#just a fun fact there while were on the word humid

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 6

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 4.7k

c/w - language, tiny bit of angst (this is only the beginning i fear.)

a/n - is it cringe of me to ask for live reactions? bc i want live reactions sb. anyway, sorry ik i said this chap would be long and juicy but i decided to hold off on the juicy part, i needed a lil more plot development! also ty to everyone who sends me asks, even if it’s just things like “when’s the next part😫” i love it sm lol. hope yall like this one!!

The next two days are—at least compared to the first two—almost peaceful. The weather is nice, just warm enough and not too humid, which Azzi’s hair appreciates. She got goddess braids done just before the trip and even in protective styles, her hair gets frizzy at the very notion of moisture.

The peacefulness largely comes from the fact that Paige is avoiding her parents like the plague, instead spending all her time with Azzi and her siblings. The third day they spend almost entirely at the local park, shooting around at the court there under the hot sun. Lauren even reluctantly joins for a few games, and she may be adamant about not wanting to play basketball but the talent for it must be genetic because she’s a natural. And if Paige and Azzi spend the whole ‘competition’ brushing hands and flirting, nobody says anything. (Though Ryan does wrinkle his nose at them a few times.)

The fourth day starts out warm, and so Paige and Azzi sneak the kids out bright and early (Azzi, of course, ends up with the job of waking all three siblings up—not one of them is a morning person whatsoever) and go to an ice cream shop, where they eat their cold, sweet breakfasts on the curb while they chat. Both Ryan and Lauren may have argued that they were too old to be excited about ice cream for breakfast anymore, but they both end up with matching, chocolate-covered grins when they’re done.

The weather turns for the worst before noon, though, and the kids want to go home but Paige insists they go to the arcade instead. When she says she’ll pay for as many games as they want, they’re easily swayed. Of course, Paige and Azzi make a competition out of the day, deciding to keep a tally of all their points so that whoever has the most wins by the end has to buy the whole group prizes.

Azzi gives it a fighting go but Paige plays way more video games than she does so she very nearly beats her—but then, when they’re almost out of game tickets, Azzi pouts at her about the whole situation, and suspiciously, she ends up making an incredible recovery, easily beating Paige at almost every game after that.

Lauren picks a koala plushie, Ryan picks some new shoes, and Azzi gets this shiny plastic tiara.

“You didn’t have to get the cheapest prize,” Paige says as Azzi adjusts the tiara on her head. “I got money.”

“I know,” Azzi replies, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “But I had to. As the princess.”

Paige gives her that stupid fucking look again—the one Azzi still can’t figure out even though she knows Paige like the back of her hand, which is just driving her crazy—and that look shows up so often Azzi should really just start referring to it as The Look at this point.

But then Paige smiles, previous odd expression gone, and the way she does that,—slips out of it like she doesn’t even realize it was there in the first place—drives Azzi even more crazy than The Look itself.

Now, it is the fifth day. And Azzi reminisces on these past two blissful days to try and distract herself from the fact that Paige and her parents are having a heated argument right in front of her and her scrambled eggs.

“No, Paige,” Amy is saying. “Absolutely not.”

“You can’t do that!” Paige replies, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m an adult, I make my own money, I can do—“

“It’s stupid.”

“It’ll be fun!”

“It won’t, because it’s not happening.” Amy is unpacking a load of groceries, and Dean is lingering in the corner of the kitchen being absolutely useless. That seems to be his brand.

“Yes it will, Mom,” Paige replies, voice lower now but still obviously frustrated. “I wasn’t asking for your permission. I was just seeing if you wanted to come with us. I was tryna be nice!”

“Well it won’t be nice when you crash and we all drown, Paige.”

“Jesus, Mom! I ain’t gonna go around crashing!”

Azzi feels very uncomfortable, wishing she were literally anywhere else, but at the same time this is sort of amusing and she has to hide a smile in a bite of eggs.

This argument is, out of all things, about a boat. Paige wants to rent one and have a lake day, and though she didn’t want to, Azzi convinced her to invite her parents—she figured they’d decline but that they’d be offended if they weren’t at least invited.

She wasn’t really expecting a lecture to come out of it, though. But by the tired look on Paige’s face, she knew exactly what was coming their way.

“You don’t even have a boating license,” Amy continues, placing a new jug of milk and some apples in the fridge. “This is illegal. If you won’t listen to your mother, at least listen to the law.”

That very nearly gets a giggle out of Azzi. She chokes it down.

“This is a private lake, I’on need my license.”

“Well that doesn’t sound shady at all.”

“It’s not, it’s super legit!” Paige makes for her phone in her back pocket. “It has its own website and everything, I looked way into it.”

Amy stares her daughter down for a few seconds, hands on her hips, before she lets out a resigned sigh. “Like you said, Paige, I can’t tell you what to do. You’re an adult, do what you want. But you will not be taking your siblings on that death trap.”

“Wha…” Paige flounders, eyebrows furrowed, and her voice raises again, “that was the whole point of this entire thing!”

“Well, that’s too bad. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll make them wear life jackets!”

“They’re teenagers,” Dean points out rather unhelpfully, and it’s the first time he’s spoken around her in days but Azzi is already sick of him again. “Neither of them are gonna wear life jackets.”

“I’ll force them, I swear.”

“Paige Madison,” Amy snaps, and Paige may be an independent adult now but she still straightens her back subconsciously at her mother’s warning tone, “no means no. They are my kids.”

“They’re my siblings!” Paige replies—rather boldly, Azzi thinks, because if Azzi were in her place she would’ve given up by now.

But Paige, as most daughters do, knows exactly how far to push her mother to get what she wants—apparent in the way Amy massages her temples with her fingers before saying, “You know what, Paige? Fine.”

Dean is jumping in immediately. “What? No, she can’t take my kids out on a boat.”

“She’s right, Dean,” Amy says, though she looks a little pained to be siding with her daughter for once. “They’re her siblings. She wants to do something fun for them.”

“It’s dangerous!” Dean motions sporadically at where Paige and Azzi are sitting at the island. Azzi’s eggs are gone now and so she has nothing to put her awkward energy into. “Neither of them owns a boat, and they are practically strangers—“

“She is my daughter,” Amy says, and it’s so quiet Azzi almost doesn’t hear it, but she does, and it sends shivers through her. Because there’s something dangerous, something protective in her tone, something only a mother who loves their child could convey. And it sends a flicker of hope through her. “She is my daughter and I trust her with her siblings.”

Dean flounders for something but comes up empty, instead storming off all red-faced like a child. Amy doesn’t look either of them in the eye when she says, “Let me know if you kids need anything today,” before leaving the two best friends alone in the kitchen.

Slowly, Paige turns to look at Azzi, something like disbelief in her expression. “Did that—actually go well?”

“Yeah,” Azzi responds. “I think it did.”

Things may just be looking up.

———————————————

Dean may be an asshole, but it turns out he was right about one thing: Ryan and Lauren will not wear life jackets.

“C’mon, guys, it’s the law,” Paige insists, thrusting a pink life jacket at her sister, who scrunches her nose in disgust.

“No way! That’s so ugly, Paige.”

“The color wont matter when you’re drowning.”

“You sound just like Mom!” Lauren sighs, and Paige’s mouth falls open.

“You did not just say that.”

Lauren gives Paige a smug smile, which amuses Azzi because it’s the same smile Paige gives her whenever she wins an argument. “And I meant it too.”

If Lauren were not much smaller than Paige, she would be tackling her right now, based off the look on her face. But instead she composes herself and turns to Ryan, who is sitting at the front of the speedboat on his phone. He feels his older sister’s gaze and looks up at her, then at the life jacket in her hands. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being so for real.”

“There’s gonna be hot girls in bikinis on the lake,” Ryan replies, as if this is the most obvious thing ever. “No way I’m wearing a life jacket.”

Paige sighs and rubs her temple with her fingers, and Azzi would never say it out loud (for fear of being pushed into the lake) but she does kind of look like her mom in this moment.

When Paige turns on her with a warning look, Azzi startles, wondering if she’s somehow read her mind. But instead, Paige picks up another life jacket and says, “Will you at least wear one?”

Azzi smiles, a little puzzled. “Paige, I don’t need a life jacket. I can swim.” Which is obvious considering she and Paige have spent various lake days at her family’s cabin.

“Yeah, but for my peace of mind, though!” Paige shakes the life jacket in Azzi’s direction.

The truth is, Azzi wouldn’t mind wearing the life jacket. But ever since she put on this bikini—pastel purple in color—Paige has been swallowing thickly and averting her eyes constantly. So Azzi thinks she has other reasons for wanting her to cover up.

And Azzi can’t let her get away with that, can she?

“I don’t need it.” Azzi steps forward and takes the life jacket out of Paige’s grasp, tossing it aside before reaching to trail her hand down Paige’s bicep, squeezing the hard muscle a little bit. “And besides, won’t you save me if I’m drowning?” she asks, smiling coyly.

Paige’s throat bobs, eyes landing respectfully on a spot past Azzi’s shoulder. “Well, that’s not really how that works.”

Azzi blinks, and she knows just how big and brown her eyes are when she looks up at Paige through her lashes. “No? Thought you’ve been in the gym?”

“I have,” Paige says defensively.

“Hm.” Azzi lets her hand trail off Paige’s arm, resting it on Paige’s side before dancing her fingers dangerously over Paige’s exposed abs. “You wanna prove that to me, baby?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and Azzi loves the way she can not only see but feel her stomach tense under her fingers. But the moment is broken by a gagging sound nearby.

Lauren—who has sat beside her brother and pulled out her own phone—is now looking at them with disgust. “You guys are so gross.”

“You shouldn’t be making sexual innuendos in front of Lauren,” Ryan adds on, though his eyes don’t leave his screen.

“Yeah!” Lauren agrees, then furrows her eyebrows and starts tapping at her phone. Azzi guesses she’s probably searching what sexual innuendo means.

“Hey, yo, don’t blame me,” Paige says, putting her hands up and taking two big steps away from Azzi. “She started it.”

“Azzi’s a freak,” Ryan says.

“Whoa, chill!”

“Hey, that’s actually offensive,” Lauren says. She has picked up a habit of defending Azzi with her life these last few days they’ve spent together, and Azzi has decided she would do the same. “That’s like calling her a monster or something.”

Ryan smirks, finally looking up at them. “I didn’t mean that kinda freak.”

“Okayyy!” Paige jumps in before Lauren can do any more Googling. “Let’s get this show on the road. Imma go untie us real quick, then we’ll head out.”

For the first time, nerves bubble in Azzi’s tummy. “Paige, you sure you’ll be able to drive this thing?”

Paige looks almost offended at the question. “Yeah, duh.”

“It’s just, you’ve never driven a speed boat before…”

“Trust me, mama,” Paige says, nodding cockily to herself. “I got driving skills like you’ve never seen.”

Fifteen minutes later, Azzi realizes Paige was telling the truth. She has certainly never seen these driving skills before.

Paige is an—erratic driver, to put it mildly. This lake is private, huge, and though there are plenty of other boaters out Paige drives as if they’re the only ones on the water. At one point, she gets to such a high speed that even Ryan grasps onto Azzi a little bit.

When Paige very nearly runs into a cruising party boat, Azzi finally gets up from her place between the kids and marches over to Paige, who glances up at her with a sheepish smile. “Whoops.”

“Lemme drive,” Azzi demands, beckoning for Paige to get up.

“No!” Paige says stubbornly. “I’m doin’ good!”

“I thought I was going to die!” Lauren pipes up angrily.

Azzi motions to her. “See? You’re scaring your brother and sister.”

“Whoa, who said I was scared?” Ryan says.

Azzi decides against bringing up the fact that he kept clinging to her arm. “This is scary, I wanna drive.”

“But babeee,” Paige groans, bringing the boat to a stop so she can properly argue, “you drive like a grandma.”

“I drive like a sane person, is what I think you mean to say.”

“It’ll be boring.”

“Paige.”

Paige stares her down for a moment before sighing like a stubborn little kid. “Fine. You can drive.”

Azzi nods, pleased, and shoves at Paige’s shoulder when she doesn’t move. “Get up.”

A slow smile creeps over Paige’s face and Azzi doesn’t like the look of that at all. “I gotta show you the ropes.”

“I don’t need you to teach me how to drive this thing,” Azzi says as if it’s obvious, because really, it is. The thought of Paige trying to teach anyone her…unique ways is downright scary. “I got it.”

“Nah, I think you’ll need some help.”

“P, for real, stop being difficult and move.”

“I’m not about to—“

“Can we go?” Lauren says loudly, getting both girls’ attention.

“Yeah, I’m getting hot as hell just sitting here,” Ryan agrees.

“I wanna get to that diving cliff Paige was talking about!”

Before Azzi can turn back to Paige to continue arguing with her, Paige has her hands on her hips and is pulling her firmly into her lap. Azzi squeaks, grabbing onto the wheel for leverage.

“Paige!” she exclaims, turning to glare at the smug-looking girl underneath her.

“You heard them,” Paige says simply, shrugging her shoulders as if her hands are tied. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t—“ Azzi starts to argue once again, but then Lauren is sighing dramatically in that teenage-girl way of her’s and saying, “Seriously, come on!”

So, almost in a daze, Azzi turns back to the front and moves her hand to the shift, getting the boat moving slowly again. She tries desperately to ignore it when Paige leans up close to her ear and murmurs, “Atta girl,” but she can’t help the goosebumps that erupt over her neck and Paige must spot them because she chuckles lightly before leaning back, letting Azzi do her thing.

Trying to shake off the feeling of Paige’s hot breath fanning over her skin, Azzi amps up the speed a little bit, determined to show Paige that she can be fun and safe, as promised.

After a few minutes of skimming over the water, Azzi calls over the wind, “Thought you were gonna ‘show me the ropes’?”

“Looks like you got it,” Paige says, sitting straight so she’s pressed up against Azzi’s back again, and her hands find their place on Azzi’s waist.

“Why’d you make me sit on your lap, then, P?” Azzi asks, and her tone lilts teasingly but she is sort of freaking out on the inside because moments like these—moments where Azzi hardly bothers to hide her feelings for Paige and Paige, instead of shying away, responds—are becoming a little too common for comfort.

Paige rests her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, lips brushing her cheek when she says, “Think you know why, hm?”

Yeah. Definitely far too common for comfort.

Ramping up the speedboat a little bit—enough that Ryan whoops and Lauren leans over the side to touch the water—Azzi shifts her hips. She moves out of discomfort, almost subconsciously trying to get away from this buzzing energy between her and her best friend, but Paige lets out a huff of air at the motion and, curious, Azzi does it again.

A full-on gasp this time.

A flush creeps up over Azzi’s cheeks all the way down her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s from pleasure or shyness, though likely it’s both. But she can’t let Paige have the upper hand, because Azzi can’t even imagine how quickly she’d fold if that happened. So instead, she turns her head to the side and says, “All good, Paige?”

The problem with this is Paige’s face is still turned toward her when she says it. And when Azzi moves to reciprocate the angle, their lips are so close that they brush on the last word. On the utterance of Paige’s name.

Azzi jerks back as soon as it happens, putting a couple inches of distance between their faces, and she’s sure the flush is noticeable by now. She tries for a lighthearted laugh, “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize you were so close—“

She doesn’t see it coming when Paige kisses her.

It pulls a gasp out of her, lips now pressed against Paige parting slightly in surprise, and her eyes don’t even close until she feels Paige’s tongue dip inside her mouth.

It’s a quick swipe, her tongue against the space between Azzi’s teeth and upper lip before she’s pulling away—only enough to make the kiss much more chaste.

Her hands slide from Azzi’s waist to her stomach, and Azzi grips onto the steering wheel for dear life when Paige moans ever so quietly into her mouth, the sound barely heard over the wind whipping around them. And then the wind is whipping Paige’s hair into their faces, a few strands getting in Azzi’s mouth, which she takes as her opportunity to pull away. Paige stares at her—The Look again—for only a split second this time (Azzi much prefers that over the lingering one) before her face is breaking into a smile, not cocky or smug or teasing but just bright, and Azzi can’t help but laugh with her as they pull Paige’s hair out of her mouth.

“Keep your eyes on the lake!” Lauren yells at them, and when they look at her she’s got her nose wrinkled. “What is it with you guys and PDA today?”

“Maybe someone put viagra in their coffees this morning,” Ryan suggests, looking equally as disgusted as his little sister but also twice as amused.

“What’s viagra?” Lauren asks.

“Yo, Ryan!” Paige snaps, her hands moving tantalizingly from Azzi’s tummy to rest low on her hips instead, and Azzi forces herself to look back where she’s driving. “Keep it PG, dawg!”

“I could say the same thing to you,” he replies, and Azzi isn’t looking at him but she can picture the smirk on his face—she knows the look all too well by now.

The three of them bicker for a few more minutes, and Azzi tries really hard to focus on where they’re going rather than the implications of that kiss and all the questions that follow it.

Paige is the bad driver, but when she leans forward and mimics her—“All good, baby?”—Azzi worries she may be the one to crash this boat.

———————————————

“Sunscreen time!”

“No, what?”

“We just put some on!”

“Az, I’m never gonna tan at this point!”

Shaking the sunscreen into her hands, Azzi motions the three siblings towards her. “C’mon, you need it.”

“I don’t burn,” Lauren insists as she steps up in front of Azzi, lifting her arms dutifully anyway.

“You’re already getting a little red,” Azzi points out, applying an extra-thick layer onto Lauren’s rosy nose.

“This is lame,” Lauren groans, though she still lets Azzi work in silence and mumbles a thank you before she turns back to the lake.

Ryan is next, and he doesn’t complain about it but he does stare down at his phone the entire time, his head only falling back down when Azzi tries to push it up. “Ryan,” she sighs.

He tears his eyes away from his phone, only to look around subconsciously. Azzi knows he’s trying to see if the gaggle of teenage girls along the rocky beach have noticed him getting his sunscreen done.

“Hurry up,” Paige complains, nudging her younger brother in the back, and he turns around to shove her.

Azzi fights back a smile. “You can put it on yourself if that’s better.”

“It’s good,” he says nonchalantly, but he hasn’t quite mastered acting like he doesn’t care.

Azzi finishes up quickly, ending the torture with an encouraging smile, watching him run up to join his sister where she stands on the ledge above the lake, sneaking up on her. He pushes her in and Azzi laughs at the way Lauren screeches before her eyes drift to Paige, who is now standing right in front of her, looking awfully petulant.

“You really don’t want me to tan, huh?” she says, wincing as Azzi rubs the cold lotion over Paige’s sun-kissed shoulders.

“Your white ass is gonna burn if we don’t do this every thirty minutes,” Azzi says, reiterating what she said the past five times Paige complained about the sunscreen.

“I got a little melanin in me.”

Azzi looks at the way Paige’s blue eyes are squinting against the summer sun, the way her pale skin is already tinted pink, and raises her brows.

Paige holds her hand up. “Just gimme the sunscreen.”

Chuckling, Azzi squirts some into her hand before giving the bottle to Paige, who turns around and starts doing her front while Azzi does her back. They’ve done this maybe a hundred times, before countless sunny fair days and hot boat rides, but today it just feels a little…off. Everything feels a little off about them recently.

Azzi worries it may be her fault. She has always been good at hiding her feelings for Paige, good at making sure her attraction doesn’t show on her face just like she knows all her other emotions do. But recently, ever since they began this facade—and more so ever since they arrived in Montana—she knows she’s been slipping up. She thought she’d be okay but she wasn’t prepared for the way Paige would look at her like she wasn’t pretending, the way Paige calls her pet names even when they’re alone, the way Paige told her she liked kissing her and wants to do it again.

The way Paige did do it again.

And there lies the burning question: why?

Azzi knows Paige doesn’t have feelings for her. Azzi knows that she’s the only one who lies awake thinking about having Paige in every sense of the word, the only one who wakes up in the middle of the night thinking of Paige with an uncomfortable stickiness between her legs. She is the only one, of course, who is in love.

Then why do Paige’s eyes and hands wander nowadays? Why does she call her baby in quiet moments? Why did she kiss her when she really didn’t have to?

Could she be—attracted to Azzi? Maybe through playing this role, she’s seen Azzi in a new light, and realized her best friend is no longer dorky and fourteen but rather a tall, pretty twenty year old with a great ass. (And yes, Azzi knows she has a great ass.)

She could be attracted to her and not be in love. She could be attracted to her and have no other attachment whatsoever. The two things can be true at once, can’t they?

The thought flatters her but it mostly scares her, because she’s barely surviving this unrequited love as it is. But with her best friend having any level of attraction back? How is she supposed to continue on like that?

“Azzi?” Paige asks, and the tone of her voice implies she’s already said it a few times.

Azzi hums, blinking. “Sorry, yeah?”

“Uh,” Paige says, and it’s then that Azzi realizes her hands have stopped rubbing lotion into Paige’s back and have sort of just come to rest on her waist—like it’s instinctive. Like it’s natural. “You done back there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Azzi says, but for some unknown reason she can’t find it in herself to let go.

Paige glances over her shoulder. “Azzi?” she repeats.

Azzi can’t really take it any longer.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Paige’s sides tense up under Azzi’s hands, and then she’s stepping away, out of her grasp, and turning to face her.

The look on her face is guarded, almost closed off completely. This is dangerous territory and Azzi has barely dipped her toes in the water yet.

When Azzi’s hands fall helplessly to her sides, Paige says, “I was pretending.”

As much as Azzi doesn’t buy it, the words—and the flat, cold intonation of them—sting. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Why’re you being weird about it?” Paige asks, eyes dancing nervously away from Azzi’s face.

“I’m not, Paige. I just—I wanna know. For real.”

“You agreed to do this for me,” Paige reminds her, as if that has anything to do with this. But, of course, it has everything to do with this, and Azzi hates how easy it makes it for the both of them to hide under a facade, a lie.

“I know,” Azzi says carefully, also taking a step back if only to get away from Paige’s chilly stare. “But you didn’t have to kiss me this time. There wasn’t a reason.”

Paige shrugs, and Azzi hates to admit it but she is much better than her younger brother at acting nonchalant. “We’re s’posed to be a couple. I don’t want my siblings getting suspicious. They know I’m a touchy person.”

Getting the sinking feeling that Azzi won’t get anything out of this conversation other than a fight, she nods slowly, looking down at the ground. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Paige, as usual, thaws at the slightest hint of weakness, taking a tiny step forward. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Azzi is a little too quick to say. The kiss caught her by surprise, but they’ve only done it two times and Azzi is quickly coming to find that kissing Paige is the most comfortable thing in the world—it’s natural, and right, and like curling up in bed with a book and a warm cup of tea—and Azzi also knows they should never do it again.

Despite the earnest answer, Paige looks at her suspiciously. “You sure, ma? Don’t ever wanna make you uncomfortable.”

Azzi does her best to fix her face, which she worries may be showing a little too much. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.”

“Aight,” Paige says, but she still doesn’t sound very convinced. Azzi’s just glad she’s letting it go.

“Sorry for bringing it up,” Azzi says. She’s not.

At this, Paige sighs, reaching out to bridge the gap between them, running a gentle hand up and down Azzi’s arm. “Nah, don’t be, I get it. Sorry for getting a lil defensive.”

A little? Despite the fact she doesn’t believe Paige one bit, and that she doesn’t like anything about the interaction they just had, Azzi manages a smile. “You’re good.”

Paige nods, and her smile at least seems to be sincere. But as they jump into the lake, and as Paige talks Azzi’s ear off while Azzi floats around lazily in a donut floatie, things feel even more off than before.

Azzi can’t quite place what it is until late that night, when they’re both going to sleep and Paige is, for the first time in ages, strangely quiet. She glances over to find Paige lying on her stomach, face turned away, breathing too quickly to be asleep.

And that’s when Azzi notices it. The gap between them, the sheer amount of space from Azzi on her side all the way to Paige, who is almost on the edge of the bed.

Paige always sleeps close to Azzi.

And she always sleeps with her head turned towards her.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

lmk if u wanna be on my tag list btw!!

[asapstarkey]

It's Complicated — Rafe Cameron

Chapter One: Here we go again

Introduction

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Routledge!Reader

Summary: Rafe can’t resist you and tensions boil over at a party on the beach.

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, implied smut, swearing, death of parents

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Here we go! Chapter One. I can’t say I’m super pleased with this but I wanted to set the tone. Please please please let me know what you think! The series title is an A Day To Remember song for all my emos. And the title of this chapter is the first words of the song. Lmao. Just a fun fact for you.

“Y’all have a good one! Be safe out there!” you called as you waved off the boat you just gassed up. 

You put the nozzle back in its place and wiped your hands on your shorts as you stood upright. You stared out at the coastline where the sun was setting and sighed softly. 

“Yo!” A voice called from above and you turned to find your brother standing at the door of the surf shop. “That’s it for the day. Let’s wrap it up.” 

You nodded, bending down to grab your water bottle and head up to help them count the money. 

“Chop, chop! We’re gonna miss them starting the bonfire!” 

“I’m coming John B!” You shouted back at him then muttered, “Jesus Christ.” You climbed the steps and entered your little bait and surf shop. 

Sarah was sitting on the stool counting the drawer while Kiara sat on the counter and counted the lock box. You busied yourself helping Pope put away products people decided not to buy and reorganize the shelves, two key members of your group clearly missing. 

“Where’d JJ and Cleo go?” you questioned, looking over your shoulder at your younger brother for answers. 

“To get the keg,” Sarah replied. She was counting the same stack of five dollar bills for the third time with a furrowed brow. 

“What? Why would they go get it? I’m the only one here of legal age,” you said with a laugh. 

You knew the Pogues had acquired fake ID’s over the years and never had trouble buying alcohol before. It just made more sense for you to be the one to go get it without the hassle. The clerks at the gas stations and liquor stores charged extra for knowing they had fakes but letting it slide. 

“New corner store just opened up a couple blocks away. You could show them an ID with a picture of Abraham Lincoln on it and they’ll still sell to you,” Pope answered. “Those guys are either dumb or don’t give a shit.” 

You hummed in response, hanging one last fishing lure on a hook then heading for the door. Sarah and Kiara were taking too long counting the money and you wanted to rinse off the sweat and oil from filling gas all day. John B could handle locking up for the night. 

You were exhausted. The beginning of Summer is always the busiest with the most tourists coming into the OBX to vacation. You almost considered heading straight for your bed and staying in for the night. But this was the first big party of the season, and you deserved to have some fun. So you hopped in the shower and relaxed under the warm water. 

There were dozens of people already on the beach by the time you arrived. Chatter and laughter filled the air as you slid the side door of the Twinkie open. Your eyes scanned the crowd, seeing Pogues, Kooks, and Tourons alike. They were still stacking wood in the rock circle where the bonfire would soon be lit, cutting the cool breeze coming off of the ocean despite the humid Summer’s night air. 

“Just in time,” Sarah sighed happily while climbing out of the passenger seat. 

Kiara handed you a couple of bags of red solo cups, her carrying a few more as well as the rig for the keg. 

“You boys got this right?” Cleo asked with a smirk as the four of you girls started towards the beach, leaving the men to lug the heavy keg through the sand. Grumbling could be heard from behind as you giggled and skipped towards the crowd. 

The beers started flowing quickly and flames soon illuminated the faces around you. You kept your red solo cup in hand as you weaved through the crowd and welcomed the warmth from the fire. The first few beers went down easily, your mind already fuzzy and buzzing from the alcohol. 

You caught up with old friends from school who were back from the Summer. A lot of them were fortunate enough to get off of Kildare Island and build a better life for themselves. Some were married, and some already had kids. The more you talked to them the worse you started to feel. 

You and John B weren’t so fortunate. Yes, the treasure hunting and gold helped you start a business, but you still struggled. It was the only source of income for you and six other mouths to feed. You rarely had much left over after paying the bills and buying supplies. Not enough to get you onto the mainland and into college. 

You made your way to the edge of the crowd, closer to the waves crashing on the shore. You stood alone and scanned the crowd that had grown much larger than when you first arrived. Your gaze landed on the Kooks, standing in their own group away from the rest. They looked at anyone who passed with their noses turned up, acting like they were better than everyone else like always. You couldn’t help the look of disgust that crossed your face. 

That’s when your eyes locked with Rafe’s. He smirked as he raised his cup to his lips and took a drink, staring over the rim. Sophia hung off of his arm like a trophy, completely oblivious to the silent interaction you and the man beside her were having. His new flavor of the month you supposed, or year maybe. They’d been together since February, even though Rafe refused to call her his girlfriend. She was a Pogue yet hid it well. Somehow weaseling her way into the group of spoiled rich kids as if she belonged. Somehow gaining the attention of the King Kook himself and getting him to stick around. Well, kind of. 

You wandered off at some point. You needed to clear your head and rid yourself of thoughts of how much of a failure you felt. As well as the man who contributed to it. 

The voices from the party grew quieter and the waves grew louder. The beer in your hand was lukewarm now, but you fought through a sip anyway. You came to a stop, bare toes wiggling in the sand as you stared out at the reflection of the moon on the water. Just as your head started to clear and the silence settled in, a voice ruined it. 

“Done with the party already?” 

You sighed and your eyes fell closed for a moment before fluttering back open. 

“Just needed a breather,” you replied. The footsteps grew closer until you could see his board shorts in the corner of your eye and he stopped. “What do you want, Rafe?” 

You turned to look at him as he was lighting a joint pinched tightly between his lips. The smoke started floating off the end as he inhaled and his eyes flickered up to meet yours. 

“Just came to check on my favorite Pogue,” he retorted stiffly with a sideways smile, holding the smoke in his lungs for another second before exhaling. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, looking back out at the water without saying anything in return. If you entertained him you knew what would happen. But Rafe seemed determined. 

“Want a hit?” He asked, slowly inching closer until he was standing beside you. The sleeve of his open button-up shirt brushed your bare shoulder, blowing in the wind around his toned abdomen. 

You ignored him. You shook your head and took another drink from your red solo cup. 

“Come on, (Y/N). You know you want to,” Rafe teased, moving to stand in front of you. He took the cup from your hand and took a drink, holding the joint out between you in your direction. 

You didn’t meet his eye, staring down at the rolled green that was slowly starting to go out in front of you. “Fine,” you sighed, going to take it from his fingers. But he pulled it away. You dropped your hand against your side and huffed. You knew what he wanted. He bit his bottom lip and brought the joint up to your mouth himself, watching your lips wrap around the end as you inhaled. 

“Atta girl,” he whispered with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes and snatched your cup back, swallowing down half of it in two gulps. As much as you hated to admit it, you were nervous around Rafe. One, because of his unpredictable attitude and behavior. Two, because of the undeniable tension between the two of you being in such close proximity. No matter how many times this happened, you were always nervous. 

Rafe’s hand came up, brushing your hair over your shoulder before toying with the bikini strap tied around your neck. Rafe placed the joint between his lips and held it there, around it he suggested, “Why don’t you and I go have a little fun?” 

You looked up at him incredulously. “What?!” 

“Yeah,” he shrugged, eyes flickering from your lips down to your bikini top. His fingers trailed the seam of the bikini, over your collarbone, and atop your breast. Goosebumps were left in the wake of his touch, your body betraying you even though you tried to fight it. “We always have so much fun at these parties.” 

“Rafe..” you breathed as he dropped the joint into the sand and he bent down, lips brushing your jaw causing your breath to hitch. Your voice trembled slightly, “What about Sophia?” 

Rafe hummed, no remorse at all for what you were about to do. He kissed your neck once below your ear. The sound of your cup being dropped was drowned out by the thumping of your heart in your ears. His breath was hot on your neck as he spoke softly, “She doesn’t make me feel the way you do. No one makes me feel the way you do.” 

Your hand came up to grip his biceps, eyes fluttering closed as his lips worked over your sensitive skin. His hands found your hips and pulled you closer until you were nearly chest to chest. You would never admit it out loud, but you felt the same way. No man had ever come close to making you feel the way that Rafe did. And you weren’t sure anyone ever could. 

Your hands slid over the muscles of his arms until your fingers found his hair. He raised his head, pupils blown as you finally met his eyes. Your bottom lip shook from the look of pure desire on his face. You glanced at his lips, unable to ignore how badly you wanted them on every inch of your body.

You caved. 

“Make it quick. I’ve already been away for too long.” 

Rafe smirked wide before he pulled you into a heated kiss. He pulled away only to say, “You won’t have to worry about that. I’ve been waiting all night to get you out of this damn bikini.” And then he was kissing you again, backing you into the trees to sneak you around to his Jeep. 

As you climbed out of the backseat of the black Jeep, it was clear that post-nut clarity hit Rafe, and the buzz from the beer and weed had worn off significantly. He wouldn’t even look at you as he fixed his swim trunks and ran his fingers through the hair your fingers had just been gripping like your life depended on it. You sheepishly fixed your bikini top in the reflection of the passenger window and swiped at the smudged mascara under your eyes. 

The sound of the back door slamming made you jump. Rafe didn’t say a word as he walked around the vehicle and back towards the party, leaving you behind to collect yourself and come up with some excuse as to why you disappeared. 

You scurried around the Jeep and towards the Twinkie, faking like you had been in the old van the whole time in case anyone saw you. As you rounded the front, you saw Rafe back with his group of friends acting as if nothing had just happened. His arm was back around Sophia’s shoulders and you uncomfortably witnessed the moment he lifted her chin for a sloppy kiss. 

I wonder if you know I just came from his mouth twice in the back of the car he brought you in, you thought to yourself. 

And that’s when the anger set in. How dare he use you like that and go back to her like you were nothing? How dare he treat either of you this way. As much as you couldn’t stand Sophia and how fake she was, she didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve this. 

Your eyes pricked with hot tears of fury. You made a break for it from the Twinkie, beelining for JJ who was at the keg because he was the only person from your group you could see at the moment. But there was only one route to him. Too many people on the beach to weave through. And it led you right into a trap. 

“(Y/N)! Care for a beer?” Kelce offered as you tried to get past the group of Kooks, a smirk plastered across his smug face. 

“I’m good. Thanks,” you replied dryly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. 

The sniffle gave you away. And like vultures, they couldn’t wait to rip you apart.

“What’s got the Queen in such a rush?” Ruthie stepped in front of you to block your way. That stupid nickname made your blood boil even more. Queen Pogue. They called you that like everyone called Rafe the King Kook. As if there was some kind of hierarchy amongst the already divided groups on the island. “Stay awhile!”

You looked past her, praying that JJ would look up and see what was happening. He was too busy talking to younger Pogues. You could tell he was also already wasted by the squint of his eyes and the sway of his body. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Ruthie teased again, trying her hardest to get under your skin. 

“Fuck off and get out of my way,” you warned. Your hands were in white knuckle fists at your side. You were trying your hardest to keep your anger at bay. Anger with Rafe that everyone around was about to get the wrath of.

The Kooks laughed and gasped in feigned fear. Your jaw clenched and you closed your eyes, trying to focus on your breathing. If Ruthie didn’t move you were going to move her yourself. Which she would be sure to press charges on you for and that’s the last thing you needed right now. 

“Just let her go, Ruth,” Rafe spoke up from behind you. For a second, you thought he was coming to your defense for once. Urging his group of ‘friends’ to just leave you alone. But then he opened his mouth again, “No point in wasting your breath on trash like her. She’s not worth the trouble.”

White hot rage spread through your veins and for a second, you blacked out. You ripped the full cup of beer out of Kelce’s hands and threw the whole thing in Rafe’s face. Commotion. Suddenly there were bodies and shouting all around you. You lunged at him as he stood there in shock but someone grabbed you. You were screaming obscenities and flailing in Topper’s arms, swinging at Rafe despite knowing you wouldn’t land a single punch. 

“Fuck you, Rafe! Are you fucking kidding me?!” you wailed. “Let me go!”

JJ was there in an instant, grabbing your arms so you didn’t hit him. “Hey. Hey!” he tried to calm you down. “Topper let her go, man!” 

“(Y/N), what happened?” John B was there now too, grabbing the sides of your head and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Calm down. What did they do?” 

“We didn’t do shit man, just offered her a beer.” 

“Bullshit!” JJ snarled, knowing you wouldn’t get so worked up over nothing.

Your bottom lip trembled, eyes flickeirng to Rafe who was soaking wet and looking at you in disbelief. Sophia was using her own tank top to wipe the beer off of his cheek and neck. He scoffed and snatched the shirt from her, storming off down the beach and towards the ocean to rinse himself off. She trailed after him like a lost puppy. 

“Just take me home, please. I want to go home.” 

A/N: Add yourself to my tag list for this series if you’d like! As always, feedback is appreciated and I’ll see you soon with Chapter 2!

Tag list: @itsmattiesworld @escapismlourve @mattyskies @persiar9 @bellstwd @f4ll-for-you @oatmealisweird @FAMEFUCKERS @famefuckers @enthusiastms @lilleesthings @koibleufish @ravenroyale @reidshearts @probablyreadingsmutlol @rafelovergirl @angvl3tears @bilssturns @babygirlwilly

[artofchoisan]

A SPECIAL KIND OF HEAT DELIVERY

Delivery!Boy!Hongjoong x University!Student!Reader

The Plot: The summer heat was getting to you and your fan found the perfect moment to break down, having no other choice, you decided to order an air conditioner online but what you didn't expect was for the heat to make you so horny and needy towards the handsome delivery man with a smirk that never left his lips.

TW: Rough Sex.

Words: 2.4k

► ATEEZ MASTERLIST

In the midst of this scorching summer day, you find yourself trapped in this unbearable heat. Flopping down on the couch, you desperately fan yourself with a magazine, but the thick, humid air offers little relief. “Ugh, this heat is unbearable," you groan, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. "And the fan? Useless. Completely kaput. Can't catch a break today."

Your phone buzzes with a notification that your new air conditioner has been dispatched. "Finally! I can't wait for that cool breeze to hit me. This is torture," you mutter, scrolling through the tracking details.

You were dressed in very light clothes because it was so hot, and you felt self-conscious. The intense heat made you take off some layers, and you ended up wearing a short, light crop top and airy shorts.

Despite feeling a bit insecure about showing your stomach and thighs, the need to cool down was more important, your nipples perking through your light shirt, making you in such a state that doesn't seem to be looking hot, at least for yourself especially how you felt so sweaty because of how God had been generous of you with your breasts.

As you sat there, fanning yourself, a series of knocks interrupted the stillness of the room. Not giving much thought to your exposed and revealing attire, you hurried to the door, eager to thank the delivery man carrying the hefty package. With each step, the cool breeze from the fan lifted the light fabric of your crop top, revealing a hint of your midriff and thighs.

When you opened the door, you saw the delivery person struggling with the heavy package. "Thank you so much!" you said, relieved to have the air conditioner. "I've been so hot, and this is exactly what I needed."

The delivery person, catching his breath, looked up at you and offered a friendly smile. However, his gaze lingered just a moment longer than expected, and a subtle smirk played on his lips. Perhaps it was the revealing attire, or you just hope it wasn't a smirk that made fun of you since your stomach wasn't the most flat, heck it wasn't flat.

"Hey, no problem! I'm glad I could help," he replied, his eyes unmistakably lingering on your exposed midriff and thighs. "It's a scorcher out here, huh?"

You nodded in agreement, still fanning yourself and now it was you who couldn't deny the fact that this man was quite handsome, placing the package down, he lift up his sleeves and holy, those veins and muscles were no joke despite his skinny figure and as your eyes lingered more onto him, that chest was wide, oh fuck the heat was making you too horny.

His dark, tousled hair framed a face adorned with a subtle smirk, giving off an air of confidence. Dressed in a casual yet effortlessly stylish manner, he exuded a magnetic charm with that sharp jawline and imposing aura.

Unable to resist the temptation, you decided to see how your flirtatious efforts would be received, running a hand through your tousled hair and adjusting the revealing crop top that had inadvertently become the center of attention.

"Hey, so, I was thinking..." you began, "I really want to thank you for carrying this heavy package. It's been a lifesaver. How about a glass of water to cool off?"

The delivery person's smirk deepened, and he chuckled, seemingly amused by the sudden change in tone. "Well, I wouldn't say no to that. A glass of water sounds perfect right about now."

As you lead him to the kitchen, you introduce yourself "Thanks again for the delivery," you said, attempting to keep the conversation light while your mind was buzzing with anticipation.

He extended a hand with that ever-present smirk, "I'm Hongjoong. Nice to meet you." The touch of his hand sent a shiver down your spine, you truly need to get laid but then your insecurity of your stomach pouch clouds your mind.

Pouring a glass of water, you handed it to Hongjoong, making sure your fingers grazed his ever so slightly. "Here you go, Hongjoong. Thanks for being my hero today," you teased, a seductive glint in your eyes.

He accepted the glass, his smirk never wavering. "My pleasure. Heroes do enjoy a cool drink now and then."

As you handed Hongjoong the glass of water, you couldn't resist pushing the flirtatious banter a step further. "You have no idea how this heat has been killing me," you confessed, your voice dropping to a teasing tone. "It's like a relentless wave that just won't let up."

Hongjoong chuckled, his eyes holding a knowing glint. "Tell me about it. It's a real scorcher out there."

Deciding to show rather than tell, you moved to the freezer and grabbed an ice cube, a playful smile on your lips. "Watch this," you murmured, pressing the ice cube to your neck. The cold shock made you shiver, and you let out a soft gasp, allowing the ice to trace a path down your neck and onto your chest. The water from the melting ice cascaded down, leaving a glistening trail on your exposed skin and dampening your clothes slightly.

The room seemed to heat up even more as you continued the display, the sensual act of the melting ice becoming a silent invitation. Hongjoong's gaze intensified, his eyes now fixated on the provocative scene unfolding before him. "It's like a sauna in here," you remarked, your movements deliberate as you let the ice cube trace a path across your collarbone and down between your breasts.

Hongjoong's smirk deepened, and he took another sip of water, his eyes locked on you. "You're not wrong about that," he replied, his voice low and husky. "Mind if I borrow that ice cube?" he said, his tone teasing yet filled with a sensual promise.

Your playful smile persisted as you handed him the ice cube. Hongjoong took the ice from your fingertips. He mirrored your earlier movements, pressing the ice to his own neck, then allowing it to trail down his chest.

As the water cascaded over his defined torso, you couldn't help but bite your lip, your gaze fixed on the alluring sight. Hongjoong's eyes locked onto yours, "You know," he began, his voice dropping to a needy tone, "there are more ways to beat this heat."

A mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes as you played along, "Oh really? Care to show me?"

As Hongjoong's hands found their way to your waist then his touch grazed your love handle, and you instinctively tensed up. "Don't be ashamed of that," he whispered, his voice a seductive murmur against your ear. "I love those," he continued, his fingers digging slightly deeper into your skin.

Feeling the heat of the moment, Hongjoong closed the remaining distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours with a sinful urgency. The kiss was a heady blend of desire and passion, and as his tongue forcefully sought entrance into your mouth, you moaned at the intoxicating sensation. The taste of him was divine.

The sinful dance of tongues and the intensity of the kiss left you breathless. Hongjoong's hands explored your body with a confident touch, igniting sparks of pleasure. His fingers traced the contours of your skin.

In a daring move, you broke the kiss, locking eyes with Hongjoong with a sensual gaze. "I think we can find an even better way to cool down," you teased, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. Hongjoong's eyes darkened with desire as he eagerly awaited your next move.

With a provocative confidence, you dropped to your knees in front of him, your eyes never leaving his. A gasp escaping his lips at that. As you knelt before him, "You seemed to enjoy the show," you murmured before mouthing at his clothed crotch to which a grunt escaped his lips.

“Let’s make the show even better.” With that, you quickly get rid of your shirt revealing your naked upper body to him, your chest in full view of him, “I hate my stomach but I’m quite proud of my tits.”

Hongjoong seemed to be in awe at that, he was loving it even with your fats, fuck he was perfect and to reward him, you quickly work on his pants and pulled it down along his boxer revealing his erected cock.

Grabbing your breast, you rub them between your tits as you gave him a sensual look as you continue on working your tits around his cock as Hongjoong throw his head back, “Fuck you’re so good.” Breathing out and panting out, Your boobjob continued unabated. His face twisted into a variety of different expressions.

Satisfied at getting him fully hard and ready, you wasted no time and sealing your mouth around the tip of his raging red cock as his cursed out, your tongue swirling around the tip before laying flat on it before continue sucking on it, your gaze locked onto his whom had his mouth slightly open, head tilted as he looked down on you.

Without warning, you took him whole in your mouth as he cursed out, his fingers gripped into your hair as you began to suck him with much fervor, your eyes never leaving his resisting the urge to not gagged as you continue the harsh in and out motions never stopping as your hand palmed onto his balls, “Fuck, you’re so good at that, your mouth is such a sin.”

Sucking him even harder and feeling his veiny cock to hit the back of your throat as you gagged but your mouth not leaving your new addiction, then slightly bringing in your teeth to graze along the length which seemed to make Hongjoong to see some stars.

“So hungry for my cock huh?” Hongjoong, voice roughened in pleasure. “Like being choked with that? Bet your cunt is just as greedy as your mouth. Gonna fuck—” With that he released all in your mouth as you took everything and licked his cock clean.

Hongjoong gripped on your arm and pulled you up as a demonic smirk played on his lips, “Let’s give you what you want.” With that he turned your around and bend you onto the couch, one knee against the couch as your fingers tug onto the top of the couch, “Fuck you’re such a sight, best delivery of my life.”

Almost ripping your shorts, he quickly ripped off your underwear as it slapped against your skin before ripping. His hand dug as your hip as he teasingly rubbed hs cock against your entrance but you were not up for any foreplay, as you just slammed yourself hard against his cock as you cried out in pleasure as he cursed out, “Fuck, you’re such a needy devil. Let’s waste no time then.”

Hongjoong thrusts upward forcefully, causing you to bounce on his lap, and a high-pitched moan escapes you before he began to mercilessly fuck you hard then his hand reached to grope one of your tits hard as he pinched your nipple as you cried out in bliss, “Fuck fuck fuck….yes please….Mhmmm.”

His clothed stomach pressed against your back as he leaned closer to bite onto your shoulder, he was the true devil here and that made his cock to reach even further inside of you, “Oh fuck, don't stop.” Biting onto your shoulder and sucking as he continued to thrust his hips forward as your eyes rolled back at his animalistic behavior.

Your vision went dark and screamed out as a hard orgasm ripped through you as Hongjoong continue to pound into you chasing his own highs before he remove himself from you and strings of cums landed onto your bared back, “Fuck..” He breathed out and panting out against your shoulder, “You felt so good, fuck, your tits, ass, thighs and stomach, you’re a wonder.”

You couldn't help but to laugh but your body goes limp as you both fell onto the couch, “Well fuck the heat, I’m lucky to have score a man who love all those insecurities of mine.”

The man grinned as he let you lay on the couch as you laid on the couch, “I’m more of a man that prefers to have something to grab.” With that he spank your ass as you gasp as playfully kick him with your leg, “That was such good sex though.”

“Well blame the heat for making me so horny.” You couldn't help but to giggle, “Feel I need to make more deliveries if I get to have you to be the delivery person.” “How about this?” You began to propose an idea, “I don't really do this but you got me curious, how about we exchange numbers so we can do it more properly?”

Hesitant and scared, not sure whether such a man would like the kind of idea you were proposing, this man seemed too good to be true, way out of your own league was what you thought but his praises to you had make you to want to know more about him, “If you don't want to, then all good, we can just consider it a one time thing.”

But his smile that he gave you, erased all your doubts as he landed another spank onto your ass as he chuckle, “I’ll continue to do that if you don't stop looking down at yourself.” He was perfect, “I’d like that, you got me curious as well, maybe then I can praise your body more until you see how fucking gorgeous you’re.”

“Even with my stomach pouch?” You laughed.

He grinned and smack your ass harder as you whine, “I was fucking you hard right? I couldn't care less about that but your tits are so fucking good and I want to grab your handles even more, why you women hate that, I fucking love it.”

This man was a wonder but then a genuine smile appeared on his lips, “Let me take you out? I know this place that’s not hot at all and the food is quite great and if you are still up to it…” His fingers traced alongside your legs, “Maybe we could hit either of our places and try to beat this heat?”

Turning onto your back leaning onto your elbows as you looked at him, you couldn't help but to smile as you wrapped your leg around him, his hungry eyes landing on your exposed chest as you nodded, “Well I would truly like that idea.”

Who knew a simple delivery could lead to that, it started with lust and even if it ends on that, at least you’ll have a great time.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Never Gonna Be Alone [part 1]

Summary: A collection of small moments that lead to falling in love with your roommate. This is a Modern Day!AU.

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Author's Note: I've been writing two horribly depressing stories simultaneously for a while now and I needed a break from the angst. I hope that you all enjoy this.

Warnings for the entire series: language, drug & alcohol use, pining, fluff, possible angst, and possible sexual content. Plus, me attempting to be a comedian.

Masterlist | Playlist

She said, "he's kind of messy in every aspect of his life, but he's fun to be around!" Then, she very positively followed that up with, "I think you two would really get along!"

You met Helaena in college, and to be honest, you really didn't know her that well. She was a friend of a friend who had been in a few of the same classes as you, went to the same bars, and had a similar taste in art and music. She'd like every selfie, or ask to borrow a book you posted about, but you had never really hung out alone together.

So when your phone started ringing on a Friday night, after you were already three margaritas deep and swimming in queso dip at your cousin's birthday party, and it was Helaena Targaryen's name flashing across the screen, you were admittedly concerned; though, you'd always known her to be a pretty sincere person, so you took her word for it when she said that you should let her older brother move into the empty, second bedroom of your apartment. It might have been the tequila, or the fact that you were just that desperate, but you immediately agreed to her proposition without question.

You had been trying to rent the room out for months when it became impossible to afford the luxury of living alone, but every person that was interested happened to fall through for one reason or another. You had even offered a discounted rate (as the bedroom was smaller than yours and there was only one bathroom and it was a Jack-and-Jill), but you still couldn't find a good fit.

Enter Aegon Targaryen.

Suddenly, a guy whom you could only describe as 'that has to be Helaena's brother', was knocking on your door a week later. There was beat up Wrangler sitting on the curb behind him filled to the roof with cardboard boxes, and a tiny U-Haul hitched to the bumper with what little bit of furniture he had. He looked at you, blinked a few times and said, "I'm Aegon." You introduced yourself and he nodded; there were no pleasantries, no hand shakes or smiles. He just walked into your apartment, looked around, and then started moving his things in.

It was mid-July, so obviously there were better things you could be doing with your time than helping a complete stranger move his things into your home during a drought and a heat wave. Yet, you slid on your sandals and got to work after you had started to feel bad that you were sitting pretty in the air conditioning while your new roommate struggled alone in the humidity.

It didn't take long until the only thing left was his mattress. You weren't even sure how he got that monstrosity stuffed into the tiny trailer in the first place. It was ridiculously bulky and much heavier than it needed to be, but he swore that it was the most comfortable mattress you'd ever lay on in your life- a fact that you would just have to take his word for. You struggled, a lot, but put on a brave face as Aegon did most of the heavy lifting in the back and you navigated up front.

As you were coming up the porch steps with your sunglasses sliding off of your face as you dripped with sweat, and your arms tired from hours of heavy lifting (saving the heaviest for last, which was a terrible idea), you ended up missing the stoop completely and landing on your ankle awkwardly. You played it off until you had gotten the mattress onto his bed frame, and then silently cried about it in your now shared bathroom; quietly cursing the economy for forcing this situation upon you. Later that night as you were sitting on the couch, with your swollen ankle elevated on a couple of throw pillows, your new roommate tosses a bag of frozen peas in your lap and continues into his room with a bowl of cereal for dinner.

"Thanks," you called after him but only heard the sound of his bedroom door closing in reply.

Over the next few weeks you observed quite a bit about Aegon Targaryen. You knew which spoon was his favorite, how he preferred his tea, that he washed his hair with tea tree shampoo, and enjoyed mint chocolate chip ice cream. He cut the crust off of his sandwiches when he ate them at home, but when he packed his lunch he left them on. He could drink an entire box of wine by himself, but he typically stopped after two glasses, and he always asked if you wanted him to pour you one. He talked to his siblings a lot, but never his parents, and he really enjoyed watching dog videos on his phone while sitting on the couch as you tried to watch your show.

And when he laughed, he belly laughed, and you couldn't help but smile softly to yourself when he did.

Despite how taciturn he may have been, he was still good company, even if you were just sitting on opposite ends of the sofa doing your own thing. He always thanked you when you would leave leftovers in the fridge with a sticky note that had his name on it, and you started making sure that you made enough for two. When he came home late on the weekends, he tried his absolute hardest to do so quietly, but with those hardwood floors, it was almost impossible. He'd wake you up every single time, but you would never say anything. It was hardly an inconvenience after the many nights you'd fall asleep to the sound of him softly strumming his guitar in the next room.

And yet, you just couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. Because it had to, right? Surely this would be a nightmare; God finally sending a punishment for your sins and giving him the face of a literal angel for shits and giggles. You weren't entirely convinced he wasn't Karma-In-Disguise, as the only other option was just too good to be true. It just couldn’t be that you agreed to live with someone you had previously never met simply because someone that you really didn’t know said you should and by some miracle it actually worked out? 

Absolutely not.

You were not that lucky. 

One morning you woke to find Aegon in the kitchen, standing at the counter, making himself a cup of tea. He had already brewed a pot of coffee for you and there was a box of assorted pastries sitting on the table, one of which he was holding between his teeth as he poured a splash of milk into his cup. He turned to you, leaning against the counter and took a bite out of his scone.

"What's this?" You quirked an eyebrow as you studied the scene.

"A 'thank you', I s'pose," he shrugged, voice deep with residual exhaustion. He scratched at the short stubble on his chin, almost nervously, "It's been like a month since I moved in ‘ere, and, to be honest, I wasn't really expectin’ you to let me stay longer than a week."

You laughed softly and took a few steps deeper into the kitchen, taking note of how comfortable the space was with his presence in it. You couldn't ignore the way your pulse quickened at the sight of him in this light; the way the soft, morning sun bounced off of his blonde hair like a halo. He stayed right where he was as you moved around him; his tired, blue eyes following as you grabbed your favorite mug and a spoon from the drawer.

"To be honest, I wasn't expecting you to want to stay," you mentioned as you stood next to him and added two scoops of sugar to your cup. Your eyes flickered up to meet his stare, which was so blue you might as well have been looking up at the sky itself. "We're basically strangers."

"I wouldn't say that," he shrugged, lips curling into a small smirk, and you had to stop looking at him before you spilled coffee all over yourself.

"Oh? What are we then?" You asked, feeling your cheeks warming slightly as you averted your gaze.

"Not strangers," you could hear the smirk in his tone; his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he took another bite of his pastry and pushed himself off the counter. "Besides," he added, taking a few steps towards the living room before glancing back at you. "A stranger wouldn't know your favorite bakery."

You laughed softly through your nose, realizing that your new roommate had just confessed to eavesdropping on your late-night FaceTime calls with your best friend. Not that he really had a choice—the walls were paper-thin, after all. Just two days ago, you’d mentioned how badly you were craving a chocolate croissant, but how they always seemed to sell out before you could get one. Now, as you flipped open the top of the cardboard box, your stomach sank. A sudden jolt of realization shot through you, followed by a nauseating wave of panic. 

There they were. 

Four chocolate croissants, neatly packed and staring back at you.

“Fuck.”

[thetxtdevil]

My mind went wild when i saw those pics of Kai at the beach with his sisters. Imagine going on a vacation to the beach with him and wearing a cute but quite revealing bikini just for him and to see how he will react. Ofc he would be a gentleman and try to hide the fact that he is horny as hell just by the sight of you , his sisters are there after all!!!. But going back to the room after playing all the day at the beach, he would literally devour u and make u his

Exactly took the words right out of my mind And I should probably start adding pictures to the requests making them look somewhat tempting

--nsfw--

The sun was bright, wind rushed through your hair once you stepped out of the airport. You took a breath of the humid air and quickly take Kai's hand into yours. All of you were rushing to the hotel to get away from paparazzi and just to get cozy. Kai was thrilled to have a small vacation with his family and his girlfriend. He and the boys have been working so hard and a little too much that he not only wanted but needed to let loose.

Arriving in the hotel room you and Kai shared, Kai immediately wanted you. He strides towards your figure beginning to unpack your bags and pulls you into a kiss. His big hands engulfing your face as he passionately kisses you. The deep desire quickly fades when one of his sister's voice can be heard from the other side of the door.

"Hurry up and get into your guy's swimsuits we're going to the beach."

You smile at Kai's huff of irritation breaking free from his firm grip on you. Slipping into the bathroom to change as the man changes in the room, you come out modeling for him. You blush at the way Kai's eyes open and jaw drops looking at your little pink bikini. This was going to be torture for him.

Walking along the beach hand and hand with your boyfriend, all of you were enjoying each others company. You got along with Kai's sisters well, always talking about girly things laughing and having fun, and especially taking about Kai. He'd roll his eyes when you mention a new habit of his and the girls would laugh fluff his hair.

Kai lets you have your fun but that's because he was be too focused on your body. Discreetly eyeing up the cut of your top, being able to see the curve of your breasts. Eyes drifted lower looking at you sheer draped cover-up the hung low on your hips. He admired your confidence however your confidence tends to get him in heated conditions.

The sun shining on you made your cheeks blush and your skin sweat, you looked delicious. All the dirt that was running through his mind was stacking up. Throughout the day all Kai could think about was what he would've done if he didn't have his family come along. Possibly have his hand sneak their way into your bikini bottoms while lounging at the beach. Maybe whisper dirty things and making out with you on the shoreline.

You noticed Kai's distant look, thinking it was the heat of the sun. "Hey we're going back the room, I think the sun is getting us both fatigued."

Your comment awakened Kai from his daydreaming, he asks you if you're sure but you insisted. The was the getaway that he needed, his somber look turned into a determined one by dragging back to the hotel. He struggles getting the lock to turn green, you giggle helping him out but your light attitude flies out of the window once Kai basically manhandles you. Thrown to the white clean sheets of the bed you get your bearings looking up at the man.

Lust consumed him as his eyes were dark swimming with hunger. He hovers over you kissing your lips deeply like before. Soon his lips travel to your jaw, neck, and then to your exposed breasts. "You look so hot in this" he kisses, licks in between your tits, "but it was not fun holding back." Your fingers comb through his dusty blue hair kissing the crown of his head.

"Looked so good I could've fucked you on the sand."

You gasp at his words not knowing what to do with this version of Kai. All you could do is let him have you, he deserves it anyways. And to have you he will as he kisses, licks, bites every inch of your glistening skin. Freeing your breasts from the small bikini top and grouping them until they became sore. His nose glides down your abdomen and then into your clothed cunt. Tearing off the bottoms, Kai hovers over your face again, you moan into his lips when you feel his fingers explore you wet slit.

"Can I fuck you in these sheets instead?"

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling, @incogrio

[anantaru]

ARE YOU DEAF, OR JUST STUPID?

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — visiting a club at night wasn't something scaramouche would normally agree on, but when someone asks if you're single all of a sudden, the night appeared to become all the more eventful.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 800 words

— ꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & crack, he's a jealous man with a dream, gn! reader

the hefty, immersive atmosphere encompassing your body was erratic, shining and full of lucent light.

you can perceive the differences in scents colliding with each other in the humid air of the underground club you were currently visiting as your boyfriend scaramouche was anything else but delighted to be here.

at least you're with him, but he simply doesn't get the appeal of being ringed in between infuriating, boring, pesky little humans having fun.

indeed, he has been playing the grumpy card for the majority of the time, fairly speaking, 'grumpy' was a comical understatement.

most of all, he cannot even convince himself to go out, don't even mention manipulating himself into thinking he likes it. because what's there to like? the noisy crowd or the blaring music blasting into his poor ears with people wildly shaking their bodies to the pesky tune, including you— who thankfully was only having eyes for him, also gleefully dancing and swaying your body as your boyfriend only watched;

stone-cold features not moving a muscle, unbothered and ready to go home again.

but then, the atmosphere changes when you feel someone tap on your shoulder, "sorry if this is weird." you flinch immediately by surprise, noticing the man behind you as you pull your head aside to face him.

"but are you single pretty?"

ugh, double ugh.

yet if you were being quite honest with yourself now, you're already laughing and were feeling just a little bad for the random guy asking you such a question not knowing what storm he had just conjured— because he does not even see that scaramouche was also standing next to you, mouth tight and swallowing, clearly not pleased by that insignificant insect, as he called him, bothering his partner while having fun.

"what?" scaramouche doesn't waste a single breath and spits out immediately, right away cutting you off the conversation entirely and inserting himself into the middle of you and the stranger so he couldn't bother you anymore, even if he tried. "what did you say?"

"w-wait, who are you?" the stranger forces a smile on his tensed face, strikingly irritated.

"are you deaf?" well, again, to make things clear, you should maybe pray to the archons now, clearly not for your boyfriend but for the odd man there. if it wasn't this hilarious. but you silently tug on scaramouche's arm to signal him that it was in fact, okay, and you could simply handle this alone, but you would also lie to yourself if you'd say that it wasn't cute, quite charming too, of him to be this animated, let alone protective right now.

scaramouche feels his throat tighten but doesn't let any anger run down, it's pointless and he would only make people notice him even more. "i don't want any troubles." the man silences down, feeling a warm, embarrassing hotness on his neck and his shoulders shrug inwards, because how possibly couldn't he react that way?

presently, he was being watched up and down, up and down, closely, with those indigo eyes boring sharp, burning daggers into his flesh and bones. "then you better leave."

"because there's no one single here, leave." scaramouche takes a step forward, "do you i have to spell it out for you or are you just that stupid?"

you could've sworn you heard a little 'no' leaving past the guys lips, yet the irksome stranger ultimately decided to take a haste leave instead, thankfully, but not before awkwardly glancing towards you and back to scaramouche, grinning through his tensed mouth, as if not knowing how to possibly tackle a situation like that, ever.

"you didn't have to do this, you know." you sneakily whisper into scaramouche's ear, "but then." and you begin to ponder dramatically in front of him, wrapping your arms around his body as you perceived his muscles lose on tension, "i wouldn't have been able to see this cute side of you."

what followed next was quite a sight to behold— that sicken, repulsed look on scaramouche face was award worthy, the best one in all of teyvat, but you loved that about him and place a soft, pleasing kiss on his parted lips before he was able to say anything back.

"i'm not cute." yet his response brushes over your lips regardless, his warm breath coating your own while he leaned into your warmth, gracefully accepting your candied kisses that were his treasured favorites.

"lets leave this place before i track that sucker down."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Drown Inside Me

23/12: Bed Sharing & Accidental Stimulation - Ettore Word Count: 1.3k~ | Warnings: somnophilia, degradation, thigh riding, choking, p in v sex, cockwarming A/N: This takes place in the Supernova Universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

If she was anyone else, he'd have outright ignored her.

They were already breaking the whole ‘no fraternising between prisoners’ rule. Sharing a bed was another level above that. It wasn't a moment of passion and lust, back to faux-normality at the next moment. This had the possibility of getting caught. Facing real consequences.

Yet it was very much like a moth to a flame. Like fire and gasoline.

Drawn to each other but, in the end, destined to do nothing but hurt each other.

Ever since their hot and humid reunion, it was a borderline infatuation.

He knows it's wrong. Against everything he thought he was as a person, but there was just something about her. And not even just that. 

It was the taste of her as he woke her up with his face between her thighs, watching as she whined and tried to push him away, overstimulated and sensitive.

It was the sounds she made when she'd already cum twice and his pace didn't falter, feeling the way her walls fluttered around him, drawing painful pleasure from her with every harsh press of his fingers against her clit.

It was the feeling of her skin, flush and hot in his palm wrapped around her neck, her pulse trembling beneath it  as he pushed her knees to her chest, rendering her completely helpless as he speared her open on his cock.

Every now and then, between those moments, there was space for a slither of intimacy.

When he cracked his eyes open tiredly, unaware of what had woken him, he had his arm thrown around her waist, his knee nestled between her legs to anchor her to him. It was clear it was still the middle of the night, as the lights were still low.

The waves of consciousness slowly roused him, when he felt movement, the slightest bit. Like she might have been shifting in her sleep.

Except her movements felt far too calculated and intentional for her to be asleep.

From this angle, he could see her eyes were closed, lips parted to breathe slightly heavier. And she was moving her hips, to gain friction on his thigh that was nestled between her legs.

He dare not move, but a smirk rose to his face.

The little slut was using him for pleasure, thinking he was asleep. The dirty cunt.

For a bit, he allowed her to have her fun. Her subtle canting of her hips was not quite enough to get her off entirely. And he could tell she was getting frustrated at the slow pace, not wanting to wake him.

Good.

He would be quite content to let her do it, relishing in her humiliation, but he was getting painfully hard from the experience himself.

She gasped quietly as his hand that was around her waist suddenly slapped around her throat, tugging her back to his chest harshly, his fingers clenched at her jaw.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

She halted her movements instantly, her words and breath stuck hot in her chest.

“Hm? Using me to get yourself off while I'm asleep?”

Embarrassment clawed at her skin, not at the act itself, but the fact that he'd so clearly caught her doing it.

“Answer me.”

She nodded, “Yes..” she answered breathlessly.

She could feel his breath on the shell of her ear, his lips teasing the skin there. Ettore shifted his thigh firmly back between her legs, the stimulation making her jump.

“Go on then. Keep going.”

It was almost automatic. Her mind clouded by lust. She dragged her clothed core over his thigh, the friction making a fire blaze softly in her gut, she had to press her lips together to keep quiet.

He grinned, pressing his thigh to her in tandem with her movements.

“You just want to get fucked, don't you? Dirty fucking slut.”

She made a quiet whimpering noise, emboldened by his words and how he was saying them.

“Tell you what, if you get yourself off, you'll get the real thing. Would you like that?”

She nodded as best she could in Ettore's grip, moving herself in earnest and fucking herself on his broad, muscled thigh. His hand remained around her neck, reminding her exactly who was in charge.

Moisture pooled between her thighs, her lips parting as the feeling grew larger yet, her stomach tightening with each roll of her hips. Alongside this, he managed to grind his hard length against her backside, gaining the smallest bit of friction from the moment.

She moved her head back, her eyes fluttering shut as her peak began to crest, moving in earnest on his thigh that the bed began to creak.

“-fuck- that's it - can't wait to feel you cream on my fucking cock-” he breathed, his lips pressed to her neck, “-so good for me-”

When his hand tightened around her throat she whined quietly, the euphoric feeling of haziness combined with the way her limbs were being flooded with warmth had her feeling as if she was floating.

“-shit-” is all she managed to say as she felt herself fall apart, moving pitifully on his thigh, feeling the slick pooling there as she rode out her high on him.

She wasn't even done before Ettore hastily pulled his sweatpants down, obviously unable to wait any longer, relishing the choked whine she let out when he sheathed himself inside her in one, smooth movement. 

The blunt head of his cock began to bully the sensitive spot inside her in earnest, with no build-up, his hand wrenched on her thigh to keep it elevated to open her wider.

“You need to shut the fuck up, or we'll get caught-”

She nodded quickly, “...sorry, I'm sorry…”

But that didn't mean he had to slow down. With one hand still tightened around her neck, as if he didn't care whether he was blocking off all air or not, he pushed his hips against her with a wet smack, feeling her slick coat the length of him and some of his thigh as well.

“God, you're fucking pathetic - making a mess on me-”

He revelled in her tight warmth, each little ridge inside her choked him for dear life, her body still sensitive from her previous orgasm which had barely ended. He could even feel her walls flutter around him, trying to suck him in deeper.

Usually he wasn't vocal during sex aside from the odd sentence and low moan, but there was something about this time that just felt so different. So right. His breath was hot and patted against her tacky skin, now chasing his release, envisioning his cum leaking out of her.

Each thrust was followed by a quiet moan, until it evolved into a long, choked whine as she tightened around him again. Her second crept up on her rapidly, and as she clenched impossibly, it was almost difficult to stuff himself back inside her one last time before he too let go.

Each sighed as he filled her to the brim, the feeling of his warm release at the very end of her made his grip loosen somewhat around her neck.

“Fuck-”

All that was heard was their heavy breathing, trying to suck air back into their lungs.

She laughed breathlessly, “enjoy that, did you?”

She grinned in a way he both loved and hated.

He hummed, almost so low it came out a growl, moving his hips to keep himself nestled inside her.

“You can fucking talk.”

She smiled mischievously, her eyes glimmering, spent from the exertion of sex.

“I thought that's what you liked about me?”

“Hm”, he grumbled tiredly, his head falling back on the pillow, “I might change my mind if you don't shut up. Go to sleep.”

He knew she wouldn't take it personally. She never did.

She huffed a tired laugh and laid her head on the pillow, melting into the mattress, tired and fucked out.

He wasn't one for words, not nice ones anyway. There was no time for affection.

And as he watched her eyelashes flutter shut, tugging her body back to his with his length softening within her, he only showed it when she was asleep, with something as simple and innocent and brushing his fingers through her hair, easing her to sleep.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[rrxnjun]

potential • z. chenle

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

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

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

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

The music is loud. The weather is humid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or we could stay up a little longer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna walk home with me instead?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a while, your words turn bitter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, that’s something to worry about later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, what else is there to say?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I said–”

“But you implied.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh come on, I need to know!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again, Zhong Chenle isn’t stupid. 

But for a second, he acts like he is. 

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

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

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

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

“I think you have to leave.” 

Numb, you follow the orders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chenle–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Expected me to ignore you?” 

“Kinda,” you admit, snickering.

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

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

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

“Chenle–”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Don’t wanna make you sadder.”

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

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

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

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

“In what way?”

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

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

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

“You know why, Chenle.”

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” he agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he doesn’t.

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

[honeytama]

Make Your Move - Chapter 6

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Matt Dierkes

A/N: She’s back! A little thing; a minimal scene in this chapter may seem similar to a sound deck scene in Unveiled Hearts by @thefallennightmare. I noticed it after I read her story (which I love), but I chose not to rewrite my scene. No copying here, just great minds thinking alike <3

Fic Summary: Find in Fic Masterlist

Content and Warnings for Ch. 6: Lots of fluff and more dating! AHH, some suggestive content, some smut 18+, hands stuff (hand job/fingering etc), almost caught, semi-public

Word Count: 8k

Tag List:

@xxkittenkissesxx @exitwoundsx @jilliemiw86 @abiomens @lma1986

@flowery-mess @doomhands-jr @rain-down-on-me @justdamnpeachy @thatchickwiththecamera @narcissisticbehavior81

@xcllnt @somebodyels3

After Noah and you had your late-night tryst in the showers of the venue, the walk back to the bus felt desolate. You walked alone through the hallways and into the dark, humid night as you exited the venue into its back alleyway.

The grin on your face wanted to stay there; you wanted to be elated that both of the men that you were attracted to wanted you. However, your face falls when you realize that Matt was right: you’re not being fully truthful to him, or Noah.

You feel it’s hard to swallow when you think back to just ten minutes ago. Noah asked what you wanted to speak to him about and you dodged the question. Wanting to believe that your brain was foggy from the sight of Noah’s body, and that kiss, was half of your reasoning for lying, but the other half is that you really couldn’t bear telling Noah the truth.

Outside of the bus, you pace the side of it while listing the options available to you: don’t tell the two men that you kissed both of them the same night and risk their friendship and your relationship with them once they find out, or do tell them and risk it all anyway.

Everything about the situation made you feel gross and at a loss. If only you told Noah about Matt’s confession, then maybe you wouldn’t feel like you’re on track to manipulating them both in the process.

“Why?” You yell out into the night, holding your head in your hands.

You calm your senses and walk to hop onto the bus to head to Nashville, Tennessee. While in bed, you finally decide you should come clean to both of them as soon as possible to save you the heartache. In contrast to your decision, you thought, why not indulge yourself in the fantasy you had never thought possible?

—

A constant buzzing tone from your phone wakes you in the morning; you turn over in your bunk to grab it while noticing the bus isn’t moving. You must be outside of the Nashville venue already.

Without checking the caller ID, you hold the phone close to your ear and mumble, “Hello?”

“Good morning, loser, get out of bed,” Matt's voice is loud in your ear. You pull your phone away from your head and wipe the sleep from your eyes before responding.

“You’re such a bully, let me sleep,” you whine and check the time. Ten AM. It’s a bit later than when you would usually wake up. “Where are you?”

“I’m finishing a run with Noah. I’m on my way back to the venue, but he decided to go the extra mile,” he answers.

“Oh,” you’re lucky the fact that you just woke up can hide the lack of enthusiasm in your voice. You hope with everything in you that they didn't share the things they did with you the night before. They could have been laughing at you. They could’ve been plotting to “dump” you. They could be planning to fire you from the tour. Clenching your eyes closed to push back these intrusive thoughts you finally respond, “Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, it was,” he says, unfazed by your tone. “Anyway, I called because I was wondering if you had plans at, let’s say, noon?”

“Yes, I plan to rot in bed with my phone six inches from my face until they need us to work later,” you explain, matter-of-factly.

“So you’re saying you wouldn't want to go out on a date with me?”

This shocks you awake and you sit up on your bunk. The crown of your head bumps the top of the enclosed space, “Ouch, fuck!”

Matt laughs over the phone, but questions, “You good?”

“Yeah, I just banged my head on the top of my bunk.” You rub the throbbing spot on your head as you return to reality, “You’re asking me out?”

“Yup,” he pops the “P” in the word. Even though he isn’t there with you, you can just see the smug look on his face. “There’s a hot chicken place I’ve been wanting to try since we’re in Nashville and I thought I should finally take you out. You know, just you and me, like we said.”

You never thought that this day would come, but you remember your decision to be open and honest with the two boys. This would be the first time you addressed the elephant in the room, “Does it still bother you that I went out with Noah a few days ago?”

He hums softly. “I’m getting over it. I did give you two permission,” he says. “But, I figured, since I told you how I felt last night… and our kiss,” he pauses again, “you would want to start hanging out with me, too. Just not as friends.”

You bite your lip and sway in your bunk. “You want to date me,” you sing in his ear, teasingly.

“Don’t make me take it back, Y/N,” he grumbles.

“Okay, okay! Yes, I’ll go out with you,” you say quickly. “I’ll be ready at 11:45! Is it close by?”

“Sure is, we can walk there together. Wear something cute,” you can hear the smirk in his voice again.

“I will,” you sing. “Matt?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to let me hold your hand?” You ask, hopefully.

“Maybe, if you’re good,” he laughs before hanging up the phone.

—

You’re dressed up in your favorite casual date outfit. It’s only a few minutes until you need to meet Matt outside the bus.

Adjusting your hair and accessories, you look into the bus bathroom mirror. The jitters that have shaken your body since the moment he asked out over the phone have not stopped, and really, it’s getting worse. You have to keep your jaw clenched to keep your teeth from chattering. The only thing that can help you is seeing him.

You huff and head down the hallway to the front room. Jolly and Folio sit on the couch on their phones, relaxing.

“Hey, beautiful,” Jolly says. “Where are you going?”

Folio looks up from his phone too, “Yeah? Damn, you look good, I like that outfit.”

Your cheeks flush at their compliments, but you realize you don’t feel comfortable with them knowing that you have been on a date with Noah and are now going on one with his best friend. “I’m going for lunch with Matt,” you tell them a half-truth. Lying seems to be in your repertoire these days.

“Oh, cool. Where are y’all going?” They say in unison.

“It’s a hot chicken restaurant he knows about,” you tell the truth.

“Shit, that sounds good. Could we come with y’all?” Folio asks, excitedly.

Folio, please. “I would love that, but we're going to do some catching up as friends,” you give him a sorry smile and offer to take him there another day while you’re still in town.

“It’s all good,” he shrugs. ‘Y’all have fun.”

You wave them goodbye, “See you later for the show boys.”

“Bye, Y/N!” They sing as you exit the bus onto the concrete of the venue alley.

Matt leans on the brick wall of the venue looking at his sneakers.

“Hey, handsome,” you compliment him. His outfit is different than usual. It’s not that different, however, you could tell he had his idea of a casual date outfit, too. Your chest flutters at the thought of him getting ready for you.

Matt looks up at you at the sound of your voice. A smile slowly creeps on his lips and builds to a toothy, shit-eating grin.

“I see you wore a clean, oversized tee today,” you tease him while looking him up and down. “And, camo cargo pants? That’s so hot.”

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes. “I think that I look best without clothes, but I dont think Hattie B’s would allow that,” he jokes.

You tend to agree with that statement. He looks like a God when he is down to a pair of fitted boxer briefs. Besides the other features of his physique, below the belt, you’ve only ever taken a good look at his ass. You know that your life would be over if Matt were ever to catch you ogling his bulge, so even after countless sleepovers and pool days, you have no clue what he might be packing.

“Is that the restaurant we’re going to?” You ask as he comes to your side to start your walk.

“Mhm,” he hums. “By the way, you look,” you catch him sneaking a glance over to you, “amazing.”

“Thanks, babe,” you nudge his shoulder.

A ghost of a smile makes his lip curl upwards. He doesn't want you to notice, but you do. “I’m already regretting sharing my feelings with you,” he grunts before taking his hand in yours. His thumb rubs over the top of it softly and you smile to yourself as you walk down the city sidewalk, side by side.

—

“Can you order for me, Matt? I need to use the restroom,” you ask him.

“Yeah, I know what you like,” Matt agrees while staring up at the menu overhead at the ordering counter.

That was something that you loved about him and something you wouldn't get from Noah, not at this point. Matt remembers everything. The second you tell him you love something, your goals, even something you're just remotely interested in it’s like he has a notes app page open about it. Matt tends to order your food for you when you go out back at home, but if you order he’ll speak up for you if you’re too shy to ask for something specific.

“Could I have three chorizo breakfast tacos, please?” You would ask at your two’s favorite taco shop on Sunday mornings. Matt would give you a stare and a subtle head tilt to mention your customization, but when you don't.

“With salsa on the side. Not on top, please. She doesn't like it,” he would say for you before handing over his card.

You haven't realized it until now, looking into the bathroom mirror, but you have been comparing the two men you've been involved with and you don't like it. It’s not like you should have the privilege of comparing either of them anyway. Your choice to have one, for peace, is completely null. You could only hope to enjoy your time with the two of them until everything goes to hell.

Enough, you say to yourself roughly. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy your date. You wash your hands with warm water; the temperature change and the sweet scent from the soap soothes your senses.

You walk back out into the restaurant lobby and spot Matt sitting alone at a booth. His leg bounces up and down as he looks out the building window.

Walking up to sit across from him, he jokes, “You didn’t fall in did you?”

You giggle and get settled in your seat, “No, I was just nervous, I guess. I was taking a second to myself.”

“How do you feel now?” Matt reaches across the table from you and holds his hand in yours.

“Better,” you smile. He continues tracing circles with the pad of his thumb on your hand just like he did on your way here. Just on the soft skin of your palm, this time. “So, what did you order me?”

“I got you the mild spicy sandwich with fries. I think I got us a side of mac and cheese to share,” Matt purses his lips. “I got myself the hot sandwich with fries. You can try mine, but I know you’re not too into spicy stuff,” he shrugs.

You both speak at the same time.

“Thank you–” “Unless, it’s books–

“Matt,” you squeeze his hand in yours while making “What the fuck?” eyes to him. Ducking your head, you look around the restaurant to make sure no one overheard him. “Don't talk about my book.”

“You read it in public,” he says matter of factly. “I can talk about something that you do in public.”

“Reading on the bus isn't in public,” you defend. Heat travels up your neck to your cheeks like it usually did when Matt and you got on to the topic of sex. It happens often, and you hate that you don't mind it.

He shrugs and starts to laugh at himself. “I’ve Googled the title, by the way, I know what you've been reading about, Y/N.”

You decide to play his game. After over a year of dealing with him, you have found that the best way to combat his taunting is to do it right back. “Oh, really,” you tilt your head at him. “What is it about then? Describe it to me.”

Matt lets go of your hand and adjusts his hat. This is his common tell that he would rather change the subject, but in proper Matt fashion, he wants to play with you. “If I remember correctly,” he pauses while looking up at the ceiling, “It’s about a woman who moves into the house next door to this hot guy. Hot guy is a boudoir photographer? She does his marketing in exchange for him to teach her how to fuck. I stole your copy to check for myself and I remember the guy laying her out on top of a counter—”

“Uhm, I have the mild and hot sandwiches with a side of mac and cheese?” The woman delivering your food squeaks out.

“That’s us, thank you,” Matt coughs out.

“Thank you,” you say as they start to dart away from your table.

You and him stare into each other’s eyes with blank faces waiting for the employee to walk far enough away before you can react.

Once they have walked through the swinging door to the kitchen Matt is in hysterics laughing across from you. His keeling over the side of the table just so you can see the pleasure on his face a bit closer.

“Why did you just explain my sex book in front of the employee?” You cover your face with your hands.

“You asked me to! You did this to yourself,” he continues to chuckle while shoving a fry into his mouth.

“Also, I haven't got to the part you’re talking about, so thanks for the spoiler,” you huff before also taking a fry and shoving it in your mouth. “Shit, this is good,” you moan and relax your shoulders.

“Is that how you moan when—”

“Matt, I’m on my knees—,” you glare at him before he can interrupt you. “I’m begging you, could we please talk about something else?”

“Sure,” he calms and starts eating. “I wanted to thank you for saying “yes” to coming out with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was nervous that you might just want to see how things go with Noah,” he admits.

“Matt, I have had the biggest crush on you since, like, a month into knowing you? There’s no way I would pass up the opportunity for a date. I just—”

“What’s wrong?”

Here we go. “I just don't want everyone to know that I’ve been on a date with Noah and you. I feel sleazy.”

“It’s going out. It’s innocent,” he shrugs and bites into his sandwich. Talking with his mouth full, “You let me know if anyone tries giving you shit for it. I’ll beat their ass.” He swallows his bite. “If it will make you feel better, I don’t mind you saying that we’re doing stuff as friends. I’ll do the same. It’s pretty normal for us to be alone since people know we've known each other for a long time.”

Thank God. “I’m glad you feel that way,” you start. “Something happened with Noah. I need to—,”

“Tell me later?” He interrupts and then shakes his head, “Sorry, I don’t want to talk about him on our date. I just want to hear about you.”

“Okay,” you nod. Fuck, don’t take the out. You need to tell him, you think. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s ok,” he smiles. “Here, try this sauce. Shit’s good.”

You and Matt spend the next hour at the restaurant eating and chatting away. He feeds you fries and lets you try his sandwich. Which ultimately, as he predicted, would make you chug your drink down to get another refill.

He asks you to tell him about your aspirations again as your legs are intertwined with his underneath the table. He always listens to you so intently with a furrowed brow. It’s intimidating as all you want to do is impress him. However, Matt has never made you apologize for being yourself: for liking what you like, or for dreaming big dreams.

He reminds you of his goals in life and your chest has that familiar tingle by the way his face glows when he talks about them. He shows you his favorite pictures of his dogs that you have seen time and again. He gives you countless, soft-spoken affirmations and praise about how you look, the jokes you tell him, and your work ethic. He tells you how great you’ve been doing at your job. He’s proud of you and date Matt, romantic Matt… isn’t afraid to show it.

You feel loved. He’s in love with you.

—

Matt invited you to watch the show from the sound deck again tonight.

You agreed, excitedly, the butterflies in your stomach have yet to die down after your first date with him this afternoon. The smile on his face wouldn’t dissipate either.

The crew teased about how sweet he treated them when you two came in to check up on them after returning from getting lunch.

“What’s got you so excited, Dierkes?” Kooter, Bad Omen’s drum tech, teased from behind Matt while massaging his shoulders.

“Fuck off, go help Folio,” Matt said, brushing Kooter off. His tone showed itself to be negative, however, you love the way his lips turned up at the ends as he turned back to face you. His eyes smile too as they meet yours as if to say, “You’re what I’m excited about, Y/N.”

The crew set everything up as organized and as detailed as it would be if you two were there to manage the process, and the gig began as usual.

Later in the night, you stand at Matt’s side in the sound deck to prepare for Bad Omens to begin their set of the night. It would be two whole days since you would return to work after spending some time in Nashville before moving on to the next tour stop. Looking around the room, you take it all in, to save the excitement and fulfillment that your job brings to you every night. Fans line and lean over the railings of the balcony seats at both sides of the room; chatting and patiently waiting for the band’s introduction to the stage.

A group of women, around your age, stand in front of the sound deck barrier. They're laughing and taking pictures and you hear one of them dare another to ask Matt for a photo, too. He doesn't seem to notice, but the women catch your curious stare, they nod and motion for you to tap on his shoulder. You take a step closer to him, “Matt, do you want to take a picture?” You ask while lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention.

He turns to you, immediately. “Yeah,” He smiles and begins to pull his phone from his jogger’s pocket.

“Oh, sorry, not with me,” you giggle, patting his arm. “Them,” you nod your head the ladies waiting hopefully and excitedly across from you two.

“Oh, sure,” he smile falls a tad, but returns to assure you. “I’ll be right back, okay? Then there’s something I want to show you.” He steps off to the side closer to the metal barrier that separates the crowd and yourselves and you watch as the group’s faces light up at him. They cover their mouths in excitement and mouth to each to “be chill or be calm”. It’s hard to read their lips.

The way they feel right now is how you would be reacting to meeting him or Noah in an alternative universe where Matt and you had never met on that walk that one day. Every time you're invited back to the sound deck, you feel like a fan again.

Matt says, “Have fun!” to the group and returns to your side. “So, I was thinking about something cool you could do if you’re interested?”

“Sure,” you raise an eyebrow at him as he walks a couple of feet over to the lighting board on the table.

“Do you want to control the lights during the Concrete Jungle call and response thing?” He pats the console.

“What? Me?” You say, shocked, yet excited. “Hell yes, but what if I mess it up?”

“It’s super easy, not even you could mess it up,” he teases and you give him an eye roll. “I swear. All you have to do is control these two faders; up for brightening down for dimming, and you just lead the crowd to chant “Jun-gle” using the lights. You’ve seen it almost every night for the past week, you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll do it,” you nod slowly.

“Here, practice,” he grabs your hands to rest them on the correct sliders on the board. He’s soft when he guides your fingers to push the sliders upward, slowly, which gradually brightens the lights overhead the stage. Various groups of fans cheer in the crowd for the lighting, hopeful it’s a sign for their show to begin. Matt guides your fingers back down the board and the lights dim to black again. “Now, do it yourself, just faster,” he leans back on his foot and crosses his arms over his chest watching you experiment with the sliders.

“Ok,” you let out a quick breath. Your heart beats fast in your chest, but you would have time to settle your nerves as you wouldn’t have to do this until Dethrone, their final song of the night. “I think I have the hang of it.”

“Good, because that’s all you,” he says. “Sometimes I forget that you're a fan of all of this. I want you to have more of these experiences,” Matt leans in close to your ear, in hopes only you would hear him. “I know I can be an ass, but you deserve to have the time of your life on this tour. I want this to work out.”

“Yeah, I know,” you squish his cheeks with your fingers. He reels back and swats your hand away, but laughs with you before returning to his soundboard and set up. Once he’s out of earshot, you mumble, “I want all of this to work out too, believe me.”

—

You sang to yourself and danced at a volume that wouldn’t take Matt's or fans' attention from the stage as you stand with him tonight.

While you were still reeling from your day with Matt, you still missed Noah. Your heart yearned for them equally, although it is hard to forget the six words that came out of Matt’s mouth last night. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.” It has been on repeat all day.

The nights you weren’t invited into the sound deck you would stand sidestage and would get hyped up with Folio as he passed you funny looks from his drum throne. Noah would partake in the antics, too, when it wouldn’t take away from his performance. Like: Having dance-offs with you when the audience thinks he’s dancing alone, or giving you eyebrows and a smirk at certain parts of his lyrics, and when he undresses down to a tank top mid-set.

Tonight, you don’t have to hide your gaze on his hands as he lifts his overshirt above his head. The way the muscles in his back and biceps flex involuntarily by the motion makes you shutter.

It was the same feeling you felt the first time watching him live. The bass of his growls coming through the stage monitors vibrate in your chest and makes your thighs clench. Sometimes, you wonder how long he can hold his breath as he holds on to notes and screams. You imagine his tattooed hands spreading and gripping your thighs apart uneager to come up for air as he feasts on your aching cunt.

Matt can’t hear your thoughts even standing a few feet from you, but you feel like he can so you sneak cautious glances over at him when these delicious thoughts pass through your mind to he if he reacts in any way.

The show was coming up to ‘Dethrone’. Noah has nearly finished his first encore of the night and you take your place in front of the lighting board with your fingers touching lightly on the sliders Matt showed you earlier.

While waiting patiently for Noah’s cue to you, he finds your eyes in the sound deck. His dark eyes match yours directly. Surely, he can’t be looking at you? You wonder. You feel like a fan in the crowd who’s just made eye contact with their favorite band member for the first time. He nods at you, and then he begins.

“Concrete,” he growls into the mic before ticking his fore and middle fingers at you twice.

“Jungle!” You slide the light faders in tandem and they glow above the stage with each syllable the crowd screams.

Noah and you go back and forth. His eyes never leave yours, even as he paces back and forth on the stage, and he successfully directs you through his chant. The room is packed as it’s a sold-out show, but you feel as though it’s only you two present.

He tosses you a proud smile as he begins ‘Dethrone’ and it makes your legs melt.

Fuck, he’s so hot. Distracted by him, you hadn’t realized the number of times he had unintentionally made you blush and make the hairs on your neck rise. Let alone let you realize the growing need for him building up fast in your abdomen. You want any part of him, and preferably more than a kiss tonight.

You watch him perform their final song in awe; you can imagine your tongue rolling out of your mouth and drooling onto the pit floor.

��

After fans have fully exited the venue, you’re left with Matt in the sound deck with a couple of other guys from the crew.

You catch Matt yawning and he asks, “Are you sleepy yet?”

“I’ve found I have a lot of energy after each show. I’m gonna stay up for a bit,” you explain. Your lying streak made this fib too easy to tell. While you had a lot of energy, it wasn’t because of the music or the atmosphere, it was because of Noah. Impulsive thoughts appear like demonic ghouls floating around in your head whenever your sexual needs aren’t met. You wanted so badly to throw yourself at Noah the second you saw him next; to re-do your first kiss? To go even further? However, you can’t, if Matt is to be too close tonight. He was learning to be okay with you having gone on a date with Noah, but you’re unsure of his reaction if he were to find out about you doing anything more.

“I want to try to get to the showers first, but I should get all of this down so we don’t have to worry about it in the morning,” he stretches.

“Go and shower, get to bed,” you rub Matt’s shoulder with care. “I’m gonna stay here and help out.”

“M’Kay,” he yawns again. “Goodnight, Y/N. Make sure my stuff gets packed up real nicely. You’re the only one I trust.”

“Yes sir,” you give him a faux salute as he walks off toward the back of the venue. You smile at him, but your stomach lurches. He trusts you. He’s in love with you! I am being manipulative, you think guiltily.

You spend around forty-five minutes tearing down the sound deck making sure to pack Matt’s equipment, cords, wires, and laptops carefully away. You handled his things with care, even though you were half-distracted by the throbbing between your legs.

“Y/N,” a male voice calls from behind you.

It’s a crew member’s voice. Their usual lighting and production tech who helps Matt in the sound deck. “Hm?” You turn around to meet his face.

“Go ahead and wind down for the night. We’ll take care of the rest,” he nods toward the back of house. “Thanks for helping.”

“Of course, anytime. Goodnight everyone,” you set what you’re working on down and start walking toward Bad Omen’s green room with a sense of urgency.

Once inside, you grab your bag, your nighttime relaxation clothes, and the clean towel you pack in case you want to take a late-night shower. Tonight you do, but you doubt you’re going to be doing your wash routine.

Please be in here and alone. Please.

“Noah, are you in here?” You call out his name as you push open the door to the showers. The layout of the room is more like a locker room than the past showers you have used at other venues. One side of the room is lined with sizable shower stalls with floor-length curtains for privacy, while the other side of the room has a wall of lockers and benches. On them, you notice Noah’s backpack and nicely folded clothing. His boots sit together underneath the glossy, wooden bench.

“I’m in the second stall,” he talks over the sound of the steaming water raining down over him. A light mist rises over the top of his curtain and dissipates as it hits the ceiling. You can’t see him the way you could the night before.

You bite your lip anxiously. What are you doing? You ask yourself. Your body feels hot by how turned on you are and it keeps you warm as you strip yourself naked. Pulling your panties down your legs, you notice a prominent wet spot accumulated by the pool of your arousal. You stuff all of your belongings into an empty locker and softly click it closed.

His name falls from your lips before you can catch it, “Noah?”

It wasn’t in your plan for him to poke his head through the curtain, but he does. “Yeah?” His voice is innocent, but his eyes widen once he sees the sight of you. Your arms bravely stick to your sides to allow him to gain you in full. “Shit,” he hisses under his breath while making haste with the outline of your body. You watch his eyes roam you as you stand there in heavy silence before he opens the curtain a little more to invite you inside. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he says as you stand in front of him. Once you’re in the stall, you feel like his eyes will never leave yours. So, if you tried to sneak a peek anywhere but his face, he would most definitely know.

“Thank you,” your cheeks feel hot. “Is it okay if I shower with you?”

“Mhm,” he nods and hums. His low tone reverberates against the walls of the shower stall. “I was hoping you would. You have no idea the thoughts that have been running through my head since last night.”

His admission makes you feel tingly. “I hope I’m not moving too fast. This feels so out of character for me,” you shake your hands out.

“I want to move as slow or as fast as you do,” he confides to you in a low tone. His fingers reach to the crook of your neck and trace down your shoulder, to your bicep, to your forearm, and rest to intertwine with your fingers.

“You looked so good on stage tonight,” you admit as you look up at him with shining eyes. “Every night, I watch you perform, and it—,”

“And what?” Noah steps into your bubble. The tips of your breasts just barely graze his skin.

“I get so turned on,” you’re nearly talking into his clavicle. He slightly shutters as your breath hits his skin. “Noah, I’m so pent up, it hurts.”

“I can help,” he nods and his wet bangs sway. You watch the water from his hair drip onto your chest. The varying temperature makes you shiver. He notices this. “Get yourself wet first,” he instructs while switching places with you for you to stand under the running shower head.

You run your hands through your hair and close your eyes to enjoy the heat. You feel the same tickly feeling on your breasts that you always feel around him, so you open your eyes to catch his gaze from your tits when you admit, “Noah, I swear I’m already wet.”

His laugh and toothy smile make you warm inside, as much as the hot water warms your skin on the outside. He leans in close to press a kiss into your cheek, “I want to feel how wet you are, Y/N. But first, I want you to look at me. I give you permission,” his shoulders shake as he laughs at you trying your best to look at every shiny tile that lines the stall rather than his nude form.

When he backs away, your eyes trail his body. The freckles on his shoulders are the first of what you see. You reach out to touch them, but his hands come to your bare hips to push you slowly until you’re both underneath the warm, running water. The water moves in slow motion and you follow it with your eyes as it hits his chest and drips lower to his stomach. His waistline is spotted with water droplets. You take one last big breath before letting your gaze fall to his groin. He’s half hard and the tattoos around his lower stomper and thighs surround his member like he’s a work of art. Your shoulders shake a tiny bit when you chuckle at the sight of his wet leg hair and impatient toes that are dancing, waiting for you to look back up at his face.

You look up to meet Noah’s eyes, but you can’t help but sneak glances at his lips. “You’re so beautiful,” you whisper to him as you wrap your hands behind his neck and pull him down into your kiss.

He hums against your lips as if to thank you. Noah’s arms wrap around your body as you detach and reattach to his mouth in fervor. He scratches your back with his nails and grips the skin of your back. He tastes so good, so fresh. Your tongues fight each other for dominance and you win.

Noah groans when he feels your hand caress down his stomach and slowly makes its way to wrap around his half-hard cock. He feels so warm in your hand like he’s blushing down there. You open your eyes while making out with him and his cheeks are glowing pink. The sight of his dick on your small hand gives you raging confidence and makes your heart burst.

You begin to stroke him while kissing him. He grows harder in your hands and grows longer, and thicker. You move your lips and teeth and attach them to the side of his neck as he allows heavy breaths to fall from his lips. “I like the way your cock hardens in my hand,” you moan in his ear.

Noah grips your ass and it makes you pull away from his neck to whine. “I like that,” he moans. “So fucking much, you don’t even know. But, I want to help you. You can make me cum another time.”

You bite your lip and nod.

“Spread your legs, just a little bit,” he commands in a low tone. You spread your legs apart and he praises, “Yeah, just like that.”

He dips his head to your left breast and latches on, tongue first, to the nipple while kneading your other breast with his hand fingers. Water splashes off to the sides of the shower as he presses himself into you.

“Ah,” you whine when his dominant hand leaves your chest to snake between your bodies to your core. The pads of his fingers find your clit and give you a firm press before sliding through your folds, curiously.

Your dazed eyes meet Noah’s as he pulls his hand from your cunt to show you the clear, slimy juices that drool down his fingers. “I really do turn you on, huh?” He boasts before sticking his fore and middle fingers between his lips and lapping your arousal away.

“Mhm,” you moan at the sight of him licking his fingers clean.

Noah plays with your nipples with his empty hand while the right one is brought back to your pussy. “Do you remember when I heard you say my name?”

“Hm?” You’re dizzy and can’t fully think of what he’s referring to.

“The second night of the tour. The morning after, I asked you if you needed to ask me a question because I heard you say my name,” he explains while rubbing your clit in expert figure-eights. “Noah.”

Your eyes shoot open and meet his eyes, but they’re attached to your lips. “I was touching myself. Thinking about you,” you admit while whining on his fingers.

Suddenly, his fingers pinch your clit gently, but with enough force to make you cry out, “Noah.” The pain makes you shutter and collapse against his form.

“I’ve been waiting to hear my name come from your perfect lips again,” he chuckles while pinching your nipples at the same time. “Good girl. Now, tell me what you were thinking about.”

“I was thinking about, fuck,” you grind against his hand as he releases your clit to palm your cunt. “I brought my favorite sex toys with me. I was imagining you using them on me.”

“We can do whatever you want,” he speaks low into your ear before kissing your neck. His longest fingers prod your entrance and tease your pussy with quick, shallow pumps. The palm of his hand presses firmly into your clit and you grab his forearm for balance. You feel it flex under your fingers. “Do you want to cum on my fingers?”

“Yes, please, I need you—,” you squeak out.

The sound of the locker room door swinging open causes Noah to turn you around and press your back against his chest. His hard cock rests against your ass and you want to grind on him so badly, to make him feel good too.

“Noah, could I borrow your phone charger? I’ve lost mine already,” you hear Nick call out to Noah from the entrance of the room.

Noah covers your mouth with his hand and you breathe softly through your nose. His other hand cautiously rubs circles on your throbbing, aching clit as he responds, “Yeah, Nick, that’s fine. You can find it in the second pocket of my backpack.”

You start to grind up against Noah feeling his dick harden against your skin, again, and his hand pressing hard into your private region. You need relief.

Nick’s footsteps echo through the room, and you can feel your heartbeat matching the pace of his steps; so quick and to the point.

Noah continues his movements but goes a bit further to test the waters. He uses his weight to hike you up a bit further and you get the sign to stand on your tiptoes and bend your knees just a bit. Noah reaches his fingers between your thighs again and dips them in your slick cunt, slowly.

Your eyes roll back into your head, and you do your best to stay silent. You hope the running shower can hide how your breath hitches as Noah curls his fingers inside of you, stretching you out.

“Nick, when you find it,” Noah’s voice vibrates against you, “you can keep it. I have two others in my bunk.”

“Thanks, man. I got it now. Good night!” Nick says before you hear his steps towards the door and the door closing behind him.

With Nick gone, you moan against Noah’s palm on your mouth freely. His fingers are slim, but they’re so long and reach the best spots inside of you. His thumb rubs your clit as he fucks you with his fingers.

“Such a good girl for staying quiet,” he praises and removes his hand from fully covering your mouth only to prod your lips with his fingers to stuff them between your teeth. “Now, be loud for me.”

His name is broken as you try to say it, “No-ahhhhh, ple—please!” Your eagerness for full relief drives you to grind harder on his fingers, so much, you're bouncing on them and doing the work for him.

Noah supports your hips so you don’t slip on the wet tile. “I know, I know,” he says daringly while kissing the crown of your head. “Go ahead and cum, you deserve it.”

“Fuck, thank you—,” you hiss as you reach up and tangle your fingers up into the back of his hair. You release on his fingers and he hooks them to repeatedly hit your G-spot as you ride through your high.

“That was so hot,” he praises into your ear. “But, let’s try not to get caught again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you laugh as you stand while holding the wall for support.

“Let me clean you up. We still need to actually take our showers,” he holds your waist and pulls you back into the water.

—

“Are the showers going to start being our new meeting place?” He chuckles as wraps your fresh towel around your shoulders. The one you stuffed into the locker when you came in. You patted yourself on the back for remembering to do it or else Nick would have definitely known you two were hearing together.

“Maybe,” you shrug at him with a smile. While you enjoyed your private meetings, you also wished you could say and do everything you wanted to you with him in front of everyone else. You could feel that keeping things secret was starting to get harder on your mental health. Sex is the main thing you don't mind keeping behind closed doors.

Noah’s head pops up as if he has had an epiphany. “Do you want to go on another date before we go to sleep?”

“Of course!” you match his excitement with your arms loosely wrapped around his waist.

“Good, because I already have an idea of where can go,” Noah reaches into the front pocket of his backpack to retrieve his phone. You peak at his screen as he opens his Yelp account and searches for the best milkshakes nearby.

—

Noah sits across from you in a black hoodie covering his hair. His lips are wrapped around one of the white and red striped bendy straws in your shared cookies and cream milkshake. He giggles as you pull out your phone to take a picture of him and his hand comes to cover your phone camera.

You playfully fight his hand away while snapping a couple of shaky pictures. “I need more pictures of you!” You whine. “You took so many of me when we were in Boston.”

“We can take one together,” he pulls his phone out of his hoodie pocket and angles it towards your faces. You both take a sip from the shake and he takes a picture. He looks at it before showing you, “You’re so cute.”

“Mhm,” you hum, sipping through your straw. This milkshake was definitely in the top three of all you have ever had. Noah knows how to pick good places.

“So, tell me,” he sits up a little higher in his seat before leaning forward. “Everything. Everything about you that you didn't day on our first date.”

“Noah, it’s past midnight,” you chuckle, but he still looks at you with eager eyes. He wants to know you. Everything about you. You mentally note that one day you could reach the level of comfort that Matt and you have, and you want to try to get there with Noah. “We have the next two days to talk, too,” you kick your legs in excitement and he smiles when they brush him. It’s pretty easy to touch him; his long legs take up the majority of the space under the tiny table you’re sitting at. “What should we do with all of our free time?”

“I have one idea of how we can spend a lot of our time together,” he shrugs and gives you a knowing smile.

“What?” You giggle with your tongue on the straw.

“You could share a bed with me at the hotel we get to stay in for the next two nights,” he suggests.

Your eyebrows raise in intrigue, “Mmm.”

“We would have to have one other person to share our room with us for the room costs to be worth it, but I would get to sleep next to you for real, instead of across from you,” he plays with his hands over the table.

“We’ve slept next to each other every night on the bus,” you think out loud. “I would feel comfortable with that, I think.”

Noah moves his fidgeting to the strings of his hoodie. You love to watch how nervous he gets talking to you. It’s charming. “I really like the way we talk to each other across the short space between us when everyone else is asleep,” he admits and you pout your lip at him in awe. “I’ve never told you this, but sometimes I’ll stay up and watch you sleep when you forget to close your curtain.”

You lean forward and rest your hand on your cheek.

“Also, because I stay up,” he sips on his straw. “That’s how I knew about— you know?”

You gulp down the shake in your mouth so as not to choke on it. He’s referencing what he reminded you of earlier in the shower. Noah. “Oh, yeah, that.” Your face heats up.

One of his hands shoots towards your open hand resting on the table. “That didn’t bother me by the way,” he reassures. “I’m flattered, honestly. Feel free to think about me all the time.”

You giggle before watching his fingers interlace with yours.

“You make me really excited, Y/N. I haven’t thought about being in a relationship with anyone for a long time. I feel so preoccupied with so many other things, but when I think about that with you… it feels possible.”

“Noah, that feels so good to know,” you say softly, it’s almost a whisper. You feel vulnerable now. “You have no idea how much of a dream it is to get to know you that way I had when I was just a fan three months ago.”

“I love that you’re a fan, but you’re also my equal. I was pulled into you the second I saw you. I still think back to us sitting on the patio bench at the L.A. studio together,” he squeezes your hand.

“Me too,” you agree. You two sit in comfortable silence for a beat.

“You don’t have to tell me everything I need to know about you, yet,” he chuckles. But, before we go back, can I ask you two questions?”

You push the empty shake glass to the side and hold both of his hands in the center of the table. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I want,” he says. “First, do you say yes to at least rooming with me at the hotel the next two nights?”

“Yes,” you nod with an excited smile. Whether you’ll have to live with the consequences of your answer or not, you’ll see.

“Lucky me,” he smiles. “Second—,” he takes his time to continue, “what are you looking for with your time with me? Is it just fun, a relationship… I want to know.”

[obaex]

island breeze + lights down low - rafe cameron

summary: rafe can't keep his eyes off of you, so he decides to do something about it

word count: 1.2k

a/n: so excited to break my little hiatus with this! just a little something something that has me dreaming of summer nights like this.

soundtrack: fantasy / alina baraz + galimatias

The tequila tingled on your tongue, sending heat to your cheeks that matched the subtle sunburn from your afternoon at the beach. The salty air was thick against the breeze coming off the ocean, which was crashing just a few yards away from the club you and your friends were at for the night. The music floated between the palm trees, rocking them as the sun dove into the skyline, spraying the night sky with the last of its deep orange rays. String lights twinkled above you as your heeled feet carried you to the dancefloor where you joined your friends and lost yourself in the music.

Dark blue eyes traced your figure, traced the way your hair blew in the ocean breeze, the way your dress hugged you in all the right places, and the carefree, relaxed smile that rested permanently on your perfect lips.

It was getting harder and harder to pretend he wasn't captivated by you, trying to distract himself with another beer, with his friends, his eyes always seeming to find you again in the crowd. He swore he wasn't doing it on purpose; it's not like he'd never seen a beautiful girl before, he practically ran this island, he was well acquainted with every girl it had to offer - what made you different, he didn't know. Perhaps it was the fact that you seemed... genuine. You were enjoying yourself for yourself, you weren't there to show off, you didn't care who was watching, you were having fun. Something about your carefree confidence was incredibly sexy and before he really had time to think about it, Rafe was on his feet walking towards you.

You felt his presence before you saw him; your friends exchanging wide-eyed looks over your shoulder stirring you to turn around. Your eyes met his immediately, sapphire blue, twinkling in the twilight. A confident smirk rested on his lips and you couldn't help but to smile in return, biting your bottom lip in response. His hair was buzzed short and at this close distance you could see the freckles on his nose against his tan skin, could smell him, a scent that reminded you of clean laundry and sandalwood.

He leaned over to be heard against the loud music, cheek grazing yours.

"You're not from around here" he said, cutting through any pleasantries.

"You make a habit of knowing every girl on this island?" you replied smartly, pulling back just far enough to see the look in his eyes, your noses nearly brushing one another.

"Only the pretty ones" he said, not missing a beat nor giving up an inch of space between you.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain your cool confidence while your stomach did somersaults.

"Dance with me" he said.

It wasn’t a question, it was more of a demand, like he knew the word 'no' wouldn't be found anywhere in your repertoire. You blushed, your mind scrambling for a witty reply, but he didn't wait for one as he took in your flustered energy and reached for your hands, curling your fingers into his and pulling you forward as he walked backwards onto the dancefloor. It was a simple gesture, but in the low light, the sticky humidity, with the steady thump of the bass coursing through your veins, there was something absolutely sultry about the way his hands, his fingers, slipped around yours.

His eyes never left you, making you feel like melted honey, like the edges of your vision blurred to only focus on him. He pulled you deep into the crowd of bodies that enveloped you, separating you from reality and he pulled you into his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.

You could have died on the spot at the feeling of being pressed against him as his signature scent overwhelmed you. You could feel his warmth, feel his taught muscles underneath his loose-fitting linen shirt. You ran your hands over his shoulders and circled his neck, running your fingers through the short hair there, eliciting a sound from him that was something between a sigh and a groan.

You were flush to each other now and even though you were sure he could feel your heart hammering against his, you weren't tense; whether it was the tequila or the feeling of his fingers toying with the hem of your dress, you were the most relaxed you'd been all night. His body against your own was easy, unforced, rhythmic. You were like two missing puzzle pieces put back together, not a hint of awkward tension or apprehension. You rocked and swayed to the beat as songs blended one into the next, though neither of your noticed, completely in your own world.

Occasionally your eyes would find each other, your noses mere centimeters from touching and you'd meet his electric gaze with your own before looking away - it was getting harder and harder to deny how badly you wanted to kiss him.

The next time it happened he caught you off guard by pulling you insistently into him, cheek to cheek, his lips brushing your ear to ensure he could be heard over the DJ.

"You've got to stop that" he said, low, deep, with a serious laugh.

You pulled back to meet his gaze, giving him a confused look.

"Stop what?" you asked earnestly.

"Looking at me like that" he said.

You smiled, tilting your head to look flirtatiously at him.

"I'm serious!" he said in a mock-threatening tone "If you keep looking at me like that, I'll have no choice but to kiss you.”

Your breath caught in your lungs, but you didn't flinch, didn't bat an eyelash. Instead, you pulled yourself closer to him, teasing him, taunting him, your lips just out of his reach.

"I swear to God" he mumbled against you, your final warning "Once I kiss you, I'm not going to be able to stop."

"Who says I'd want you to?" you replied, and before the last word had left your lips one of his hands left your waist and came to trace your jaw, your cheek, the cool touch of the ring on his finger in the heat of the moment sending an involuntary chill through your body as he grasped your face.

His lips melded against yours and you sunk into him in full abandon, not caring who was watching as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your lips hot and wet against his, your tongues finding each other immediately. He nearly lifted you off the ground in an effort to pull you closer to him, every inch of you alight as he grasped you bruisingly tight to him. Your body was an electric guitar and he was a goddamn rock star.

The ocean could have flooded the beach, washing the world away and you two wouldn't have let go of each other. You lost track of time as your hands tugged desperately at his shirt, as your fingers coursed over his short hair, as his hands roamed your body. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours before you parted, only for a second, as he took you in, his pupils blown wide, breathing heavily. He took in your cheeks flushed with desire for him, your lips plump and swollen, your chest rising and falling, matching his own.

"Well, fuck" he whispered against your lips, realizing just how far gone he already was for you.

taglist: @ietss, @gillybear17, @palmwinemami, @moremaybank, @one-sweet-gubler, @m-indkiller, @diary-of-jj, @crlsummer, @callsign-tangerine, @jjsbank444

[fandomfluffandfuck]

(Ignore the fact that this is a screenshot of this ask, lmao, I posted this before I was ready on accident (my app updated and I pressed post rather than safe as a draft because the buttons moved and I'm dumb like that, lol) and didn't have time right then to write what I wanted to for this so I just screen-shotted, then deleted the original post. It's fine, haha. It's here now.)

This reminded me of a fic I wrote a while ago! It's not big dick Steve and it's not mocking in a fun way (in the past, instead, people have been cruel about such a big dick), but... it's big dick Bucky who gets lightheaded when he gets a hard one with size queen Steve praising him and making him feel like no one else, so I just think it's something you might enjoy as well:

"Strangers Who Fit Together More Like Soulmates"

Now, though, YES, we can talk about big dick Steve who gets light-headed and thoughtless whenever he's hard:

If Bucky were feeling confessional, he would describe the way he feels like this--luxuriously pressing his chest up against Steve's broad back and gluing his hips to bubble butt--and, oh, boy, is it a lot of feeling. He can feel the slow, thick rush of his blood through his body, turning the heat up to a feverish, summer level--the kind of summer night that you spend sweating, lying back on your bed over top of your sheets. After all, it's that humid and sticky. So hot that you're thinking about how bad it would really be if some monster came up and snagged your uncovered ankle because... it can't fucking be as bad as this heat. He's fucking hot.

Sweating.

Bucky can feel that, too, his sweat pooling on his skin underneath his clothes. Steve has to be sweating, too. They're going to have to peel apart...eventually. But more pressingly than the heat and sweat and flush afflicting him, he can feel the strain and twinge in his wrist. His muscles ache as he grips and strokes, jacking Steve off while he pretends to be able to wash the dishes. And Bucky hasn't even been at this teasing torture for long!

You'd think after so many months of getting so, so intimately aquatinted with Steve's monster cock, that his body would be used to it. But his body isn't--it still doesn't know what's hit it because he's colliding, regularly, with a fucking semi-truck. Bucky doesn't stand a chance.

With another handful of fast, sloppy strokes that tease more than feel satisfying, Steve sways forward into the counter with a low, aching noise. It's like a tree threatening to fall, Bucky swears it. His big, big body and matching cock. Bucky could climb him like a tree if not for how unsteady Steve gets whenever he's turned on.

The way he twitches and weakens leaves Bucky's arm pinned between Steve's body and the counter, one of the sharp points of Steve's hips and the equally sharp edge of the countertop dig into Bucky. He doesn't care. He's ignoring that ache alongside the lactic acid building up in his muscles--that acid, too, stokes the flames inside him, he burns hot--Bucky murmurs, husky into Steve's ear, "biiiiig boy, yeah, that's it." He won't stop teasing him, no matter how much his arm complains or how stuck it gets.

Instead, Bucky switches tactics, he didn't start this ambush for nothing. So, he squeezes him with his whole hand. He can't touch all of him like this, but it doesn't matter. More than a handful. Regardless, it's more than enough for Steve to be gripped and grabbed based on how he jerks forward quickly, gasping low, under his breath with a barely there huff of, "Buck-!"

Bucky pays his breathy sound no mind, replacing it in the tension-thick air between them with his own words, "I fucking love feeling you swell up in my hand," Steve moans, dropping a thankfully plastic container with a clatter, "gimme it, baby," Bucky goads him, hyping him up, giving up the pretense of just an innocent reach-around-and-cop-a-feel to an all-out fuck-session. "Gimme it. I wanna feel it." Bucky squeezes his hand around his shaft under his sweatpants. Steve's gone from soft and sweet to solid and thick so fast that Bucky's fingers no longer meet around his dick. "One day," Bucky muses, stretching onto his tip-toes to whisper right in Steve's ear, letting his lips brush his skin just a little, just enough to make him shudder, "I'm gonna shove you in me when you're half hard and I'm just gonna sit on this fat cock," Bucky squeezes unforgivingly until Steve makes a stupid guh sound, punched-out, "feeling it get bigger in me."

Steve shivers again, this time more intense. Oh, yeah, he's getting weaker.

Bucky nips at the hot shell of his ear, already turning red. How he still has enough blood in his body to blush while his cock fills up so heavy and thick will remain a mystery to Bucky.

"How's that sound, huh?" He teases.

Steve just whimpers.

Bucky had to get on his tip-toes before, but he relaxes now because Steve is falling, slowly, uncontrollably slouching down the counter. He'll end up on the floor if Bucky keeps going, getting dizzy as his blood finally decides it all has to go where Bucky wants it... in this nice, fat dick.

There's no harm in speeding the process up, making him dizzy, "you're such a slut with this huge thing, getting it up so fast, so often."

"Buck!" Steve gasps again, his muscle-bound body pressed so harshly against the restricted pressure and friction of Bucky's hand in his pants that Bucky starts to feel sharp tingles in his fingers, pins and needles that somehow make the silky hard sensation of Steve's dick in his hand sweeter.

"I can't believe you. I can't believe how slutty you are," Bucky kisses the nape of his neck lushly, then he scrapes his teeth against the top bump of his spine when Steve lets his head hang, the rest of him wilting as his dick swells. "Do you know how eager you are? You'll fucking crumble to your knees for me any time, any day, all I gotta do is get that blood flowing south and you're a goner, babyy--"

Steve inhales so shakily it sounds like he's at the end of a really good cry.

Perfect.

Bucky uses his weakness, his going limp, to his advantage, curling his other hand around his cinched waist to pull him back--giving himself more room to work. That way his hand doesn't tingle so much as he works hard to stroke all the way up and all the way down that big fucking gun he's packing in his sweats. Armed and dangerous.

Steve, with this little (not so little) head talking louder than his big head, lets him move him. Mold him. Stroke him. Jerk him off. Faster. harder.

He slouches another inch. his hands have long since stopped trying to clean their dishes, instead, wet and sudsy, he's gripping the edges of the sink for dear life.

"Should I get you a fainting couch, big guy?" The more he talks, the wider Bucky's Cheshire smile stretches. He's sure he looks feral, how could he not? The weight of his dick in his hand, more and more of Steve's whole body weight pressing back against Bucky, leaning into his chest, letting him have it all. "'Cause we sure as shit need something to catch you when you fall every time I bend over and you see my ass? You fuckin' horndog."

Steve scrambles, suddenly, to touch him. His dish-water-soaked, red-hot hands the size of dinner plates wrap themselves around both of Bucky's forearms. Bucky feels the squeeze as he jerks him slower but harder, much less teasing and more pleasuring. Steve is unsteady. Bucky is all that's holding him up and he won't be able to for long, he's fucking heavy. When his cock twitches in his grip once, twice, leaving Bucky with a mouth full of drool, he starts taking his big guy toward the living room. Walking slow and carefully--pushing really. Pushing this fucking tank toward the nearest soft place for him to crash.

"I can't fucking believe you, big boy," Bucky's mouth runs as he goes, "where do you keep this thing?" As he says it, he goes alllll the way from the base to the tip. Bucky still can't believe how long and how thick he is. He feels like it's a fucking joke. When he first saw Steve naked, he couldn't pick his jaw up off the floor. He thought, o-fucking-kay, you're a show-er then? But as he got to touch and taste and explore, running wild. And it turns out Steve's actually a grower, and then Bucky couldn't only not close his mouth but he couldn't speak. He couldn't fit the whole thing in his mouth and stuffed down his throat either.

"How do you fit it in your pants?" The questions pour out as they get into the living room, Steve stumbling worse now, dizzier. He wouldn't be able to differentiate up from down if he tried, Bucky's pretty sure. The only up and down he knows is Bucky's fist fighting to stretch around his cock, Bucky's mouth gaping to suck him down, Bucky's asshole struggling to swallow him whole. Up and down, up and down, up and down--bouncing on that unreal cock. "How do you fit it in me? I can't believe you do, every time I look at it. Jesus Christ."

For such a big guy, his voice is so cute and small, mewling, whining, and pawing at him with clumsy hands, trying to get him to do more than talk and jerk him off. He wants faster. He wants more. Slut.

"It's good you go so dumb, baby," Bucky murmurs, taking his hands off him and throwing him onto their couch instead. Tiiiimber, Bucky snickers to himself, watching him bounce on the couch. The springs squeak and Steve whimpers, writhing with the unfair treatment. Why'd you stop?, those huge puppy dog eyes, rimmed red, threatening to spill tears, ask. "'Cause if you didn't get so dumb, you'd get some big ideas of doing the work, wouldn't you?"

Steve's too out of it to nod, but it doesn't matter. Bucky doesn't need his silly little input, all he needs is that cock, that gorgeous body, and the stupid expression on his face--eyelids heavy, mouth slack, cheeks hot.

Out. of. it.

"And we can't have that!" He bites, teasing as he climbs onto Steve's prone, sprawled form, straddling his tree-trunk thighs and unceremoniously shoving his sweats down just to watch that horse cock bounce up and slap his clenching tummy. Steve's chest heaves, a wail ripped out of him and causing him to almost double over. Bucky shoves him back, "if you're thinking, you're trying to finger me open and you're just too impatient with a dick like that."

Steve makes some garbled noise, it sounds like he's drowning.

Bucky chuckles, half-amusement, half-breath, throwing his head back with it. He's enjoying himself so fucking much, his hands working that cock and his hips grinding against Steve's solid thigh. "I gotta stretch myself open for you with a dick like what you got. I, I gotta drag it out," he pauses to moan, still grinding, "'cause I'd split at the seams with dick if I didn't get nice and loose for you."

Steve bucks underneath him, nearly throwing him off. It just makes Bucky chuckle more--more moan and breath in the sound. He's so sweet and dumb. Nothing matters to him like this, blissed out, and it's so easy to get him here that it's a wonder Bucky doesn't keep him like this all the time. Yeah, that sounds good, a living, breathing, fuck-machine.

There's no lube over here, though, so unfortunately, Bucky can't start getting sloppy and loose for his human dildo. He'll just have to do the next best thing and jack him off until he cums, then, once he's pumping buckets all over himself, Bucky can scoop it up and use it, along with all his eager, slippery pre-cum to slick himself up so Steve can fill him fuller. More dick. More cum.

It won't be hard to get Steve there--

"If only that brain was as big as that big dick, hm, sweetie? Then maybe you could actually get something done rather than just letting me lead you around by the cock."

Steve whines roughly.

--yeah. No sweat. Give Bucky a challenge, c'mon.

[missmugiwara]

Now There's an Idea

Summary: gn!reader x Rengoku. You talk to Rengoku about your love life. Warning: None! Just some cuteness. I hope you like flirting! Note: I had way too much fun with this! Please enjoy!

It was late out.

A yawn escaped your lips as you rested your arm on the hilt of your blade. There was a full moon, a gentle warmth in the humid summer air, and crickets chirped somewhere far off in the distance. Mid-yawn, your gaze wandered over to the man with you on this fine night. Rengoku was quiet, an ever-present smirk on his face while his arms were crossed against his broad chest. He hadn't let out any indication of being tired, and here you were yawning. While on patrol. While waiting for a report from scouts sent ahead earlier in the day. There was a possibility that a particularly strong demon was in the area, and so the master sent two of his finest hashira: Rengoku and you.

It wasn't unusual that you two were paired together. In fact, it happened often enough where you could affectionately say Rengoku's presence made you quite comfortable. Any mission that he was joining you on instantly made you feel giddy. The flame hashira was just so kind. When you first met him he was quite intimidating with his bright, sun-like eyes and loud nature, but after getting to know him he was extremely charming. You were thankful for the friendly relationship that developed and for how easy it was to speak to him about nearly anything.

So seated on a rooftop, you swung you legs over the side and kicked them back and forth out of boredom. You looked up at the moon and softly hummed a song while your eyes became lidded. You had been thinking a lot about life lately, particularly romance.

It was starting to get difficult lately.

What exactly? It had been a long time since you were wooed and had a proper date. It seemed that every time you finished one mission, exhausted and burnt out, another one came up. Constantly on the move, never getting the chance to try and find a special someone. The feeling of being held in someone's arms, to have butterflies in your stomach, to have one's lips against yours - you sighed dreamily at the moon in yearning.

"Kyojuro, you ever think about getting married someday?"

As soon as those words left your mouth, it was instant regret. It had slipped out without thought. Eyes widened in embarrassment, cheeks blossomed into heat, and immediately you turned to see if his expression changed at all. Surprisingly it didn't, but what was even more concerning now was trying to read his face and determine if you had crossed a line. That was kind of personal information to ask, but… Rengoku was yours. Well, uh, your friend! Friend! Was there really any reason to be so bothered asking that to a friend? Besides, upon further thought, was he even the marrying type? He seemed like he would focus on his career first.

Rengoku closed his yellow and red eyes. The proud smirk still played at his lips, and he tilted his chin downward.

"Yes."

He answered softly. You twitched in response as another heat erupted onto your face. Oh, Rengoku's response was unexpected! It reminded you that he too was just a normal person like anybody else. And it revealed that Rengoku was not the type of man consumed with his work.

"And what about you, my dear?"

Those words echoed in your ears. Your heart thumped against your chest. This sensation was new. My dear. You never really paid attention to that until now. Why was that? Your friendship with the flame hashira was strong, and he called you that for years out of endearment. He never did it out of flirtation nor ever expected any cute names in return. Moreso, you were surprised he didn't rebuttle and ask why would you want to know. Perhaps asking that wasn't as personal as it seemed, especially with the connection you two shared. It was only fair you answered back honestly. He deserved it.

"I… I do." you smiled gently and locked eyes with him, "I want to fall in love."

It was so easy to share something so intimate with him. His presence alone just made you become honest to a fault. Plus, he would never laugh at you for this.

Rengoku beamed with a slight pink blush, "That's wonderful!"

You smiled back at him cutely. You took a pause to rub the back of your head bashfully and laughed, "But… I'm afraid I'll never meet anyone with how hard I work! I barely get the time to go on dates anymore."

The blonde and red-haired man took a moment to think. He stared at you with a light smile. "You could meet plenty of people! How about someone in the corps?"

Lips pursed in thought, you blinked before looking up into the sky in a reflective manner. "Someone from the corps? Well, I never thought about that before. I guess I could… but I don't know…"

It was interesting that Rengoku mentioned potentially dating a coworker. That seemed like it could get awkward if the relationship went sour. It also seemed strange for someone of his character to suggest this. Rengoku shuffled in his seat, seeming to understand your hesitation. He uncrossed his arms and then his legs, swinging them over the side of the roof to mirror your position. The smile on his face somehow changed into something a little bit more enticing.

"How about… a hashira?"

The air stilled.

Rengoku blushed. You blushed. You completely froze on the spot at what Rengoku was implying. Did he… maybe mean himself? Was he flirting? Your lips parted out of shock. Somehow in this state, you whipped your gaze to him. Eyes still widened, lips still parted. An intense staredown bewteen a smirking, proud hashira and a stunned, flustered one. Rengoku's eyes were lidded, and the expression he wore was quite alluring. Another pause was shared, before you realized you kept him waiting.

In that instance, your eyes softened. You had maybe thought about him like that a few times before, and… dating Rengoku sounded very pleasing. He would make an excellent partner. He was truly handsome. And strong. And kind. That longing gaze in your eyes matched his, and you could have sworn you saw his throat bob when you gave him such a lascivious look that was aimed at his lips. Gently, you gripped the side of the roof in your hands.

"You know… I wouldn't mind that."

Hopefully the lusty, breathy tone in your voice was enough, enough to tell Rengoku that you might possibly know he was referring to himself. It was not in his nature to dance around in conversations and to be more straightforward - but this was kind of cute. He was an unexpected flirt. But you wanted to play it safe, after all. He was your friend.

Other times… he was so much more.

Perhaps you should have been more forward like how Rengoku usually was. Or perhaps, he already understood what you admitted. The look he gave you then could only make you spiral even further.

Rengoku's lips curled upward into a delectable smirk.

"Hmm. I see."

[lcvesjj]

True Blue - Erin Lindsay x Fem!Reader

Inspired by the song “True Blue” By Boygenius.

Pairing : Erin Lindsay x Fem!Reader 

Summary : One sided love always sucks. Especially when you're in love with someone who is your best friend. 

Warnings : angst, no happy ending, slight heartbreak, hurt/no comfort?

A/n : This is just based on my interpretation of the song :) also small fun fact : this was the first thing I wrote for this whole event/series (it's honestly what started the whole idea shehhdhdhdh)

regular masterlist

song fics masterlist

You were happy and I wasn’t surprised. 

As heartbreaking as it was for you to see her with someone else. You were happy for her. She deserved happiness, especially after everything that had happened to her.

Jay was a good guy and you knew he would treat her well, but it still didn’t make it any easier or better. 

You had been in love with her for years, yet you never made a move out of fear of being rejected and losing her. You couldn’t imagine losing her, even the thought of losing Erin made you want to breakdown. You and Erin had gone through a lot in the years you knew each other, she was your rock and you were hers. 

And it feels good to be known so well.

I can’t hide from you like I hide from myself. 

She knew you best. From the moment you both had met, she always knew when your mood was off or when something bad or good had happened. No matter how much you tried to hide from her she always knew when something was wrong. You weren’t able to hide from her, she knew you too well. 

Now you're movin' in

Breakin' a sweat on your upper lip

And gettin' pissed about humidity

And the leaky faucet

You could practically hear the sound of your heart breaking when Erin said that Jay was going to move into her apartment. Even if at that moment your heart was breaking into tiny pieces it didn’t matter much to you. But nethertheless you smiled widely and said that you were really happy for her. You always wanted the best for Erin. “That’s amazing Erin, I'm so happy for you!” You said still smiling at her. When she replied saying “Thank you Y/n. You’re my best friend and I’m so glad we are friends.”

Friends. 

That is all you would ever be. You just got friendzoned by your best friend who you were madly in love with. You smiled through the pain. You couldn't bring yourself to say anything more knowing that you would probably start crying if you did. 

You already hurt my feeling three times

In the way only you could 

The curse of someone knowing you so well was it was easy for them to hurt you. They knew you best after all. 

You were doing better with accepting the fact that Erin was dating Jay and you were starting to accept that she would never return your feelings. That was all until it all came crashing down. 

You could still hear her words going over and over in your head. “Stop bothering me Y/n and just leave me alone! You don’t need to watch over me anymore. I have Jay so just stop. And please just grow up and find someone else to bother.” She said that right you asked her if she wanted more coffee, which was nothing like the Erin you knew. She had changed a lot. Nodding softly and saying “Of course Detective.” You walked away while biting your lip trying not to cry. Hearing her words broke you even more. 

Seeing your sad expression and how quiet you got broke her heart. She didn’t want to be rude but she simply snapped at the nearest person. This case was a hard one and she didn’t mean to take it out on you. You didn’t do anything wrong, you were just trying to check up on your closest friend. 

That wasn’t like Erin, she would never say something like this. You thought to yourself. But wanting to respect her decision you stayed away. You stopped looking at her and you would simply ignore her if she tried to talk to you, unless it was about a case. And as hard as it was, you just stuck to it. Thinking that it’s for the best if it stays like this. 

Luckily Voight had paired you with Antonio, since before you were paired with Jay and now you could barely look him in the eyes. 

Hank wasn’t blind, he saw how you barely talked to Erin and you two didn’t spend as much time together as you used to. He also saw the way Erin’s face fell everytime Adam or Antonio made you laugh at something.

That is when you made up your mind, there was no going back from this decision. You decided to transfer into a different unit in a completely new city to start again. You had already called Olivia Benson and asked if you could transfer into her unit in New York. You wanted to start out fresh. It was a very sudden decision but you felt like it was for the best.

Now all you had to do was tell Voight about your request. Which was terrifying for you. But you knew it was for the better.

Walking up into the district you felt oddly calm. You knew you'd miss this place and friends alot. But you hoped it would all be alright. 

Quickly unlocking the gate to the bullpen you headed towards Voight’s office. “So it’s true isn’t it?” He asked, looking up at you. “Yes Sir. I decided that a change of scenery would be a good idea.” You replied. 

Nodding he got up and walked over to shake your hand. “You’re a good cop Y/l/n. And don’t ever let anyone or anything change that.” “Thank you Sir.” You said slightly tearing up. “And if  you ever decide to come back to this district the door will always be open for you.” In response you simply nodded. “Thank you for everything Sarge. It was a pleasure to work in this unit. Can I tell the team now?”

After exchanging a few last words you walked out and stood next to the empty white board. “I just wanted to say that I’m transferring to New York’s SVU and I wanted to say goodbye before I leave.” You said smiling softly, you were trying your best to be strong and not to cry but it wasn’t that easy. 

The shocked faces of your coworkers will be forever ingrained into your mind. Saying goodbye was hard, especially to your coworkers who quickly became family to you. 

Erin and Jay were out doing something related to an old case, so you didn’t have to face them yet.

You stayed in the bullpen for a while, simply sitting and talking with your now ex-coworkers. Hearing footsteps leading up to the bullpen you didn’t even look up since you knew who it was. You just kept on sitting on the edge of Antonio’s desk, laughing and telling silly little stories to the rest of the unit.

“What’s this gathering for?” Jay asked in a joking tone. “Oh Y/n is leaving for New York soon to join the SVU, so we are just saying our goodbyes.” Adam replied, nodding over to you. Glancing up at them you saw how Erin’s face fell hearing his words and Jay simply looked shocked.

“I’m going to miss you guys a lot, but I think I have to get going since I have an early flight tomorrow.” You smiled getting up from Antonio’s desk, while glancing at your watch. “Actually Y/n, can I talk to you for a second?” Erin asked softly, looking at you with slightly teary eyes. “Sure.” You simply responded. 

I mean what’s the worst that can happen? You were moving tomorrow and starting a new life, and leaving all of this behind.

Following Erin to the locker room, you held your head up high. Even if it hurt knowing it was the first time in weeks that you had properly talked to her. But what made it worse was that it was probably going to be the last time the two of you would speak to each other.

“So what did you want to talk about?” You asked, leaning on the lockers, looking at the brunette curiously. “I-I love you Y/n. And I can’t imagine losing you. I-” You interrupted her saying. “Erin, I love you too. But I can’t stay here. I’m sorry but moving is the best option for me. And besides you have Jay, you're happy and I don’t want to ruin it for you.” You said softly, walking over and cupping her cheek. 

“Jay and me- we broke up- Y/n-I can’t lose you. Please.” Erin begged you. “I’m sorry, but I'm doing what's best for both of us.” You replied, turning your back and trying to walk away. Erin grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, standing face to face with her you could feel the tears gathering up in your eyes. 

“Stay. Please.” She begged you. “I can’t and you know that Erin. I’ll always love you. But this isn’t healthy for the both of us.” You said softly leaning in to press a gentle kiss on her cheek. But Erin must have figured out what you were trying to do and pulled you in for a short kiss. 

You both pulled away with tears in your eyes. “I’m gonna miss you.” She mumbled. “Me too.” You said while pulling away. Looking over at Erin you could see the tears gathering up in her eyes. You both knew what you wanted to say but somehow you couldn't find the words to say it. 

Smiling at her one last time you walked towards the exit of the district. You had to get out of there before you started crying. This was harder than you thought it would be. Sending one last shaky smile to Sergeant Platt, you walked out. Walking out you breathed in the late winter Chicago air. You were ready to start a new life in New York.

You knew you’d always love Erin but you needed a fresh start. Somewhere far away from here, where you wouldn't have to face the reality of how loyal and in love you were with Erin.

Sometimes it’s just easier this way.

[thisisperverse]

Aand that's a wrap on our summer of 69 challenge ⛱️ Some cool facts about it:

20 fanworks

1 fanart

19 fics

20 authors/artists

4 WIPs so even more fun to come

thousands of km/miles traveled

including 4 trips to Marbella (i wonder why)

countless cocktails 🍹

so much love!

and coolest fact: 100k+ words written total! If you want to know what they were all about, check the fics and their summaries below.

Want to join the fun? Find us at discord.gg/royjamie.

Play Like A Tartt by hopefulromance, jackhowad (T)

Jamie is sick and tired of homophobia in football and decides he can do something about it

sunshine warm, moonlight soft by asphodellic (E)

If asked, Roy will insist it’s the heat that drives him back into the house and not the way the sunlight is sinking into Jamie’s stupid floppy hair and glistening off his sweat slicked muscles. He’s Roy fucking Kent, and he’s never run away from a hot person in his life. If he was in his prime, he would already have Jamie bent in half in his bed upstairs, one hand over his mouth while he takes him apart, and that would be that.

Are We There Yet? by ABubblingCandle (G)

Train strikes derail Jamie's summer plans so he has to find another way to travel the length of the country. Good thing he has a coach that loves him so much and will drop everything to drive him on a 4 hour each way round trip ... what do you mean Roy said no?

swelter/shake by farewllyouth (E)

Roy approaches with a glass in each hand, slips off his slides and lowers himself to the edge of the pool. His feet dangle in the cool water as Jamie takes his drink, fingertips brushing. They don’t speak, sipping their drinks under the canopy stretched over the pool. Jamie finishes first, because Roy gave him a straw and too much ice, and his patience is in shorter supply. The sound of the distant waves off the beach reach them even through the trees surrounding the property. Roy leans back on his hands and takes a deep breath, head tilted back so he can get a good lungful of humid, salty sea air. “So you getting in, or what?”

be my summer boyfriend by BestDeadFriendsForever (E)

It’d been nine days since Roy landed in Marbella and it was somewhere around eleven when he limped out of his bedroom for a glass of water, his mouth cottony and head aching slightly, to see Jamie fucking Tartt standing in the middle of the kitchen in an unbuttoned linen shirt and one of the tiniest pair of swim shorts that Roy had ever seen. He had on a pair of sunnies despite being inside- though the floor to ceiling windows that made up the entire back wall lessened the prickishness a little- and his hair was falling across his forehead in a soft wave. “The fuck’re you doing here?” Roy demanded, feeling awkward at only being in a pair of socks and his boxer-briefs.

Questionable Summer Fashion Choices by ABubblingCandle (G)

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Roy didn’t even know what to think about what he had just walked in on. He had existed in football changing rooms are all long as he could remember and so had stumbled upon everything you could ever think of stumbling upon in a changing room. But this complete and utter affront to his sensibilities was something brand new and a full different tier of stupid. “Oh, hey Roy,” Keeley chirped up from where she was reclined in the corner on her phone. “What the fuck is he wearing?” Roy turned to Keeley to try and get an answer through the giggles of the assembled greyhounds. They were only buckets of popcorn away from this being a real show. “Um it’s called a shirt Roy,” Jamie scoffed, rolling his eyes as he spun round.

A Camping Trip with Phoebe by garlic_salt_is_superior (G)

Roy and Jamie take Phoebe on a camping trip during the off-season

Will You Be My Plus One (Now and Forever?) by Rayvynheart (T)

Five plus weddings over the course of his barely 12 weeks off? He honestly didn’t even know he knew that many single people. This does present an issue, though. There’s no way Jamie Tartt can be seen at a wedding without a plus one. He’s got a reputation to maintain, after all. Not to mention that now that he’s barely drinking, trying to get through a whole wedding and reception without someone there to help distract him sounds like torture. How’s he supposed to find dates to every single one?   Hmmmm I wonder how Jamie Tartt is going to solve this dilemma???

Family Beach Day by luvsbitca (G)

“Papa,” Georgina said. “Why is Daddy in your phone as Grandad?” “We never should have taught you to read.” Gee giggled. “You’re so silly.” Just fun, simple, sweet family day at the beach fluff.

Good Night, Sleep Tight by maskedwolves (E)

“What’re you doing?” Jamie asks as he complies with Roy’s silent command and hoists himself up onto the quartz countertop. Roy takes in Jamie’s tired, naked form - eye lids only half open, shoulders slightly slumped, soft cock as sleepy as the rest of him –and wonders how this perfect human chose him to spend his life with. “Getting my tired husband washed up for bed.” “I can get myself ready,” Jamie says with a sleepy smile, amused at Roy taking care of him like this. “Yes, but you don’t have to.”

Like Sand At The Beach by luvsbitca (E)

Jamie took his chance, why not, why shouldn’t it be him, why couldn’t it be him. Why couldn’t he be the person Roy wanted? He caught the corner of Roy’s mouth; his lips dry against Roy’s. he pressed there for a just a moment or two but then pulled away, catching Roy’s eyes when they opened again. Jamie realised a beat later that Roy had closed his eyes…Jamie had kissed him, and the other man had closed his eyes, his heart started thumping. He licked at his bottom lip and then pressed forward and leaned in again, catching Roy’s bottom lip.   Jamie and Roy have sex in Marbella...that is all. They are in love too!

wonderstruck (blushing all the way home) by bizarrebedtimestories (E)

There's a small velvet box sitting on the table where his breakfast should be. Behind it, there's a man, familiar and very beautiful, smiling shyly at him. Roy doesn't have a clue what's going on. "Yes?" "This—" The man nudges the box forward with a few of his fingers. "—is for you." Roy pulls it towards him slowly, like someone preparing to diffuse a bomb. He hesitates, glancing up at the stranger once more before he tells himself to get over it, you fucking ninny! Roy opens the box. "Is this a fucking engagement ring?" Or the selkie!Jamie fic nobody asked for.

cruel summer (what doesn't kill me makes me want you more) by valdomarx (E)

Roy's knee is fucked, he's been dumped, and he's spending an awful lot of time on the couch. So he's doing great. It's just unfortunate that he can't turn on his TV without seeing Jamie fucking Tartt and his stupid reality show. And it's even more unfortunate that Jamie has his phone number. And for some reason, he keeps messaging him.

a body at rest by mixtapestar (E)

Roy shows Jamie how to relax on holiday.

only wanna be the one that i call baby by howdyrowdypartner (T)

“There’s a lot coming up,” Roy says, instead of all that. “With the manager position, and shit. I need some time to think about,” he gestures vaguely between them, “this.” Jamie nods, slowly, lips pursed together. “Alright,” he says again. Roy really hates that fucking word. “You ought to take a trip or something, Coach,” Jamie says, flopping back down onto the pillows, making no move to leave Roy’s bed despite the whole needing space thing. “Take a holiday before the season starts. Get your head on straight.” That - isn’t the worst idea Jamie’s ever had, really. --- Or, the seven days in which Roy loses his fucking mind, thanks to Jamie.

a carcass of a man, i belong inside his skin by NineWesternStars (M)

When he arrived, kicking up dust in his dark wine Aston, Jamie’s first thought was, this is what football’s greatest left for? He was decidedly unimpressed and told Roy as much, with one foot out of his luxury sports car and poised to drop into a forgotten pile of cowshit. Roy had given him a look of such loathing when Jamie used the bottom step of the farmhouse to scrape off his trainer. (Jamie is sent to Roy's farm for the summer, in hopes of becoming a better player.) ​

the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you by nightcabret (T)

“Tartt! I know you’re in there and we’re going to be fucking late-” Roy cuts off right as Jamie swings open the door. He looks pissed, but Jamie watches as he takes him in, his eyes widening and mouth gaping in a way that would be downright comical if Jamie wasn’t currently channeling most of his focus into standing up straight. “Woah. You look like shit.” “That’s fucking rude.” Jamie scoffs, right as he loses the fight against keeping his balance and sways forward.

keep a place for me by soofyahn (E)

Jamie glances at his blood-stained hoodie and frowns. At least the last time he confessed his love, he was wearing a suit. Turns out how they're dressed doesn’t matter much, in the end. The two of 'em might as well be wearing shirts that say ‘I’m with stupid’. Five accidental dates, or: four times Jamie makes an effort to dress for the occasion, and one time he doesn’t put nearly enough thought into what he wears.

[slowd1ving]

I: DELIVERANCE・゜MIGUEL O'HARA

"And him. The scarlet and navy glimmer of scales was always probing at the edge of your conscious thoughts, demanding to be let in. You leaned your elbows on the railings to get more comfortable. Ever since you’d helped Miguel out with those mythical creature hunters, he plagued your thoughts like an incessant gnat. " No one ever tells you just how lonely the swashbuckling life is. Can you be blamed when you begin to long to see your new friend? When your morally ambiguous buddy makes a comeback, you can't just spoil the fun and foil his goals. Merfolk AU + Pirate GN! Reader warnings: death, violence, blood, hurt/comfort

THE TIME YOU MADE FRIENDS WITH A MERMAN AND WERE FORCED TO JOIN IN TRICKERY AND SCHEMING MASTERLIST

MISC. MASTERLIST ゜・MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

NEXT PART

   You’d ordinarily consider yourself a lucky person. Sure, you got into a few unsavoury situations here and there (to say the very least), but you came out relatively unharmed! This led you to the unfortunately untrue assumption that the heavens smiled upon you. No, in reality, they were likely toying with you so you’d live a day longer to amuse their capricious whims. 

In fact, you were positive that they were absolutely cackling at your current predicament. 

“Deliver me from my doom,” you muttered under your breath to your only faithful companion, the one and only pistol on your hip. Silence (and maybe the crashing of the waves against the timbers of the ship’s hull) was the only response. 

Of course, after all your reprieves and days off on considerably cooler days when the Queen Anne’s Slightly Malevolently-Intentioned Revenge docked, there had to be a catch. Today, when the arid air carried no trace of any cool breeze, when the blistering heat sunk into your very bone marrow, the first mate had elected you for guard duty while your crewmates slunk into the shadows of the port town. 

Was it somewhat relaxing? No, not even that. Not in that horrible, humid heat that clung to you. You couldn’t escape it, not even when you stood in the shadows of the upper cabins. 

Who could blame you when your mind began to wander? Guard duty was a farce, especially in this heat, when no one would be bothered to commit shipnappings. Still, maybe if you did your job, you’d be promoted to first mate when the crew switched out. Or even captain if the old fart kicked the bucket (heavens forbid). 

And him . The scarlet and navy glimmer of scales was always probing at the edge of your conscious thoughts, demanding to be let in. You leaned your elbows on the railings to get more comfortable. Ever since you’d helped Miguel out with those mythical creature hunters, he plagued your thoughts like an incessant gnat. 

You hadn’t seen him once in the past few weeks. Just like that, he’d upped and vanished somewhere beneath those deep waves. You wouldn’t say you were lonely, but friends came few and far-between in your profession. Who could fault you if you wanted companionship, or even just a few friendly words? Though, you sincerely doubted that he’d be friendly . 

Still, he had promised to repay you; yet there wasn’t even a glimpse of him in your life. You didn’t even care about the damned repayment! Your own Good Company did not suffice to ease the discomfort gnawing away at you. Sure, you expected as much when you shook hands with the wizened captain: expected the loneliness, expected the lack of camaraderie, expected the harsh life the sea crashed against. Was it selfish, then, to seek the Possible Good Company outside of yourself and your pistol?

“Ignore me,” you crooned to the flintlock wedged in its worn leather holster. Were you slowly having your brain fry in the sun? Maybe. “You know I’d never replace your company.”

There was no sign of the sun setting anytime soon; there was no sign of your crewmates coming back to relieve you of duty either. You could jump ship, so long as you stayed on the dock and remained alert. The islet that hosted the crew was significantly smaller and less populated, so you’d see anyone approaching from a good few hundred paces away. 

Maybe you’d sit on the creaking wood of the docks, dipping your feet in the cool water to ease the heat-induced discomfort. Maybe you’d dip into your secret stash of cured meats to sate your gnawing hunger. Maybe you’d even take the time to paddle around in the lagoon nearby after you were given the permission to stand down. 

You set your jaw resolutely. You were absolutely going to cool yourself off in the lagoon. That snug little inlet off to the edge of that cliff was causing you to practically salivate over the premise of relief. Please be back soon . You’d slip out once a grunt took your place and have a whole few hours to yourself before curfew. Not that it was actually enforced. It was either get back on ship before we sail in the morning or get left behind in port to live out the rest of your miserable, low-life existence .  

Huzzah! Your knight in pirate breeches was not, in fact, a grunt with whom you could leave the prestigious honour of ship-guarding. No, it was the drunk old captain, stumbling back up the gangway with the third mate. Not a grunt, but he’d do. You saluted and made your way down to the docks, ignoring the exasperated sigh of your shipmate. 

Just you and your trusty pistol, ambling their way towards whatever paradise this dingy little town could offer. 

Piracy really was boring when it came down to it. Rarely ever did your captain ever give the go-ahead to loot another ship (his idea of piracy was more along the lines of copying expensive manuscripts and selling them). Plus, it’s not like you could even put it on your resume if you did change career paths. You came for adventure, and stayed for what? Bad pay? That grey slop the chef affectionately called porridge? The net hammock that gave you unbearable back aches?

The stinky breath of your shipmates?

Yawning, you cast the thoughts out of mind for the time being. It wasn’t like you truly wanted a career change, deep down. The constant travel sated your curious mind, and visiting various cities was an adventure in itself. Still, the captain was far too reserved in your humble opinion (perish the thought!). 

You were a simple being. A dip in the lagoon would leave you deliciously revived and a Model Pirate With Not A Trace Of Mutiny. Of course, you weren’t in a mutinous mood anyway , just Slightly Critical of your captain. Besides, who else would belch affectionately at you before giving you a stack of manuscripts to copy? 

Maybe one day, you’d captain your own vessel. You’d finally taste the sweet nectar of adventure . However, that day wouldn’t be now. For now, you could occupy yourself with the simple pleasures of life. 

And that included taking a bath. Gods, you stunk after spending a full day in the humid summer heat, sweating your ass off unloading cargo. You still had some modicum of decorum and hygiene, even if your peers (see: stinky louts) didn’t.

The cool waters of the bay in front of you practically made your toes arch with how pleasurable the sensation was against your too-hot skin. There wasn’t a soul in sight in the turquoise waters of the small lagoon; you could relax for a bit. Fuck it . 

You waded deeper into the cool waters, towards the towering rock structure in the middle. Hastily, you peeled your hand-me-down Pirate Shirt and Pirate Pants and Pirate Scarf and Pirate Accessories off. The water at the centre was chest height, perfect for wading across and letting you put your belongings on the rock formation. You were left in your Pirate Underthings and not an ounce of Shame. 

“Oohh…” your quiet appreciation trailed off as you closed your eyes and sank slightly in the water so it’d wash over your shoulders. You swirled your hands around the water; the currents created a semblance of a cold breeze. Moving back towards your belongings, you rummaged around in your Pirate Pockets, before grabbing a soap bar encased in (clean! new!) ship netting. 

You lathered away the grime of the day in the shallower waters. It was a quiet ritual of listening to the shrub-shrub of the net against your skin, and you revelled in it. Amongst the cacophony of everyday life, amongst the shouts of your shipmates, amongst the smell of muck and burn of rope, this moment was yours . 

But apparently not!

As soon as you rinsed and placed the soap carefully on top of your Pirate Pants, the sudden swish of the water several paces behind you had your body twisting to turn around instinctually. Your hand scrabbled for purchase on a chalky rock, before tossing something in the intruder’s vicinity.

“Pervert!” you yelled, though it caught in your throat as you met the gaze of one puzzled merman. 

Where have you been?

Those red eyes, widened with what could only be surprise. Then, almost imperceptibly, a furrow of his brows as he slowly registered what you just said. You let your gaze drink in his face, trailing down on those scarlet scales that appeared in small patches along the length of his torso, and those tensed shoulders-

Why’d you leave?

“Human!” the adorable yellow octopus tumbled her way past her companion, slowly bobbing to you in the cool waters. “We found you!”

“Lyla!” you wailed inconsolably. “This brute over here was peeping at this poor defenceless pirate! This poor, hapless pirate’s honour has been besmirched! You… you must fight for my honour, my little yellow knight!”

The little yellow octopus paused as if you’d given her the shock of a lifetime. Then, she began shaking mischievously, and dare you say , conspiratorially. 

“ Miguel !” Lyla sounded as if she was doing her very best impression of a scandalised gasp. “Did you come here, knowingly , when the human was in the middle of an intimate nude ritual?”

Pause. 

Okay, that was too far-off. 

“I was bathing, Lyla,” you frowned, almost melting at the way she practically shrank at your disappointment. Immediately, you felt deep and utter Shame and Self-Disappointment at her pitiful little tumbling (you supposed that yes, her knowledge was superior to yours after all). “Actually, whatever you said.”

“Can you two-” Miguel cut himself off as your gaze clamped back down on him. His upper cheekbones had begun darkening in a ruddy maroon, and your brows couldn’t help but raise at his sudden flustered state. 

“We can come back another time-”

“No, it’s fine,” you easily interrupted. You lithely swam your way over to where he and Lyla were currently sandwiched in the waist deep waters of the lagoon. You didn’t particularly care about your near-nudity, not when he (see: sugar tits) didn’t seem too preoccupied with clothing either. Still, you couldn’t help your Scheming and Tomfooling nature: 

“So, come to proposition me or something?” 

His indignant spluttering sated your desire to mildly inconvenience him. You held your hands up in a demure gesture of Peace and Serenity. 

“Relax, I was joking,” you rubbed salt in the wound further, almost preening at his glare. Really, your mind was currently yelling at you to stop antagonising the very being you had wanted to see. 

Meanwhile, Lyla was having the absolute time of her life, gurgling away at his misfortune. She was much too close , you realised in horror. And Miguel clearly noticed the way you tensed up; the deep, throaty chuckle that he released convinced you he was an absolute sadistic fucker, because you were about to be suckered to death by that adorable-

“Relax,” he mocked your earlier tone. “She’s not poisonous.”

Ordinarily, you would’ve stewed pettily in your petty thoughts at his pettiness. Though now, you blinked in slow realisation, then pure and utter delight . Awwww . 

“You’re not?” you turned to Lyla so fast that you swore you just had an intimate and passionate encounter with Whiplash. 

“You thought I was?” she floated closer to you, and you swore her tone was slightly miffed. Your brow furrowed apologetically, and she clearly noticed, because suddenly you had a tiny yellow octopus nudging your arm. Awww . And you melted . 

Awww.

You used one hand to cup her as a finger from your other hand was used to gently scritch her on her head. The texture under your fingers was like soft foam, and you were sure you’d turn into a puddle of gloop if this continued.

Awww.

And she practically nuzzled herself into your touch further, bobbing up against your finger so her head was resting against your palm. 

Awww .

“Can it?” 

The both of you turned to look at Miguel with nothing short of contempt. How dare he besmirch your good Honour as a pirate, then interrupt your Bonding and Friendship with Lyla?

“Can you not?” Lyla replied for the both of you - it’s as if she read your mind. 

“Like, ever?” you chimed in; nothing like being an Annoyance to someone else together to make for better friendship. Miguel sighed, defeated. 

“Fine, whatever, steal my familiar right in front of me,” he griped moodily, looking off to the side. Was he a petulant child ? “Not like I came here for important business or anything.”

Goddamn. His passive-aggressiveness was contending your own. 

“I hate to say it, but bossman’s right,” Lyla gurgled apologetically in your hands; though, she still didn’t move out of the way. 

“Bossman?” you faintly heard Miguel mutter incredulously. You let your eyes rake over him; he was currently pinching the skin connecting his nose to his brow bone.

“You have a mouth and I have ears,” you said, exasperated. Whatever Important Business he had was less important than your Friendly Bonding with Lyla. “I also have hands. I can listen and get better acquainted with my new best friend.”

“Why do I even try?” he continued his frustrated mutterings (his slew of annoyed remarks kept getting cut off by Lyla’s chirps of “Best friend! Best friend!”). 

“Anyways,” he got over that fast . Though, you couldn’t help but notice that his glances at you - those hesitant red eyes - were becoming furtive instead of annoyed. Almost as if…

“Are you shy?” Lyla crooned from where she was currently being pampered by your head rubs. 

“He’s totally shy,” she wiggled around in your grasp, prompting you to let her go in bewilderment. “He was scavenging around for weeks for this.”

“Lyla..” Miguel’s groan of frustration petered out as she knocked her head several times on his bicep. You blinked in surprise. Was that (this so-called Important Business) what had kept him? 

You had to admit that it did look like it had kept him. His eyes kept darting around; it wasn’t fast enough to be called nervous, but judging by how reserved his expressions usually were, something was clearly going on. He looked almost… bashful?

Hold on. 

“I got you something,” those red eyes were now focused on you, but his brows were furrowed as if he was heavily conflicted. This was the Important Business? The repayment ?

“You didn’t have to,” you scratched the side of your neck self-consciously. It was true; saving him from capture didn’t warrant a debt. You doubted your shipmates would say the same, but you didn’t particularly care about their input. Sure, you weren’t an Ethical Pirate by any means, but you still had standards , good gods. 

“I wanted to,” his jaw was set resolutely. Right. Well, you couldn’t argue with that (ignoring the fact that arguing with this colossus would end badly anyway ).  Before you could even think up a reply, he’d already moved closer to  you (so close you’d felt the ripple of scales around your legs). He was practically towering over you, from where you were submerged to your shoulders where you’d sat down in the sand. Does he have no valuable self-awareness?

You weren’t scared, not at all (you were also a filthy liar). But his proximity (the way his tail was practically wrapped around you), his sudden closeness (your face was intimately acquainted with his chest right in front of you): all that was causing you to quiver in your proverbial Pirate Boots.  

“Please don’t eat me,” you quietly shrieked. Where’d that come from?! “I’m only a poor, inexperienced, untouched, helpless pirate-”

“Where’d you get that idea from?” Miguel spluttered, leaning back from you. He looked utterly and completely out of his depth. There was definite incredulity laced within his tone, so you guessed merfolk really didn’t eat humans. “Besides, you’re far from helpless with those weapons.”

“Spur of the moment, sorry,” you shrugged sheepishly. “Warn people before you cozy up to them, though. And thanks.”

“I wasn’t-” he choked out, before his eyes narrowed. Gotcha . Lyla was practically rubbing her tentacles together in glee at his petulant glare. “Right. Fine. I guess you don’t want to see what I got you.”

“What?” you mustered up every ounce of Crestfallenness and Sorrow within. “You’re going to deprive this lonely, vulnerable pirate of the joys of life, free presents?”

“Children, both of you.”

You ignored Lyla’s remark. So did Miguel. 

“What, ignoring me? I’m right!”

You ignored that as well. So did Miguel. 

Instead, you chose to lean upwards and forward, mirroring his proximity from earlier. You felt his breath hitch as your thigh brushed up against his tail, but you paid it no mind. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the way his lips parted slightly as you were now chest-to-chest (though still not touching) with him. And then you spoke, leaning in so your words would brush up against his ear, like the tendrils of the ivy blooming back at the docks:

“I’m terribly sorry for my transgressions. Please forgive my impertinence.” 

Then, you ghosted back with a satisfied smile (it was much too wide and showing too many teeth to be even remotely considered friendly). Your mocking words seemed to have the desired effect, based on the way he was currently breathing rather erratically. Though, oddly, there didn’t seem to be any hint of the annoyance you were expecting. Instead, your eyes were pleasantly greeted with his bitten lip and averted gaze. 

“Ooh, somebody’s got a-” Lyla’s taunting was immediately cut off by the nastiest glare you ever saw, coming straight from Miguel. You would’ve whistled lowly in appreciation had he not turned to you - maybe you’d have asked him to teach you his ways for the next time you caught your shipmates cheating you at cards. The sharp lines on his face softened marginally, and you found yourself waiting expectantly for whatever he’d do next. 

“I believe we got-” here he eyed both you and Lyla with exasperation. “- sidetracked .”

“My ‘pologies,” you smiled derisively (not a hint of apology was present. Miguel knew it. You knew it). He exhaled. You waited. With one fluid motion, he reached underwater and brought out a peculiar, barnacle encrusted net that looked like it had been through the twenty-seven circles of hell. 

“Nice net,” your lip quivered in a strenuous battle to contain the snort of laughter that was steadily rising up in your stomach. 

“Shut it,” his teeth ground out. Busted . With one swipe of his claws, the crusty old net was sliced apart and in its place was a shoe-sized decorative box that seemed to be in fairly good condition. Swiper don’t swipe me like that . 

You suppressed the tingle of fear and leaned closer to examine it; the miniature friezes delicately carved on had been slightly worn away from the time spent in the water (he must’ve found it in the ocean). It was still extraordinarily beautiful, and you doubted you’d have a chance to own something like this again. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, stretching out a finger to trace over the smooth lid of the contraption. “It’s really pretty.”

“It’s just a container for the main attraction,” his voice lowered to match your volume, and you couldn’t help but look up in wonderment at his sudden shyness. Was he truly nervous about this? Awww .

“Lies,” Lyla interjected from between the two of you, as if she were a chaperone making sure two rascals weren’t getting Too Close And Personal. “He spent a week trying to find the best box he could.”

You stifled a giggle as you heard a low hum of air that was both making its way out through his clenched fangs and gills (it sounded comedically like a fishy, gurgly growl). Lyla took the hint and tumbled deeper into the water. 

“How sweet,” your voice continued to keep that lowered cadence, but for what? What were you so afraid of breaking?

You heard several clicks in response, as if he was pleased (?) by your response. Carefully, he slid open the lid of the box. His tongue darted over his lips, as if to distract himself from gauging your reaction. 

Though, you couldn’t suppress your widening eyes as you glimpsed what was within. The glimmer of a pearlescent knife was the first thing that caught your eye, but the mother-of-pearl encrusted metal quill was a strong contender. You held your breath as you grasped the unfamiliar weight of the weapon in your hand. It’d easily fit on your belt. But wait! Hiding beneath the knife had been a simple leather cord, which strung through a charming golden disc decorated with celestial patterns.

Heavens above .

You were sure you were just staring at the items like a churlish lout. It was almost an eternity of silence as you eyed the three items. 

Three, four, five heartbeats. “Are the items not to your liking? I’ll find more, of course.”

“Huh?” you replied, the absolute epitome of Elegance and Eloquence. You still felt entranced by the trinkets within. “No, they’re perfect.”

Six, seven, eight heartbeats. You looked up; Miguel practically deflated under your careful gaze. Gone was that stony expression that always seemed to linger (even when he laughed at your expense). In its place was one of studious contemplation, as if your face held the meaning of life itself. 

And in turn, you studied the way the dying sun encapsulated the planes of his face in a bloody palette. Your eyes caught on the taut muscles surrounding his lips, as if he were about to say something , but it was trapped somewhere within his larynx. 

(He looked emotionally constipated.)

As the sun winked out at the horizon, meeting the sea’s embrace once more for the night, the two of you were haloed in the dying sunlight for a brief moment. 

Shit . 

Your eyes widened at the profound revelation. Curfew! Dinner! You wouldn’t get served your Appetising Bowl of Slop if you were late! 

“I’ve got to get back before curfew!” you wailed despairingly, hurriedly placing the knife back into the box and shutting it. Briefly, you registered Lyla’s bewildered tumbling in the water, and Miguel’s bemused face, but you couldn’t bring yourself to spare any more time explaining. 

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d walked back onto ship dripping wet and absolutely morose, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

[dei-lab-assistant]

Meeting Up with Mokuba

Summary: You try to meet up with Mokuba Kaiba while both of you are visiting Osaka, Japan. Unfortunately, the plans for your outing may need to be abandoned due to unforeseen circumstances. Dub canon plus a version of DSOD. Female Reader. Set maybe two years post DSOD. Fun fact: I always write my Reader character based off of myself or someone I know. This means she may not be as generic as is customary for this type of story. Each reader also has a specific place in the Yu-Gi-Oh world, and is basically an OC with set connections and feelings about the various canon characters and other reader characters. This is reader V, who is dating Joey Wheeler and acting as his manager. She is a bit anxious and has two sisters—one older, one younger. In addition, she actively dislikes Seto Kaiba, and even runs a Twitter account dedicated to playfully making fun of him. Y/n refers to you, the reader. S/n refers to the name of your older sister.

Word count: 3,140 You entered the front door of the hotel at the address Mokuba had given you. White stone covered the walls, diamonds coated a silvery tree sitting on a table in a room just past the doors, and the floor was a polished black reflecting light from above. You felt underdressed. Looking around the entrance for Mokuba, you wished the two of you had arranged to meet outside the building. A sharply dressed woman approached, “Are you looking for someone?” asked the employee, her English understandable, but accented. You had hoped to avoid talking to any employees, but it was unavoidable now, especially since you didn’t see Mokuba. “Yes, I’m here to meet Mokuba Kaiba.” It felt strange to give his full name, almost as strange as being in a place this fancy. “And what is your name?” the employee gave a professional smile.

Smiling back, You gave your name, hoping you hadn’t messed up somehow and come to the wrong hotel. Before your worries could grow, the employee was gesturing you further into the building, saying Mokuba had alerted the staff to expect your arrival. This was not the low key situation you had hoped for. After handing you a note, the woman led you to the elevator, explained how to get to Mokuba’s room, and asked if you needed any further assistance. Trying to act like you belonged here, you shook your head, and the employee walked away. 

Relief washed over you as the elevator doors closed. The note was from Mokuba, explaining how to get to his room. Excellent, you could already feel the instructions given by the staff member seeping out of your head. Plush ropes hung across the walls, taking the place of the metal rails you were accustomed to in elevators. Behind one of the red ropes was a floor-to-ceiling mirror. During the long ride up, you admired your reflection in the mirror. Your crop top and skort looked cute. Wildly out of place, but cute. If only the humid Japanese summer was kinder to your hair—but weather like this always fought to turn your head into a curly mess. Eventually, the doors slid open, and you stepped tentatively into the hallway. Referring once again to the note with Mokuba’s room number, you looked forward to your fun day together. You and Mokuba had been friends for a few years now, meeting up sporadically, and although he was four years younger than you, it was an easy fact to forget. When the two of you got together, he usually dragged you into one of his little schemes; and you were a woman who could appreciate well-intentioned manipulation. As you approached his room, you heard Mokuba’s voice float into the hallway. The door was cracked open. Beside it was another, smaller door, perhaps it was used for deliveries of some sort. “Abukom is my company, Seto. I can handle this on my own.” It sounded like the start of an argument. “I don’t recall our stepfather forcing you to learn any Japanese. You’ll need me to interpret.”

You almost winced at hearing Kaiba’s voice. You had expected him to be out for the day. Mokuba countered, “I already hired an interpreter. Besides, all I’m doing is meeting with a manga author to discuss bringing her onto our team to write a new Capsule Monsters series.” “I managed to cancel my plans with Pegasus this afternoon, so I’ll come with you any—” “Not a chance.” Mokuba was emphatic. “The woman I’m meeting with is famously shy, and I won’t have you showing up and scaring her away.” “I wouldn’t—” “Yes you would. You’d sit there scowling like you just broke your leg. Or you’d aggressively ask a question about her work, and before you know it, she’d be backing out of the deal.” “You’re exaggerating.” “No, you just don’t want to admit your aura of intimidation isn’t always useful, Seto. And you don’t know how to reliably turn it off.” “Don’t insult me, Mokuba.” “I’m not! It’s a useful quality about you, but it’s not great for what I’m doing today.” “Hmph, we can’t all get what we want with puppy dog eyes.” “Yeah, that mainly works on you.” “Really?” Kaiba’s voice was quieter, almost surprised. “Seriously? Seto, do you honestly think I ran Kaiba Corp for all those months you were away—with puppy dog eyes?!” “Of course not.” Kaiba snapped back. “Good.” You stood out in the hallway, wondering what you should do. While this was extremely interesting, it was also a private conversation you were not supposed to listen to. And it sounded like maybe Mokuba wasn’t going to be available to take you anywhere after all. Should you send him a message canceling your plans and walk away? You didn’t want to explore the city alone, but Joey was already busy this afternoon playing an escape room with Yugi and your older sister. Inside the hotel room, Mokuba broke the awkward silence. “You know, Seto, you could try to convince me you’re learning to restrain yourself when you need to.” His voice was wheedling, almost cheerful. “How?” Kaiba sounded suspicious. “You could go out with y/n—” Kaiba interrupted so quickly he almost sounded panicked, “No.” Out in the hall, you stood frozen. You had almost gasped aloud at hearing the suggestion.  “Not on a date,” Mokuba clarified, “but to have fun.” “No.” “Well, you might not have fun, but y/n would.” “No.”

For once, you agreed with Kaiba. The two of you had a tacit agreement to ignore each other whenever you met—and since you and Mokuba had been working behind the scenes to help your older siblings become friends for a couple of years now, you and Kaiba utilized this methodology frequently. “Please, Seto? I promised to spend the day with y/n before this opportunity for my publishing house came up. And I don’t want to leave her alone.” Kaiba sighed. “Go play with your little friend, and I’ll represent you at your meeting.” “Nope. Business comes first, and I’m the better man for the job.” “And you think I’m the best choice to entertain y/n?” “Of course not. You’re the only choice.” “I don’t see why your scheduling conflict is my problem.” Kaiba’s voice was cold. You leaned over to peer through the cracked door. Unfortunately, the gap was only an eighth of an inch wide at best, and you couldn’t see anything other than a vague sense of brown. It sounded like the occupants were close to the door, perhaps one of them had been about to leave when their argument began. “It’s not. I just thought I could count on you to do a favor for me.” Kaiba didn’t respond. “Please, Seto? I promised s/n I’d take care of her little sister today, and I don’t want to let her down.” “Fine.” Kaiba’s voice was clipped, “We wouldn’t want you to disappoint my replacement.” “Your replace—is that how you think I see s/n? As your replacement?” Mokuba’s quiet voice certainly made you feel his hurt, even if it flew over Kaiba’s head. “Anyone in my position would feel the same.” Kaiba’s voice was quiet too. You leaned closer to the crack, trying to catch a glimpse of the conversation; things were getting interesting. “Are you here to visit one of the Kaibas?” asked a polite male voice from behind you. You jumped. Whirling around, you saw a Japanese man dressed in a dark blue suit with subtle pinstripes and golden designs on the sleeves. In his hands, he held a pair of black shoes. “Yes, Mokuba invited me.” You internally cringed at how suspicious you must have looked just now. And the two brothers had fallen silent inside their room, which meant they were probably overhearing your conversation as well. With practiced precision, the man slid open the smaller door beside you, placing the shoes on a carpeted shelf. “It can be intimidating to knock on a hotel door, but I believe you will find it to be the most effective method of gaining entrance.” The man’s smile was gentle, as though trying to calm your nerves. Sliding shut the little door, he gave you a small bow and knocked on the slightly open door with the knuckle of his middle finger. After a delay you were almost sure must have been for show, Mokuba opened the door. “Y/n! Glad you could make it!” Whatever angst he had been feeling a moment ago seemed to have fallen away. “Thank you so much for helping my friend,” Mokuba addressed the man beside you, who again bowed and walked off, the soft carpet absorbing the sound of his footsteps. It had been a few months since you last saw Mokuba in person. His thick, unruly hair had been combed into its closest approximation of tidiness, and you could swear he hadn’t been the same height as you last time the two of you met. While you waffled in the doorway, you took in his formal clothes, a white suit jacket worn open over a light green shirt and darker green vest. “Come on in,” his smile was infectious.

Stepping inside, your eyes scanned the room for Kaiba, who was lowering himself down onto one of the couches. At first glance, you almost mistook him for someone else; without his ridiculous long vest and armbands, he looked almost like a normal person. Almost. Those glaring blue eyes could only belong to Seto Kaiba. Still, seeing him like this, in nothing but a tight, high necked, black shirt and matching dress pants felt… intrusive, like you were dangerously close to realizing he was human underneath all the bright LEDs and sarcasm he usually sported.

No, you liked to think of Kaiba as an alien who happened to share a lot of interests with your older sister. “Are you ready to go, Mokuba?” you asked.

“About that…” Mokuba dragged you to the corner of the room furthest from his older brother. You looked around curiously as he did so. The whole place was a lot less flamboyant than you had imagined, with light tan walls, medium tan carpet that contained a raised floral pattern in the same color, and dark accents—like the brown marble fireplace and darker brown coffee table. Nearby, the two couches were both velvety black, with bright purple and cream accent pillows, it all felt tasteful and understated; Kaiba must have hated the place.

“I’m really sorry,” Mokuba looked at the floor, and you noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, “but a great opportunity came up about thirty minutes ago, and I have to take it.”

Having already overheard his conversation, you knew there was no talking him out of it. You asked a few polite questions about the situation, pretending not to already know why he was ditching you. That’s when he hit you with his horrible plan, “So I thought Seto could take you out this afternoon instead.”

“No way.” You crossed your arms.

“I know you don’t wanna see Osaka by yourself, and I thought spending a day with you would be good for my brother.”

“Not a chance.”

“Please, y/n? He said he’d do it, and he needs practice at interacting with, um, people like you.”

You raised your eyebrows at his choice of words.

“You know, regular people. People who don’t know anything about Duel Monsters and holograms, and aren’t super smart. Uh,” Mokuba facepalmed, “I mean, you’re plenty smart, but compared to someone like Seto, you’re not at his level, you know?” Mokuba fiddled with the buttons on his vest.

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t see why I should spend my afternoon having your brother insult my intelligence.” You glared over Mokuba’s shoulder at Kaiba, who was watching your conversation from the couch. Realizing your posture was an uncomfortable match to his, you uncrossed your arms. “He won’t.” Mokuba gave you a confident grin, “That’s our deal—he’ll take you to the store I was going to take you to, and cooperate, and be nice, and buy you a gift.” “I didn’t agree to that,” Kaiba spoke up from the couch. “It was implied,” Mokuba replied with unshakable confidence. You had seen this level of assurance from your own younger sister; maybe the youngest child got their way in every family. “Come on, Mokuba, I can’t afford to let him buy me anything. There’s no way I’m going to let myself owe your brother.” You gestured at Kaiba, but kept your voice down so he couldn’t hear, “You guys are out of my price range, literally.” “You like free stuff, but you don’t like gifts?” Mokuba sounded like he was teasing you, “Girls make no sense.” “I don’t enjoy feeling like I owe someone, especially not rich, arrogant businessmen.” You raised your voice to ensure Kaiba heard your putdown.    “You won’t owe either of us anything, but I’ll owe you a favor if you do this for me.” You sighed. If you were going to ruin your own day like this, then you would see how far you could push to get something out of it. “I want your brother to buy me lunch.” “Sure.” Mokuba grinned like he had won a game you didn’t know the two of you were playing. “And we’ll reschedule for another afternoon this week.” You added conspiratorially, “We have business of our own to attend to, after all.”      

Mokuba giggled. “So, you’ll spend the afternoon with my brother, he’ll be nice to you, buy you lunch and a present to take home, we’ll get together later, and I’ll owe you one. Deal?” You glanced at Kaiba, and the two of you shared a look of resignation. Suspecting you would regret it, you held out a hand to Mokuba. “Deal.” You shook on it, and grinned, “I get to annoy your brother as much as I want, right?”

“Of course. I didn’t hear Seto make any terms to the contrary.” “They were implied.” Kaiba glared at the back of his brother’s head. “We were clearly stating our terms, you should have spoken up.” Mokuba grinned at you. “I didn’t think I needed to, since your little friend is such a good person.” Kaiba’s voice dripped sarcasm as he crossed his legs and stretched his arm out along the top of the couch. “I’m sure she would never irritate others on purpose, right, y/n?”

“Of course not! I don’t annoy people for fun.” You planted a hand on your hip, “But you’re a special exception.”

“How so?”

You tilted your head, “I’m still not convinced you’re human.” You internally braced yourself for a negative response to your flippant attitude.

Kaiba held his tongue and rolled his head, like an exaggerated form of rolling his eyes.

Mokuba headed back across the room to open the little door to the compartment the butler had placed his shoes inside. Plopping down on the soft carpet, he jammed one of his feet into a shoe. “I’ll expect a full report about your time together.”

“From me?” you asked.

“From both of you.” After a moment, Mokuba jumped to his feet, ready to go. “I’ll have the hotel call me a cab, so you can have Roland for the afternoon.”

You and Kaiba said nothing. “Right, I’m off. Follow the deal. Y/n, try to treat Seto like a normal person, okay?”

Nodding, you agreed, already realizing that treating Kaiba the same way you treated everyone else would irritate him to no end.

“Have fun!” Mokuba waved, and then he was gone, leaving a sea of awkwardness in his absence.

After an abysmally long silence, Kaiba sighed. “I’ll get dressed, and we’ll head out.”

“What do you mean, ‘get dressed?’ Can’t you dress like someone normal for once?”

“We both know I’m not normal.”

“Whatever. But no duel disk.”

“Fine.” Kaiba pushed himself up from the couch and headed towards another door, which you assumed led to a bedroom.

You thought about sitting down on the other couch, but stayed where you were. You didn’t belong here. Touching anything felt like overstepping your boundaries. “Don’t celebrities have to hide their identity when they go out?” You raised your voice and hoped Kaiba would hear.

“I’m not a celebrity; I’m a businessman.” Kaiba’s voice was muffled by the closed door between you. After a moment, the door swung open, and he stepped through, now wearing a long white vest. “I don’t hide.”

At least he wasn’t wearing any LEDs, or those ridiculous blue straps on his arms and legs. Kaiba stared at you for a moment, then headed back into the bedroom. Hesitantly, you stepped closer, catching a glimpse of a pair of slept-in beds and a window with a beautiful view overlooking Osaka. Kaiba opened the drawer to one of the nightstands and pulled out a box. Unexpectedly tossing you a small round disk from inside it, he ordered, “Keep that on your person as long as you’re my responsibility.” You picked the silvery disk up from the floor where you had batted it when it was thrown at you. As your fingers brushed up against the carpet, you wished your own bedroom floor was this soft. Turning the quarter-sized object over in your hand, you saw one side bore the Kaiba Corp logo, and the other was crossed by thin, jagged lines which faintly glowed blue. “What is this?” “It’s a tracking tile.” Kaiba opened another, larger metal case on his nightstand, and pulled out what looked like two dark silver halfpipes side by side. As he closed it over his left forearm, the sleek device made a faint hissing noise. You recognized it as one of his usual, gauntlet type thingymajigs. Sliding his fingers along the surface, a hologram screen sprang to life above the device. With a flurry of finger movements, Kaiba navigated through a few screens, then shut off the hologram.

You thought about protesting. You didn’t love the idea of letting Kaiba pull up your precise location at any time, but also knew well enough why he might want to—Mokuba may have reached a point of being blasé about getting kidnapped, but you hadn’t. But where to put the tracker? Your purse seemed inadequate. You didn't want it to scratch your phone screen. Stepping back into the living room, you slipped the slender device into your bra, feeling the cool metal against your skin and hoping this was all overkill.

Kaiba strode out into the room after you, now wearing both of his gauntlets. “Let’s get this over with.” He headed out the front door without looking back. You followed, hoping you wouldn’t regret agreeing to spend the afternoon with him. Oh well, at least you could get some great stories out of this.