#a+ fic titles as always glass lmao
Text
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.
#nct dream#chenle#nct#nct x reader#chenle x reader#chenle angst#chenle fluff#chenle oneshot#chenle fic#chenle imagine#chenle fanfic#chenle best friends to lovers#chenle au#nct dream fluff#nct dream angst#nct dream x reader#nct fluff#nct angst
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did you see the arlecchino animation and teaser??? a;fasjl;f
they make me so sad :(( also, the teaser was hot af tho, had me so downbad. arlecchino's lore is just so 😭
~EL anon
would you like new toys?
i simped so hard during the animation and teaser i decided to write a mini series fic about arlecchino. i have a lot of thoughts about it and now i'm regretting not taking up your offer lmao
forethoughts: my love language is writing someone an entire fic about them (not really, but i will write you an entire letter).
notes: fem!reader in mind, but gn!. NOT AN x READER!! READER IS A CHILD IN THIS!
In every cluster of children, there was always one that had trouble making friends.
That title was unfortunately bestowed upon you.
Always excluded in activities and games, left to play in the corner with the leftover, worn out toys while everyone chose the newest and best toys in the box. It had always been that way; you didn’t see it changing any time.
Father was always more lenient and caring with you. She made sure you were the first in line to get breakfast, lunch and dinner. While everyone had a curfew, you were allowed to wander the halls freely and exit your room. That of course didn’t make it any easier for you to make friends.
Like a robot given the same set of codes and no changes, days blurred into weeks, and weeks blurred into months while you lived your solitary life.
~
You sat crossed leg, facing the corner of the playroom, hands empty. You ran out of luck; all the toys were already gone by the time you got to the box. Letting out a sigh, boredom finally consumed you, prompting you to stand up, brush the dust off your shorts as you exited the playroom. No one batted an eye or even glanced at your direction; to them you were invisible. To everyone you were invisible.
Wandering the halls of the House of Hearth at night gave you a pretty good scope on the architecture of the building. If someone asked you where the infirmary was or the bathroom, you could accurately pinpoint the location for them. You looked at the colorful glass panes on the sides of the halls, raising a hand to block the sunlight from hitting your face. They called you a dreamer, delusional for your ideas and thoughts. Said your hopes were far too high. Father always disagreed. Father always disagreed with whatever the others called you.
A sudden shriek was ripped out of your throat as your body went sideways, shoulder hitting an even stone ground. You winced, forcing yourself to sit as you examined your body. You could barely make out what was your leg and arm with the lighting. Standing up, you decided to explore the uncharted territory in your little mind map. The walls were lined with sharp blades that glimmered under the narrow light source opposite to the swords. You looked behind you, to your sides, in front of you, as you allowed curiosity to take hold of your mind. With two hands, you lifted one of the blades from its holding place, letting it fall onto the ground. You dragged the blade along the stone to the center of the room, ignoring the shriek of protest the sword was making. Letting out a deep breath, you gripped your hands around the hilt of the sword, lifting it as high as you could. When you’d finally lift it over your head, a triumphant cheer exited your mouth, eyes admiring the shine and sharpness of the blade like a bee eyeing a flower.
“Children like you should not be wielding such dangerous objects.” Your muscles went limp, bones turning into uncooked noodles as your head spun to the direction of the voice. Father. Fear wasn’t just done with taking hold of your body. Fear was transmitted into the blade itself. Before you knew it, a sharp pain emitted through your forehead, a rush of warmness surging towards the area. The sword fell on your side, next to your collapsed body.
“Y/N!” Father was instantly by your side. Through that cold and emotionless facade, you could see a flash of worry and fear in her eyes. Fear. Father felt fear. Your head was placed in Father’s arms, knees hooked onto her other arm as you were rushed out of the dark room.
You sat on Father’s table in silence, fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt as you stared at your dirt covered, bruised hands. Father reciprocated the silence, as she stood in front of you, using a cotton ball to dab up the blood. You winced at the serum that was infused with the cotton against your fresh wound, knuckles turning white. Father didn’t let out any remark at your wince, rather you could feel her actions becoming more gentle and tender.
“This might hurt.” Father muttered, picking up something from her tray of material, the object having a thin string tail behind. You could barely stifle a shriek as the needle penetrates your skin, the lithe object dancing from one side to another, piercing hole after hole in your skin. You gripped onto your sleeve for life until your hand was ghost white, as Father stitched up your wound before you could blink. Father let out a sigh, snipping any remaining string as she set the needle on the tray. Her eyes shifted downwards, her lips pursed as you felt her gaze burning into your skull.
“...I’m sorry.” You murmured quietly, the words regurgitating out of your mouth, unable to squeeze anything out under her gaze.
“I thought I told you that recklessness always leads to failure. What were you doing out of the playroom?”
“...” You could feel the corners of your eyes starting to burn up, your mouth quivering. Father noticed. Of course she did.
“Look at me.” Father sighed.
Reluctantly, you lifted your head, meeting Father’s eyes. Instead of scorn and disappointment, you were met with understanding and warmth, her pursed lips turning into a thin smile. Thin. Just like the ice you were on. Father could smile all she wanted, but you knew you were as good as dead.
Father’s hand went for your head, sharp fingers combing through your hair. “What type of toy do you like, Y/N? I am planning to get more for the toybox; it appears we have a shortage of toys. Of course, I would like to get the best and newest toys for all. I was wondering what you would like to see and play with.”
Your heart moved an inch higher from your stomach, still threatening to fall and combust into millions of pieces. “U-Uhm… I d-don’t know…”
“Speak up, my child.”
“I-I don’t know… what toys I like, Father…”
Father let out a chuckle. “Of course. How could you choose your favorite in an empty box?”
You looked down at her words. Of course Father knew.
“Y/N.”
You looked back up at her, meeting her playful eyes, a look you knew she only gave you and you only.
“How about I introduce you to some… new toys not any of the other children have seen? Would you like some new toys?”
“Toys… the others haven’t seen?” You tilt your head at that statement.
“Yes. Toys the others have not seen. Are you interested? I will personally teach you how to… play with these toys.”
You nodded your head, a small hesitant smile on your face. Father never offered the other children new toys. Father never offered how to play with toys. Father never played with the others.
The corners of Father’s thin lips tugged upwards slightly, as her finger hovered over your wound. She helped you off the desk, hand holding yours as she led you out of her office. “It is almost time for lunch. But I would rather you get some rest after what happened. Rest assured I will bring food to your room.”
“Y-Yes, Father.” You mumbled.
Father led you to your room upstairs, setting you on the plush mattress as the blanket was draped over your body. She ran her fingers through your hair again, petting your head before strolling out of the room. “Rest well, my child.”
~
Arlecchino closed the door, letting out a sigh. She made her way back downstairs to join the other children. “Rest assured, my child, no one will ever dare to lay a finger on you anymore. No harm shall ever come your way.”
#genshin impact#arlecchino#house of hearth#arlecchino x reader#the x reader tag is only for wider reach this is not an x reader#arlecchino genshin#the knave#my child#aetherwrites
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No Good, Very Bad Day
Raphael x Reader
Prompt: Perhaps, reader has been stressed and he wants to help them feel better. Even better if it’s a friends to lovers trope where they are just friends in the beginning but this changes the nature of their relationship.
Note: I also love the friends to lovers trope! Confession fics are among my faves. I hope you like it! Ignore the title, it’s very fluffy, reader is just going through it lol.
Warnings: swears
Word Count: 1.1k
Reader is: Female-ish. (one use of the word girlfriend, but that’s it lmao)
It had been one hell of a stressful day. For starters, your insurance had fucked up your therapy. Your landlord still hadn’t fixed your broken showerhead. One of the customers at work had been an asshole, and it really put you in a bad mood. Add to that the lingering Facebook request from your ex and yeah……just not the best day.
So, a little storm cloud seemingly hovering over your head, you sat in your apartment, wrapped in a blanket, wearing your comfiest pair of pajamas. You had some snacks on the coffee table, and you were playing one of your favorite video games on your Switch, hoping to get your mind off of the everything, even if only for a little while.
After a while of sitting there alone, you heard a tap on your window. It was too soft to be a rogue pigeon forgetting what glass was, so it meant one of four things. However, when you approached, you quickly realized who it was crouched just outside your fire escape.
You pulled open the window and helped Raphael inside. He came to hang out sometimes, but you hadn’t been expecting him.
“Hey, Red. What’s going on?”
“Nothin’, just on patrol. Quiet night.” He shrugged. It took him a second, but once he got a better look at you, he could tell something was wrong. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, it’s just…it’s been a really long day.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in—”
“No! No, Raph, seeing you has actually been the best part of my day so far.”
His look of panic faded, replaced instead with a warm smile. “Alright, so how am I makin’ you feel better right now? What problems I gotta fix?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He assured you, tilting his head. “So let’s get to work.”
You walked over to the living room and told him everything that was going on.
“Well first of all, that asshole at work can get fucked. It’s not yer job to fix all of his problems.”
You laughed, nodding. “I needed to hear that. Thank you.”
“I can take a look at yer showerhead if ya want. And you’re always welcome to take showers down in the lair if ya gotta.” He assured you. “I didn’t even know it was broken.”
“It’s usable, but it’s barely a trickle coming out of it.”
“Mmm, gotcha. Well, I’ll see what I can do. We can call Donnie and see if he’s got any parts we could use in the meantime. And I can totally have him yell at ya insurance guy, too. He’s real good at that, knows all the legal mumbo jumbo.” Raph walked through all of your problems, and, as he always seemed to, he made you feel a lot better about everything.
“Thank you, Raph.” You told him sincerely, tears welling up in your eyes.
“Aww, shorty, no need for tears. I’ll take care of ya. I always will.” He promised, gathering you in his big strong arms, one of his large hands stroking through your hair comfortingly.
Something clicked then, while he was holding you. You’d always had a bit of a crush on Raph, admittedly. Who wouldn’t? He was big and strong and brave, loyal to a fault, and always willing to fight for you, no matter the cost. He was…well, he was everything you were looking for, honestly. He always had been.
The two of you split. Raph went to work on your showerhead while you ordered a pizza and texted Donnie about your insurance fiasco. Once the pizza arrived and the shower was more or less fixed, the two of you settled on the couch again, putting on a movie and enjoying each other’s presence.
Maybe it was because you felt like you had nothing to lose after the day you’d had, or maybe you were finally coming to your senses, but you looked at Raphael and stated with certainty, “You know, you’d be a really great boyfriend, Raphael.”
He froze for a long moment before chuckling sheepishly. “Yeah? What gave you that impression?”
“I don’t know, you’re just…you’re the best. I really don’t know what I’d do without you in my life and…I don’t want to know.”
His eyes were wide, heart racing so loudly, he was sure you could hear it from where you were sitting. “W-what are ya saying?”
“I like you, Raph. I have for a while. But if you don’t feel the same, nothing has to change. I’m okay with this, too.”
Raph set down his pizza and stared at you like a third eye had sprouted on your forehead. “You’re bein’ serious right now?”
“Of course I am. Why?”
“Well, I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “I mean, look at me. You’re…You actually like me? Do ya need your eyeballs checked?”
“Of course I like you! Who wouldn’t?”
He scoffed. “Imma need you to elaborate on that.”
“Well for starters, you’re six-foot-five, super muscular, super handsome, but beyond that…you’re sweet. You’re kind, you’re a good listener, and you’re downright gentle when you want to be. You’re protective and brave and the most loyal and loving person I’ve ever met. You make me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met and I know that no matter what happens to me, you’ll always be there for me. Hell, you took the worst day I’ve had in a while and turned it around in twenty minutes.”
He stared at you for a long moment, kind of in shock. He forced a laugh so he didn’t burst into tears on the spot. “You’ve been keeping all of that tucked away in that pretty little head of yours?”
“Yep.” You shrugged, unsure of what else to say.
“You actually like me.” He stated, letting the pieces click. “See, just when I was starting to think my giant crush on you was hopeless…” He let out a little disbelieving laugh. “Holy shit.”
“So can I like kiss you now or…?”
Raph leaned over, crushing his lips to yours, cherishing the taste of them as your arms wound around his neck, tugging him closer to you. Raph pulled you into his lap, strong arms wrapping around your frame, your chest pressed to his. The way he kissed you left you breathless, and when you finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, searching your eyes for any sign of disgust, but only finding love.
“Ya know, I think Mikey’s gonna be pissed I’m the first one to get a girlfriend.”
“And Casey’s gonna owe April like twenty bucks.” You said, causing him to laugh.
“So…ya still think I’m gonna be a good boyfriend.”
You nodded, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “The best, in fact.”
Taglist: @thelaundrybitch, @turtle-babe83, @dilucsflame33, @happymoonangel
#raphael x reader#raphael#raph#raph x reader#tmnt aged up#tmntagedup#tmnt#bayverse#bayverse tmnt#tmnt imagines#tmnt 2014#tmnt 2016
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hello my love <3 can i request fluff with lockwood where y/n is sick and she also has injury on her hand (something like lucy's maybe?) and when lockwood wants to clean it she's not happyy about that 'cause she only wants to sleep and he's like "i'm your fully qualified doctor, remember? you have to listen to me, love", btw i absolutely adore your stories, keep writing cause you're amazingg, mwah <3
a/n: of course!!! domestic lockwood is the best in my humble opinion. and im so glad you like my stuff so much, love you my dear <3 also taking this as an opportunity to apologise for the terrible titles for most of my fics i spend ages thinking but can never think of something good lmao
warnings: minor injury detail
gn reader
Perfect - Anthony Lockwood
The library is the warmest room in the house, and by far your favourite, so it's no surprise when Lockwood finds you there, curled up on your designated armchair close to dozing. He smiles at you as he steps in, carrying a tray of something or other that he places down on the little coffee table before sitting in his armchair.
There's something about him today that makes you want to laugh. Maybe it's the way he's been mothering you all day because you're ill. Maybe it's the lack of Anthony Lockwood professionalism he has today, what with his crinkled hoodie and pink fluffy socks - aren't those the ones George has been looking for? He's so unlike his usual self today, but also inadvertently just like himself. A walking anomaly.
"How are you feeling now?" he asks quietly, as if your ears may explode if he speaks too loud. "Any better?"
"No better than I did seven minutes ago," you say with a laugh. "Lockwood, you don't have to keep a constant eye on me. You've got things to do."
"One of which being to take care of you," he says. "Which reminds me, are you finally going to let me take a look at that cut on your arm? It needs cleaning."
"I trust you with my life, but I do not trust you with the first aid kit. You'll shove half a tube of Germaline on it. Besides, I want to go to sleep, and here is cosier than my room."
He gives you a look, but it's halfhearted. "You can sleep once I've cleaned it. I've brought you some of your favourite biscuits and a brew in return."
You lift your head from where it had laid on your arms. "Doesn't sound like a very fair trade for you."
"Ah, I'll cope."
"Well, it doesn't hurt anymore. I'm sure it's healed amazingly and then I'll be back to my wonderful self in no time."
"I'm not leaving until I've at least taken a look at it. Then after that, you can have your tea and go to sleep." His grin is dazzling then. It's the kind he always uses when he's trying to get his way. "I'm your fully qualified doctor, remember? You've got to listen to me."
If you could be bothered, you could push for him to leave you in peace, but your head feels like it's full of water and you want to go to sleep. So, begrudgingly, you shift so that your arm hangs over the armrest of your chair.
The gentleness of Lockwood's hands as he takes your arm and slowly, carefully peels off the plaster you haphazardly placed on shocks you. His fingers are soft, holding your arm as if it's a delicate thing that could break at any moment.
He takes a minute to just look at the gash on your forearm. It's no longer than your index finger, cutting diagonally across halfway up, and it's still oozing some blood. The plaster is covered in it, and he deftly throws it into the bin before taking his little first aid kit from the tray he brought in. Its original purpose was for you to use it on him whenever he got banged up on cases, which was more often than not, but there's something strangely special about him using it on you now. It makes you feel a little giddy.
"You got this from a glass door, right?"
You're acutely aware of his touch as he shifts his grip so as to clean the cut. "Yeah. George knocked me into it by accident. I'm surprised this is all I got out of it."
His reply comes in the form of a quiet hum. As he cautiously cleans the wound, you watch as his brows furrow a little with concentration, creasing a little line between them, and his top lip twitches a little bit. A little quirk, you've noticed, when he's particularly invested in something. Usually, it's the latest gossip rag, in which he always loses sight of the real world, but now it's you. A small flutter arises in your chest.
He wipes over a small part of the gash, and you suck in a sharp breath. The sound makes him falter, the wipe hovering an inch above your skin as he looks up at you.
For a moment, then, you forget about the pain. Through his thick lashes, his eyes are brimmed with worry and apologies, but after insistence that you're fine, he continues to clean the fresh blood away.
"Let me put the cream on the plaster," you murmur. "You'll put way too much on."
He smiles. "Who's the qualified doctor here?"
"In all honesty, Skull is probably better at this kind of thing than you are."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
"Do."
But, even still, he passes you the tube of Germaline and a long plaster. A moment later, you pass it back, and with delicate hands, he places it over the gash. It stings a little, and you hiss at the sudden cold, but the feelings are gone before the minute is even over.
"Perfect," he says with a soft, private smile. "All sorted."
His hand lingers, still holding your arm, and you suddenly feel more awake than ever. It's as if the tiredness has just melted away into the cushions of the armchair and down into the floor with only his touch, and you yearn for him to not let go. To stay exactly where he is.
And, as if having read your mind, he does.
If someone were to walk in, the scene would be strange. You, curled up in your seat with your arm hanging over the armrest, head resting on your own shoulder, and Lockwood, holding your arm as if it's some valuable thing, and simply looking at you with those expressive eyes of his.
"How do you feel?" he asks. His voice is a little breathy.
You're trying not to focus on the feeling of his fingers slipping down your arm until they almost - almost - slot in between yours. You shift slightly so that your head is in a position that isn't causing a crick in your neck, and it only grants a better view of him. His dark hair glowing bronze in the firelight, the ever so faint freckles on his nose, the dip in the left corner of his lip that insinuates another smile.
"A little better." The words almost catch in your throat when his fingers curl around yours just so. They don't hold yours, but they're so, so close. You can feel his pulse - or is that yours beating wildly out of control? "Do you have any paracetamol?"
He takes a second to realise what you've just said, and his hand leaves yours as he rakes about in the first aid kit for the painkillers. Out of pure mothering ability, he pops two out of the packet and hands them to you along with your mug of tea. Not the nicest thing to swallow them down with, but it'll do.
"You need to be more careful on cases," Lockwood says.
"Tell that to George. He's the one who bumped into me." Then, you shrug. "I suppose I shouldn't have gone when I've got the worst head cold I've had in yonks."
A breathy laugh escapes his lips, and you notice how he's looking down at your hand.
It's a bold move, completely unlike you, but you reach for his hand, looping your fingers through his. His hand is warm and, yes, that's definitely your erratic pulse.
It takes a lot to catch Lockwood off guard, but that does the trick. For a moment, it's like he can't decide whether or not to look at your linked hands or at you, and you laugh at the sight of it.
"This is wholly inappropriate," he jokes. "Doctors and patients shouldn't do anything remotely like this."
You must be out of your mind entirely because you lean over and press a kiss to his knuckles. "What about that?"
The expression on his face reminds you of when the TV signal has gotten busted, and the four-person-army of Lockwood and Co, plus a glowing and crude Skull, are sitting around it angrily waiting for it to stop buffering. When the picture freezes, glitches a little bit, and buffers for even longer. You can almost see the buttons and wires in his mind, struggling to compute what you just did.
That's not to say you aren't the complete same. Truthfully, you shocked yourself with the kiss, and you sit here now, staring at the spot where your lips touched his skin.
You're ill, you remind yourself. Maybe he'll pass it off as delusion.
"Would you mind if I weren't your doctor for a little?"
Frowning a little, confused, you say, "No...?"
You've never seen a person move as fast as Lockwood does then. Before you know it, he's leaning over your entwined hands and his lips are brushing yours so softly, giving you room to move if it's something you don't want. But you do. You want it more than anything.
Everything seems to melt away at the moment you press your lips firmly onto his. The library, the fireplace filled with dancing orange flames, your horrible cold, the sting of anti-septic cream on your fresh cut. You're aware only of his lips on yours, his fingers twisted in yours, the warmth of his hand. Every nerve in your body feels as though it's about to combust. Your heart is practically beating through your chest. God, your hands are awfully sweaty.
Only a moment later, he pulls away, but his face stays so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your cheek.
You want to say something romantic, maybe something smart or snarky like you usually would, but all you can think of is, "You're going to get a cold now."
"It's just as well we have Skull, then, huh?" His laugh is soft and airy, and you could catch it between your lips if you so wished. "I'm sure I'll be fine."
His gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, and you're positive that if he weren't holding your hand right now, you'd implode in a burst of sparks and fireworks.
"Well, if you're so sure -"
Knowing where the sentence is going, he presses his lips to yours once more, and it's perfect.
#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood x reader#lockwood and co x reader#lockwood and co fanfiction#lockwood and co#lockwood and co netflix#anthony lockwood#lucy carlyle#george karim#x reader#fanfiction#givemea-dam-break
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╰┈➤ Relax, It's Over
➜ Synopsis: Maybe it was time for you to let your guard down. Good thing you have him to help you out.
➜ Pairings: Shuji Hanma x fem!reader
➜ This Fic Contains the Following: 12th time leap Hanma (even though the pic is toman hanma lmao), Hanma is taller than reader because ofc he is, past violence to underlings (not reader), undressing, implied power imbalance, reader is not having a fun time at first, fear play(?)
➜ WC: 850
➜ Note: something small that i had buzzing in my head and wanted to get it out of my system 🙈, title is from slipknot's "iowa"
➜ Taglist: @stygianoir
"Why so scared, love? Are you that afraid of me?" A chill ran up your spine as you heard his voice mutter quietly into your ear, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned down to you.
Hanma had always terrified you ever since you started working under Toman as their secretary. Kisaki did too of course, but there was something especially unnerving about his right hand man that made you not want to be stuck in the same room as him.
Or maybe it was his taller than average stature that intimidated you, he was the tallest among the upper echelon and possibly out of everyone working under. He was tall, broad, and very strong; using all three to his advantage against anyone that wronged him or Kisaki.
Perhaps it was the way he adored violence under his usually "bored" exterior, maybe it was the way he was so eager to get his hands dirty for his boss, especially when it came to a traitor. You only bore witness to such an act once when Hanma beat up a man for lying to his face. This happened right out in the open in front of everyone in the room and you were there to see it… and you hoped you'd never have to see such a grotesque sight ever again. The sight of the liar's face beaten beyond recognition made you sick to your stomach and even gave you a nightmare that night.
Even against you.
Large hands slithered up from your legs to your hips, snapping you back to reality. You mentally thanked yourself for wearing trousers instead of a skirt so he couldn't feel the goosebumps, lest he used that as more ammo against you.
"You've always avoided me baby, and I love to know why. Do I scare you?" He whispered, leaning in more into your personal space. It felt like it was getting more difficult to breathe the more he got close. The more he interrogated you.
You could only gulp as you continued staring down at your feet… if you could at least, had he not cornered you in your office just as you were going home. He had backed you into your desk too, his bigger body blocking you from leaving. You could now only stare at his hands, that nearly engulfed your waist, the sight of it was almost scary to you. It especially didn't help that he cut the lights off too, possibly to scare you more.
Not pleased with your silence, Hanma removed one of his hands off of your torso and placed it under your chin. Forcing you to look up at him, you were met with a blank stare. Even behind his glasses, his golden eyes seemed to gleam from the city lights outside, being your only source of lighting in the room.
It still felt hard to breathe, but at least not as much as before since he moved away from you before he grabbed your chin.
Your heart began to pound as his other hand tightened around your hip. "Answer the question, angel. I don't like being met with nothing but silence," he said. While he didn't say it in a threatening tone, you still felt an underlying threat there.
You could only nod frantically in return, not trusting yourself to answer with words. You almost felt your heart jump in your throat as he slowly smiled down at you before leaning back down into your ear.
"While that is good, you've been tense for way too long. Why don't we help you relax a little?"" he breathed, his lips barely touching your helix.
With that both hands were now at your hips but now working under your shirt and lifting it up, revealing your bra. As he ran his hands all around your now exposed area, you felt the goosebumps again.
But you were still much too afraid, and he can sense it.
"Hey, you're still way too tense. It's time you let go," he said, now moving down to your neck. He began slowly kissing his way up from there up to your earlobe, giving you more chills.
Was it really right to try and resist The Reaper after this?
"Relax," he whispered. "No need to be so afraid of me anymore, angel. I won't hurt you."
You did try to relax under his touch all the while closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, slowly wrapping your arms around his torso while he went from kissing to sucking your neck, leaving his mark on you.
A shaky deep breath left you as you felt his hands remove your shirt and unclasp your bra, slowly but surely giving into Hanma.
"Good girl," you heard him say as he began massaging your breasts.
Unknown to you, Hanma was all too pleased seeing you begin to relax from his touch. He had his eye on you since your first day on the job, and even though you were still a little bit tense now, it was only a matter of time before you were his.
#candy uploads 🍭#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#hanma shuji x reader#shuji hanma x reader#hanma x reader
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so hold my hand (consign me not to darkness) [2/4]
Before you continue:
This is a fan comic of a GoYuu fic. I highly suggest you read the fic first, or just the fic, since I don’t think I was properly able to adapt it into drawings.
Title: so hold my hand (consign me not to darkness)
Author: qalb_al_louz
It’s ongoing, and as of this drawing, the fic is in its third chapter. While this is (sexually) SFW, always be mindful of the tags! Please keep yourself safe and sound.
Please read from right to left, and enjoy!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Fun fact: That bridge scene with Nue and Totality is the second last drawing to be finished. I deeply dislike the perspective and the bridge took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to search on Google Map lol
If this bridge is portrayed well in the anime, well... um. I still haven't finished Season 1, just so you know haha
Anyway, unexpectedly, I have lots of fun drawing the characters! Sure, some perspectives and angles are annoying to draw, but I found all of them fun to draw! Especially those adorned in black. I don't have to worry so much about the lines lmao
But of course, the best character to draw would be Gojou, both head and (later) his eldritch form. That little spotlight stealer. I love drawing his eyes and hair a bit too much haha
In second place, is our sunshine Yuuji! It's kinda weird talking about him when his spotlight would be in the next parts but haha lemme gush about how much fun I try to draw his eyes! His are extremely tricky. The thickness and the angle of the lines can really change his overall expression. It was a challenge, but one I enjoyed!
Third place for the characters I enjoy drawing would be Megumi and Mei-Mei, in a tie! Mostly because I love drawing Megumi's hair and Mei-Mei's eyes (part 3), but also because their outfits are just pure black lmao them designs help my hand a lot
Now, my least enjoyable draw would be the corpses in a later part. Too many limbs and blood and I can only use pure black to draw. Not fun at all. 0/10
The second least would be... Nanami. I'm so sorry. His outfit is pure white, and I suck at suits. Also his sunglasses(?) are unexpectedly really tricky. He's the character that constantly required me to pull up Google for images. His full body character sheet that I made was not enough at all lmao
I still really enjoy pages of him without his glasses though!
Ok no third least favourite to draw because it's long already and you probably should head to another part or do your own thing.
#yuu's art#jjk-fic-fanart#jjk-ship#五悠#goyuu#goyu#5u#gojou x yuuji#shibuya arc#shibuya arc canon divergence#nanami kento#fushiguro megumi#ino takuma#ijichi kiyotaka#I really like Nanami's section in the fic#of him slowly losing his sanity#it's hard to adapt it to drawn form tho#i tried
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Here's a few questions lmao
3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?
5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?
6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?
10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?
20. What’s a favourite title for a fic you’ve written?
27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?
Thank you!!!
3. Edges of the Universe is definitely my favourite fic because it explores both John and Scott's relationship and who John is and how that is interwoven with being autistic. All of my neurodivergent Tracies fics have a special place in my heart because even though in my head they always are I love exploring it on a textual level. Though I actually love all of my fics for their own reasons!!
5. Hmmm I am often trying to write all the ideas I am having but some are fun just to play with and imagine! For a very random one I've got some ideas for a crack treated seriously body swap trope fic mostly because giving them each other's strengths and weaknesses quite literally has the capacity to be interesting for characterisation. I might write up some notes to post if people were interested but its not something id write as a fully fleshed out fic. Though I do enjoy a plot-device mad science we dont explain makes things happen presmise!
6. So many fics I love!!! There is Suffering in Silence by @janetm74 which has John and always gives me emotions, Nowhere Else by @silverstarfics because its scott and john and my birthday fic and i adore it, Trochilidae by @idontknowreallywhy for ADHD Scott that I am very fond of, and Sweet Chariot by @edutainer2022 particularly CH2 Puzzles for a beautifully described cuddle pile.
10. It would probably be that my fic of John and Virgil got more of a reaction of many people enjoying it than I expected as its not really a combination i have seen very often (but if anyone has any recs!!!).
20. Two titles of note are Protective is an Emotion because that encapsulates the core of the fic in John protecting Virgil, and Respite (Spun Glass and Golden Light) because of both poetic and metaphoric reasons. Though I occasionally use song lyrics or single words, I enjoy finding the right set of words for titles particularly in a phrase.
27. Again probably that would be Edges of the Universe most as it is very close to my heart, intensely emotional and personal from the experiences it is drawn from and I'm very proud of it.
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Starcicle Playlist for it's making me insane
Hi!! I saw someone mention starcicle playlists on twitter and a while back someone asked what songs they should listen to when reading immi and well here i am to share the songs that inspired the fic and the ship in general for me!
Since I can't share playlists, i'll have to link the songs individually, whomp whomp, but anyone is welcome to add them to their own playlist or throw them into a separate one if they'd like! maybe just give me or the fic a shout if you do the latter haha
No spoilers for the fic! I just use music for the beats and sometimes general vibes
enjoy ☆–-
*ੈ °✩₊• ‧₊˚✧˖°⁺˚⋆｡ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ °✩₊•✧˖°.☾ ₊ ° •⁺˚⋆
Without You- Francis Aud
Warmth- Bastille
Downward- Ripe
Nervous- Origami Button
Life was easier when I only cared about me(robotaki remix!!)- Bad Suns
Apogee- Tycho (and if I like that then i have to share the remix)
Round and Round- Imagine Dragons
You’ve Got Me Flush- Future Generations
The entire album by Olen called who’s gonna love me( when I’m not young)- a very Charlie sounding album in general but Human Touch is ☆—-
Glue- Daulton Hopkins
Adecentcupofcoffee- Bilmuri
Turn- the Wombats
All Over- CRUISR
Fireflies- Owl City
Room for You- Sub Radio
Repaint My Mind Blood Orange- The Wlflfe (2 songs, once cross fades into the other- charlie-centric)
You've Got Something- The Jungle Giants
2 Rocking Chairs- Jon Bellion
I Wear Glasses- Mating Ritual
Waste a moment- Kings of Leon
Show Me What I'm Looking For- Carolina Liar
Evergreen- Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners
Simpsonwave1995-FrankJavCee
The Fighter- The Fray
Burnt Out- Imagine Dragons
Tree House by Cinders
This version of Sweden by C418
this criminally short video is just the inside of Étoiles’ head whenever Charlie is just- Charlie
Having a Party by Sam Cooke ( both this and this version)
Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)- Edison Lighthouse
creature- half.alive
Fish Tank- HARBOUR
Opening Up- CRUISR
Hard to Love- The Mowgli's
Note- now my word isn't gospel for starcicle music, this is just personal music I listen to that reminds me of them or directly inspireds my fics. it's always growing lmao
also some of the lyrics may not match them, but the musical aspects are what got me, for example: without you which is what inspired the title of the fic but it doesn't necessarily fit them lyrically since it's a breakup song but instrumentally it's a bop. Same with Apogee - it's a dancing in the kitchen late at light kind of song and the remix is a tense/hopeful tango or something. That or I'll fixate on a line
I'll let you know if I ever add more- also feel free to ask questions if you want!! I love talking about music and fics <3
cheers :D
#starcicle#slimecicle#etoiles#i love my music okay#qsmp#qsmp fic#qsmp slimecicle#qsmp etoiles#mad ramblings#music
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An unexpected beginning
Lmao sorry about the half-assed title, this is my first fic and I'm pretty nervous about it
Not to mention I wrote this in 10 minutes out of impulsivity so don't expect any quality writing really
Warnings: none (extremely sappy ending and possibly out of character sae)
pure fluff ♡
| slow burn | romance | engagement |
"Sae!"
"What now?"
"I told you it's fine, I don't need a bigger one, the one you got me is just fine!"
Your boyfriend, now future fiancé, was being a pain in the ass. It's difficult to discern what's going through his mind, and god damn how helpful it would be to know sometimes. Itoshi Sae is a mystery to everyone, no one can fathom the emotions behind those bored eyes, apart from you. Let's say to you he's more of a puzzle, you've put a part of it together, the outer parts, but you're struggling tremendously on the inside. To think you were just a waitress at a coffee shop he'd always go to extremely early before practice so he could avoid any unwanted paparazzi encounter, always wearing a black cap and a pair of sunglasses. In the beginning he never quite stood out to you, I mean he was just a simple guy in a simple outfit, the same old sweatpants and sweater, there was nothing quite particular about him. Perhaps that was before you had gotten a clear glimpse of the sea of emeralds hidden under those shades.
You remember it clearly, it was as if a fever hit you. They were dull, yes there was certainly no denying that, but they were deep and alluring. You had been bewitched! Or maybe unknowingly it was the other way round. Sae is so used to being recognised wherever he treads, taunted by the paparazzi, tormented by fans, oh and don't get him started on the constant buzz of his phone. It was nice, almost refreshing, being treated like a normal person.
Whenever he passed by he always hoped it was you who served him, you treated him like another client, unlike your colleagues who would constantly fawn over him, hearing mumbles and squeals such as "omg the sae itoshi", "i can't believe he's right in front of me!"
Perhaps it was because you too were a foreigner, another thing which brought you both closer, you didn't watch football apart from the occasional international match but overall the sport isn't very popular in your country, hence you didn't know who he was. Overtime you figured it out, a football prodigy, "Japan's national treasure", though it didn't mean much to you, you were a simple waitress working a part time job whilst studying at a University in Madrid.
You two were foreigners still adapting to a new lifestyle, a new culture, a new language.
Initially there would be a mere exchange of words, moreso you trying to awkwardly start a conversation: "How was your coffee?", "Would you like to try our new freshly baked pastries?" But Sae hated small talk, yet he seemed to find the energy to not glare at you every time you spoke.
He's known for his lean and muscular body, slowly earning the title of sex symbol, his flawless facial alignments, those enchanting eyes, however he was also known for his "do not waste my time" attitude, but somehow it made him appear even sexier to the public, certainly not to the poor interviewers who had to suffer in silence.
One time he was rushing away from the paparazzi, you were just opening the café as he rushed in almost making you fall. 'How rude' you thought, 'not even an apology?'
But those thoughts quickly vanished into thin air when you were met with pleading eyes. He wanted to get away from all the reporters, the people, the world. He was almost panicking. He could usually deal with everyone by brushing them off with that nonchalant stare of his, but today was different. He had enough. Thankfully you were the only one there at the time so you decided to hide him in the backroom, where you brought him a glass of water to calm down. Five minutes later, with all the paparazzi gone, he came out of his hiding spot and with a half-assed 'thank you' he made his way out. Gosh you were furious, nonetheless a crimson red flushed your cheeks. A note with his number and a little thank you written below.
And that's how it all started, to think you would be already picking your engagement ring after 3 years of dealing with this man. He proposed to you during a midnight walk along the seaside, Sae has always found comfort in the sea and that's why there was no better place to propose, but there was one problem: the ring. Even though the ring he got you was one he knew you'd like, he thought it was unworthy of you because it was so small, he wanted everything to be perfect and he wanted to make sure you were happy with the ring. It was nothing too extravagant or big, it was simple but embellished just right
"Seriously Sae, love it. Stop being so stubborn! It's perfect for me, gosh. Why are you worrying so much about this?"
Sae groaned, he was definitely being too worrisome about this and he was well aware of it.
"Y/n, I don't want to make any mistakes-"
"Sae, sweety, I love you and I love this ring. Now can we go home and get some rest? The shop's about to close".
"Yeah sure, but don't go complaining or flip out on me if you suddenly don't like it".
You laugh to yourself, hopefully you're going to be stuck with this drama queen for the rest of your life.
#sae itoshi#itoshi sae#sae itoshi x reader#itoshi sae x reader#bllk#bllk x reader#cringey romance#sae x reader#slow burn
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First of all, I absolutely LOVE the way you write Marilyn. I just can't get enough of it, you're amazing at writing her! Love the lovingly sweet yet manipulative domme-ness of it all...
Would you be willing to write a teacher x teacher fic, with lots of dumbification and mental domination? Reader's had a long and exhausting day so she comes home and Marilyn wants to give her girlfriend she loves so much a chance to relax... By completely dumbing her down and making her feel good. Just cooing in Reader's ear things like "shhh, baby, I'll do all the thinking tonight~" while she overstimulates her into a spacey and docile mess? ...I have no shame I really want to read this LMAO
thank you so much! so glad you enjoy how i write her thats so cool to hear :')
title: say yes to heaven
pairings: marilyn thornhill x reader, marilyn thornhill x teacher!reader
tw/warnings: mental manipulation, extreme dumbification/degredation, overstimulation, smut, fluff, top!marilyn thornhill, bottom!femreader, subspace, strap on usage, praise!kink, mommy!kink
word count: 2,203
-
You’re so tired you barely make it over the threshold of Marilyn’s dorm, body spent and exhausted as you lean back against the door and toe your shoes off. You sigh heavily, already feeling calmer and more content as you notice Marilyn’s in the kitchen just about to start cooking; there’s something soft playing on her record player that you can’t quite place in your hazy mind, but it makes you soften, smile for the first time that day.
You’re trying to juggle the exam papers you’ve bought back to mark in one hand, and attempting to shrug off your coat with the other, because you want to just fall into Marilyn’s arms and bury into her neck and forget all about your responsibilities.
But your jacket is stuck on your shoulder and papers are falling out of your hands, tears prick your vision because you’re just so over nothing being easy and just knowing you can’t even relax with Marilyn tonight because of all the essays you need to mark, has you wanting to cry. You make this frustrated nose, squeezing your eyes shut trying not to cry.
“Oh, dear,” You hear, and look up as Marilyn hurries over. And is it a little pathetic your lower lip wobbles when she makes it to you?
“Here,” She hums, chuckling lightly at your fumbling as the other woman immediately takes your coat off for you, placing the papers by the side bench and fixing her glasses. She leans in, greeting you with the softest kiss that you melt into.
And the simple act has you speechless, trying to blink the familiar fog that’s starting to overtake your mind as you bite your lip. “Thanks, Mari.”
You don’t mean for the words to crack in your voice, or to sound so needy, but Marilyn picks up on it instantly, softening in worry and cupping your cheek. Your chest clenches, needing her in a way that makes you breathless.
“Baby,” She breathes out, and her concerned little furrow of her brows makes you want to plummet into that space.
“What’s wrong?” She tilts her head, ducking a little to catch your eyes that zero into on her lips. “Hard day?”
You nod your head, humming out this tiny, affirmative noise as you sink into her affection. You lean forwards, surprising Miss Thornhill slightly as you wrap your arms around her neck and cling to her. But she sinks into it immediately, just rubbing up and down your back so lovingly that this tiny uncontrollable whimper leaves your lips. Your heart is beating so hard, yearning for her caring touch and her saccharine sweet words, but you don’t know how to ask for that side of her, how to say: think for me, look after me, fuck into me until I forget about my day entirely.
But Marilyn’s always, always been good at knowing what you want, what you need; and you shiver when her hands make it to your hips and press lightly into your pressure point, a little possessive and intentional.
When she leans back, her hazel eyes are a little dark, and your breath hitches when she holds to your chin in two fingers and pouts mockingly.
“You’ve had such a tiring day, haven’t you, sweet girl?”
Oh god. Your throat bobs on a whine, nodding and blushing as her words sink into the small of your belly. You already feel so docile, knees weakening as she leans in and kisses you.
She deepens it, hand coming up to hold you in place at your cheek and Marilyn’s tongue is so warm and wet inside your mouth and you moan at the feeling, desperately try and hold tighter to her and buck into her touch. Miss Thornhill notices, chuckling against your mouth as she pulls back a little, delighting in how you chase her, how your eyes shine back up to her with need.
“Gosh, darling girl, already so desperate and needy for me.” She coos, a little mocking and so condescending, and you blush so quick and hot that Marilyn bites her lip on a smile, revelling in how instantly dumb and wrapped around her finger you are.
Her thumb rubs gently at your lower lip, and you want to take it in your mouth and suck.
“Can you tell Mommy what you need?” Marilyn says, “Or is my baby too dumb to think for herself?” And it feels like glitter settles in your belly, fireworks under your skin; you feel your throat tighten, arousal gushing to your centre at her words as your eye lids flutter shut briefly and you squirm.
You make this needy little noise in the back of your throat, scrunching up the fabric of her jumpsuit in your hands as you try and find the words through the fog she pulls you under. “I-I can tell you. M’smart. I’m your smart girl.”
And you know your words are useless, but Marilyn loves it when you try and fight back against her words, her influence, how she manipulates you into a headspace so addicting you’d never truly fight back.
“Oh, honey,” She breathes out, looking to you with a faux sympathetic furrow of her brow. “You are my smart girl.” She praises, and you blush down to your chest.
“But I don’t think you can, sweetie,” She starts, kissing you again and making your spine tingle, your lips go numb, as she pulls back and trails her hands to the hem of your jeans; tugging and playing enough that you whine.
“I think,” She continues, hazel eyes so dark and inviting that you swallow thickly. “That you need me to fuck you dumb, don’t you? Until the only thing in your pretty little head is how good for Mommy you’re being.”
And you want to sob and cry and beg her on your knees for it, eyes watering in your desperation. But so embarrassed by your need, you burrow into her neck, nod shyly into her skin and flush, feel her chuckle warmly at your reaction.
She urges you from her neck gently, once again commanding and controlling you so easily as she puts her finger under your chin and directs your gaze to her. She’s looking at you so tenderly, but with a hunger so raw your stomach flips and you sink further and further down.
“I need you,” You whimper out, throat hitching as her eyes soften at your hazy expression. “Need you so bad.” And suddenly you’re pleading because you need Miss Thornhill to take away every thought you’ve ever had, to only think of her. Your hands tug at her belt loops, pathetic and small.
“Please, please. I want you inside me, mommy.” You beg, and Marilyn’s eyes dilate in arousal.
“God, darling-” She groans out.
Then you’re surging forwards and kissing her again, and you moan because Marilyn gasps, and it turns into this low growl that you feel in your lower belly; so suddenly you reach up, fist her red hair in your hands and buck into her.
Then Marilyn’s guiding you to her bed, pushing you gently down and spreading your legs, crawling between them, and the way she unbuttons your pants and glides the zipper down has you whimpering, because she’s just as eager as you. To make you feel good, look after you, make you feel special; then she’s dipping her fingers past the waistband of your underwear and you moan, high pitched and needy as she groans at how wet and slick you are to the touch.
She circles your clit, and your back arches slightly off the bed as you gasp, biting your lip as you try and chase her touch.
“Fuck, baby,” Marilyn breathes out reverently, leaning up over you with her hand behind your head and eyes dripping in love and want for you.
“You’re soaked. So wet and ready for me. Do you need my fingers, honey?” She asks, condescending and warm, knowing you’re too far gone to answer. “Or does my sweet girl want my cock?”
The moan that rips from you is heady, a desperate sound that comes from the part of you that solely revolves around Marilyn. But you nod, hips bucking as you mewl “Oh god, please-” with your doe eyes shining back up to her. And Marilyn’s throat bobs in desire at your tone, how blissed out you look below her.
Then suddenly, she’s unbuttoning her clothes, shrugging out of her jumpsuit and leaning to her bed side table and grabbing what you pleaded for. She bites her lip, kneels between your legs, slipping into the harness and strap and your brain plummets, tightening your thighs together at the sight of her above you and almost panting for her.
The way her stomach flexes, her chest heaves in her black bra, how she’s looking to you in so much arousal and love you drop even heavier.
Then she’s leaning over you, one hand gripping her length and running it through your soaked folds, and your eye’s roll into the back of your head, hips bucking for more as you whine. You feel like there’s cotton candy in your mouth, too dumb and desperate to voice how much you want her.
But Marilyn hushes you, kissing you as a distraction as your mind goes blank. You kiss back, a little like you were kissing drunk, sloppy and wet and dizzy.
“Shh, baby, I’ll do all the thinking tonight.” She murmurs against your lips, making you blink back up to her; eyes so clouded over in this space.
And in one, gentle and smooth thrust, she bottoms out inside of you and you melt – you gasp at feeling how full you are, moan when Marilyn hikes up your thigh against her hip tighter. She groans at how you take her, breath hitching at the sight of you underneath her and already so fucked out. She starts this slow, deep pace that has you clutching to her biceps, whimpering at how she lets these soft praises out against your ear; how Marilyn leaves love bites up and down the tendon in your neck and moans above you.
“That’s it, darling,” She breathes out, making you buck up into her, force her deeper inside of you and beg for it with your body.
“Don’t think about anything else,” The other woman coos, making you moan into her collarbone and gush onto her strap. You can hear how wet you are. “Just think about how good I feel, and how deep you take me like the good girl you are.”
The words have you rocking harder against her, desperate for your high. You can’t speak at how degrading she sounds, how when you lean back from her neck she kisses you, bites down onto your lip, and you make this pathetic little sound that Marilyn knows all too well.
Miss Thornhill moans hearing it, seeing how glazed over your eyes are. Please, you think. Wanna come, mommy. Wanna come so bad.
The words must reflect on your face, in your eyes, because Marilyn immediately picks up her thrusts and curls deeper, gasping as you mewl into the air between you and clench around her cock.
“Good girl,” She moans, and you feel yourself climb higher and higher, so close to coming at the praise that you reach out and curl your hands into the hair at the base of Marilyn’s neck, making her gasp at the feeling.
“Oh, god. That's it. Come for me.” She says, a little desperate as your eyes open and your throat bobs on a whimper. “Not gonna stop until you're coming all over me, baby girl.”
And it feels like sparklers behind your eyes, so sudden it crashes over you and you’re soaking Marilyn and the sheets, moaning so loudly the other woman has to kiss you to cover the sound. You feel blissed out, head empty with nothing but the feeling of her inside you and her voice and her touch; you try and kiss back, but it’s still so pathetic and sloppy as you ride it out.
Your hips stutter against Marilyn inside of you, and she hushes you gently from your high.
But, oh god, she doesn’t slow down and help you ride out your orgasm, because Marilyn’s fingers find your clit and rub deep and slow, and you’re powerless to how you whine and shift at the attention.
“M-Mari,” You gasp, eye lids fluttering shut as you feel yourself start up again.
“It’s okay, darling.” She says gently, breathless at the feeling of how you clenched around her. And she sounds so coercive and warm and sweet, and you want to do everything she says.
“Just one more for me, can you do that baby? Come one more time for Mommy?”
You arch your back, whimper, nod your head like a good girl and mewl into her mouth as Marilyn kisses you, humming another Good girl against your mouth that has you putty in her hands. You come again, and again, until the overstimulation has you sobbing as your orgasm takes over your brain, and until Marilyn is all you can think about.
Until the day bleeds into nothing, and your entire being revolves around her.
#marilyn thornhill x reader#marilyn thornhill#wednesday netflix#marilyn thornhill x fem reader#reader fic#laurel gates x reader#asks#christina ricci#my fics#fanfic
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Consequences || Chapter 04: No More Teeth To Bite With
Title: 04 - No More Teeth To Bite With
Rating: M
Characters: Grimm, The Pale King
Warnings: Disturbing Content, Horror, Gore, Unreliable Narrator, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Read On Ao3: Beginning || Current Chapter
Summary:
“Little more than obstacles to you, are they, nightmare?” he hissed. As empty as the city now was, the words carried far on the wind, resonating off the buildings that he’d find empty. Or would they, too, be tombs, forever encompassing those lost, until time decayed their lifeless shells into dust? “Inconvenient and in the way, the bodies of my people?”
Author’s Notes: Tumblr continues to be a week behind Ao3, I'm awful. I'm sorry. SOME day I'll catch them up (today is not that day and it's only 10 chapters long, so probably when the fic is finished lmao)
CHAPTER 04: NO MORE TEETH TO BITE WITH
The capital had a name once.
It was known more now as the ‘City of Tears,’ an apt descriptor if ever there was one for the rain-soaked cobblestone pathways and windows streaked from the steadily falling droplets sliding down their surfaces.
Once, that rain would have been broken up by the warmth of smoke rising from buildings, from the furnaces of restaurants, homes, and manufacturing plants. The glass panes covering the streetlights would be fogged up from the contrast of temperatures and mud would seep into the cracks of the streets, carried about by messy feet as the citizens went to-and-fro, about their daily business, mechanical and altogether entirely alive.
But it would not have been known by anything so macabre a definition as ‘tears’ back then, and the rain would not have been so dramatic. Though Blue Lake did leak through the cavern’s roof at all times, the menderbugs were constantly on call to repair the damage as fast as they could. Time had stolen that efficiency, and the collapse was imminent. The glorious civilization would be underwater before too long, its history lost to time, and anyone who yet lived within would find themselves little more than a memory as well.
Memories.
It had had a name once. He could not remember what it was called, and that was a distressing thought. He’d created it, this city. He was the architect behind its invention, the layout and design borne of his creativity. He’d always loved creating, far more than he ever had his people, and yet standing before a marvel of his invention, he was left with the distinct reminder of what he’d lost. What he stood to lose still.
Nostalgia seized his heart in a vice grip, choking.
He would not weep for the loss of his creations.
“You should have visited more when it was alive,” Grimm observed, unfazed by the falling rain. He should have been at least a little uncomfortable with the chilled water; he should have been at least mildly perturbed by the sensation of being wet. He was impassive, calmer than he ought to have been, and had the Pale King not hated him before, he might have in that moment.
How dare you stand at the precipice of my brilliance as it falls into the sea and care not at all for the loss.
How dare you be right.
There were corpses around them, desiccated and festering, bloated with infection yet dripping from their eyes, from their maws, from the breaks in their shell. The husks that lined the city ground were broken things, limbs torn asunder. Some of them had injuries clearly inflicted by nail, while others appeared to have just collapsed. The number was not small, though. No, it spread on, and on. Though the streets were not completely covered in the bodies, there were enough to leave no delusion as to how badly the capital had fared in the wake of the infection.
Grimm stepped over one of the fallen carcasses and kept walking, his eyes never even casting downward, and that infuriated the wyrm.
“Little more than obstacles to you, are they, nightmare?” he hissed. As empty as the city now was, the words carried far on the wind, resonating off the buildings that he’d find empty. Or would they, too, be tombs, forever encompassing those lost, until time decayed their lifeless shells into dust? “Inconvenient and in the way, the bodies of my people?”
Grimm did not look back at him, but he did stop.
“Always there will be bodies. Death gifts mementos to those left behind.” The butterfly carefully stepped around the corpse of one of the sentries, then looked left and right. “Memorials to remember those we loved and lost. We tell ourselves it is to honor their memory, but in the end, it is not. Graves, you see, are for the living.” Grimm made a decision, then, and he started down a different path.
Realization dawned as a guillotine on the Pale King’s neck.
Memorials. The direction they were going. It was not a coincidence; it could not have been.
“Grimm.” His voice shook. “There are other pathways to Dirtmouth.”
They would be going past the Watcher’s Spire, true, but that was not the most horrifying thing down that road. That was not what made his stomach drop, crashing like lightning, scorched in its wake.
“There are,” Grimm agreed. “But this is the one that I wish to take. Would you rather we separate?”
The wyrm froze. His stomach lurched violently at the thought, the feeling of something under his skin writhing and cold. Tingling spread through him, numbness that settled somewhere behind his eyes, and the vertigo that stole his vision made the world blur. He did not succumb to the uncomfortable sensation; he bowed his head instead, shaking at the shoulders.
He would not make it to Dirtmouth, and that smug creature knew it. He’d barely made it here. If Grimm left him, what would become of him? Would he—would he simply stop being animated? Would the void rise up from the bottom of the world to devour him once more?
Over the husks, he stepped, but the tattered remnants of his wings snagged on the end of one of their spears and he tumbled forward. His instinct was to reach out, to grab the edge of Grimm’s cloak to catch himself, and the butterfly instantly pulled away. He hit the floor face-down instead, shell crunching beneath the weight of his own rotting corpse. His mouth filled with something sweet, viscous, and he gagged.
Grimm did not acknowledge the sound, rattling though it was. “I will thank you to not touch me,” he said instead, impassive.
The Pale King rubbed his maw on the back of his hand, and it came away thick with honeyed gold saliva. He trembled, staring openly at the spread of his claws, willing away the viscosity, that the rain might wash him clean.
Footsteps told him that Grimm was departing again.
Slowly, he scrambled back to his feet, shell clattering beneath him as he attempted to rise. The rain obscured his companion’s departure, the dusty grays of Grimm’s cloak more like shadows than the flames that represented him most – shadows that crept, tangled, wove up and whispered. Fitting, the Pale King thought, for the path the reaper cut felt like the executioner’s axe, and he did not want to take it.
That was precisely why Grimm had chosen it, though – of that, he was still without doubt.
Did the nightmare god intend to act as jury, to pass judgment on the wyrm’s crimes? Was that the intention?
But surely he understood necessity? Surely he understood how dire the situation had been, for was he not privy most of all to the frenzy that was his counterpart’s rage?
The Pale King thought the Dream must have been a loud place, prior to her sealing. He envisioned it full of her screams, impotent but furious, and then the dawning realization of the monstrosity of her creation. He thought that her realm must have been full of rivers that flowed thick with infection – and Grimm was a part of that world, wasn’t he? Severed though he was from her, did he not see, did he not know?
“Please,” he said, legs uneasy, pain shooting through them. The sensation was burning and it seared down his throat, curling back shell that felt as though it were pressed beneath a branding iron. If he looked at himself in a mirror, would he find marks in the shape of feathers, woven tight around his neck?
Or would it be claws too long for a body that should have resembled his own?
He heard cracking and it took him a moment to register that the sound was his own footsteps over water-soaked bricks. His shell held up beneath his weight and yet the cracking continued. He half-expected to see splits in each brick under the burden of each step, but no – none came. The phantom sounds played in the back of his mind regardless, his path falling in sync behind Grimm’s own, and his plea – however pathetic it sounded even to himself – went ignored.
There was to be no mercy, but he had done nothing to merit so harsh a judgment from Grimm.
“You do not have a right to look down on me so,” he hissed out. Grimm did not turn back to him, did not slow down, and did not acknowledge the words in any way. They rounded a corner, great awnings rippling under the weight of the rainfall pooling on the fabric, and a faint breeze tore free a poster from one of the walls. He watched it splatter onto the ground, the silk parchment long faded, the edges ripped and jagged; it advertised the performance of a butterfly clad in fanciful pink silks, her name emblazoned over the bottom.
The magnificent Marissa.
The singing butterfly at the Pleasure House.
He'd never seen her perform.
He’d never been to the Pleasure House. Many an invitation was sent to the White Palace, with assurances of discretion if he wanted to enjoy their festivities without the bother of the general public. More than once, his retainers had suggested he go to a performance for a break from the business of running the kingdom, and every time – every single time – he’d refused them.
When he should have been a part of the kingdom he’d labored to build, he’d withdrawn instead, to the secrecy of his palace and his laboratories, to the dark recesses of his guilt and shame, to the burden that held him fast in chains.
Because he’d known what was coming. Because he knew what had to be done, and how could he ever hope to look in the faces of those he would sentence to death in a bid at immortality?
…he’d looked in their eyes –
“You who care nothing for the living, only the dead,” the Pale King continued weakly. “Have you ever loved anything in your life, save yourself? The macabre ghosts you call a Troupe, that you would have others believe exist as anything other than figments of your imagination? Extensions of your power? I know what you are—”
“Do you.” It was not a question. Grimm did not stop, but he did lift one hand, and the sound of his claws raking over the corner of the building they passed was jarringly high-pitched and sharp; it brought to mind a razor’s edge scraping over stone and left grooves in its wake. The building in question was a little nestled thing, with old, rotting food on display, long forgotten. It’d been beautiful once, though. The Pale King could faintly remember the smell of the breads baking.
Had he stopped there, on the day the monument was unveiled?
Had he wanted to? Yes. But he hadn’t. He’d been in a hurry to be free of the eyes boring through his very soul.
“I know much of you,” the wyrm insisted. “I made it a point to study you and your counterpart both.”
“And yet still you see so little. Still you are so blind.”
Grimm rounded the corner and he followed – only to be stopped sharply in his tracks. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, his head turning back to look at the memorial fountain, rain falling like tears streaking down a mask that would never have possessed any – that never could have. It was larger than life and stylized to remove some of the accents of the armor, to hide the embellishments that his own magic left like stains. Time had worn the polished black stone away to a mottled grey and the fine chiseling that had once added details was long lost to the erosion the water brought, and yet –
Yet he could hear the shifting of fabric with each turn. He could hear the click of metal as they turned toward him. He could see their mask, perfectly expressionless, and –
How desperately he’d needed to believe that the thing within was nothing at all. Like his kingsmoulds, but in a god’s shell. How he’d needed it to be – but it wasn’t.
In retrospect, he should have known. How they’d loved him. How they’d wanted his approval, how they’d sought it – there were so many signs, so many hints, and he’d ignored them all –
Little eyes staring up at him as he explained the names of the flowers that grew along the balcony.
Too long horns for a body that hadn’t yet grown into them, toppling over and then stubbornly rising again in stubborn determination.
Perfect stillness through the pain of having spells woven like strings into a shell that he now knew could bear pain and not once did it flinch, not once did it react, despite the agony the light tearing through its void must have presented.
The anguished desire for approval. The need to be what he’d asked for – it spelled its undoing, hadn’t it? By wanting so badly to please him, it broke itself – no longer empty, not hollow at all, but overflowing for him.
Nausea settled in his stomach with no where to go. He could have vomited, but the pain that twisted his guts felt like an apt punishment.
“Did you bring me here to gloat, wraith?”
Grimm was staring up at the statue. His mask prevented his expression from showing whatever emotions played through his mind, but the perfect stillness was reminiscent of the posture that his Pure Vessel had once taken, and the Pale King found it very unsettling. Grimm crossed his arms beneath his wings, the long waves of them covering his torso, and he shifted so that all the wyrm could see was his back.
“We are gods, but who is a god to one of us? We, who would rule over others… to whom do we offer our prayers?” the butterfly mused. “We place our faith and hearts in things unseen, in beliefs that we choose for ourselves. And, in some cases… in those we find worthy. I wonder, would I have been the same, had I parents?”
There was an almost whimsical way that Grimm spoke. If the Pale King hadn’t known any better, he might well have thought that it was melancholia that gripped the nightmare’s heart – a longing for what he did not, could never, have.
But that was not accurate, was it?
“I am given to understand that you have at least one parent,” the wyrm interjected. He was looking at Grimm because looking at the butterfly meant that he need not look at the statue and all that it symbolized. His stomach felt weighted enough without the reminder looming down at him, expressionless and yet saying so much – speaking without words – ‘How could you?’ –to drive home understanding.
And moreover, there lingered a question: what did Grimm know of what his children thought of him? Of what it meant to be a parent? He, who masqueraded as one, but was not – no, the Pale King knew very well what that creature that Grimm called his child actually was. He could fool the world, draw them into the illusion of his game, and it would change nothing for eyes that could see beyond the surface. Grimmchild was another facet of Grimm and so, in essence, he was not a parent in truth.
The butterfly inclined his head to the side. “Is it parentage, to be born of fragments of oneself? Is that what you would consider childhood? Birth, existence? Excised to hide away in shame, to banish to the darkest recesses of one’s realm, to pretend it does not exist?” His voice was calm, even, but the words that followed were anything but. “I should not find myself surprised so. You did the same, after all.”
The comparison wrenched deep within him, clawed at his heart, and pulled it tight, blood bursting beneath wicked claws. As it was intended to, no doubt. Grimm punctuated the statement with an easily observed, “She calls me her blood moon, rising scarlet on the horizon, and you call me her counterpart – but it is you, not I, who have the most in common with her.”
…and there it was. The implication given words. It chilled him to his core, and he was suddenly distinctly aware of the heavy drops of water leaking from cracks high above. His gaze shifted upward, to where fractures splintered like spiderwebs across cavern’s ceiling, weeping onto his beautiful city. He was distinctly aware of Grimm’s departure, footfalls light, cloak soundless. Mourning seized his lungs, holding him fast.
His kingdom was dead. He was not the one who killed it, but it was dead nonetheless, and in the war that he’d waged – conqueror to be – had anyone actually been victorious?
Was he really no different?
The Pale King turned and followed Grimm at a languid pace. Unlike the butterfly, his own steps were heavy things, the water splattering around him as he went. He could be faster. He could be more graceful, if he surrendered to his nature and moved on all limbs rather than the mimicry of a bipedal creature that he’d begun to favor. He did none of the above.
“The bodies,” he choked out, claws clinging to the remnants of wings that acted like clothing around himself. They were shattered in pieces and shorn; his reflection stared back at him, a disheveled mess, not at all the graceful figure that he’d once been. Hallownest’s Godking, reduced to a muddy, rotting figure, aghast and suspended in agony. How fitting.
He thought he heard the clank of chains.
He thought he heard the ethereal bells of seals going up.
He thought he saw, in his shadow, a figure behind him with blazing golden eyes.
There were none of those things and yet, part of him wished that there were.
“Will no one tend to them?” the Pale King asked.
Grimm stopped in front of a great, ornamental cage, folded metal and still in immaculate care for its age and lack of use. The butterfly adjusted the lever, calling the elevator back, then turned to look down at him.
“Who is left to do so? To mourn the dead? Would you have the relic seeker in the City do it? The survivors in Dirtmouth? Perhaps the scavengers of Deepnest have use for your carcasses?” He bent over, too far, his body curling in a way that no natural creature should have. “Or will it be you, wyrm? Will you bury your dead, lay them to rest? Bid farewell at last?” The wyrm looked away, and Grimm chuckled, vicious. “No. I thought not.”
This was going to be a long elevator ride.
#ashe writes#consequences fic#hollow knight#hk fanfic#hollow knight fanfic#hk the pale king#hk grimm
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↬ pairing/characters: spy wonwoo x reader, other members may be mentioned
↬ genre/aus: heavy angst, zero to no fluff (im so sorry, this fic is essentially 100% angst), non idol au, spy au
↬ summary: in which you remember the spy that loved you and how he broke your heart.
↬ rating(s): m,18+ (see warnings)
↬ tw: heavy swearing, sad ending (yep this one’s a sad one folks), mentions of injuries (brief), mild violence (mainly mentions, nothing graphic), wonwoo’s a sweetheart and also self-sacrificing:((, reader needs a huge hug, mild violence (mentions only, no actual scenes depicted), brief mentions of nightmares (brief)
↬ wc: 2.2k
↬ note: this fic was yet another one that came out of nowhere <3 i have zero self control lmao anyways the title of this fic comes from the song ‘moments’ by one direction, and this fic is also loosely based off the song as well <3 this fic WILL hurt, so i apologize in advance for the emotional damage i will cause (im sending all of you the biggest hugs) and yes i listened to an angsty playlist while writing this oops i have zero regrets
tears stung your eyes as you lay curled up in a ball on your bed, clutching a worn stuffed animal to your chest. the bear had been gifted to you by your mother when you were seven, and you'd never had the heart to give it away.
it was times like these, when your heart felt that it would shatter into a million fragments, that you were grateful for the stuffed bear's presence.
your body shook with sobs as images of wonwoo's gorgeous smile flashed across your mind. the memory of his gentle touches and kisses were burned into your skin like a brand.
and if you closed your eyes, you could still see him standing in your small kitchen, raven hair mussed, sweatpants low on his hips, humming softly to himself as he made breakfast, see the utter fondness and adoration in his eyes whenever he looked at you, cleaving your heart in two, never to be fixed or made whole again.
loving wonwoo was as easy as breathing, and you had bared yourself to him, heart and soul. he was gentle, kind, and loved with all his heart. wonwoo wasn't an overly affectionate person, but he showed his love in other ways: through quality time and acts of service.
he would always sit next to you on the spacious living room couch, nose buried in a thick paperback, glasses sliding down his nose, while you watched your favorite drama, happily munching on snacks.
wonwoo wouldn't say anything, and yet, those were the times with him that you had treasured the most. sometimes, the nights would end with you falling asleep on his shoulder, and the warmth and solidness of him was enough.
it was enough to convince you that wonwoo would forever be a permanent presence in your life. hot tears scalded your cheeks, blurring your vision, and you let out a helpless whimper, clutching your teddy bear closer to your chest. the day he left still lingered in your mind, for it'd been the day that your entire world collapsed. wonwoo hadn't yelled, hadn't screamed at you, hadn't lashed out like you'd expected him to.
instead, he had given you a sad, teary-eyed smile, strong arms wrapping themselves around you, holding you flush against him, as if he were reluctant to let go. you had sobbed into his shirt, curling your fingers in the soft fabric, the woodsy scent of his cologne hitting your nose, comforting and familiar.
"i'm sorry, love, i wish it didn't have to be this way, and leaving you, leaving all the memories we made, is the hardest fucking thing i've ever had to do, and one day, i hope you will forgive me for hurting you. i will never be able to live with myself knowing that i did, and i won't blame you if you come to resent me one day. i would."
"thank you for loving me. thank you for loving all of me, the good, the bad, the ugly, and for loving me even with all the blood on my hands, despite all the danger i put you in. the danger that you are put in because you’re with someone like me.” and, after giving you one last kiss, dizzying and enough to make you weak in the knees, he left, taking your heart with him.
you knew wonwoo’s job wasn’t exactly ordinary, as he’d often come home at ungodly hours at night, bone-tired and with the occasional cut or bruise marring his perfect skin, and you hated those nights when you’d had to patch him up, for the sight of him in pain was too much to bear.
wonwoo would sometimes be gone for days, even weeks at a time, unable to be contacted, and you would cry yourself to sleep every night, hoping and praying that he would come back to you, safe and sound.
you’d always felt safe with wonwoo. despite the ruthlessness and mercilessness he showed when dealing with the men that were always chasing after him, it was a great contrast from the gentle touches and kisses you received. wonwoo had never hurt you, had always treated you like fine china, and that to you had been enough.
it hadn’t mattered that scary looking men hunted him down every night, and wonwoo had had to close your eyes everytime he was about to defend himself and you, telling you to close your eyes. close your eyes love, i don’t want you to see this ugly, dark side of me, was what he always said.
wonwoo was a mystery, and though you had managed to get past his seemingly iron clad defenses, there were still things he kept from you. he never talked about his job, nor why he disappeared for a few weeks and came back.
when you had mustered up enough courage to ask him, wonwoo’s entire body grew tense, and you could see the fear dancing in his gorgeous light blue eyes. “do you not trust me?” you had asked, heart breaking at the thought that wonwoo didn’t trust you. devastation had flashed across his face. “of course i trust you, more than anyone in this world.” “then why? why won’t you tell me why you disappear without warning and then come back weeks or even months later? why? are you seeing someone else?”
at that, wonwoo’s jaw flexed, just slightly. “no, of course not, it’s always been you for me, no one else. i can’t tell you why i’m away for weeks and months, it’ll put us in danger if i do. especially you. but promise me love, that you will trust me? i’m trying to find a way out, a way out of this cursed life i was led to live. will you wait for me?” “yes, i’d wait a hundred years for you.”
the tears came faster now, streaming down your face like a waterfall, as you remembered how wonwoo had taken you into his arms afterwards, holding you close and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, rubbing comforting circles on your back. you hated the people that had forced wonwoo to take up a career he didn’t want, and for taking away the one man you had ever loved.
”i won’t blame you if you come to resent me one day. i would.” you let out a choked sob, for you could never resent wonwoo for leaving you, even if it felt as if your heart had been ripped out of your chest. it’d been nearly two years since wonwoo had left, and that had been the last time you’d heard from him.
you’d found out what wonwoo was so hell bent on keeping from you on a rainy day, of all days, and he had been gone for three weeks. the curiosity and urge to know what wonwoo was hiding was overwhelming, and you’d decided to look through the office he’d had installed some summers ago.
after a few hours, your search had proven to be fruitless, and you’d been about to give up when you stumbled upon a worn cardboard box hidden in the closet. with shaking hands, you’d lifted the lid of the box and felt your heart drop into your stomach.
inside was a dozen or so fake ids, passports, and a plethora of classified documents that you didn’t have the courage to go through. you’d sat on the floor in a daze afterwards, mind whirring with a million thoughts, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the situation. wonwoo, the selfless and beautiful man you had fallen in love with, was a fucking spy.
said male had arrived home days later, and you had mustered up the courage to confront him about the box he’d hidden in the closet, hot tears streaming staining your cheeks. “am i part of your mission? did the agency want you to pretend to fall in love with me so you could get information? do you even really love me? or has our entire relationship been one complete lie?”
you’d lamented, and the look of absolute horror and devastation that had flashed across wonwoo’s face was enough to feel a pang of guilt shoot through you.
“no, never. while falling in love with you was something i never planned or expected, it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me, and i will never regret it, not even if my life is on the line." you had crumpled to the ground, knees giving out as you collapsed to the floor. wonwoo had immediately rushed over to you, pulling you into his arms and holding you as you sobbed into his chest.
after that, wonwoo began to be more honest with you about his job, telling you that the reason he was away for weeks or even months at a time was because of missions that his boss had demanded him go on. you were grateful that he trusted you not to tell anyone about his job, but you couldn’t help but feel paranoid. paranoid that something terrible was going to happen to you, or god forbid, wonwoo.
and because your intuition was too sharp, you had begun to notice cars tailing you and wonwoo, particularly after dinners and outings with his friends, hoshi, woozi, dokyeom, mingyu, scoups, vernon, joshua, jeonghan, minghao, jun, and seungkwan. then, one night, wonwoo had told you to close your eyes, albeit softly.
“close your eyes, love,” he’d say, “and don’t open them until i say so.” you’d do as wonwoo would say, not daring to open your eyes until he deemed it safe. you faintly remembered the loud boom of a gun, and the loud screech of tires as wonwoo drove like a madman. there were nights where you were too scared to go out, for the fear of being followed or hunted down was overwhelming.
wonwoo had one of his friends, jeonghan, who was an expert in cyber security, install a special security system in your home, and for mingyu and minghao to watch over you while he was away on missions.
you were glad for the aforementioned males’ presence, as they were gentle and kind and always made sure you were okay. there were nights where you would wake up sobbing, due to terrible nightmares, and mingyu or minghao, who were sleeping in the guest rooms down the hall, would come rushing in and pull you into a comforting hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back.
the relief that would course through you whenever wonwoo would come home, unscathed from a mission, was overwhelming. there were many nights spent where he would just hold you, and you would breathe in his comforting woodsy scent, basking in the warmth and familiarity of him.
the day that he told you that his agency was relocating was the worst day of your life. you had begged him not to go, to stay and give up his dangerous career, but wonwoo had smiled sadly, taking you into his arms for the last time, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “i wish things were that simple, and i would give up my career for you in a heartbeat, but unfortunately, i can’t just up and leave, even if i wanted to.”
it hurt, everything hurt, and the last words that wonwoo had ever said to you still lingered in your mind. “promise me, love, that if our paths never cross again, if i am not able to come back to you, that you will find the strength to be happy. i won’t be able to live with myself if you aren’t happy and being loved and cherished by someone, even if it’s not me.”
hot tears scalded your cheeks as you sobbed, heart cracking and chest heaving with uneven breaths. i’m sorry, my love, but i don’t i will ever be able to move on. you were the greatest joy in my life, and now that you’ve left me, i have nothing left. i will never be able to love someone as deeply as i did you.
a/n: i’m so sorry y’all :(( i promise my next fic won’t be as depressing slkdljkjfdj anyways i hope you all enjoyed this sad fic, i honestly nearly cried writing this. i am sending you all the biggest hugs, and know that you are important and loved <3
tagging: @sketchguk , @playmetheclassics, @skyjoong , @adulttoast, @taeyo95 , @seokmins @shuashong , @joonminshua + anyone else who wants to read this :)
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oooiug THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK flesh devouring was so very good! and to have started and finished it all so fast, too! I love the movement from confrontation to compromise (on the whole and in this part), I love the window into their more domestic future… I love that reader is often reluctant; it’s very real and charming that she hesitates or shies away from pain or unknown sensations even when she knows she enjoys them. And I love that a large part of this is wriothesley helping her articulating— understanding even— her needs better!
… but also I SEE YOU with that wink at what’s going on with Furina and neuvillette. banging my fists against the glass. WHAT ARE THEY. I know We Know but… auughg!!!
— dinner guest
✋😭💕
Dinner guest anoooon
It took everything in me not to completely sidetrack and turn all the focus on Neuvi and Furina!! I was so tempted! But I ultimately decided to leave it up for reader interpretation, first and foremost because I’d already drawn the comparison between them with Wrio and us so it almost felt like there wasn’t anything else to say about it. lmao I think letting everyone decide for themselves exactly how far that comparison actually runs was the right choice for this fic
Buuuut in my mind, from my perspective, I think they’re actually the more advanced future iteration of Wrio and his reader cmdkxmdmd it’s how they’re going to look after the wedding hahaaa
But oh my gosh when I tell you I am kicking my feet and giggling! I’m so happy you enjoyed this short series!! I admit I’m also a little shocked at how quickly I wrote it, but I quite literally could not stop thinking about them! What a fun dynamic they ended up having … I think when it was just the Kinktober prompt it was easy to look at Wriothesley’s actions as selfish or mean, so I was actually pleasantly surprised at how he ended up sort of evolving into someone deeply intuitive who was picking up on things the reader character wasn’t even aware of about herself. Like. Knowing how fast these four parts came out I’m sure you guys know I didn’t have anything plotted. lol It just sort of naturally developed as I went, so I guess what I’m trying to say is that it was a journey for me too! I didn’t know how or where we were going to end up, but when the inspiration for that final scene with Furina and the puppy, and the ring came to me I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that that was where we needed to be!
I am somewhat? Playing with the idea of doing a companion piece with Wriothesley and the female inmate he mentioned in part 4, partially because I am always down for switch shenanigans xmdkxkdnd but also to sort of explore the sexual atmosphere inside the prison. I’m admittedly a bit fascinated with what the hell is even going on in there?? 🤣 I’m currently doing the Unfinished Comedy world quest, or whatever it’s called (yes, I waited until the last possible moment to do these xmdkdkxm) and I am both perplexed and shocked by the presence of this child inside the fortress? I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that Wriothesley knows she’s there and he’s fine with it … sooooo lol? lmao even?
Oh, and on a final note I just wanted to share the title inspiration with everyone! Ofc the main point of reference was Wrio symbolically consuming her flesh through their physical encounters, both the good and the bad, but I actually got the inspiration from the Wiki page entry for Cerberus, since that’s his constellation!
#I also have an idea for Wrio with a male reader too that’s been kicking around for a few weeks now but I know those aren’t always#the most in demand so if I follow through it’ll almost certainly be a one shot only#I just have some thoughts about credit coupon abuse okay cmdkdnckkd
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Mushy May Day 30: Love Letters
AKA the fic I let get extra self-indulgent because it’s my birthday present to myself lmao. Geode is a little earth ghoul oc I’ve had rotating in my head for about a month and a half, and I figured I’d write something about them for today. I’d like to draw them at some point, when I’m actually in the mood to draw.
Mushy May put together by @forlorn-crows
Pairing: Swiss/Geode (OC)
Rating: Teen
Words: 2178
Contains: Dew stirring shit and a panic attack
***
Geode is a quiet ghoul, which makes sense, given that they work the library desk, where it’s expected the patrons are quiet as well.
It’s a slow day, and on slow days, when Sister Imperator or the other upper clergy members aren’t around, Geode journals. Their journal is their prized possession, a book of high quality paper bound in soft, red leather. They have a collection of nice fountain pens in their bag, but the one they’ve selected today is filled with purple ink.
Geode plays with the end of their braid as they write. Their hair fades from dark grey at the roots to a snow white, always braided back between their horns, where they get their name. A set of curling ram’s horns, but one broken from an incident not long after they were summoned, revealing purple crystal growth on the hollow inside.
They write about anything that filters through their mind, but today their mind goes to Swiss, because for some reason they can’t keep him out of their mind. He was there when they were summoned almost a year ago. He had been the first fellow ghoul they had met Up Top, had given them the tour of the abbey.
Geode still doesn’t know why a band ghoul was tasked with showing them of all people around, seeing as they have nothing to do with the Ghost Project, besides hanging out with the ghoulettes every once in a while. It doesn’t stop them from replaying the memory of Swiss taking their hand as the two of them walked down the hallways, of how kind his eyes were as he looked at them, helping them to their feet in the summoning circle.
They write down everything they want to say to him, that they’re too shy(? Nervous? Embarrassed? They don’t know) to say to his face. He’s never going to read it. How could he? It’s their journal, for Satanas’ sake.
The bell at the top of the door chimes, and Geode jolts up from their journal. It’s just Sunny and Dew, a pair that normally makes Geode worry about the books, but the way that Sunny is grinning as she approaches their desk makes that worry disintegrate.
“Morning, Geo!” Sunny chimes, “Mountain wanted me to check out a book for him, but I have no clue where the botany section is. He wrote down the title and the author for me.”
She passes Geode a note, written in Mountain’s scrawling handwriting. Fortunately, they have plenty of experience decoding people’s handwriting, and they know exactly which book he wants.
They come out from behind the desk, leaving their journal open so that the wet ink doesn’t smudge. “I’ll show you where you want to be looking, follow me.”
Geode leads Sunny back to the botany section while Dew hangs behind at the front desk, and with two sets of eyes, they find the book Mountain wants rather quickly. They return up front, and Geode checks it out. “Okay, so this’ll be due in two weeks, please make sure Mountain knows because otherwise we both know this will end up in the greenhouse and we’ll never see it again,” Geode laughs, handing Sunny the thick tome.
“Thanks for the help, Geo. Do you want to hang out with me and the girls tonight?”
“Oh, absolutely. Once I get off of my shift. Same common room as last time?”
Sunny nods, grinning. “See you then!”
The two of them leave, and Geode turns back to where they think they’ve left their journal.
It’s not there.
Geode’s not incredibly worried, however. Their sense of object permanence is iffy at best. They’ve lost their glasses wearing them. Not wearing them on top of their head and forgetting about them, like Aether’s prone to do with his reading glasses, but wearing them on their face. They’ve probably just put the journal away and forgotten. It will turn back up. The things they lose always do.
After their shift ends, the sun having just set, Geode makes their way to the band ghouls’ common room. Sunshine, Cirrus, and Cumulus are all there already, chatting on two of the loveseats.
“Oh, hey, Geo!” Sunny calls, waving them over. “Mountain says thank you for the help. He promises it’s not going to the greenhouse this time.”
Geode laughs, sitting down on the loveseat next to Cumulus, easing their way into the ghoulettes’ conversation.
After a while, the door to the common room opens. It isn’t sudden, or slammed open, but Geode’s head still snaps up to see who it is. They immediately regret this as they make eye contact with Swiss, grey meeting gold. Their heart starts rattling at their ribcage as they look away frantically, before their eyes land on what Swiss’s holding: a red, leatherbound notebook. Their journal. Where they were writing a fucking love letter to-
“Oh, fuck,” they whisper. “Oh, shit.”
Cumulus turns to face them. “What’s wrong, Gee?”
Geode swallows hard, quickly tying off the braid they were putting into her hair. “Lus, Sunny, Cir, I know I promised we were going to hang out, I’ll make it up to you, but I’ve gotta get some fresh air.”
“Alright,” Cumulus says, patting their arm. “Feel better, okay?”
Geode nods, getting up from the loveseat. Swiss walks towards them. Dew is right behind him. Geode tries to be nonchalant as they turn around and leave through the other door, latching it behind them.
It’s no use to make a scene inside of the abbey, so Geode keeps walking, picking up the pace. They hear the door open behind them and don’t dare turn around. They know the smell of their anxiety is turning acrid, leaving an obvious trail. Hopefully, once they get outside, the breeze will throw off the scent.
There’s a set of footsteps following after them, and even though it sets Geode’s heart on fire, knowing they’re being followed, at least it’s only one set. They reach the door to the gardens, and spare a look behind them. Swiss is rounding the last corner, and he catches sight of them, his face lighting up with an expression they’re too far away to place. Geode’s eyes go wide and they shove the garden door open.
They’re not the most athletic ghoul, but they break into a sprint as soon as the cool night air hits them, darting through the lilac bushes, no clear destination in mind. Swiss is taller than them by a long shot. If they want to lose him, they have to go.
They hear the door behind them slam open, and a yelp leaves their mouth involuntarily. They break out of the gardens, paws skittering across the mulched path down to the lake. The full moon shines brightly down, reflecting off of the still surface of the water.
The old gazebo is their best bet. Geode could be brave and try to make it into the woods, but the treeline starts on the other side of the lake. With the full moon and the long sprint, Swiss could probably see them from a mile away.
Geode scrambles up the steps of the gazebo, pressing their back against one of the posts and sliding until they’re on the ground, drawing their knees to their chest. They press one hand over their mouth, trying desperately to slow their breathing, and the other grips onto their broken horn, the sharp edges digging into their palm. Their tail lashes behind them.
“Geo?” Swiss’s voice echoes out over the lake. “Geode! Where are you?”
Geode whines, pressing their hand tighter against their mouth. His voice gets closer, footsteps crunching on the mulch. They pause, and then resume at a much quicker pace, getting louder with every second.
Swiss walks up the gazebo steps, sitting down right next to Geode, his feet resting on the second step. Geode can’t bring themselves to look over at him as the scent of cloves and honey fills their nose.
“Hey. I was just trying to give you this.” Swiss says softly, pulling their journal out of his sweatshirt pocket and handing it to them. “Dew took it while you were helping Sunny. Trying to start shit for no reason. I’ll get him to apologize, promise.”
Geode tries their best not to rip it out of his hands, and clutches onto the notebook. “Thanks,” they say, feeling a lump starting to rise up their throat.
Swiss takes a deep breath through his nose, his eyes narrowing. “Geo, can I see your hand?”
“Huh?” They whisper.
“Let me see your hand, Geo,” Swiss says, reaching out with one of his own.
Geode lets go of the notebook, placing their hand in his hesitantly.
“Oh, Geo, you’re bleeding,” Swiss says, running a finger along a cut that they didn’t notice they had. Their horn’s broken edges had dug into their palm, and they didn’t even notice that it had broken the skin. “May I?”
“Huh?” Geode asks. With him holding their hand, their brain’s misfiring.
“Can I use what quintessence I’ve got to heal that cut?” Swiss tries again.
They swallow hard and nod. Swiss’s brow furrows as he focuses, running his finger gently along the cut. Geode shudders as the static of his quintessence jumps up their arm, running up and down their spine. The cut stitches itself back together, and Geode expects Swiss to let go of their hand. He doesn’t. He traces his thumb back and forth across their palm, like they’re something fragile, delicate.
Geode’s eyes start to water. They’re so tired, and they can’t stifle the sob that escapes them in time.
“Geo, babydoll, are you okay?” Swiss asks.
They laugh wetly, even as the nickname sends a shock up their spine. “No. I’m really not.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and Geode’s surprised to hear genuine concern and confusion in his voice. “You smell afraid. Are you scared of me?” His voice goes small, and he starts to pull away from them.
Geode shakes their head frantically, not willing to lose the contact. “Not scared of you. Satanas, you make me incredibly nervous, but I’m not scared of you.”
“Oh, sweetheart, then what’s wrong?”
“You know what’s wrong, Swiss,” they whisper. “You read what I wrote about you.”
“Huh?” He leans back, resting some of his weight on the hand not still holding Geode’s. “I didn’t read anything. Dew wanted me to read it, but it’s your journal, Geo. I wasn’t going to.”
“Oh, fuck,” they laugh. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.”
“What?”
Geode sighs, running their hand over their braid. “You know what, I might as well just show you. Damage’s already done.” They reluctantly take their hand out of Swiss’s to flip open their journal to where they left off. They hand it back to Swiss. “Read this for me?”
Swiss nods, starting to read quietly out loud as Geode buries their burning face into their thighs. “Swiss, I don’t think I’ll ever be brave enough to give you this letter. You were the first ghoul I met Up Top, after my summoning. You were so kind, and sweet to me, a stranger. I think I fell in love with you then, the first time I saw you, that afternoon you spent to show me around this place.
I’m not really part of your pack, I’m just the ghoul the clergy summoned to run the library. I exist on the fringes of your periphery. But you? You shine like the sun and the moon and I am just the dull exterior. You sing like an unholy angel, and I’d love more than anything to be yours. I’ve loved you quietly, from a distance, this last year that I’ve spent Up Top. You’ve bewitched me, heart and soul.
If I’ve overstepped, if I’ve crossed the line, please disregard all of this. Forget you ever read it.
Yours, if you’ll have me, Geode.”
There’s a long silence as Swiss finishes reading the letter. Geode digs their claws into their shins, trying desperately not to cry. They fail.
“Hey, Geo,” Swiss whispers, setting a hand on their knee, smoothing his thumb back and forth. “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”
Geode swallows hard. Raises their head. Swiss’s brow furrows as they make eye contact, and he hums, moving his hand up to cup their cheek, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “Oh, don’t cry, babydoll, it’s okay.”
“I didn’t want it to go like this,” they whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, gem,” he says. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I should have said something earlier. I thought you were afraid of me, so I tried to give you space. I would have you, Geode, however you want me to.”
Geode barks out a laugh, leaning into Swiss’s hand. “Father Below, I’m such an idiot.”
“We both were,” Swiss smiles, his eyes crinkling. “You wanna go back inside?”
They shake their head. “Not right now. I want to sit out here with you for a bit.”
“Then we shall.”
#mushy may#my writing#swiss ghoul#original ghoul character#swiss/oc#happy birthday to me lmao#the band ghost fanfiction#the band ghost
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twenty questions for fic writers 🫡
thanks for the tag @syoddeye!
1. how many works do you have on ao3?
50
2. what's your total ao3 word count?
699,806
3. what fandoms do you write for?
oh god, ongoing or previous too?? uhm currently batfam, star wars, cod, st - but i’ve had a few extra that i used to write for too
4. top five fics by kudos
i’m not linking them all bc some are,,,, far from my best work. also can u tell i love a long lyric title?
if you can’t give me all, give me nothing ; memorise the way you make me feel ; the way you move like you do ; i’m addicted to the way i feel when i think of you ; took the words right out of my mouth
5. do you respond to comments?
literally every single one,, before getting this account back a few months ago it was the only way i interacted w people in the fandoms so 🤷♀️ sometimes it might take a week tho but i try to be quick
6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
i don’t tend to do angst endings? like even in darker angsty fics i usually twist it so it’s like dubcon happy at the end 🥴🥴 sooo maybe either no grave can hold my body down or can i steal a kiss or two? or even choices made in anger
7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
liiiiiterally any other fic i’ve ever written lmao
8. do you get hate on fics?
not often? BUT i usually do fluff fics and when i started dabbling in darker stuff that’s when i got more hate - specifically on one fic in particular
9. do you write smut?
yeah! not all the time but maybe 65%
10. craziest crossover:
i dont really do crossovers but my last mando fic was inspired by justified if that counts?
11. have you ever had a fic stolen?
not that i know of,, again im not very online to be able to know :/
12. have you ever had a fic translated?
yeah! just one but now i dont do it,, learning curve for me
13. have you ever co-written a fic before?
almost when i was first starting out writing 6 years back but it fell through - katy if ur still out there i hope ur enjoying life <3
14. all time favorite ship?
ffffuckkkkkk i don’t think i can choose bc i dip in and out so often but i do tend to always come back to jaytim? they’re my for lifers i think but soap x reader is a close second atm
15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
i’ll always finish my wips bc i can’t stand to see them unfinished,, but it’s been like three years since i first said i was going to write my sci-fi dystopian jaytim fic and im still not past the first paragraph :/
16. what are your writing strengths?
i think i’m good at dialogue and catching accents and nailing personalities pretty quick,,
17. what are your writing weaknesses?
i’m so fucking slow. if nothing else, watching people write for cod on here has shown me how quick everyone else seems to be able to write :’)
and also with longer fics i’ve gotten into the (bad) habit of leaving out like integral details that i assume the reader will just know bc ive been too in my own head about it all and ive forgotten what i’ve established already; leads to decisions looking like they’ve come out of nowhere or random personality changes
18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?
i’ve attempted it but i have to google translate it so i try to keep it to a minimum and ask for correction in the comments. sometimes i do it italicised but written in english so readers can understand that it’s meant to be another language but dont have to skip to the bottom notes or another tab to understand what’s being said
19. first fandom you wrote in?
teen wolf 🥴
20. favorite fic you've written?
idk if i’ve got a favourite,, in hindsight a lot of the ones i think about most fondly are the ones that absolutely killed me off when writing so i’ve got real rose tinted glasses about them all. however these are few that should get honourable mentions just because i like them and they didn’t pop up earlier
whew this was long i think i yapped ontoo much lmao but it was so fun!!
no pressure tags: @glossysoap @mikichko @kyletogaz @femalefemur @sentientcave @gemmahale @madstronaut and anyone else who wants to give it a go!!
#loved doing this thanks for tagging me sy!!!#very interesting looking back at some of my older fics and old fandoms 🫣🥲 like some of my concepts were p cool like what was i on a few#years ago?? i was bashing out so many fics at one point lmao#like one a month??? who is she??#tag game
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40-50 (:
with your help seek my can't shut the fuck up disease remains incurable (affectionate and self-affirming)
40. What is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic?
omg probably morgan's world from Runaway Baby (Getaway Darling) the eclectic huge family that's not all blood related just Gets Me, especially when it serves to support Shenanigans.
41. Who’s your favorite character you’ve written?
azula last name avatar: the last airbender you will always be famous
42. What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with?
ooogh that's so hard!!! maybe all the titles from the Looking Glasses series? i love a theme.
43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?
not really!!!! if i get the brain worms i will write Something, even if it hasn't been published just yet ;)
44. What is your favorite genre to write?
hmm as far as like. fanfic genres. probably crack treated seriously lmao. if an idea barely makes any sense and is held together at the seams by nonsense and tomfoolery i am There my friend!!! nobody is giggling harder at my fics than me
45. What genre/trope do you tend to write the most?
angsty canon-adjacent aus lmao. i have two settings.
46. If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?
OH GEEZ. HARD TIE BETWEEN THE AFOREMENTIONED TWO SETTINGS.
47. Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?
most homeless peter aus make some Choices with their plots that i generally don't entertain these days, despite having written one myself
48. Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?
i've only written one fic from her pov but morgan harriet stark you will always be famous!!!!!!! my darling little creecher of a girl is everything to me (see again: Runaway Baby)
49. What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?
uhhhhhhhhhhh maybe the choice is yours or Blips on the Record? both of them deal with some pretty heavy topics while also paying a lot of attention to character development and still having some light-hearted moments, which is what i aim for in most of my fics :))
50. How would you describe your writing style?
whatever i want it to be!!!!!! i don't really believe in rules so it's whatever works with that particular piece he he
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