jaeminvore
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Summary
Four days, three broke girls, two possible outcomes, and one solution.
What are you willing to sacrifice in exchange for a night seeing a long-awaited Juno pose five feet away from your eyeballs? Your dignity, probably and it just so happens that one (1) Chenle Zhong could be the solution to your current girl problem. Only, you don't really do well with charity. Nothing in life was free and everything had a price, but Chenle likes to think differently—that he's simply helping a friend out. Like the many times he did before.
There should be a sugar-daddy-sugar-baby joke around here somewhere.
alternatively: three dumb bitches telling each other 'exactlyyy'.' — 'A sugar-daddy (kinda) au with no age-gap, but with a financial gap that no one asked for'.
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all you wanted was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital. All you needed was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital, but even that was considered a luxury in these trying times. A luxury blatantly stolen by your roommate, Jeno Lee, who seemed to have an endless line of bodies to fuck preventing you from getting at least an hour of shut eye. It was annoying. It was disrupting and you seriously hoped that Jeno's dick falls off one day.
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Desperation had this funny way of skewing one’s perception, and since you were, in fact, way past the point of desperation, it wasn’t a surprise that you jumped the gun without even questioning the absurdly cheap rent price of the seemingly perfect apartment unit. What you failed to consider was the reason why it didn't cost you an arm and a leg and it soon came in the form of an incubus in your bathroom belting his heart out on a Sunday morning.
alternatively: in which you were essentially scammed into cohabiting with a ridiculously clingy demon that lives off of sex. It could be worse. At least he staved off from sucking your soul out in exchange of you sucking something else—among other things.
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Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face and hungover was one thing.
Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face, hungover and in a bed that wasn’t your own in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that were obviously not yours, was another and a punishment specifically made for you—your own personal hell.
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There was no perverted, panty-stealing ghost.
The ghost was surprisingly human, but just as freakish. And very very guilty. That you were most definitely sure of this time.
Because at the very bottom of your roommate’s hamper lay your black, lacy panties that you got as a gag gift from one of your friends. Used.
Oh, that son of a bitch.
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