubby custard machine", "tea tastes different in hot water" or "children's hospital", among a slew of others, have an easier time surviving the passing of time than more serious or niche posts.

Tumblr's userbase, on the other hand, is also quite... unique. This section will all be from my point of view and from observations I've made myself, so do not take my word for it. Or do. Don't hesitate to chip in about this part yourself!

Anyways. The Tumblr userbase - or "ecosystem", as it has been called. There's a staggering amount of variety in this webbed site, and many others before me will probably explain it better than I ever will (Strange Aeons, for example). Since the so-called 2018 "exodus" (when nsfw was banned from the platform and many users left for greener pastures), Tumblr has been considered a "dead" site, when it couldn't be further from the truth. Somehow, by virtue of not shooting themselves in the foot like literally every single other social media, Tumblr has survived. Even if its behavior towards trans people (mostly women) is still very suspect. But I digress.

Basically, I think Tumblr users like to feel included. Because so many of us have struggled socially, we suddenly find ourselves in a site filled to the brim with people similar to us. A site with accessible inside jokes that are funny, easily understandable, and easy to use. A site with the bare minimum rule of "don't be a fucking jerk but otherwise go nuts". These references make people feel good when they see them, when they understand them, and when they use them themselves. "Oh, I know what you're talking about! I get it!". Also personally as an autistic person i like knowing what something means. And I love making references other people get. It's something I struggled to do before and now I can do it!!

That's the socio-linguistic explanation for the iconic post references. But, really, I think that also affects the whole typing and rethorical-question side of things!

This very clear distinction between a question that requires an answer (usually marked with question marks) and rethorical questions (no question marks whatsoever) helps a lot! Neurodivergent people who struggle with tone suddenly have a clear-cut indicator that helps make them more comfortable, which perpetuates the system. Because it's great!!

The hyper-exaggerated compliments might come from a place of necessity, tho. Language has evolved to a point where non-ironic/common sentiments like "oh i rlly like ur art!" or "wow, what a cool use of space!" feel lackluster and barebones. The way the internet requires exaggeration for anything to be taken seriously, because of the flashiness or the so-called "algorithm speak", has bled into everyday speech patterns. If I'm talking about a painting i saw and I say "god it makes me wanna claw my eyes out. it makes me wanna scream and yell and grab the artist by the lapel and shake them like a maraca" my mother will look at me and go "what the fuck". My friends will just smile and nod in agreement.

Now that I stop to think about it, this obsession with hyperbole probably comes from a place of desperation - we want to be perfectly understood and leave no doubt about our stance. This, of course, is the natural consequence of those many years the internet at large spent obsessed with so-called "irony". Being earnest wasn't "cool", so you had to appear unaffected by everything and behave as unimpressed as possible to be taken seriously at all. Nowadays, you can't say you like something without having to preemptively write seven paragraphs defending your stance. And this sucks.

I'm a staunch supporter of the bring-back-earnestness movement. While saying things like "i'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure" is funny and all, sometimes just commenting a heartfelt "i really loved this piece. I think about it a lot!" feels mor efreeing than having to think a funny, quirky way of saying the same thing you've been adding to the tags of your reblogs for five years.

TLDR tumblr is how it is bc neurodivergent people. my advice: be yourselves, don't be malicious, be earnest, be curious, never be afraid to learn.

do feel free to correct me on anything i've said if necessary! i might be linguist-adjacent and very interested in sociolinguistics and neurodivergent behavior online but i'm not omniscient and i love to learn.

(play xenoblade chronicles x it's a very good game)

when did tumblr collectively decide not to use punctuation like when did this happen why is this a thing

[fiamat12]

Re: Let's Get This Done... No, I mean REALLY!

The "kissing" pics

It's obvious to us that this entire weekend was FAKE and came out of nowhere after that Cyprus pic of L popped up and after signs of a Lukola soft launch. Coincidental? I say no...

So what is the extra push needed to get this DONE done? I know!!! Everything that fans clocked as L NOT exhibiting bf behavior. And why is this important? Imo, I believe part of her argument was that she was being bullied online. How do we remedy that? "Defend" her!

So here's a list of things she got in one weekend that she never got in at least a year & a half of being in L's sphere (maybe because she's not his gf, but I digress):

• A red carpet at a major event as L's gf

• Attendance at a major event as L's gf

• Couples photos inside the after party (she had only gotten one at the film Baftas)

• Photos w/ L actually looking happy/ like he likes her

• Professionally styled for an event

• Inclusion in a grid post

• A "launch" article as L's gf in the media

• And finally, the denouement, "candid" pics of them being affectionate w/ one another - in this case "kissing" since we said the last time we'd seen them kiss was NYE 2024...

They *almost* achieved it. L did his best duck lips and A tried to make hanging all over him look natural. Funny thing is he looks disassociated even from afar, and his body language still screams no. I've had a more affectionate kiss from my Uncle! (I kid you not, he's a mouth kisser when he greets the fam 🤷🏼‍♀️).

As Savage so, well, savagely puts it, "when you tell your cousin she can tag along to prom and she books a full glam team". Sorry A, he just can't pull off romantic w/ you. In fact, L has kissed several women in other projects but A still reads as lil sis or bratty cousin.

Anyway, here's the candid shots outside the ceremony w/ once again no one around.

Keep going... ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Side note: Fans didn't bully her. She trolled the fandom and did nothing to make herself likeable and then wonders why she got hate? GIRL

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Re Aly Tea 🤔🧐 (@savage_spittin_facts)

[kxsagi]

Hi! I am a HUGE fan of your Blue Lock works! You write these menaces so well! 😂

May I request one with whatever bllk guys you like where the reader is a baker & takes them to one of those adorable cake picnics that’s going around on tiktok? (I just really want to go one! They’re so cute!!! 🥰)

“𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐫𝐬. ‘𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬”

a/n: THANK YOUUU I LOVE THESE MENACES WITH A PASSION AND I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!!

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, ness alexis, bachira meguru, yukimiya kenyu

isagi yoichi

this man is ecstatic when you tell him you’re planning a cake picnic. he doesn’t fully get the tik tok trend part, but if it involves you, cake, and a picnic blanket, he’s in. 

he insists on carrying everything. "i’m strong. i got this." (he forgets the forks 💀) 

you bake a round vanilla strawberry shortcake shaped like a soccer ball, and he legit gasps. “did you make this just for me?” he’s so soft. 

he tries to take a bite without waiting for you to take photos and you SWAT him with a napkin. “i-it looked so good i forgot!” 

he ends up with frosting on his cheek and gives you puppy eyes until you kiss it off. 

“we should do this after every game,” he says with a mouthful of cake, “win or lose.” 

spoiler: you start a post-match picnic tradition. 

itoshi rin

doesn’t say anything when you suggest the picnic. just blinks. “what is a cake picnic.” 

you explain it’s for fun and for ✨aesthetic ✨ and you’ll bake all his favorite things. that wins him over. 

acts like he doesn’t care, but shows up in the color-coordinated outfit you picked for him. 

“this blanket is too pink.” “shut up and sit.” “... fine.” 

you make a green tea roll cake shaped like a cat and rin stares at it in silence before quietly muttering, “cute.” 

you: “the cake?” 

rin, blushing: “... you.” 

lets you feed him a bite like you’re royalty, then pretends he doesn’t like the frosting on his nose. secretly loves it. 

stays longer than planned just to lay next to you in the sun. 

itoshi sae

he totally thinks it’s ridiculous at first. "so we sit on grass and eat cake shaped like frogs?" 

but when you say you're baking it all yourself, he gets serious. “i’ll be there.” 

he brings fancy sparkling juice to pair with your desserts like it’s a wine tasting. 

you made a little tiered picnic cake with pastel flowers and “you’re my favorite” written in icing. 

sae looks at it and just says: “i better be.” 

he gets weirdly competitive about feeding you cake and making sure he gives you the perfect bite. 

rests his head on your lap when you’re both full, pretending to nap while actually watching you take selfies. 

“you’re gonna post the one with me in it, right?” (he’s obsessed and refuses to admit it.) 

nagi seishiro

he groans when you wake him up with "we're going on a cake picnic!" 

but once he sees how cute you look carrying the cake box, he follows you like a sleepy puppy. 

you made a mochi matcha cake with white chocolate drizzle and little hearts. he literally says, “this looks like effort. you love me that much?” 

lays on the blanket and lets you feed him bites while he scrolls on tik tok, until he finds a video of a cake picnic and goes “wait. we’re trendy?” 

when you try to take pictures, he pulls you into his lap so he doesn’t have to sit up. 

“you taste better than the cake.” smooth and lazy. 

falls asleep mid-picnic with a piece of cake still in his hand. you cover him with your spare sweater and kiss his forehead. 

mikage reo

he’s the one who suggests it. he saw it on tik tok and immediately thought “oh this is couple content. but also a great date idea, of course.” 

literally buys you matching picnic outfits. 

offers to hire a professional photographer. you say no. he takes 300 pictures on his phone anyway. 

he brings a parasol, glass plates, fresh flowers, and a bluetooth speaker that plays jazz. he’s so extra and you love it. 

he nearly tears up when he sees the cake you made – pink velvet with raspberry cream and sugar pearls. “you baked this? for me??” 

his favorite part is when you smear a little frosting on his lips and kiss it off for a selfie. 

“best day ever. no notes. 10/10. we’re doing this weekly.” 

kaiser michael

“you’re taking me to a what?” 

still shows up with a single rose and says “for my chef queen.” 

you made a lemon cake in the shape of a crown with blue icing roses and he clutches his heart. “you do get me.” 

pretends to be unimpressed but takes SO many videos of you setting up the picnic. 

makes you sit on his lap the whole time. feeds you cake and licks the icing off your fingers just to fluster you. 

“say ahh, liebling.” he’s so smug about it. 

drops a cherry in your drink and says, “make a wish.” then winks like it’s a romcom. 

gets real pouty when you try to clean up. “what do you mean it’s over? we didn’t even kiss under the sun yet.” 

shidou ryusei

“you’re telling me there’s a trend where people go outside and just eat cake? why didn’t you ask me sooner?” 

he helps you carry things and drops the whipped cream. “oops. guess we’re gonna have to get messy.” 

you made a red velvet cake with little wings and devil horns for him and he thinks it’s the funniest, hottest thing ever. 

eats it with his hands. full goblin mode. you're like “there were forks.” he goes “but this is primal.” 

somehow ends up shirtless? like how did we get here. 

puts cake on your nose just to lean in and lick it off. “mmm. sweet.” 

makes it his goal to make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. “best date ever, baby. 10/10. you’re mine forever now.” 

ness alexis

SO EXCITED but also extremely nervous because he wants to look perfect for the occasion. 

shows up dressed like a pinterest board and brings a delicate lace parasol “to protect our complexions.” 

your cake? a pastel pink angel-themed sponge with white chocolate wings. he gasps. 

“you really made this for me? you angel!” 

flusters himself so badly he has to sip juice and fan himself with a napkin. 

insists on cutting the cake evenly. spends 10 minutes trying to get the slices exactly symmetrical before you take the knife from him. 

takes 400 photos and chooses one to post with the caption: my heaven on earth 💙🪽

when a bee comes near, he throws himself in front of you like a bodyguard. 

“i’ll defend your baking with my life!!” 

bachira meguru

he insists on helping you set up – carries the blanket in his teeth like a golden retriever and sprints to find “the perfect spot” under a tree. 

your cake theme is “silly little monster.” it has tiny legs, jellybean eyes, and sour gummy arms and he’s like “LOOK, IT’S US.” 

lets the frosting get on his face on purpose. dead serious when he goes, “this is part of the experience. cake goes on you, not just in you.” 

brings bubbles, sparkly stickers, and googly eyes to decorate your forks. no you are not escaping the chaos. 

starts doing cartwheels halfway through because “cake gives me energy!!” 

ends the picnic by lying on your stomach and asking, “can we do this every week until we’re old and wrinkly?” 

the answer is yes. obviously yes. 

yukimiya kenyu

says yes instantly. “cake, sun, and you? sounds like a dream.” 

dresses immaculately. white linen shirt, ironed black pants, sunglasses he takes off dramatically every five minutes. 

shows up with a bouquet and lays the blanket out like he’s proposing. “only the best for my favorite patissière.” 

you made a black forest cake with gold leaf and edible glitter. he bites into it and goes, “darling, this is art.” 

definitely has a small mirror to check if he has crumbs on his face (he does. you wipe it off for him and he kisses your palm). 

pulls out a vintage film camera and takes dreamy pics of you surrounded by cakes and sunlight. 

“you make everything look like a magazine shoot.” 

when a leaf lands in your drink, he goes “ah. nature adds her blessing.” 

you end the picnic with a slow dance on the grass, soft music playing, the sun setting behind you. he twirls you once and murmurs, “you taste sweeter than any dessert.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[sepdet]

it... it's a color print.

(It also doesn't look very 1940s, but anyway.)

That's not a photo of the fiancé. That's a pinup.

That generation literally dreamed in black and white. There were arguments with people who dreamed in color, saying they were lying or misremembering; that's how influential b&w photography and film were.

I would post the photo my grandpa carried with him, showing the hand-stitching on my dirt-poor grandma's neat but very plain, practical buttondown shirt or dress which looked nothing like that, but it's personal, and in this surveillance state age I have to weigh what I put out there for readers versus data harvesters and tech that hasn't even been invented yet.

But I just did an image search of "1940s college us woman," and the results look like our actual family photos, more or less.

Here's a 1945 Time-Life photo by Nina Lean called "The American Look- Changing standards of fashion" which shows the sort of tops my grandma and her older sister were sewing for the family, only more upscale/upper middle class (shoulder padding). SLEEVES, not ruffles. And usually pointy lapels/collars.

As for wanking, my granddad told the story that when the general (I think Patton) gathered the soldiers in the amphitheater in Rome for a big do after they recaptured it, the solemnity of the ceremony was rather dashed by the soldiers blowing up military-issued condoms like balloons and letting them go poppbbbbblllttt flying over the heads of the troops, much to the annoyance of higher-ups who could never catch the culprits.

[Edit: And I only just realized that my granddad was probably one of the culprits. He had a Playboy subscription he kept from grandma until he died. Unfortunately to her mind looking at soft porn was cheating, and the discovery really shocked and upset her, but I doubt he was particularly unique for his generation. Playboy started in 1953, when the Boomers were in diapers or preschool.]

Goddddd I hate this crap. It looks so normal but if you look at it for more than 5 seconds it’s such a clear cut example of the subtle nudge towards tradwife “return to tradition” ass crap

Like

Why the 1940’s? Was that a more romantic and pure time somehow? Soldiers exist TODAY, so why that period? Was there something about that time that made relationships between men and women better somehow?

And why the obviously retro fashion? The finger waves, the red lipstick, the white lacy dress- What makes THIS SPECIFIC image so special? The time period? The relative modesty? The feminine appeal?

“to remind him what he’s fighting for”. You mean like a reward, an object, or a trophy? Á WHAT, the white picket fence and 1.5 kids, instead of a WHO? A dream of a perpetuated social ideal, a symbol?

Like GOD, it’s all so subtle that it’s soooo easy to believe that calling it out is an overreaction but all together it’s such a “women are better when they’re conservative objects / men should desire traditional femininity / the past was a purer time / reject modernity embrace tradition” message

Like literally tradfem tradwife dogwhistles everywhere it’s ridiculous

Like BRUH I hate to break it to you but pop-pop was giving his best friend a handy behind the barn in 1935 and gam-gam was mailing him nudes, people have ALWAYS been people and roleplaying a farmsteading settler family and having bad missionary sex with your submissive tradwife girlfriend isn’t going to make high quality furry porn and taxes and high fructose corn syrup and whatever else you think is wrong with moderns society stop existing, FUCK

[astrologydray]

How each sign acts after a breakup💔💔😭😭

Aries — “I’m fine. NEXT.”

Breakup Mode: Impulsive rebounder. Might post thirst traps 10 mins later.

Vibe: Rage gym sessions, blocking you without warning, pretending they never loved you (but secretly did).

Catchphrase: “I don’t chase, I replace.”

Taurus — “I’m not okay… but I’ll act like I am until I actually am.”

Breakup Mode: Stays in bed, eats comfort food, replays convos for weeks.

Vibe: Extremely loyal even post-breakup. Won’t let go fast, but once they do? It’s DONE forever.

Catchphrase: “You lost something solid.”

Gemini — “Anyway… what’s your friend’s @?”

Breakup Mode: Laughs through the pain, avoids emotions, posts cryptic tweets.

Vibe: Flirty on the TL, partying with a new circle, emotionally detached—until 3AM hits.

Catchphrase: “I moved on. Emotionally? Eh…”

Cancer — “I just wanted to be loved…”

Breakup Mode: Cries for 48 hours straight or longer, clings to memories, emotional breakdowns to music.

Vibe: Emotional rollercoaster, might text you and block you within 5 minutes.

Catchphrase: “Did you ever really love me?”

Leo — “You’ll miss this glow.”

Breakup Mode: Dramatic AF. Deletes all your pics, then posts fire selfies to remind you what you lost.

Vibe: Public healing with private pain. Will use their heartbreak to fuel a glow-up.

Catchphrase: “Now I’m the main character again.”

Virgo — “I analyzed every part of that breakup and yep, it was your fault.”

Breakup Mode: Overthinks EVERYTHING. Makes lists of red flags. Mentally edits you out of their life.

Vibe: Cold exterior, hurting inside. Lowkey stalks your socials anonymously.

Catchphrase: “I should’ve left first.”

Libra — “I hate being single… but I look good doing it.”

Breakup Mode: Hops into a new situationship, avoids feeling anything real.

Vibe: Flirty, smiley, but secretly spiraling when alone. Will miss the aesthetic of love.

Catchphrase: “Let’s just be friends…” (but not really)

Scorpio — “You broke my heart? I’ll haunt your life.”

Breakup Mode: Deletes you, blocks you, curses you in their journal. Might spy from a burner.

Vibe: Deeply wounded but won’t show it. Revenge glow-up and coming.

Catchphrase: “You’ll regret this. Forever.”

Sagittarius — “Breakup? Nah, I’m on a flight to Bali.”

Breakup Mode: Laughs, travels, distracts. Acts unfazed—but that pain hits randomly at 2AM.

Vibe: Fun, detached, but avoids true healing for a while.

Catchphrase: “On to the next adventure!”

Capricorn — “This is just a temporary setback in my life plan.”

Breakup Mode: Cold and focused. Buries pain under work and glow-ups.

Vibe: Doesn’t show emotion. Hopes you see them thriving and regret it.

Catchphrase: “I have bigger goals than heartbreak.”

Aquarius — “Did we even date?”

Breakup Mode: Emotionally numb. Avoids talking about it. Quietly spiraling in their head.

Vibe: Posts deep quotes, acts like it’s fine, detaches HARD.

Catchphrase: “I’ve transcended feelings.”

Pisces — “This is my heartbreak era. Let me suffer in peace.”

Breakup Mode: Cries to playlists, romanticizes the pain, writes poetry. Might hit you up months later.

Vibe: Feels everything deeply but still holds hope. Escapes into fantasy.

Catchphrase: “We were twin flames though…”

[beartitled]

HIVE belongs to @braisedhoney

Canon HIVE blog 👉 @talesaboardthehive

‼️ATTENTION HIVE CREW‼️

I BRING U

✨HIVE megadrawing✨

Bc tumblr cannot comprehend the glory of our ship/silly image size and pixel limit >:(

You can view the quality version of the art with all the numbers 👉here👈

The quality of the og art gotten eaten a bit too, so here’s close ups :D

And of course 🐝CREDIT LIST(s)🐝

Thank u to everyone who participated in choosing the art style for it >:D

@blackkatdraws2 @insomniphic @demonicrhythms @mhokino @writtengalaxies @myhandshurts @bucketfullofstrawberries @stingraystray-ing @kuzann @aetermorte @otterlyinluv @atlantis-whale @4thwallbreakerdraws @fudgemallowmaniac @crimsomcrystal @tumbling-turmoil @dafry-shenanigans @xandyprojects @technologyvoid @idunnowhattowriteheretbh @ejsuperstar @bananatemilkshake @masky-the-mask @cj-is-causing-chaos-again @whatsupwithjinx @oswinunknown @twolitwicksinatrenchcoat @bootleg-behindthescenes @junebug-dot-com @notmefoina @derrangedhemlock

‼️Important note

If you recognise your number and would like to be credited (tumblr, name, etc.), please let me know!

This art contains numbers from old HIVE discord server (which was deleted), so some ppl’s @ might’ve been lost

🐻‍❄️< silly gathered all hivesona art she saw before server deletion, but forgor to screenshot the list of server members

You also free to stay anonymous of course 👍

I will wait some time before posting it on others socials to make sure the credits are alright 🫡

Also little reminder that the drawing is non canon, so we have a lil uniform fashion show in the corner there 💅 (all uniforms have to be grey colour)

Nöw

Lemme me do my usual rambling >:D

The giant took about 3 months +- (hard to count bc I worked on other projects in the same time💥)

Lemme tell u the planning was an actual investigation

(and chaos ofc)

(fun type of chaos :D)

Shoot out to Amari who helped me gather evidence🕵️ and Crimsom who helped me accidentally find a number I didn’t know about before❗️

Thank u guys you’re awesome ❤️

As I said before there are identified numbers, where I either only had a name/somebody’s vague pfp/a discord status 💥

I used standard anonymous crewmate design for ppl with no info

But tried to gather at least some info from old server screenshots for cues, like CR6548 Kura had different red emojis in their bio, so I gave them a rose strawberry crown and earrings 🌹🍓

For anonymous people with asks I added lil visual identifiers ✨

Part of me kinda wants to write a whole guide, but I think it’s more fun to discover things by yourself >:) *whisper* go reread #ney’s chatter

Fascinatingly enough, this drawing really enhanced HIVE as an eldritch abomination

This thing shifted and changed so many times

Constant edits 😭💥

When I planned out the composition I added the balcony as an extra space reserve for crewmembers

Ironically balcony stayed empty, bc I didn’t have enough ppl to fill it up with

Decided to put fandom characters that are associated with Captain’s blog and some alter egos

🗣️ HOWEVER 🗣️

When I finished lineart and posted Bumblebeedog comics

Ppl started creating new Hivesonas 🥺

Nobody can resist the Bumblebeedoggo 🐝

So had to improvise to put more and more ppl into different empty parts of the art 💥

🎶gotta add em all 🎶

This is actually my biggest work so far

Like literally

I usually draw on A3, but decided to go bigger and drew on A2 format instead

A2 is like 420 x 594 mm/ 16.5 x 23.4 inches (big boi)

Which was an absolute nightmare to scan 💥

But honestly really enjoyed the process, bc bigger format allows for more details

Also technical fun facts x2

Drawing program froze sometimes during colouring 💀

cue the anxious saves lmao

Anyway 👏

Hope you guys enjoyed the art and reading some of the backstage ❤️

Hey Ney >:)

Hope u like

Hit me up if u would like the link to 4K version of the megadrawing™️

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Bittersweet Memories: Layers of Truth

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

There was something sweet - until it all fell apart. Years later, a viral video stirs up a past neither of them ever quite let go of. In the city where they both changed, something is quietly rising again.

warnings: soft angst, emotional miscommunication, heartbreak, swearing, slow-burn, alcohol consumption, hungover

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

series | masterlist | previous part | next part

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Part Five: Layers of Truth (2000+ words)

It’s Thursday when I run into him again.

The podcast episode went live yesterday. I haven’t listened to it. I can’t, not yet – not ready to look at him and my vulnerability. Maisie has watched it though – twice. She made exaggerated gasping sounds during Max’s love life ambush and texted me a flurry of emojis that I’m still trying to decode.

She even mentioned the chemistry that she saw between George and I – but I ignored her.

The bakery has been chaos since.

Orders are up. Walk-ins are nonstop. Someone posted a clip of George eating the jam pastry with that stupid – handsome… smirk on his face, and suddenly it’s the only thing half the city wants. We’ve been making batch after batch, running out of flour twice, and I’ve barely had time to think – which is honestly a relief.

But today is slower – and I have the rain to thank for it.

The first real storm of the season rolls in like it’s been waiting for this exact moment – thunder heavy, air thick with the kind of rain that feels personal.

It’s nearly closing – but I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon with the rain.

The bakery is half-lit, music down low, a slow hum of Fleetwood Mac playing Silver Springs in the background. I’m behind the counter, icing the last row of cupcakes for tomorrow’s birthday order, when I hear the bell jingle.

And there he is.

George.

Hood Up. Trainers soaked. A victim to the thundering rain although a sheepish grin tugging at his lips,

“Hi,” he says softly, pulling down his hood, “didn’t know if you’d be working.”

“I always work,” I reply, a little too fast.

He steps closer, but not too close – he’s stood two steps away from the counter, I know because I can just smell his cologne. “Do you have any of the… jam ones?

I blink, “the ones from the podcast?’

He nods. “Figured I owed Max an apology pastry. Maybe two.”

I should tell him np. That we’re sold out. That they’re cooling. That we’re closed. But I don’t.

Instead, I point toward the cake stand.

“Still warm.”

He reaches for his wallet, but I wave him off, “it’s on the house.”

A beat passes.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

He takes the two pastries gently, like he’s worried it’ll crumble if holds it wrong. He bids his goodbye, and heads towards the door.

A thundering sound is heard outside which stops him in his track.

The he just… stands there. Looks at me.

“Can I sit?” he asks after a moment, gesturing to a table pushed against the window of the bakery.

I hesitate. My heart thundering along with the thunderstorms. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I nod – still deeply caring for his safety and not wanting him out in the storm.

He shuffles to the stool to wait out the thundering storm.

I hum to myself as I clean the counter, preparing to close the bakery. On my way to the door, I grab the last chocolate éclair from the cabinet.

His favourite.

I slowly walk to the door, feeling George’s eyes lift from his phone to me.

I flip the open side to read closed – before taking a deep breath and placing the chocolate éclair in front of him.

I sit across from him. He doesn’t speak right away. Neither do I.

Then, softly; “You remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

He takes a bite of the dessert. “What I like.”

“Well, yeah.” My sentence gets trapped in my throat as I look away.

“You didn’t reply to the podcast.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I answer.

“You didn’t have to. I just… I don’t know.” He exhales. “You looked at me. During that question. About your love life.”

“You looked at me first,” I defend before I can stop myself.

He lets out a chuckle at the banter – as his eyes search mine. They’re warmer than I remember, or maybe I’ve just spent too long pretending I forgot.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, “when you said you’re focused on the bakery?”

“I do mean it,” I say. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to count on.”

He nods, slowly. “And me?”

I flinch.

“I meant… back then,” he says quickly. “Was I—did I ever feel like something you could count on?”

There it is. The real question.

I breathe in, and it tastes like cinnamon and jam and rain-soaked ghosts.

“You were,” I whisper. “Until you weren’t.”

His face falls, like he expected the answer but hoped it would hurt less.

“I never wanted to stop being that,” he says. “I messed it up. I know that. But you—God, Y/N, you were home. And I’m sorry.” He finishes, running a hand through his wet hair.

“George-“ I start but am interrupted.

“I know I don’t deserve anything. But if there’s a chance – for you just to be in my life, I would be grateful.”

I smile at George, and his stressed, nervous expression changes as I nod along.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We sit for a while, just watching the rain coast the windows in silver – we speak of what each other have been up to recently, with George expressing about his holidays he has had the chance to go on and I mentioning the startup of the bakery and meeting Maisie.

No mention of a girl was stated by George – and I brighten at the observation, unaware as to why.

“People are starting to ship us,” George says finally, a wry tilt to his mouth.

My stomach flips. “Yeah Maisie showed me.”

“They think we’re strangers who have only just met and have chemistry.”

I laugh once – soft. “Imagine if they knew the truth – about us.”

He looks at me. “They don’t need to.”

And somehow, that matters more than I expect. That it’s ours. Still.

“Your fans are nice. They’ve been visiting,” I say fiddling with my apron. “Loud. But nice.”

He smiles. “They love you.”

“They don’t even know me.”

“They like who I am around you.”

That shuts me up.

I look to George, heart beating as it’s now my turn to apologise. “Sorry I never came to you events when you first started. Not back then. Not really.”

George blinks. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“I think I do,” I say. “You were doing big things. And I didn’t know how to be part of that without feeling like I didn’t belong. I was scared – back then.”

He takes a breath. “You did belong. I just… never wanted to make you choose.”

A pause.

“I’m glad you came on the podcast,” he admits.

I look at him. “Yeah?”

“I think we both needed it. Even if it was… weird.”

“Very weird – thanks Max.” I agree, grinning.

But it opened something. That much is clear.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days have passed since George and I shared the conversation in the bakery. We don’t label anything, but he starts showing up again – always with a reason.

Maisie pretends not to be obsessed with the whole thing. She fails – always bringing up the second chance with excitement.

We go for coffee one day after I close up. Walk to the canal like old times. Sit on benches until the streetlights flicker on. Some nights, we talk about the gap between then and now. Other nights, we don’t say much at all.

We talk about the video – the one that started it all. How Maisie and I had only posted it as a joke, and at one point I had almost deleted it.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” George says.

“Why? So you could storm into my life unannounced just like the first time?”

He shrugs. “Felt like the universe owed us a second take.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart agrees. Something floated in the air, unsaid, but we both understood.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

One afternoon, he helps me haul boxes into the kitchen — deliveries for the weekend market stall. He leans against the bench, watching me work like he used to, arms folded, mouth twitching with something he won’t say.

“Spit it out,” I say, reaching for the baking trays.

“You’re good at this,” he says.

“At lifting things?”

“No.” He gestures vaguely. “All of this. Building something. Staying. I used to think running was brave, but… staying’s harder.”

That stays with me. Especially coming from him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We don’t talk about the past in specifics. Not yet. But it lingers, between every laugh. We both know what we want to say and both understand that. But every look between us was too long to be causal.

Still, we try to take it slow.

“Let’s just… be in each other’s lives again,” I say one night, fingers wrapped around my mug. “No expectations.”

“Friends,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, “Okay. But real friends. The kind who show up.”

“I’ll try,” I whisper.

“So will I,” he says.

And I believe him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next time he comes in, it’s sunny. People are queued out the door. He waits like everyone else, hood low, sunglasses on, but still spotted by a group of girls who whisper loudly behind him.

When he reaches the counter, he grins. “Sold out?”

I nod. “Maisie’s idea. She renamed the jam ones ‘George’s Regret’.”

He snorts. “Charming.”

I lean in. “You good?”

He shrugs. “Bit overwhelmed. But this helps.”

“Being here?”

He nods. “Feels like breathing again.”

Something in my chest stirs.

That night, as I lock up, he’s still there, leaning against the wall like a character from a film he’d make fun of.

“You walking me home?” I tease.

He grins. “Trying to earn back my bakery privileges.”

“You already get too many free pastries.”

“I don’t want pastries.”

I stop. Look at him.

He clears his throat. “I mean — I do. But also… this.”

He gestures between us. Whatever this is.

I tuck my keys into my coat pocket. “We’re not rushing it, remember?”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m glad we’re not pretending it never happened.”

“Me too.”

He offers his arm. I take it.

And we walk.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the end of the week, we’ve started texting late again – with the occasional call here and there. Always casual. Always friendly, but we both still know something lingers.

Some nights, I hear his voice in my ear long after I hang up. His laugh tucked into my pillow like it belongs there.

We don’t talk about what we’re doing still. No label. Just… a quiet rhythm falling bac into place. One I missed without realising.

Maisie find my phone on the bench one morning, reading aloud a message and yells, “Did George Clarke just say he’d fight anyone who insults our croissants?”

I whip my head around, icing bag still in hand. “Maisie –“

She holds the phone out of reach, dancing backwards on socked feet like a gremlin. “I mean, he used actual capital letters! Look – oh my god, he’s in love with your pastries. And you.”

I snatch the phone back, cheeks burning. “He’s just being stupid.”

A pause. Then a grin blooms across her face.

“You love him still!”

I go very still. “I do not.”

Maisie raises a single brow, crosses her arms, and simply waits.

I hate her.

But I smile anyway.

Because yes. Maybe I do.

Still.

Always.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

LOOK AT THEM! Being adults and talking about their feelings! How mature of them.

But only one part left everyone :(

I'm going to be sad to finish up this story... but I do have some things planned for them and another series to finish too, whoops.

See you next time for the last part,

mwah x

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist x

@mothersversiononly @whisperturnedecho @lovingaphroditesworld @reidyourpalms @liz140569 @swizzlemynizzle @wherethezoes-at @clarkeyzzz @swiftlyjo @madforgeorge @smzyyx @graceln4 @norrizzandpia @heyitsmefall @oliviaohanessian1 @clarkey4life @dopeysunflowers @hey-there9-its-me @ooostarwarsfandom501st @canyouseethesainz @cheesystylesig @burkayyy @mia-maybank @smzyyx @simp-hub @sundarksposts

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Out of Time

Pairing: Chenle x reader Description: You'd be lying if you said feelings weren't caught within the thirteen years of friendship you had with Chenle, but even when you both wanted to be more, you agreed to shut any idea of it down - his future marriage was already arranged as part of a business deal, there was no point setting your hearts up for breaking. So, why is he on your doorstep begging for a chance just three months before he has to go back to China?  Content warnings: Arranged marriage au but not with each other; rich kid Chenle; swearing; they have sex, and while no actual smut is written, it’s not exactly glossed over, either; fluff; angst; there is no happy ending to this part but I promise another part is coming Word count: 16,362 A/n: If you knew how long I’ve been working on this idea, you wouldn’t believe me…but now that this first part is out I’m actually really happy with how it’s come together. The second part should be out in no more than a few weeks (hopefully). Let me know if you want to be on a taglist for it. Posting this today to celebrate @fullsunstrawberry's last day of class for the semester!!…though this ends in angst so it’s not the best gift I’ve ever come up with 🫠 Anyways, please enjoy, though who am I to tell you what to do…as always, feedback would be greatly appreciated. Take care of yourselves, I love you

Your childhood went by too fast. Though, you assume that’s the only way it could feel when it’s the sole marker of the time you were able to have with Chenle. The two of you grew up together, but through conversations you felt you were too young to be involved in, you both knew that you wouldn’t be able to continue with said friendship in adulthood. The thing about Chenle was, he’s lived with his aunt, right across the street from your parents, in a small Korean suburb since he was five years old. However, where he spent the first four years of his life, and where he would eventually be summoned back to, was with his parents in Shanghai. 

There was nothing wrong about his parents. In fact, for most of childhood, Chenle only had positive things to say about them, a wide smile adorning his face whenever he thought of seeing them again. The entire reason he was living with his aunt was because his parents wanted him to experience a normal childhood, so really, they had his best interest at heart. That being said, they did not care about whether or not Chenle would have a normal adulthood. Instead, they were waiting for him to fall in line, learn how to eventually take over their multimillion dollar company, and with that, play his part…and accept the fact that his future marriage, to the daughter of one of their business partners, has been arranged for him since the moment he was born. Finding this out, Chenle no longer had loads of nice things to say about his parents. He lived with a constant resentment towards them since the start of high school, but you were always his one beacon of comfort, where the weight of his future could fall off his shoulders and he could just be a kid again for a little while longer. 

It was the summer before freshman year of high school when your parents and his aunt sat the two of you down at the dinner table and explained how Chenle’s future was going to pan out. You were just fourteen years old, having Chenle suddenly upset and arguing about who he’d be marrying felt so wrong, the problem seemingly so far away. You were kids, but because of that moment, you both grew up too quickly - Chenle by force, and you because you refused to let him go through it alone. The real world, outside of school and pickup basketball games in someone’s driveway, now weighed heavily on the two of you, and the only thing you could promise was that you’d navigate as much of it as you could together. 

The one thing his parents agreed to compromise on was that, rather than having Chenle fly back immediately after high school graduation, he could stick through that last summer with you, and eventually head back to China when you left for university. That’s the exact period of time that the two of you were in now - almost a full three months where the plans that have been talked about for years were now facing you head on. Stupidly, you try to forget about it, pretend it was just some normal summer, like your best friend wasn’t being ripped away from you at the end of it. You were setting yourself up to be blindsided by the inevitable passage of time, but it was all you could think to do if you wanted to hold onto any chance at smiling this summer.

It was the day right after graduation when Chenle hopped across the street and rang your doorbell. It was the middle of the day, your parents still at work, so you had to be the one to slide off the couch and check who was at the door. Normally, Chenle would text you before he came over, and you would have the door already unlocked for his arrival so that he could just barge in and join you on the couch…or immediately grab your wrist, drag you through the kitchen for two glasses of lemonade, and then out the back door for another basketball match. The last thing you expected him to do was ring the doorbell out of nowhere, but more confusingly, when you open the front door to face him, he’s pacing back and forth. His mind seemed to be going a hundred miles a minute, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this distraught before. 

“Chenle?” You prompt, tilting your head at him still making circles in your front walkway. He snaps his head up and stops moving, seeming not to have heard you actually open the door yet and instead leaving him to get surprised by your voice. As he takes in your bewildered state, he does his best to calm himself, correctly assuming he was the reason for it. 

Now, his body faces you full-on, but he still can’t meet your eyes, instead looking towards the ground and sucking on his bottom lip as he figures out what he wants to say. Eventually, he gives up, shaking his head and bringing his gaze up to you with an agitated sigh. “Any way I put this, I come off as an asshole, so please forgive me,” he finally says all at once.

You furrow your brows at him in confusion, your return question bearing a much lighter tone than his own. “What’s up, Chenle?”

He darts his gaze off to the side, biting on his bottom lip again. Though, this contemplation period hardly lasted a second before he’s dropping his head and spitting out his words through one rushed exhale. “Can I be selfish for one summer? Before you go to college? Before I move back to my parents' house? I know we both agreed to be smart enough not to get involved…but before I have to be someone else’s, I want to be yours - even if it’s just for one summer.” 

To say you were thrown off was an understatement, but not necessarily because of his confession. It was no secret the two of you developed feelings for each other. Your parents knew it, his aunt knew it, you knew it, he knew it - there was no use in pretending said feelings didn’t exist. However, being sixteen with those feelings and knowing what you had since you were fourteen made the situation less than average. 

You and Chenle decided the best thing you could do was flesh everything out. So, one random day of sophomore year, you did. An entire evening kicking yourselves for catching feelings, laughing at the fact that it seemed inevitable, and then deciding that the best course of action now was to try and forget about it. You were not the daughter of his wealthy parents’ wealthy business partner, and the two of you quickly learned that there was no changing his parents’ minds on the arranged marriage. There was no reason to try and pretend an outcome could exist where the two of you could work, where you wouldn’t get hurt. It was both, a pro and a con of being forced to grow up - dumb decisions that your childhood was waiting for you to make were never made, and it was so hard to tell which dumb decisions you actually missed out on. 

Chenle was right, the two of you agreed to be smart enough to not get involved, but a part of you was mad that you never took the chance to be a stupid high school kid. It seemed entirely out of left field for Chenle to address the situation again just three months before the beginning of the rest of your lives kicked in, but you’re glad he did.

“One summer for us to make some stupid decisions and break our own hearts?” You echo back, and any trace of hope on Chenle’s face fades away. That is, until you look back at him with a smirk, leaning against your doorframe casually. “Yeah, what the hell. Let’s do it,” you say, and when Chenle whips his head back up to face you in surprise, you can’t stop your smirk from turning into a full smile.

Chenle shakes his head quickly, as though to get rid of all the thoughts on how to respond to a refusal that never came, and instead an easy smile reaches his own face as he looks back at you. “Great! So, can I take you on a date?” 

He’s completely serious as he replies and this is where you’re most taken aback. “Oh, starting off with a date?” You only had three months to be together, and to be quite honest, you thought Chenle was going to skip past all the initial dates and dive right in, knowing that you wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he immediately had you pinned against a wall. You seemed to have greatly underestimated the character of your best friend though, because he shoots back with a sure nod, genuinity filling his next words.

“Well, yeah. I don’t want this to just be a physical thing. I want to be able to say that you were my first love. You were always meant to have that title. I want to remember you that way, not as some no-strings-attached summer fling.” 

You immediately drop your head to face the floor. Chenle must have grown up some more when you weren’t looking. All at once, you don’t know what happened to the loser you grew up with, who learned to shut off his feelings and fill all that space with basketball instead; but now, here he stood, making his intentions very clear in that he planned to spend the summer falling in love with you, and outside of the shock you’ve felt throughout this entire conversation, a new feeling erupts in your stomach - butterflies. 

You look back up at him, regardless of how embarrassingly red you could tell your cheeks were, and a smile reaches your face as soon as the two of you lock eyes. “A date it is,” you say with a nod before stepping back into your house some more and actually letting him inside for a bit. “I’ll have to actually get out of my pajamas,” you say with a laugh. “Any idea of where you want to go?”

Chenle bites on the inside of his cheek before shaking his head. “Well, you know I can take you out on a really fancy date, and if that’s what you want, we can do that. I mean, that’s sure as hell what you deserve…but I was thinking maybe we could just go out to our favorite ice cream shop and then play some basketball.”

Your cheeks puff out in a smile. “So, you wanna hang out?” You tease, and Chenle is quick to shake his head.

“No! I wanna go on a date with you! I know we get ice cream and play basketball a lot, but now I want to do so while also knowing I can go up and kiss you whenever I want.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Oh, now we’re kissing on the first date?” 

Chenle just stares at you in disinterest. “Three months, y/n. That’s all I get. I’m not exactly looking to take things super slow. Besides,” he continues, throwing a sly smirk your way as his own brows raise. “You’re the one who’s been wanting to kiss me for the past two years.”

Your mouth drops into a gape as you swat at him, only succeeding in making him laugh like a dolphin, and while you made fun of his laugh whenever you could, it was also your favorite thing in the world. A certain warmth fills your chest at the sound of it as you simply shake your head. “Whatever. You’ve been wanting to kiss me for the past two years as well. Don’t even pretend otherwise.” He’s still getting over his laughing fit as you finish your sentence, leaving you to just roll your eyes at him as you turn and walk upstairs to your room to change, the front door still hanging open for him to eventually follow you through.

When you come back downstairs after getting ready, Chenle looks you up and down with a smile. “I’ve always liked that skirt on you,” he says casually. You let out a light laugh.

“I know. You weren’t very secretive about it,” you reply playfully, causing a light dusting of pink to cover Chenle’s cheeks.

“Is dating you just going to be a nonstop period of you teasing me?” He finally asks in return. His words make you freeze, though. You only had three months but he was serious about it, serious about you, and you couldn’t help thinking about how great the hurt would be for both of you once it was over.

You shake out of it, you had to, and instead send a wink his way as you rush out the door without him. “I guess you’ll have to just wait and see,” you banter back, and Chenle rolls his eyes before following you out and doing your part in locking up behind him. 

While you were exchanging greetings with the worker on the other side of the ice cream parlor’s bar, Chenle was just continuously poking at your arm. “What?” You finally snap as you turn to him, though no one would ever be able to pick up even the slightest bit of irritation with his antics based off the smile on your face as you looked at him.

Chenle draws in a deep breath as a confidence booster before spitting out his words all at once. “I know we normally get our own milkshakes and finish them, but if you wanted to do that thing where we get one milkshake and put two straws in it, we could.” He was completely serious as he spoke, and you bite your lip to stop the wide smile from coming onto your face at his attempt to truly make this feel like a date. 

Instead of letting him know how cute he was, you resort back to messing with him. “Hmm…less ice cream for me, though,” you say, pretending to contemplate his offer.

“I can buy us another one after that!” He quickly responds, and you can see the typical energy begin to flow back through his body as he relaxes some more. “We can just keep ordering milkshakes to share! I mean, what’s a couple of $5 transactions on a black card?” He continues rambling but you break out into a laugh, immediately getting him to stop and stare at you in bewilderment because nothing he just said was a joke.

“Breaking out the black card for our first date?” You ask, looking over at Chenle as though you were something like impressed. He does not see what the big deal is.

“Of course, anything for you-” That’s where he breaks himself off, his head falling into his hands on the counter as he finally cracks. “God, I feel like a loser,” he groans, but a fond smile paints its way across your face in response.

“You’re not a loser,” you reply calmly, but Chenle shakes his head in his hands, his next words coming out covered in defeat.

“But my face is red and I’m saying stupid stuff.”

“It’s cute,” you reassure him gently, but he is quick to quip back.

“You’re cute.” The statement rolls off his tongue effortlessly and you jump back a little in your seat, eyes wide.

“Woah, lele. I didn’t know you could actually be sweet to me,” you say back, feigning astonishment. 

Chenle finally lifts his head up out of his hands to drag his troubled gaze over to you. “Do you see what I’m talking about? I’m a loser! I didn’t mean to say that,” he groans.

You just furrow your brows. “So, you don’t think I’m cute?” You ask playfully. Chenle squeezes his eyes shut, taking an extra long breath before peeking one eye open to look at you and practically whisper his response.

“Yes, I do.” 

An easy smile spreads across your face as you take in the fact that Chenle genuinely complimented you, though you were glad to see it pained him to admit it because that meant this was still your Chenle after all. You immediately turn your gaze back over to the worker, who pretended to be super invested in cleaning the counter as your conversation with Chenle drew out, and then you order just one milkshake with two straws. After, you move your gaze back over to your best friend.

“You can just be yourself, you know? I’ve liked you for years already, you don’t have to try and win me over now.”

Chenle sucks on his bottom lip, sighing. “I know but…you deserve to feel romanced and loved, and I want to do that, I just- it’s not my strong suit. My parents just bought me things and then shipped me overseas. A pretty weird love language if you ask me.” He ends with a small laugh, and you’re relieved to see the tension in his shoulders fall as he does. 

You shoot a fond smile his way in response. “I know, and that’s okay. Look, these three months for us to be together is just a change in the title of our relationship. There’s not much else that has to change. I won't hate you for struggling with how to express love. I know you like me, that’s enough.”

“Stop being so good at making me feel better,” he says with a weak grin. “I already feel like I’m not good enough for you.” 

You roll your eyes, placing one hand on top of his at the counter, getting him to meet your serious gaze. “Lele, you make me happy - that’s more than enough. Plus, you’re rich,” you add, and Chenle lets out his own laugh as he rips his hand away from under yours.

“Oh, whatever,” he replies with a scoff, but the atmosphere is instantly lighter as your laughter is only broken up by the milkshake being slid in between the two of you, immediately redirecting your attention to the shared directive of sucking that down as fast as you could. 

As Chenle got his card back after paying for all your rounds of milkshakes, he turned to you with a hopeful grin. “Do you wanna go back and play basketball in our street?” He asks, causing a similar smirk to spread across your own features.

“You know I do, but can you take it easy on me now that we’re dating?” You suggest playfully, though surprise was the last feeling that came to mind when Chenle’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“Absolutely not,” he replies quickly, causing you to sigh. “If anything, I gotta go harder on you now that we’re dating. I don’t date amateurs. You gotta keep up with me.” Your face falls into shock as you lightly hit the back of your hand against his forearm and the two of you break out into laughter again.

“Hey! Thirteen years of pickup basketball does not equate to me being an amateur. I’m a seasoned pro,” you try to say seriously. Chenle raises his eyebrows at you in a taunt.

“Yeah? We’ll see about that. What do you say, loser has to buy-” He cuts himself off from going over the terms of the bet as he turns his attention towards the countertop in disbelief. “I guess I just bought all our ice cream. What are we supposed to use as a bet now?” He speaks as though his hopes and dreams were ruined. You just shake your head fondly at him, sucking on your bottom lip to try and hold back a smile.

“Come on,” you say, moving to grab his hand in yours and pull him away from the counter. “We’ll figure something out. Let’s go before it gets dark.” 

Chenle shoots you a look as though you were crazy. “Y/n, it’s summer. We have like- at least five more hours before it gets dark.” 

You stop in your tracks, turning back to him with a smirk. “Well, my bad. I just wanted to spend as much time with my boyfriend as possible,” you reply, and Chenle ducks his head as blush covers his face. Though, with one gentle squeeze of your hand, he’s the one now pulling you out of the ice cream parlor and towards the car to go back home. 

As always, the two of you started off with a game of horse. It’s typically how you would decide who gets first possession, though you��ve stopped seeing a point to it because Chenle wins every time. At least, that’s how it normally goes. Today, standing in Chenle’s driveway, it was you who was crushing Chenle in horse. With you still at ‘h’ and Chenle just tacking on an ‘s,’ you let out a laugh. “I thought you weren’t taking it easy on me,” you taunt, and Chenle whips his head in your direction seriously. 

“I’m not!”

You raise your eyebrows at him as you move to take the ball from his hands and shoot your next shot. “Okay well then, whoever you are, can you go get Chenle back for me?” You ask, turning back to him after successfully making it. “I miss him. He’s your height, looks kinda like you, is good at basketball-” You tease, and Chenle cuts you off as he turns fire red, grabbing the basketball and readying himself to shoot from where you just did.

“I’m good at basketball!” He argues before taking his next shot…and missing. He turns around to meet your raised eyebrows and groans. “A game of horse doesn’t even matter! All it means is that you start off our actual game.” 

You shake your head at his antics as he picks up the basketball and passes it to you because somehow, you had first possession today. These ‘actual’ games were where you tended to perform better, but it was the same for Chenle of course, so you still typically only took one out of every twenty games from him. 

Though, it seemed Chenle’s poor performance in horse did nothing to actually warm him up, because his game performance was no better - possibly worse. You watched as the famed Lele Curry missed every shot he took, acting as though nothing happened every time he retrieved the ball for you. You wait until he misses an easy layup before finally shaking your head at him from the other side of the driveway. 

“Lele, come kiss me,” you say plainly, and Chenle immediately stops in his tracks as he turns towards you. 

“WHAT? Wh- wha- why?” He fumbles out through something of a shocked yell, getting you to just roll your eyes at him playfully. 

“Cause I have a feeling it’s gonna get you your basketball skills back,” you reply with raised eyebrows, greatly contrasting Chenle’s furrowed ones as he looks back at you in question.

“Huh?” He gets out, causing your shoulders to bounce up and down lightly with a small chuckle. 

You look up to face him fondly, the teasing lilt out of your tone. “Look, we’re dating now, we just talked about affection, it’s on your mind and messing with your game, so you should come kiss me and get it over with,” you state as though it were no big thing. It was a big thing to Chenle though, because he just learned you could read his mind. Of course he was thinking about kissing you, it was all he could think about - you were you, after all, and Chenle really really liked you. 

You watch as his adam’s apple bobs up and down with a hesitant swallow, but as he looks back up at you, the tension in his shoulders falls. He crosses the driveway to end up directly in front of you. Slowly, his right hand comes up to cup the side of your face, an action that you easily smile into, and Chenle takes a moment to run his thumb over your puffed out cheek as his nervous gaze runs over every inch of your face. “I don’t know how to kiss but- but I promise I’ll do it just right if you let me.”

“Chenle…”

“May I?” He asks quietly once his eyes finally fall to your lips.

You nod your head, caught off guard for a breathless moment at the recognition of this softer, shyer side of Chenle. You had kissed a few guys throughout high school, but you knew he hadn’t kissed anyone before. Once the two of you found out his marriage was arranged, he gave up completely on high school relationships or flings, and meanwhile you tried to kiss as many guys as possible in an attempt to get your mind off of it. None of them ever meant anything, but this one did, and Chenle knew it, too. He wanted to do everything right, but he didn’t even know what ‘right’ was, and any time he didn’t know what he was doing, he fell shyer, more hesitant, always so uncomfortable with unknowns that he tried to just slip away instead. He hardly let you see this side of him because he always wanted to present his best self; but he was soft with you now, because he cared enough about you to admit he was clueless - that the thought of kissing you made his head spin but it wasn’t even something he could truly picture. 

“You may,” you answer softly, and Chenle slowly leans into you. 

It started out as the lightest kiss in the world, a kind of gentleness almost uncharacteristic of your best friend if you didn’t know all his layers already. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips, but you refuse to break so quickly; so instead, you pin your focus on deepening the kiss - pressing back into him, establishing a healthy rhythm sucking on his bottom lip. Chenle’s hand that wasn’t cupping your face soon flies to your waist as he begins to match your pace. As he got more comfortable with the feeling of his lips against yours, he got more desperate for it. You figure standing in the driveway of his house is not where you should teach him how to use his tongue, so with one last soft kiss, you break away.

Your gaze instantly falls to the ground beneath your feet, a cheesy grin across your face that you try to cover up. “See, now you’ve kissed me. Nothing else is going to be as scary as that,” you say playfully. “Now you’re good. You can kiss me whenever you want. Alternatively, you never have to kiss me again if that’s what you want-” You immediately cut off your words as you finally bring your gaze up to make eye contact with Chenle, only to realize he’s staring at you with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. “What’s that look for?” You ask, suddenly worried you did something wrong.

Chenle shakes his head in an attempt to gather his thoughts, mouth opening and closing in hesitation as he looks you up and down. “Um, I like you…a lot. Like, a lot,” he says as though he were out of breath. The wide grin comes back to your face as you let out a fond laugh.

“Ha! That’s for another time,” you promise, instead bending down to pick the basketball up from the ground and place it in his hands. “Now turn around and shoot,” you continue, nodding your head towards the basket behind him. He does as asked, turning around and not even taking a moment to regain his footing before shooting and immediately making a nothing-but-net basket. You drop your face back to the pavement with a knowing nod. Then, you walk the one step back to meet him again and place a soft kiss on his cheek. “There’s my Chenle,” you claim softly, and watch as his ears turn a deep shade of red. 

Biting on his bottom lip, he shakes his head, unable to say anything in response. Instead, he moves to grab the basketball again, passing it to you since he just scored, and you know you’re about to get your ass kicked in pickup basketball. 

That was, in fact, exactly what happened. The only difference between this and the games that occurred before you started dating, is that now throughout the game, Chenle would sometimes turn around after making a basket and tell you a play that good deserved a kiss. You would roll your eyes every time but you always obliged - each soft, casual, ‘proud of you’ peck leaving Chenle with the biggest grin on his face.

Your pickup game finally ended when his aunt got back from work, forcing you both out of the driveway but more importantly, breaking the two of you apart from your quick kiss as you scramble into the grass. As she pulls into the garage and turns off the car, she steps out to meet you two still on the side of the driveway. “Well, something’s certainly changed in the time I’ve been at work, hasn’t it?” She says with a playful smirk. You and Chenle drop your heads in unison, but his aunt just lets out a warm laugh, nodding her head towards the door. “Come on, kids. I’ll make us dinner.” 

Matching smiles spread across your faces as you rush to follow her inside. As she started cooking, you and Chenle did whatever you could to help around the house where needed, but eventually you were told to just sit and rest a while as opposed to crowding the kitchen and making things more difficult. So, TV remote now in hand, you leaned into Chenle on the couch and he hooked both arms over you instantaneously.

Chenle’s arms around you, the smell of home-cooked dinner, and a basketball game on the TV, there was something so natural about it - as though Chenle’s arms have been around you your entire life, as though you’d have them around you, to come home to, for the rest of time. You knew the idea of it would never be true in the long run, but right now it was as real as it could get - and the second you could convince yourself to simply exist in the present, that fact was enough to make everything okay. You’re sure Chenle could feel it, because at the very same time that peace crashed over your body, Chenle squeezed you slightly tighter to him, placing a small kiss to the top of your head before resuming his task of acting super nonchalant about having you in his arms. 

The two of you explained everything to his aunt over dinner, and any disheartening thought she may have had about the situation, she kept to herself. You all had collectively gone through that song and dance all those years prior when the news of Chenle’s arranged marriage first broke. She knew you didn’t need to hear that speech again. Instead, she smiled warmly, claiming that if any two people deserved to be happy together, even for just a little while, it was you guys. 

You excused yourself after dinner, figuring it was probably time for you to head home since you haven’t seen your parents all day. Chenle immediately stood from the table with you, gently lacing his fingers with yours and leading you to the door. “I’ll walk you home,” he says casually, but you just shake your head at him.

“Lele, I live right across the street. It doesn’t even take twenty seconds for me to get home,” you reply playfully. Chenle just squeezes your hand in his slightly tighter, and when he speaks again, it’s much more somber in tone.

“Three months, y/n. I’ll take a few more seconds anywhere I can get them,” he states quietly, and his words seem to have hollowed you out so that all you can do is nod your head. Chenle smiles at your acceptance before getting hit with another thought and immediately pausing. “Oh, wait!” He exclaims as you take the first step out his front door.

You turn back around to face him in question, watching as he runs through the house before coming back into view with a hoodie in his arms. “For you,” he says with a bright smile as he holds out the hoodie for you to take. You just raise your brows at him with a smirk.

“Chenle, it’s summer. What am I gonna need a hoodie for?” You ask playfully in return, though your traces of banter didn’t reach Chenle, and instead every feature on his face falls into a pout. You let out a fond laugh at the sight of it, moving towards him to take the hoodie from his arms with a light kiss on his cheek. You immediately slip it over your head, and the sheer comfort of it answered your question of what you were gonna do with a hoodie in the summer - wear it any chance you got. You look back at Chenle, who was stuck staring at you in his hoodie as though you were a goddess. You just pray your face doesn’t show too flustered in the moonlight and grab his hand to actually start on the walk across the street.

As you get to your front door, Chenle tightens his grip on your hand to pull you back some more, now just standing idly on your front porch. You study his figure curiously, watching as he tosses around thoughts in his head so loud you could almost hear them. His gaze eventually falls to the ground but he finally finds his voice.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be great at ever telling you how I feel. It’s hard for me to articulate anything even closely related to feelings. There’s so much in my head but I don’t know how to tell you everything…how much you mean to me. But if today taught me anything, I’m much more comfortable with showing you how I feel. That doesn’t seem as foreign to me for some reason. I can show you how I feel - I want to. I hope it gets across, though. I hope you know every time we kiss…” He drags off, and his eyebrows immediately furrow in irritation that this was just another example of him struggling to put his feelings into words.

You give a fond shake of your head as you stare back at him. “Chenle,” you let out softly, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand, still intertwined with yours. 

He finally looks back up at you with resolve. “What I’m trying to say is that if one day, you get fed up with all my emotions being expressed physically rather than verbally, I can stop. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I don’t have to kiss you all the time. I can try- I can try to…I can-” This time, he’s cut off by your lips on his, and he melts right into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, you place a hand on his cheek, nodding your head lightly. “It gets across, lele. Everything you’re feeling, it gets across. It’s never gonna be too much; we have a lot of time to make up for, I know. So, whenever you want to kiss me, I want to kiss you.”

In return, Chenle gives the most bashful smile you’ve ever seen. He moves a hand up to guide your own back down from his cheek before studying the way your two hands fit with each other so naturally. All hands were meant to be interlaced with another, he thought, but his were specifically made for yours. You look at his soft features with a grin, squeezing his hand gently in yours and getting him to train his eyes back on you in a rush. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says surely, causing you to laugh some before nodding your head. 

“See you tomorrow,” you softly return as he takes the first few steps back towards his house. You stand and watch until he finally reaches his own front door; turning back around to see you still outside, he gives an exaggerated wave in your direction, and you didn’t need to see the huge smile on his face to know it was there. You move your hand up slightly to wave back to him, hoping the yellow street light wasn’t enough to illuminate the clarity that had immediately washed over you as you clocked that you only had three months left of his exaggerated waves and huge smiles - the butterflies that had occupied your stomach all day were no match for the void that made its presence known now. A heavy breath escapes you as he finally turns the knob and enters his house, leaving you with nothing left to do but the same.

As soon as you opened the door, the change in atmosphere was striking. The warmth of your parents’ laughter filled the kitchen as they were cleaning up from their own dinner, your dog entirely too wound up as he jumped around waiting for teased scraps from your father’s plate. The pit in your stomach didn’t go away, but instead became more pronounced as another strange feeling added to it. Your parents had much longer than three months to be together; you wondered if they could fathom it - if they could ever wrap their heads around the amount of love shared between the two of them throughout all these years. You wondered if you would ever be able to wrap your head around the idea of loving someone that many years, knowing it wouldn’t be Chenle on the receiving end of it. You hated remembering why the two of you originally promised not to get involved with each other - you hated that those reasons made more sense than ever.

You didn’t realize the door practically slammed shut behind you until the rest of the house fell quiet in response. Your mom makes eye contact with you in the front entryway before smiling brightly and returning to the dishes. “Hey, sweetie! Were you over at Chenle’s?”

Her question is coated with a smile and all you can do is start rambling to try and fight off the nauseous feeling that arose in response. “Guys, I made a really stupid decision and I know it’s stupid so I don’t need you to tell me again and I really don’t need you to be pessimistic about it because it won’t help.” You speed through your words in an instant and the look on your parents’ faces completely flip as they drop what they’re doing to go meet you still by the front door.

“Y/n, what happened?” Your dad asks in a panic, and you figure the vagueness of your statement meant they were currently assuming a lot worse than it was. You shake your head, but it doesn’t do much to dismiss their worry until you follow it up with words.

“Chenle asked me to be his girlfriend,” you spit out, and the tension in their shoulders drops at once.

“And you said ‘yes,’” your mom softly finishes in your place. You shoot your gaze up to her, bringing their notice to the tears in your eyes as you respond weakly.

“I couldn’t say ‘no.’”

Your mom lets out a fond sigh, nodding her head as she throws an understanding smile in your direction. “I know,” she replies, coming up to wrap you in a hug where you finally let yourself bawl your eyes out.

“We only have three months to be together but- but we wanted to be together,” you explain as firmly as you could through tears. “And we should’ve just pressed on these three months like we have our whole lives, I know it’s stupid-”

“Y/n, it’s not stupid,” your mom cuts in seriously. You lean slightly out of the hug to make shaky eye contact with her, then darting your gaze off to meet the encouraging look your dad bore and only getting more confused. You pull back from the hug entirely, now doing your best to collect yourself again so you could have a real conversation.  

“I’m gonna be really hurt three months from now, and it’s not Chenle’s fault, it’s mine-” You could only be mad at yourself for so long before your mom cuts you off again. 

“It’s not your fault. Sometimes, what makes a decision seem stupid is that there’s no one to blame for its consequences. It’s not gonna be your fault, nor Chenle’s…and it’s weird when you don’t have someone to blame.” Your mom was always the voice of reason, but you figure this time she was taking the same approach that Chenle’s aunt did. The inevitability of you and Chenle was the least of her worries. Her main goal was to keep you from jumping off the ledge before you could even enjoy it. 

“I think Chenle blames his parents,” you rebuttal thoughtfully, and your dad just lets out a laugh before he responds more sincerely.

“Yes, but I think he hates his parents enough for the all of us, so we shouldn’t add to it.” Chenle’s disdain for his parents was more than evident, and your own parents never had the nicest things to say about them either - even though they kept their thoughts to themselves, you knew it. There wasn’t a single person in the suburb who understood where Chenle’s parents were coming from; with the quality of life being so starkly different, you figure no one ever would. The sucky thing was, you knew Chenle’s parents were thinking the same thing about you all, and it’s why everyone but Chenle has kept their opinion to themselves - it wasn’t worth it to do otherwise, an understanding could never be made between two different worlds. 

You take in his words with a flash of your eyebrows but eventually let out a heavy sigh. “...he shouldn’t hate his parents,” you admit solemnly, thinking of your own family and wondering how heartbreaking it would be for both sides if you viewed them the way Chenle views his.

Your father ducks his head, his thoughts running parallel to yours. “No, but that’s not for us to worry about. I’m just glad you don’t hate yours,” he says with a smile, and you finally move your gaze back up towards your parents, three pairs of uncertain eyes exchanging thousands of emotions between them.

“Is everything gonna be okay?” You finally ask, your voice much weaker than you would have liked. Your mom shakes her head in mystery, a thin-lipped smile giving its best attempt at comfort.

“I don’t know, but was today okay?” She asks in return.

“Yes,” you answer immediately, but then your face turns more contemplative and you shake your head. “No- it was so much better than ‘okay’ you wouldn’t even understand.” Your words come out coated in fondness. You figured it was the first step towards realizing how bittersweet these next three months with Chenle were going to be, how nostalgic you would soon feel for memories you were in the middle of making. 

Your mom’s smile widens at your words as she moves to brush over your cheek with her hand, ensuring the two of you make eye contact as she gives the only advice she thinks she can at this point. “Then let’s try not to worry about if everything’s gonna be okay in the future, and focus on the fact that everything is so much better than okay right now,” she says softly, leaving you nodding your head against her hold. It eventually falls into a tight hug before you get embarrassed and excuse yourself to make your way to your room for the night. 

It was a few hours later when your parents walked in to say goodnight. Your dad went first and then waited at the doorway as your mom took her moment to kiss the top of your head and bid you goodnight. Before she could take a full step away, though, you caught her hand in yours. Her face whipped back around to meet your soft, wavering gaze. “He kissed me today.” Your tone made it sound as though you had a million thoughts in your mind, but it was clear not even one would manifest itself into more words right away. Your parents both give a warm grin, and as your dad leaves from your doorframe to let the two of you have a moment, your mom joins you sitting on top of your bed.

“Yeah?” She encourages softly. All you can do is nod before frustration reaches the surface and you end up shaking your head decidedly.

“Mom, I don’t want to kiss another guy ever again,” you say, looking up to make sincere eye contact with her. “I want it to always be Chenle,” you continue firmly, and your mom just lets out a defeated sigh.

“For three months, it will be,” she says with a weak smile, trying her best to bring any sense of hope to the situation. 

You pull your bottom lip in between your teeth, both coming to terms with the situation and not being able to believe it all at once. “And that has to be enough. How do I make that be enough?” You ask helplessly, the sight of you torn up like this chipping away at your mom’s heart.

“I don’t know, but you’ll figure it out,” she replies, and you figure that’s all anyone would be able to say to that. These are your circumstances, and regardless of if it feels unfair, all you can do is the best you can do; spending these three months trying to resolve a grief that hasn’t even hit you yet was definitely not your best course of action. With the smallest of laughs that still comes across as jarring in the fragile moment, your mom speaks up again. “I would say you could kiss him like every time will be the last, but I can’t have you sucking his face off…his parents would not be thrilled about that,” she teases, and you’re finally able to crack a smile as well.

With one last kiss to the top of your head, your mom gets up and heads towards your door again. “Remember,” she says, turning back over her shoulder to look at you. “Today was really really good. Tomorrow will be, too; and the day after that…and the day after that. So, no stress for at least the next three days, okay?” 

Your smile widens on your lips at the silly promise, but it did its job in removing what felt like the entire weight of the world from your shoulders. “Okay.” Then, with one last smile, your mom was out the door.

The next week was spent with you and Chenle not seeing more than an hour of separation from each other unless you were sleeping. Though you couldn’t say this for anyone else you hang out with, you never got tired of Chenle, never oversaturated from his energy; so, spending all this time together was hardly a task - it was just how you were meant to be. You think Chenle held the secret to it all along, the reason you never got tired of each other - though you doubted he was even aware of it, every time he looked your way, it seemed to be with a fresh set of eyes, like it was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on you. You could see it in the glaze of softness that took over his stare for a millisecond. How could you ever tire of each other when every glance gave the illusion of no time having passed at all. The only problem you could anticipate is how shocking it would be when these three months were up, if each passing day still consisted of the butterflies from the first.

It was at the end of this first week when your mom lingered in your room while saying goodnight to you again. You eyed her curiously as she sat down on your bed rather than the typical lean-over to kiss the top of your head. She gives a small laugh as she meets your gaze, then starts her words with a light sigh.

“Y/n, your dad and I have been talking,” she begins, and the color drains from your face.

“Uh oh,” you reply, unsure of whatever it is they came up with but knowing it typically never boded well for you.

At this, she laughs again, shaking her head with a grin. “No, it’s nothing bad. It’s just-” she breaks off, looking as though she couldn’t believe what she was about to say, and once you heard her words, you understood the look on her face completely. “We know how this is gonna go. You guys are eighteen year olds who like each other a lot, the situation only made more dire because there’s a strict end date. We figure you’re gonna want each other as your first time, right? So, just please be safe about it, okay?” She moves to make eye contact with you again, seemingly proud with how she articulated everything, meaning she’s completely surprised to see your jaw dropped.

“Wait, what?!” The volume of your voice jars even you, but you could not believe her words. “Are you telling me you and dad came to the decision that Chenle and I could have sex?! Me?” You question, pointing up at yourself as though your mom didn’t know who she was addressing. “Your daughter? Permission to have sex with Chenle?” At your crazed tone, your mom just lets out another small laugh and a shrug, morphing the atmosphere into something much more chill than you could imagine.

“I mean, you’re eighteen,” she replies nonchalantly, only getting you to gawk at her some more.

“I’m like- still a kid to you guys!” You shoot back, remembering how many times the idea of that played into their many rules for you - curfew during high school is 10:00 but hey, that first summer once you’ve graduated, go crazy, it seems!

Your mom tosses the concept of you being a kid around in her head before returning her gaze to you with a slight smirk teasing at her features. “Eh, I lost mine at, uh- well...younger than you, so eighteen’s honestly looking pretty good.”

“What?!” You exclaim again, this piece of lore about your mom baffling you more than anything else you’ve heard tonight.

You watch as she winces, reliving the truth of what she just said, but her eyebrows eventually raise as she turns to you with a cheeky grin to contrast her serious gaze. “Yeah, don’t tell your father about that one. I’m pretty sure he thinks I lost it at nineteen…” She drags off, and you let out your first laugh of the night.

“I can’t believe this,” you say, and your mom’s smile meets your own as she shakes her head and continues with her actual point.

“Look, some people see being eighteen and an ‘adult’ as a reason to never need their parents’ permission for anything ever again. So, I’m glad that you still want our approval for certain things but, here it is. Just be safe and we’re good,” she says casually, and you just drop your head with a laugh of disbelief.

“Okay-” you begin with a nod, but your words are cut off as your mom seems to light up with another thought.

“Oh! Just please do all that when we aren’t home. Your father and I do not need to-” She cuts herself off abruptly but continues to open and close her mouth as if searching for words to describe exactly what her and your dad don’t need to be around to hear, but you just nod your head with another laugh.

“Okay, okay, I got it. Don’t worry,” you conclude, finally motioning for her to let it go and actually bid you goodnight. With a laugh, she relents, walking out of your room and leaving you completely bewildered…and with news to tell Chenle when you see him tomorrow.

However, when you did see Chenle the next day, the conversation with your mom was the last thing on your mind because your little romantic surprised you with a date to the zoo, saying that you had to go right away before it gets too hot and all the animals hide in the shade of their habitats.

The first hour of the zoo experience was completely normal - snow cones that turned your hands into a sticky mess, which Chenle refused to let you wash off right away because he kept sticking your hands together and pulling them apart again with the biggest smile on his face; and then walking around the entire place actually holding hands, splitting your conversation between genuine facts about the animals and trying to see who could get the other to believe the craziest lie they could come up with at the time.

It was when you were at the prairie dog habitat that things took a turn. You and Chenle were reading the fact sheet when you heard the little girl next to you ask her mom what was happening with the animals. You whip your head back up to see the prairie dogs in a compromising position and immediately hit Chenle on the shoulder to get him to whip his head up as well. The two of you try your best to hold in laughter as the parents with younger children rushed to find another animal habitat to keep their child entertained with. That was when memories of last night came flooding back to you and you turn to face Chenle in an instant.

“Oh, hey! You know my parents said they’re chill with us having sex,” you say quietly enough so that just Chenle could pick up on your words. Expecting a reaction similar to yours when first hearing the news, you were stunned to see that when Chenle turned his head over towards you, his face was completely flat aside from his raised brows.

“So, what are ya thinking? You wanna drop down right here and do it?” He asks neutrally, beginning to eye the floor before scrunching his nose and looking around for a better spot.

“Chenle!” You gawk, and all it takes is one look at your exasperated face before he finally falls into a bout of laughter.

“I’m kidding, princess. God, who do you take me for?” He jokes with a disappointed shake of his head. Though, as you calm down with your own dramatic eye roll, he slips his hand into yours again, bringing them up to kiss the back of yours before dragging you off towards another habitat. 

Hand-in-hand, the two of you walked around the rest of the zoo before heading out for a casual dinner. It wasn’t until Chenle was dropping you off at your front door that, in an effort to keep you in front of him a little longer, he remembered the topic he probably shouldn’t have just dismissed earlier in the day. “Oh, hey, before you go,” he starts, and you instantly remove your hand from the door knob to turn back around towards him. He makes serious eye contact with you as he continues. “About what you said at the zoo-” 

You raise your brows with a grin but he shakes his head as soon as he spots your smile. “Not the part about all elephants being recognized as ordained ministers,” he clarifies, and you can’t help the small laugh as you remember your attempts at animal facts today. “But about us,” he continues seriously. “If I want anyone to be my first, it’s you, but I don’t wanna rush into it just because we’ve been told we can. I mean- I just got used to being able to kiss you and hold your hand-”

“And call me princess,” you add with a smirk, not letting him get away with the new pet name that easily. Chenle drops his head bashfully.

“Yeah, and call you princess…” he echos, falling more thoughtful with each word. “And I wanna be able to relish that a bit more before- well.” He shakes his head, getting frustrated at how poorly he was able to articulate everything on his mind. “I wanna be able to be there,” he finally says with resolve, looking back up to make eye contact with you again before continuing. “Be present…and if I still can’t fathom the fact that I get to kiss you right now, I don’t want to try and wrap my head around even more,” he finally concludes with something of an embarrassed laugh to try and lighten the atmosphere that only he thought needed lightening. You just smile sweetly back at him. 

“I get it, lele. Hey, I wasn’t the one suggesting we drop to the floor and do it in front of the prairie dog habitat,” you remind him, causing him to face the ground again as he lets out an actual laugh at his own past actions. When you pick your words back up, it’s with sincerity. “If one of us isn’t ready, then nothing’s happening. I’m good to take it slow. We wanted to do this right, yeah?”

Chenle nods his head as he lets out a sigh of relief, as though he expected the two of you to not be on the same page for the first time in thirteen years. Though, when he looks back up at you, it’s with a firm smile. “Yeah.”

You shake your head at it all, your smile alone revealing how endearing you found him despite your best efforts to keep it hidden. You press up on your tip-toes and lightly kiss the top of his nose before moving down to catch his lips easily with yours. “Goodnight, Chenle,” you say once you finally pull back. Chenle’s face is as red as ever, and you knew he wasn’t kidding when he said he still can’t fathom the fact that he gets to kiss you.

“Goodnight, princess,” he replies in kind, getting your own face to flush as he turns to walk the few steps across the street to his house.

A few more dates and countless pickup basketball games later, and it was already the one month anniversary of the day Chenle paced around your front porch and begged you to forget about what’s happening in just two months now. Knowing Chenle, and how much he loved spending his parents’ money while he wasn’t under their rule, you were half expecting him to greet you today in a suit and take you out to the fanciest restaurant he could find. Instead, Chenle barged in through your front door that afternoon with something much less proper on his mind. “Y/n, it’s been a month,” he points out, and you turn your head to face him from where you sat on the couch.

“Yeah?” You acknowledged, waiting to see where he was going with this.

“I think we should have sex,” he states plainly, and you throw your head back with a laugh before you can even think about it.

“Just like that, huh?” You tease, looking over at him once again with a huge grin, not at all as serious about this proposal as he was.

He puts his hands out awkwardly, as if making sure you stayed put and would hear him out. “Look, I’ve been doing a lot of reading on the subject-” he begins, and you cut him off with another laugh of disbelief.

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” you joke, finally up on your feet and rounding the couch so you could stand face-to-face with him.

He shakes his head in the meantime, a look of annoyance on his face, all overwritten by a huge grin because it was you he was annoyed at. “Shut up,” he quipped with his own small laugh before continuing with as much seriousness as he could. “What I’m saying is, I think I could make it the best day of your life.”

Your eyebrows shoot up immediately, and it’s hard to keep the tease in your voice when the rest of your face betrays you with a huge smile. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m sure with all your nerdy research, you’re practically a pro by now.” Chenle opens his mouth to bark out some confirmative response, or more likely beg you to stop with the teasing. Though, before he can do any of that, you just shake your head, grabbing his hand in yours and, with the knowledge that both of your parents were still at work for the next few hours, easily guiding him to your bedroom without a second thought. “Come on, big head.”

Chenle smiled brightly at the back of your head as he followed you up the stairs. “I’m so lucky,” he responds, the sarcasm not doing any good at covering up how much he genuinely meant that statement…if only Chenle knew how lucky he made you feel. 

Ever since then, it became clear that sex with you was going to consistently stay at the forefront of Chenle’s mind. He was absolutely obsessed with the opportunity to know you more than he already did after the first thirteen years of memorizing you as his best friend. Each curve of your body was something sacred for him, and he took every chance he could get to indulge in it some more. Two weeks after your first time, Chenle met you at your front door with the same gleam in his eyes as ever. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, leaning in to quickly kiss him before moving back so he could actually step inside your house. “What do you wanna do today?”

“Sex!” He immediately answers, his tone as though he were a kid asking for candy. You drop your head with a small laugh.

“Not today, lele,” you reply, and Chenle’s brows shoot up in question, though the playfulness is still coating his every move.

“Was my approach wrong? Let’s go from the top, I’ll make my words more sophisticated,” he jokes with a smirk.

You finally give a solemn shake of your head. “No, Chenle.”

His demeanor immediately shifts as he falls into concern. “Okay, what’s wrong?” He asks, placing his hand softly on your cheek so he can guide your eyes back to his own. You meet his worried eyes and immediately dart your gaze away again, laughing softly in embarrassment. 

“Nothing. I just started my period today,” you explain, and Chenle immediately lets out a sigh of relief as you watch understanding wash over his figure. You pick up at the end of his sigh and continue with your answer. “My cramps are always the worst on day one.”

Once sure you weren’t breaking up with him nor banning him from ever fucking you again, he easily slips back into his usual manner with you; in this case, instantly getting on your ass. “Why didn’t you tell me?! I would’ve brought over your favorite snacks and your microwavable stuffed animal you always keep at my place and-”

You cut him off, shaking your head with a small smile. “I don’t need all that, though. I just wanna be with you.”

Chenle renders completely still for a moment. For a man who seemed to struggle with words, yours always ended up hitting him right on. He moves to instead wrap you in a tight hug, a contrasting gentle kiss placed on the top of your head as he just held you there for a moment. He finally moves to instead kiss your cheek and pull back a bit. “Movie night, then?” He suggests lightly.

You flash a soft grin in his direction, eyebrows raising as you stare back at him. “Will you hold me the whole time?” You ask seriously in return. Chenle rolls his lips inwards to hide his smile, though he can’t hide the light dusting of pink now covering his cheeks and tips of his ears. 

“Is that even a question?” His banter back is ruined by the sheer softness of it. Your grin widens as you grab his hand and lead him towards the couch in the living room. You lean into him easily and he doesn’t think twice before pulling you even closer, holding you even tighter, as your favorite movie begins playing in front of you. “We’re watching the Steph Curry documentary after this, just so you know,” Chenle suddenly speaks up, a faint laugh in his tone - a strange vocalic considering he was completely serious, but you realize it’s his attempt to be softer with you right now, figuring you had it bad enough with your cramps that you didn’t need his bluntness on top of it. 

“I’m pretty sure we can both quote the entire documentary by now,” you banter back with a disinterested groan. Chenle looks over at you by his side with a playful gleam in his eyes.

“Exactly! Which means we have to watch it one more time to really make sure.”

You roll your eyes at him but relent without another word; you still had an hour and a half of the first movie anyways. 

It was a little over two hours later when your parents got home from work to find the two of you seemingly in conversation, only to realize the movie in front of you had no sound and it was just you and Chenle switching back and forth quoting each line - neither of you cutting the other a break should there be a moment of hesitation…so half of the script was recounted in between laughs and over the other’s teasing. Needless to say, once the Curry documentary started, there had been significantly less cuddles than before, but your cramps, however painful they may have been, were the last thing on your mind. It was only when you sat down for dinner that reality came flooding back over you, suddenly making it hard to sit down again. Trying not to focus on the pain, you instead thought about how pain-free the past few hours have been. You hated that Chenle knew what would work so well…you hated that he wouldn’t always be here to make it work again. 

After dinner, your parents made their way out back to enjoy the firepit and calm night. You and Chenle found yourselves back on the couch, this time old cartoons you used to watch during childhood taking up space on the TV rather than movies. You cuddled into him easily, and he did his best to love on you enough to make the pain go away again.

When your parents finally came back inside, the TV was still running but you and Chenle were asleep against each other, his arms wrapped around you protectively as the two of you shifted so that you were laying down on top of his figure rather than just leaning against his shoulder. Your parents just let out light sighs, sad smiles covering their faces as your dad turned off the TV and your mom laid a blanket over the two of you before texting Chenle’s aunt and letting her know that Chenle wouldn’t be making his way back across the street tonight. They weren’t sure if they were feeding the beast by letting the two of you spend the night together, but it was too hard on their hearts to impose a future reality when you guys were so at home living in the present. 

The morning sun eventually made its way through the windows to disrupt the darkness of your unconscious state. Still refusing to open your eyes, you just turn your head so that you're facing away from the window. Though, that’s when a hand lightly trails through your hair to move it away from your face, and you realize you’re still against Chenle’s chest. At once, you blink awake, and when you move your gaze to look at Chenle, you can hear the snap of silence as his breath gets caught in his throat. He shakes out of it with a smile, once again running his fingers through your hair as he begins to speak softly. “God, I wanna wake up next to you for the rest of my life.”

Your face goes fire red and you immediately rush to bury it back in his chest. “Shut up,” you chide. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because I need you to know that,” he responds in sincerity, kissing the top of your head since your face was still hidden. “I’ll always want it to be you.” His soft confession served to be one of the most reassuring and sweetest things you’ve ever heard, and you knew he meant it wholeheartedly. However, while warmth took over 98% of your body, there was the other 2% overcome with a certain uneasiness. With Chenle claiming that he would always want it to be you he wakes up next to, it was the first time you felt a sense of pity for the girl on the other end of this arranged marriage with Chenle, because while you could never be her, she would never be you.

You push the thought to the back of your mind, sure anyone around you would call you crazy for feeling pity for his future wife. Instead, you pick your head back up and press a light kiss to his lips, and just like that, 75% of the rest of summer nights and early mornings saw you and Chenle asleep against each other. 

All too soon, Chenle was accompanying your family as you moved into your college dorm. There was a week left before the first day of classes, and in between now and then, Chenle would have his fateful flight back to Shanghai. You had spent the past few nights crying yourself to sleep - well, if it wasn’t a night you and Chenle were spending together. All you wanted to do was be strong for him, your mind a constant loop of how sorry he looked as he asked to be selfish for the summer and indulge in his feelings. The last thing you wanted was for him to actually feel bad about it, to know how painful it truly was for you, when you knew he was going through the same thing himself. You didn’t need to add to the heavy weight on his shoulders imposed by almost every other figure in his life. So, you kept your tears to yourself. It wasn’t that hard anyways, being in Chenle’s presence meant a constant smile was on your face without ever having to think about it. 

Once all your things were put away and you could pass as ‘moved in,’ you stood opposite your parents in the doorway to your dorm as Chenle used the bathroom. With a few words and quite a bit more unspoken ones, your parents made themselves conscious of the time on their watch and then bid you goodbye for a bit. 

When Chenle came back out from the bathroom, he looked around for your parents, but his shoulders instantly fell once he failed to lay eyes on them. Instead, he turned to you in complete seriousness, pointing a thumb out to the side towards where your bed was as he looked at you with raised brows. “Can I be the first to fuck you on your dorm bed?” He asks plainly, and despite yourself, a loud laugh erupts from your chest.

“Chenle!” You chide, and the familiar big grin makes its way back across his lips.

“What? Isn’t that a thing?” He laughs off in question as though nothing were amiss. He quickly shakes his head, regaining his serious composure as he begins in his attempts at convincing you. “Regardless, I won’t get to experience it for myself so you should take pity on me. And I want this bed to be able to know me before any other college boy toy,” he states plainly, making you drop your head to hide the smile conjured up by his words.

“So glad you think that after you go back to China, I’ll resort to boy toys,” you shoot back monotonously. Chenle finally fumbles as he rushes to steer your mindset in a different direction.

“Okay, it came out wrong. That’s not what I meant,” he assures, but you stare back at him with raised, uninterested brows.

“Yes it was,” you reply immediately, but with the smallest peek of a smile from you, Chenle loses his tension again, ducking his head into his shoulders with a dumb laugh.

“I know.”

You shake your head at him to accompany the eye roll. “I hate you,” you say through a laugh, much to your dismay because you could not sell the bit to save your life. Chenle knew it, too, as he pops back up to look in your eyes with nothing but a tease behind his own. 

“So, that’s a no to fucking on your dorm bed?” He questions, making it seem as though that were your least desired possibility rather than his own. His mind games didn’t need to work, though, as you shake your head with a fond smile this time, taking a step towards him to kiss his lips softly.

“I already told my parents to explore the campus,” you admit, and Chenle’s kissed lips turn into a childish grin that he had to calm down from before he could even think about kissing you again. 

“Hmm…I think I like my bed better,” Chenle finally says, tossing your shirt back over to you as you both now sit up in your bed. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at his words.

“Well, I would hope so,” you tease. “Yours is a King as opposed to this Twin.”

Chenle shakes his head, dismissing your banter as he responds with more contemplation than the situation called for. “No, I mean, the bigger bed is nice but I don’t think that’s it. I think this one is just a little too squeaky,” he concludes with resolve. All you can do is laugh, leaning over to place a fond kiss on his cheek.

“You had high standards for plastic-covered springs,” you joke as you pull back. Chenle looks over at you with raised brows.

“I have high standards in general. That’s why I like you,” he responds, and instead of letting yourself get embarrassed by how flustered that statement was about to make you, you nudge him in the side with a roll of your eyes. 

“Whatever. We both know I was too low maintenance for you to originally fathom,” you reply, and Chenle finally lets a huge smile break across his face.

“We were kids in a suburb and I came from money…there was a lot I couldn’t fathom,” he recounts seriously. You move your head to look over at him by your side, a soft smile on your lips as the playfulness behind your eyes begins fading to match it. 

“I’m glad you finally came around,” you start with sincerity. “The suburb will be sad to see you go.” 

Chenle lets out a heavy breath at your words, the weight of reality seeming to hit you both at the same time. He finally nods his head a little, not in agreement but something like contemplation. “Speaking of, I guess we should get back to it. Now that we moved you in, we have to move me out.” The words are bitter on his tongue. The two of you did an immensely good job at sticking to the present throughout this past summer, but now that the present involved the first steps of the dreaded future, it was hard to stay lighthearted. You did your best, though, responding with a faint laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure my parents have just about exhausted every way they can keep themselves busy anyways,” you point out playfully, and Chenle finally seems to remember he’s still sitting shirtless in your bed. He looks over at you, realizing he’s the only one to have fallen behind on getting dressed again, and with a matching laugh, he begins to remedy that.

“I can’t believe how chill your parents are,” he replies with a bit of awe as he pulls his t-shirt over his body. 

You shake your head at him, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. “They’re not, they just like you.” Your reply is more serious again and Chenle swings his gaze your way with raised brows. You pull up your own to match, and a small smile plays on your lips as you continue. “If it was anyone else, they would’ve had me by the throat.”

Chenle takes in your cautious figure and furrows his brows, not at all seeing the consequences in the same light you were. “You like that, though,” he replies, nudging you in the side and getting the both of you to laugh. You shake your head, dropping it to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment. 

“Sometimes, I wish you had a filter,” you banter back, but when you uncover your face again to look over at Chenle, his demeanor had completely shifted, as though your laugh had reminded him that he didn’t know how many more times he would be able to hear it. 

“I’m sorry for having to leave,” he says miserably. “Your family has been so nice to me, all throughout childhood and now trusting me with you…” He drags off, his gaze moving across the bed beneath him and over to you, hair messy and lips slightly swollen from his kisses. He shakes his head. “Like this, and I’m just up and leaving.” You can tell he’s getting pissed at himself with every new word, but he doesn’t give you time to jump in right away. “I put you in a position where I knew you’d get hurt. I feel like an asshole.”

Gently, you bring both of your hands to cover over his own against his lap, and he turns his gaze your way at the contact, allowing you to see him physically break from his reverie and instead soften in your presence. “Chenle, you aren’t an asshole,” you reassure. “I knew what I was signing up for at the beginning of summer, and I told my parents exactly how this was going to go, too. No one blames you for having familial obligations. Not me and not my parents. They aren’t mad that you’re the reason my heart is gonna break in a few days, they’re just really really grateful you’ve been the reason behind the happiest three months of my life.” Your words carry enough weight, it was obvious that that’s truly how you viewed the situation. If possible, Chenle felt worse. He was the bad guy here, and you were reframing it for his benefit. He never felt like he deserved you, and had no clue how you managed to think otherwise for the past three months. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. You whip your head towards his face once you hear his shattered tone, and your lips part in disbelief. You always figured Chenle would be the strong one, but today’s proved to you that’s not the case. 

“Hey,” you start, rubbing a thumb beneath his eyes before his tears could fully roll down his cheeks, an accompanying fond laugh to cover over your own heartache. “Don’t get all sad on me now, we still have four days until you leave.” 

Chenle gives a weak smile, catching your hand with his own and bringing it from his eyes down to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to the back of your hand before shifting grips and giving it a tight squeeze. “Let’s go find your parents.” His voice cracks again as he speaks, and he’s finally able to let out an embarrassed laugh in response. You just nod your head, leaning over to grab your phone and find a well-timed text informing you they were waiting at a café on University Boulevard. So, with a onceover in the mirror to make sure the general public wouldn’t be able to tell you and Chenle just fucked, you led him out the door.

Once you got back home, you and Chenle hardly ever left each other’s sides…even less than normal. There was a shift ever since you moved most of your things to university, and everything started to feel a little more real as opposed to the way the rest of this summer felt like an escape from that reality. You both were running out of time, and you couldn’t do anything but be conscious of the fact. It affected Chenle the most, and you could tell from his first touch once the two of you got back. 

Up to now, sex with Chenle was a full-on activity. It was rough, hot, and passionate to say the least - he would fuck you. However, the last four days, the air had completely changed. Now all his movements were softer, slower. He was trying to memorize you. 

His eyes would become distant sometimes, and only he knew that it meant he was replaying the first day he met you - five-year-old him staring judgementally on the sidewalk out front of his aunt’s house as he watched you play with the water hose, getting messy for no reason and having the audacity to laugh with joy because of it. When you met his gaze, you motioned for him to come join you, to which he adamantly shook his head and decided he was never making friends with the kids on the block. However, as he turned around to go back inside, figuring some basketball could wait until all the messy kids were gone, cold water hit his back in a sensation that had him whipping around again. His first thought was to start spouting Chinese words that he heard his parents say sometimes after they got off business calls with ‘imbeciles of clients,’ but instead as he laid eyes on you, just a few feet away now, with a water gun in your hands and the brightest of joys in your eyes, he forgot all his words. All he knew was that he wanted to be friends with the kids on the block. Though, not even that, he just wanted to be friends with you. He swore in that moment you outshone the sun, and he wanted in on your warmth.

If Chenle knew then what he did at fourteen, he’s not sure he would’ve ever allowed himself to get close to you. However, if he knew then what he did now at eighteen, closer to you than he’s ever been, he’s positive he’d go through this heartbreak a thousand times if it meant he got to love you even once, and he wouldn’t have waited so damn long to love you in the first place. 

The last day - the last time, the distant look in Chenle’s eyes wasn’t there at all. Instead, it was filled with non-stop whispered words of how much you meant to him, how much he adored you; his voice occasionally catching in his throat when he got too sentimental, and you’d be reminded of how hard it was for him to articulate his thoughts at all; so all you could think to do was pull him down for a kiss and swallow his words instead. 

Then you blinked and it was already the day of Chenle’s departure. Your parents had been outside most of the morning helping Chenle and his aunt load the car up with his things. You took no part in it. Instead, you sat in your room, hugging your knees and staring blankly. The only tell that you weren’t frozen was the fact that you were chewing on your bottom lip, truthfully destroying it, but it was the only thing you could think to do to ground yourself at the time. 

With a light knock on the door, your mom enters your bedroom and you move your head up to meet her gaze. “Chenle’s sitting outside. We got him all packed up and everything.”

You swallow harshly and your eyes immediately find your knees again. “I know,” you reply shortly, your voice hardly above a whisper.

A sad smile crossed your mom’s face, but when she saw you making no effort to move in response to her words, she let out a sigh. “Sitting in your room doesn’t stop time.” Her words come out flat, like a lecture, and you knew she was trying to juggle how to be both, a ray of comfort and an authority figure. “You still have to say goodbye.”

You shake your head to dismiss the bit of worry held in her tone as she gave you orders. She didn’t have to walk on eggshells around you, it was that you were the one mentally walking on eggshells around your heart. “I’m just trying to keep my emotions from running high,” you say monotonously, finally looking up at her. You watch her eyes widen as she notices the glaze of tears over your own, and shake your head again in frustration before dropping it back down to your lap. “The last thing he needs is to have to leave while I’m in tears. He’ll never want to go.”

Your mom rolls her lips inward, and suddenly she understands why you’ve taken solace in tearing up your own bottom lip before she walked in. Though, with a sigh, she speaks again with her best attempt at unbiased advice. “He already doesn’t want to go - but the fact of the matter is that when you look back on this moment days, months, years later, you’ll want to have said ‘goodbye.’” You shake your head immediately, she was wrong.

“No. I don’t ever want to say ‘goodbye’ to Chenle,” you claim with more force than you thought yourself capable of in such a fragile moment. You glance up to watch the outsider persona she tried to create instead fall away, and she just went back to being your mom.

She fumbled with her thoughts for a few moments, mouth opening and closing again as she shook away everything she didn’t want to say. Finally, she presses her lips to form a thin line, and then is immediately turning around to walk back out of your door. “You can wish him luck, then, but you need to go see him.” As her words come out, straightforward and not open for debate, you realize why she started walking away as she delivered them, because she wouldn’t have been able to face you and give such orders. Her words were still not what you needed to hear, and you both knew that, but she had to exert some authority and get you to at least do what seemed best in the long run; you figure that’s why it was hard for you to take in…you and Chenle didn’t have a long run. The concept of it hurt enough to pull you up from bed and out the front door. 

Without a word, you sit down next to Chenle on the sidewalk, making a chair out of the step in the pathway leading up to his aunt’s house. He moves his head to look over at you, registering that you were next to him. With a breath, you turn to face him as well, a smile on your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes, though the tears once occupying them were successfully blinked back. 

He ignores your smile of reassurance, instead just looking over you once and nodding his head minimally before facing the front again and leaning his head on your shoulder. That’s how the two of you stayed for a good five minutes. No words exchanged, just your light breaths and his heavy exhales as you run through every thought in your mind. You weren’t sure which ones to say, which ones would make things worse, or if any of them would make things better. 

“Oh!” You startle as the first practical, rather than emotional, thought crosses your mind. “I still have your hoodie, oh my god let me go get-” Your move to get up and run back into your house is ruined by Chenle’s calm words.

“Keep it,” he says immediately, and you whip your head towards him in shock.

“What? Chenle, if I keep it, it’s almost guaranteed you’re never getting it back. We won’t have contact after this.” That was always the deal, he was getting a new phone and his parents were taking any trace of you out of it, blocking your number, the whole nine yards. However, admitting that you weren’t going to have contact after this present moment was incredibly bitter on your tongue. The words make Chenle tense up, too, but he just as quickly continues with a head nod.

“I know. So, keep it. It can be your hoodie, just please don’t forget that it’s mine.” He stops talking once he notices the sorrow in his tone, and you watch as he swallows it back before speaking again, this time with a touch of playfulness. “And even after you stop wearing it, you can give it to your first-born, Chenle, and then it’s Chenle’s hoodie again.” He concludes as though the entire thing made perfect sense, and you didn’t know how to feel with the fact that his banter made this conversation seem so normal. On the one hand, you were grateful when the familiarity fought off any last question of tears, but on the other hand, you hated knowing this was the last time you would get to have a normal conversation with him. 

You settle with rolling your eyes rather than figuring out how to feel. “I’m not naming my first-born ‘Chenle,’” you reply, looking at him with raised eyebrows. You watch as a small smile overtakes his face, but it quickly settles into a grimace and then it’s gone.

“It was worth a shot.” He pauses for a beat before turning to face you, his new tone coming off as desperate, helpless. “Don’t ever forget me, okay?”

You shake your head rapidly as you reassure him. “I couldn’t.”

The two of you stare at each other again in silence for a moment. The time to say goodbye was upon you, which is why the conversation died, which is why you remember what your mom had said in your room, and thus you start with your wishes of luck. “You’re gonna do great, you know? Learning how to run a company and everything. No one’s more capable than you. I’m already incredibly proud of you, not because you’re gonna be a crazy successful business man, but because you’re you. So, when you set foot in your dad’s company, don’t lose that, okay? Everything that makes you Chenle. I’d be sad to see that go just for some bottom line.”

Chenle’s shoulders sink as he turns to face the pavement. “I’ll do my best for you,” he assures with a nod. You want to fill the silence again but hardly have a clue what to say. However, that’s when you see Chenle’s lips twitching and you know he’s in the midst of trying to articulate more of his own thoughts. When he does speak up again, his voice is surprisingly steady. “You know, I’ve been thinking lately. That’s all I could ever seem to do these past few weeks. You know I always struggled finding the right words to say, to let you know how much you mean to me. But lately I’ve found my words. And it’s stupid because it’s so easy,” he says with a scoff, and a wave of uneasiness washes over you as you see the smile he’s able to conjure up. “I’ve been saying it over and over again in my head and it’s so natural. I could’ve been telling you this entire time.”

That’s when clarity hits you and you jump to stop him from saying his next words - you couldn’t handle them. “Chenle, don’t-” You speak up in a rush, but he does, too.

“I love you,” he says firmly, finally bringing his head back up to look at you. His eyes are wide in sincerity, making sure you could see every emotion behind them, how much he meant it. “I love you, y/n l/n. I really do.”

Every last bit of strength you had vanished in milliseconds, and instead you bawled your eyes out sitting on that pavement. “You stupid kid,” you cry out, ramming your head into his shoulder. Underneath you, Chenle froze, and you realize he has no clue if you’re sad or genuinely mad at him. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” you add weakly, a hand coming up to clutch at his shirt. Chenle immediately softens, placing both of his arms around you as best he can. All this time, you had been mentally preparing to comfort him, to be so incredibly strong for him so that he could take his next steps and not feel incredibly guilty for doing so…but now he was the one comforting you as you sobbed in his arms. Chenle could figure out how to articulate his feelings but you couldn’t even get this right - he was stronger than you.

No more words were exchanged between the two of you. He held you in his arms as you tried to rid yourself of tears, but you couldn’t even accomplish that before his aunt gave the first gentle warning that they had to get on the road. Chenle felt you freeze in his arms, and he hated knowing that, regardless of how you wanted to frame it, he was the reason you were crying and torn up like this. If it was up to him, he would’ve never left you; but it wasn’t up to him, so all he could do was leave you with something - his hoodie, and the softest of kisses on the top of your head, getting you to finally pick your head up again so he could place more kisses across the span of your face, slowly but surely kissing your tears away until he made his way down to your lips…and there he finally faltered, letting out a heavy breath against your skin. A last kiss sounded horrible, did he even want one so clearly defined, or was it better for your last kiss to have been yesterday, being able to remember it as basked in love rather than tears. His inner debate was more like a war as his eyes roamed over every inch of your face - what to do? What’s best? Tears were still running down your face but he can't shake how beautiful you look right now…he loves you. How does he kiss you goodbye? How could he ever say goodbye? Does he not do anything at all? He loves you. Is a final goodbye best left unspoken? Unkissed? 

His state of drowning in his thoughts gets cut off as you make the decision for him, leaning in to kiss him softly, and instead he’s drowning in you…and your last kiss. It was delicate and innocent, with the audience you had, it probably would have been weird for it to be any other way. Regardless, he still chases your lips after you pull back - that couldn’t have been it; but then the car starts and his eyes shoot open as they dart over to where his aunt was getting situated in the driver’s seat. Chenle whipped back around to face you and looked terrified, but the roar of the engine was a constant reminder of where he needed to be - he couldn’t put it off any longer. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out, instead it was just quick, heavy breaths and a scared shake of his head. None of that meant that he wasn’t in the act of standing up from the pavement, making his way to the car…leaving you.

Every step you watched him take as he left was another drop of poison in your bloodstream, a poison you should’ve built up tolerance for already given how many small doses it seemed like you were taking throughout the last three months. Though, you must be kidding yourself - goodnight kisses under the porch light before watching him walk the few steps to the other side of the road were nothing even close to poison; an antidote, maybe, to last you throughout the night and fight off the poison of when you were apart, but there were no more goodnight kisses to keep you going now. It was a different sting, your muscles tightened, you couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Though, you refused to watch him go, leaving it up to your tears to blur the sight of it. The scene in front of you was nothing other than a tragedy, an ending no one was satisfied with, not because it could’ve ended differently, but because it was always going to end this way. There was no crazy plot twist or invocation of Deus Ex Machina to change the narrative. No, just the same, sad, memorized ending of a story you forgot was your own. You played yourselves for fools, believing you could outrun a truth that only ever gained on you with each stride - that, together, the only thing the two of you needed was what you would never be able to have…more time.

[ziyechs]

joe'marr bengals reunion — a (somewhat) comprehensive timeline

1 — “have you spoken to the cincinnati bengals and what would it mean to reunite with joe burrow there?” — “i have talked to the bengals. i don’t know how many times i’ve talked to them though. but, me and joe, you know, i wouldn’t mind going back with joe. if we go back together we’re trying to do nothing but get back our chemistry and have some more fun.”

2 — “i'm really excited for this draft. i don't really know what's coming but, you know, if me and joe could get back to it... i’d love to have some fun with him again.”

3 — “i assume you'd be okay with a potential reunion in cincinnati if that were to happen?" — "yeah, i wouldn’t mind.”

4 — “me and joe talked about [a reunion] maybe like three, four times actually. we talked about it a good bit of times. he texted me this morning, just letting me know: ‘get your bags packed’, so i guess that meant that was gonna be the pick. i don’t know if that was a hint or what. so, he sent me that little text this morning, i was like ‘okay… i'm ready, bro’.”

5 — “what was your reaction like when he was lowkey recruiting you?” — “i actually was believing him sometimes, sometimes i was like ‘stop playing with me’ and sometimes i was just like ‘okay bro, i gotcha, i'm ready now’ so. i believed him this morning when he told me, you know, pack my bags. so that's when i finally was like: ‘yeah he might really be calling this’ so that's when i took his word.”

6 – “jimmy burrow, did joe tell you—he’s always been kind of coy about what he said to the bengals—did joe tell you that he wanted the bengals to select ja’marr?” — “yes, i think we figured that… and eventually… yes, he pretty much told us that he wanted ja’marr.”

7 — “it was like a week before the draft, ja'marr said: ‘dad, joe texted me.’ […] he didn't say what he said, you know. but he said: ‘joe just texted me’, [...] so he had talked to joe like... or texted with joe once or twice that week. and then he told me, he said: ‘dad, if i get with joe, we're gonna kill’ [...] so he was all excited about getting with joe.”

8 — “what was the first thing joe texted you when you got drafted by the bengals?” — “make sure your bag's packed and ready. yeah, that was what he told me.”

9 — “the cincinnati bengals are on the clock now. earlier that morning, i had got a text from joe. he said: hope your bags are packed. i know it's me, at the moment, that's what i'm saying to myself. i can't wait to be a part of it.”

10 — articles: 1, 2, 3, 4

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - Prologue/Prequel Snippet.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

So, I’m not sure if this is a prologue or a prequel, and honestly, I can't even figure it out, so I’m just calling it both?? If anyone wants to correct me, PLEASE do because I’m losing my mind over here. 😭

Anyways, the prologue/prequel got so out of hand that it’s now 20k words long. I’m anxious as hell to post it because… yeah, it’s long, and it’s probably going to flop (I know I’m supposed to write for myself or whatever, but like... I care what you guys think, okay???)

Here’s a little teaser of the reader’s first time with WandaNat in the “You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry” and “I Think You Both Need Daddy, Hm?” universe, while I try to work up the courage to post the rest. 😬

Oh, and I’m now officially calling the whole thing 'Our Little One' because it somehow turned into a series.

NSFW below the cut.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, and you were. You hadn’t even realised it until she pressed her lips to your shoulder, slow and open-mouthed, breathing in the scent of you like it grounded her. “You’re being so brave for me.”

Your face burned as she then reached for the drawstring of your joggers, slipping it loose with deliberate care. She didn’t rush. She didn’t tease. It wasn’t about making you squirm; it was about seeing you, piece by piece, letting you feel every second of it.

She slid the fabric slowly over your hips, the backs of her knuckles grazing sensitive skin on the way down. “Lift your hips for Mommy, baby.”

You obeyed without hesitation, thighs quivering as you raised your hips, trusting her completely. In one fluid motion, Wanda drew your joggers and underwear down together, baring you to the cool air and to her gaze.

Then you were exposed, and Wanda just…stared. Like she couldn’t quite decide where to look first, like every part of you demanded her full attention.

Her hands settled instinctively on your thighs, her thumbs tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin as her eyes darkened. “You’re beautiful,” she breathed, reverent and a little awed. Then, without looking away from you, she spoke to her wife, “Natasha, look how pretty she is.”

Heat flared instantly in your face. Your eyes flicked toward the chair across the room before you could stop them, and there she was. Natasha hadn’t moved an inch, still lounging like a queen at rest, but her mouth was curled into a sharp, pleased little smile. Her gaze caught yours and didn’t waver, all dark promise and patience.

A quiet, shameful sound escaped your throat, and Wanda lit up. “Oh,” she laughed, wicked and delighted. “I knew it. You like being watched.”

Mortified, you dropped your head back onto the cushion and slapped a hand over your face, trying to hide. But Wanda only laughed again, sugar-sweet and cruel in the way that made your stomach flip.

“No, Little One,” she scolded gently, tugging your hand away with ease. “None of that. You don’t get to hide, not when you’re this perfect.”

You whimpered again, thighs twitching as your hips shifted against the cushions. Your legs squeezed together, then fell open, helpless. You couldn’t stay still. Every part of you was burning.

Wanda tilted her head, her lashes low, eyes sparkling as she looked at you. “Such a sensitive little thing,” she whispered, the words sliding like velvet over your skin. “And we haven’t even started yet.”

Before you could speak, she leaned in and kissed you again, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that left you aching in the chest. Her hand slid up, not between your legs but along your waist, curling around your side to hold you close.

Her mouth moved over your jaw, and down your neck, where she latched onto your pulse, sucking deeply, deliberately. The sensation jolted through you, and before you could even think, your body arched into it, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

Wanda's lips lingered, the bite sinking deeper, her mark burning into your skin like a brand, sending heat spiraling out in waves across your chest.

You whined, your body trembling beneath her, every nerve alive with the intensity of her touch. She hummed against your throat, her tongue sweeping over the mark, and her breath came slow, heavy, each exhale a silent promise of more.

“There,” she breathed, her voice thick with a dark, possessive pride, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she pulled back just enough to study the mark she’d left on you. "God, you look so fucking perfect with my mark on your throat."

[thatonereallyconfusedbitch]

Usually not political on my blog, but I couldn’t just scroll past this.

In Germany, in the tenth grade you visit Berlin to see the affects of the Second World War and learn about the development and what happened to people (you already do this in school in more detail, but in Berlin you actually see it).

More importantly, in the ninth grade it’s part of the curriculum to visit a concentration camp. No specific one, usually whatever one is closest to the school. The one i visited is the one in Dachau (Munich). You can google it for more information, but it was the first concentration camp built in 1933. It was built a few weeks after H***er came into power as a kind of special prison (sound familiar yet?). It was called the Munich model, as a blueprint for many other concentration camps. In 1937 it was remodelled and expanded. In 1940 they built their own crematorium with one oven because they had too many bodies to bury or send to the crematorium of the church nearby (just think about that for a second). Once crematorium was not enough, since so many people were being killed, so in 1942 they built barrack X had from 1943 they used it. Barrack X had 4 ovens. 4. They could burn 4 bodies at once, and no one would be any wiser.

Anyway, my original point was a different one, this what the general layout of the land looked like:

I know it’s a little blurry, but the “KZ Dachau” is “concentration camp Dachau” (where they slept and eat) and “Crematoria” is “Crematorium”. Basically the houses they slept in were just rowed up. All together there were 34, 30 of which were “living barracks” and 4 “working barracks”. Each barracks had 4 like compartments, which each compartment having 2 rooms, a living room with table, chairs and a tiny locker, and a bedroom. The bedroom had triple bunk beds made out of wood, similar to the photo I reposted, except they made it even more inhumane and made it four bunks, as well as, from the looks of it, not even giving them and sheets.

The only difference at this stage is the material the bunks are made out of, and somehow wood seems more comfortable than metal.

Honestly, just looking at this, the na**s seemed more humane and compassionate than the American government. And that is not a sentence I ever thought would even exist, nor should it.

Each barrack was supposed to house 200 people. At the end of world war 2, it housed over 2000 people. Again, just take a step back and think about this for a moment. They built it so that everyone had their own bed. In the end, around 10 people would have had to share one bed. Obviously that didn’t happen and most people ended up just sleeping on the floor, or maybe even in the ceiling (see photo below)

Also, look at the photo I reposted, then look at the one below. Tell me you can see a difference and I will delete this post.

And before you comment anything stupid like “wElL THe uNIfoRmS aRE dIFfeReNT” You know exactly, that that is not what I am saying.

Also, to anyone saying that the concentration camps were built in Germany while this prison (and the many that are following, Trump has said he wants to build more. I don’t have the video right here, but it was when he was meeting the dictator of El Salvador that he kind of quietly said it) that is shown atop is in El Salvador. You are simply wrong. Yes, concentration camps did exist in Germany, but most of them were in Poland, Russia, etc., so NOT in Germany.

I could go on, but this post is already far too long and I’m tired. But there are so many more comparisons, and I will definitely add more, that sits honestly scary that it’s even gotten to this point. How. HOW? HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT HISTORY, AT HUNDREDS OF MILLION PEOPLE DYING, AND THINK, YES, LET US DO THAT AGAIN, BECAUSE I DON’T LIKE MEXICANS BECAUSE ONE ONCE STOLE MY BIKE.

The reason H***er and so got away with it, is because people had light prejudice against Jews (because of propaganda) and everyone had the it-doesn’t-affect-me-mentality.

When the Nazis came for the communists, I remained silent; I wasn't a communist.

When they came for the trade unionists, I remained silent; I wasn't a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews, I remained silent; I wasn't a Jew.

When they came for me, there was no one left to protest.

— Martin Neumüller

This looks like a warehouse in which each person is a box on a shelf.

I don't care what these people did. No one deserves this. The only criminals are the people who put them here.

[jikooklove9795]

Hi! I recently saw a post about a live Jimin did for his birthday. In this live he had a cake that said “you are my Park filter” writing on it. Jungkook said he made the cake for Jimin. But Jimin had previously said the cake was giving to him by the staff. Do you know if the cake was actually from Jungkook?

Hi! 😊

That live was truly something, so much to unpack! It was interesting (very), revealing and undeniably telling.

I'm sure most of you already know all the details of this live, but let's go over it again because it never gets old.

The first thing that caught my eye during this live was the decorations in the background

Compared to the other member's birthday setups that year, Jimin's definitely stood out

The other members mostly had simple decorations with photos and writing. The only exception was Seokjin, whose setup was special because it also celebrated the release of "Super Tuna" which dropped on his birthday. Otherwise, his too would have been like the other five. Even though, Seokjin's setup was a bit more elaborate than the other five, it still didnt compare to Jimin's.

Jimin's had so much going on. The balloons, the color coordination, the writing and a birthday banner.

I thought about it and the only reason that makes sense is that it wasn't just done by the staff like the others. In Jimin's case it was all arranged by Jungkook.

Let's break it down one by one.

First, the JM balloons which resemble the JM tattoo on Jungkook's hand. Even with that same gap. And yes, JM is definitely Jimin. Jungkook said so during Run BTS when he pluck out the J and M balloons out of the PAJAMA PARTY, stuck them on his chest, went up to Jimin and said "JM, Jimin". Jungkook got his tattoo in Sept 2019. This episode aired in March 2020 but it was shot in 2019. Most probably in Aug 2019. Anyway it was before Jungkook got his tattoos.

Next, there's the yellow and purple color coordination. Jimin and Jungkook's representative colors. The yellow JM balloons were placed over purple heart balloons and there were yellow and purple hearts placed side by side. Talk about obvious! Not to mention the red heart balloons added a sweet touch.

Then there was the "Cutie, Sexy, Lovely. Happy Birthday Jimin"

Back to the live, Jimin mentioned that the decorations and cake were prepared by the staff. I'll leave that there for now and share my thoughts on it at the end. For now let's keep going.

I think he read a comment asking about the members and he replied like this:

But then he did something which caught my attention. He spun in that chair, moved toward the decorations and pointed at them with both hands

To me it felt like he was hinting that a "certain member" did this for him. Otherwise why would he do that right after talking about the members and saying he wished just "one" of them was with him?

He then talks about his daily routine. A few minutes later he reached for his phone, seemed to be contemplating and finally made the call to Jungkook, asking him to join the live and keep him company.

So, Jimin made the call to the "one" he truly wanted there with him. It's always Jungkook for Jimin and here he is proving it again. I'm sure Hoseok would have come too if Jimin had asked, but it wasn't Hoseok who he needed. It was Jungkook.

Just one minute. 60 secs. That's all it took for Jungkook to show up at the studio. What is he??? Superman?!

He was working out with two others when Jimin called, but he dropped everything and rushed over because he knew his bf wanted company for the live. In the process he even spoiled his new haircut which he wanted to surprise ARMY with. But priorities are priorities and for him Jimin always comes first.

Then we are treated to some adorable Jikook moments.

Jungkook says he's leaving and he's out the door when Jimin asks him to fetch water for him. He not only brings water but also Soju. He's about to leave again when they hear a knock. Jungkook opens the door and it's Hoseok. And Jungkook stays back too to chat a bit with both of them.

Let’s pause and talk about something interesting. Notice how Hoseok knocked for someone to open the door, while Jungkook just walked right in? Before Jungkook entered, you can hear the sound of the machine granting entry. That’s the first clue that the studio belongs to Jungkook (if it wasn't already clear from the decor). HYBE’s studio rooms have face and fingerprint scans that only allow access to the assigned member. That’s why Jungkook could enter freely, while Hoseok had to knock.

This live clearly proves what I'm saying. From the 59 min mark you can see Hoseok scanning his face and fingerprints to enter his studio:

Then what about Jimin? We will know about it soon.

Let's continue again.

Hoseok mentions a strong smell in the room, like spicy garlic fried chicken. Jungkook immediately says he wants it, and Jimin agrees. Jungkook suggests ordering it, but Jimin reminds him that his mom is already cooking for him (or maybe for both of them?).

Jimin and Jungkook getting busted by Hoseok in 3... 2... 1!

Jimin's expression nearly slipped but he caught himself.

By now, Hoseok knew exactly what was going on. He wasn’t done yet and went in for the final blow:

And Jimin was left completely speechless. Reminds me of this:

And also Hoseok's Tokyo 2016 live.

When Hoseok teased Jimin about continuing the live in his studio, Jungkook quickly tried to change the subject by bringing up the 3J Butter version, a bit too obviously 😅

They drank soju, and Jimin left with Jungkook and Hoseok from Jungkook's studio. He lingered outside for nearly a minute, making me wonder if he was complaining, whining to Hoseok about spilling the beans. Moments later, the machine sounds granting entry into the studio and Jimin walks in. So, now its clear that Jungkook's studio allows access to Jimin too.

And even if the studio has a password system still the point is that others have to knock while Jimin can enter by unlocking it himself.

Now to answer your question about the cake, yes, I think Jungkook was the one who arranged it. Jimin probably chose not to share that with us, just like he did with the decorations. The wordings on the cake and the decorations on the wall felt too personal like something which comes from your significant other instead of from a fellow band member. So, he likely decided to say they were from the staff.

What we see and hear about their relationship is probably just 25% of the full picture.

Take their companion enlistment, for example. They got confirmation regarding it on 6th Sept 2023. But to make that happen, they must have started discussing about it in early 2023. Yet we only found out when it was officially announced.

The same goes for the hickey situation. During the Jinjikook live in December 2016, Jungkook used a pic of himself to make Jimin stay in the live. When he posted the pic we speculated the hickey to be from Jimin but we had no confirmation about this. Years later, in 2021, Jungkook casually walked in with a hickey and confirmed it was from Jimin.

Next is Taehyung's Osaka live in 2016. The one where Jungkook was dressed down and playing music before Tae entered. Here too we speculated that Jimin was hiding in Jungkook's room but had no confirmations. Then, during the April 2022 live, Jimin mentioned how he's usually dressed down at home and Hoseok chimed in with "And Jungkook's in charge of the music, right?" leaving Jimin momentarily speechless.

Think about all those times we speculated they were sharing hotel rooms. We've had plenty of confirmations from the other members' words and reactions, Jikook's own actions, and even that hidden cam their company set up.

Most of these confirmations came gradually over the years through OG content, the members' words, and Jikook's own actions. Now, think about a fan—not an anti—who doesn’t watch OG content, early-year footage, or only follows their own bias. Speaking from a Jikook perspective, they're unaware of many things we’ve noticed. Their lack of awareness doesn’t mean those things don’t exist. It just means they don't know about it because Jikook hasn’t shared them directly (I mean like a verbal confirmation) even though they’re clearly reflected in Jimin and Jungkook's actions.

This is exactly why some jkkrs feel insecure. Understanding Jikook is a time consuming process. You have to watch as much content as possible from all the members, see the bigger picture, read their magazine interviews over the years and read between the lines to pick up on the hints and subtleties conveyed which they leave for us to figure out on our own. Stop hating on the other members. At the end of the day they're all a family and each one of them cares deeply about the other. It also takes empathy to recognize that Jikook are a closeted couple, which means they might tone down their moments when they feel they're oversharing.

During this live Jimin mentions how he felt awkward with the cam while shooting for their behinds footages but still he acted as if he wasn't. It reminds me of their debut years. Did you realize he was playing the "macho guy" role back then? I didn’t, not until he mentioned it in the BTS documentary. It isn't him lying. It was him simply playing the role he was assigned until he found it comfortable to be himself in front of the camera and audience. Just like Seokjin who had to act the cool guy part during the debut years.

I bring this up to explain the cake and decoration situation. Its Jimin choosing not to share it with us. And this is the same Jimin who mentioned Jungkook visiting his room more than the managers and staying for hours "doing nothing." I’m pretty sure they were sharing the room, but Jimin chose not to say it outright instead choosing to only share a part of the truth.

Jungkook tones it down by saying that it's because Jimin's room is the closest. And this is the same Jungkook who, during his 2023 lives, watched hours of Jimin’s content, constantly asked Jimin to come over or asked if he could go over to Jimin's and showed just how much he missed Jimin when he was busy with work. A big part of his 2023 lives was basically him fanboying over Jimin, supporting him, cheering him on and also made it obvious to us that he misses his bf. So much for toning it down.

Sometimes, it’s the passage of time and changing circumstances that push people to make bold choices and prioritize their happiness above all else.

That’s what I realized when I heard about their military enlistment news. That’s what I felt when I saw Jikook in AYS. It was them choosing their love and happiness above everything else—despite all the critical eyes and opinions.

This conversation:

This goes out to both antis and insecure jkkrs. When you bring up things like Jungkook not knowing about Jimin's tattoo or Jimin not knowing Jungkook's schedule and a bunch of other nonsense, I can’t help but laugh. They probably do know. They're just choosing not to share it. Or pretending not to know, like Hoseok did here. Maybe they feel it’s not their place to share it or they don’t want to overshare or because they want to keep certain things in their relationship to themselves. Privacy! Both of them value that a lot. And it's important that people keep certain matters private in order to protect their relationship. They’re not obligated to report every detail they know about each other to us. However, for 10 years, they’ve shown us more than enough about what they mean to each other. Which in itself is a huge deal. For them it's all about balance.

A healthy relationship strikes the perfect balance between celebrating love openly and cherishing private moments. Publicly, it's beautiful to express love, share happy moments, and show appreciation for each other. It solidifies the bond and lets others witness that joy.

However, the real strength often lies in the private moments. Those quiet conversations, unspoken understandings, and personal challenges faced together. Protecting those sacred spaces from outside noise allows the relationship to grow stronger without external pressures.

This balance isn't about hiding. It's about choosing what to share and what to hold close to your heart. It’s like saying "We are happy, and that's ours to protect".

And Jikook are doing an amazing job practicing this balance despite their surroundings and circumstances.

When I began answering this, I planned to keep it brief, but here we are! Thanks for the ask, anon. I really enjoyed answering it.

Take care 👋🏻

Credits to the owner of the video

[baphometsss]

I think you've missed a few things here.

But he ultimately says the vow he made earlier to Mythal outweighs what happened in Inquisition.

He doesn't say this. What he says is that the guilt over his failure of his former master and oldest friend (which led to her death) is too overwhelming for him to consider backing down, even though he desperately wants to. It's driven home repeatedly that he loves his friends in the Inquisition enough to almost abandon his plans, he has an entire room, the brightest room in the Lighthouse, dedicated to his memories of his time in the Inquisition. It is just his sense of duty and guilt gets in the way of him fully doing this, fully allowing himself to be happy, because he doesn't believe he deserves it. Yet he leaves clue after clue anyway, because he can't help himself. He repeatedly involves himself in Inquisition business, like the Dragon's Breath plot and the events of the Teahouse in The Dread Wolf Take You. (In fact he explicitly says that he got personally involved there bc the Inquisition was involved.) In the memory of his murder of Mythal, she even points out that it is his grief over her death and the effect of the Veil on the elven people that motivates him, not just the imprisonment of the Evanuris or his revenge. In other words, even Mythal's words are not enough for him to stop. He driven by guilt, a guilt that is so overwhelming that it transcends the object of the guilt (Mythal and the elven people); that is his ultimate motivation. Remember that the ancient elves were highly emotional beings; they didn't just feel emotions, they embodied emotions.

Re: his description of Mythal, he is doing what a lot of grieving people do where they know the person was bad but they loved them anyway--much like how abused children still love their parents despite the abuse. If the abuser dies, it can make things even more complicated and difficult to reconcile with. The truth is that Mythal contained multitudes because she was a person, not just a spirit anymore, and because, up until DAI at least, Solas only bonds like a spirit (i.e., more simply). It is difficult for him to reconcile all those complexities with the much simpler environment their friendship formed in, an environment where she was simply 'Benevolence' (or Justice depending on which Dragon Age we're talking about lol). That's why they refer to each other as 'old friends', because they became friends as spirits, when things were a lot simpler--before they were elves.

As for Mythal being the only thing that makes him stop--this also isn't true. If you were paying attention to the memory of the post-credits scene from DAI, you will know that Mythal already asked him to stop, and he would not, and she knew he would not. Because she alone wasn't enough. He was already too far gone, he had already almost destroyed the world with the Breach and he had already killed and betrayed his friends and/or lover. That is why she helps the Inquisition through Morrigan, because she knows that it is only with her support AND the support of his friends and/or lover that he will be able to let go of his plans. Neither one of them alone was enough, which is why they are working together--something that lies in direct contrast to Solas's insistence on working alone and refusing all help, even from those who love him, like Varric, Felassan, the Inquisitor, and even Mythal.

If you read Mythal as being the only thing that can get Solas to stop, it renders all the events of the previous two games pointless. The Inquisition changes him so radically that he almost considers stopping altogether. He leaves countless clues for the Inquisition to follow him when he says he doesn't want to be stopped, that he's on the di'nan'shiral or whatever. He only doesn't because of guilt and the magnitude of what his actions have done to the world, a magnitude that he himself says is far greater than the needs and desires of a single man. The world is more important to him than his own happiness and this is where that guilt comes from, because he failed it so badly.

The problem with this game is that it oversimplifies things to an embarrassing extent, to the point that most players said they felt incredibly patronised by it. We know that Solas's motivations are complex, and not just motivated by Mythal or how he failed her, yet the game beats us over the head with Mythal to the point that all his other, more complex and interesting motivations, fall by the wayside. Mythal also didn't deserve to be reduced to something so flat and uninteresting. That magnitude of failure and destruction that he has been so preoccupied with since he first woke up from uthenera is almost entirely ignored by the narrative.

I told my friend about how much that difference broke my heart, because it truly shows that Solas will change EVERYTHING about himself to do whatever he thinks is best/required of him. He isn’t innocent, no, not even close. At his core though, he is still there. He is still wanting to have better, do better, be better.

He does this because he is a manifested spirit, and spirits exist to reflect. The endings are all reflections of how the player chose to treat him. He only calls himself a God if you treat him with contempt and hatred; he reflects that contempt back. If you treat him with empathy and understanding (as 72% of players did), he will respond by doing what he always wanted to do, which was to leave the world behind and build a new future as Wisdom once more, potentially with his true love at his side.

The whole 'refuge for Mythal' thing is really interesting bc it shows that Solas really saw Mythal as being on his side when it couldn't be more obvious that she enjoyed the power of being queen of the Evanuris. He calls it a 'struggle' in the regret memory, but I don't think she was struggling as much as he thinks. Even Felassan realises how delusional he is about her. It's one of many things Solas is in denial about.

That said, it does seem like he was much more aware of Elgar'nan's evil than she was; I truly believe that Mythal found a kindred spirit in Elgar'nan and thought that she was the right one for him. She tempered him and mitigated the harm he did as much as she could (which doesnt seem to be that much, in all honesty). Whether or not they had romantic feelings for each other is up for debate, but I think it's very possible. There was likely an element of tension at being evenly matched in the way they were that gave their relationship a pathological edge. It was only when Solas told her about the Evanuris using the power of the Blight that she finally decided to take him seriously and challenge her husband and the rest of the Evanuris head-on.

It's also really revealing that the Blight was her final straw. Mythal obviously had no issue with slavery as long as her slaves were treated well. It's very reminiscent of real world attitudes some had towards their slaves ie that as long as you don't abuse them it's okay. They don't understand the fundamentally unethical nature of owning another person. It's why I don't buy the benevolence retcon because slavery is inherently cruel--something that both Solas and an elven Inquisitor can argue with Dorian about.

Yeah, Solas really is an unreliable narrator with Mythal and I really wish we'd had more perspectives other than his. I long to see Mythal in all her cunty glory but alas it will never be