#Besides I had to stop this movie when I started it two days ago

[b-rainlet]

'Swing Kids fails at showing how cruel the nazis truly were'

This is a movie about german children who weren't inherently in danger by virtue of being 'the right race' whose only 'wrong-doings' were listening to the wrong kind of music and still they were constantly threatened and beat up, were forced to join the HJ to not endanger their families, one of them had his hand hurt so badly by a nazi he couldn't use two of his fingers anymore and had to teach himself to play guitar three-fingered, they were used to gather information for the Gestapo to the point the mc distrusted his best friend, they witnessed beatings and deportations and the shooting of a man on the run, the movie quite literally ends with the teenage main character being sent to what's most likely a concentration camp for dancing to the wrong music

[karmavongrim]

Dear Father fanfic idea

DC x DP crossover fanfiction

Fanfic idea of Danny adopting everyone. He’s worse than Batman since he does it 200% deliberately with no age nor race restriction.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Yeah, nope. No way in hell was he, John mother-fucking Constantine going to let this happen. Only over his dead body, which might actually be the case by the end of the bloody day if they couldn’t come up with something else other than that. And he wasn’t going to change his mind no matter how much the kid currently gallivanting as a demi-god whined. Wasn’t that a news when he found out several months ago.

“Come on Constans, we both know he wouldn’t mind. Besides what else can we do, we’ve tried everything.” Captain Marvel pleaded with the older man as he gestured their surroundings.

It couldn’t be described as anything else other than apocalyptic. A complete fucking shitshow.

Apparently a prophecy of some kind came to fruition right under their bloody noses and they were left grasping straws to try and stop the end of the world from happening. If only-

“Call him or I’ll call him John! Your choice.” Pressed Marvel who was getting fed up with the magician’s nonsense but he wasn’t bugging, no siree!

“Shut up, we don’t need his help! Just let me-” John yelled while buried head first in his spell book, desperately trying to find away that didn’t require him to relinquish the last few pits of his shabby dignity. Or what was left of it anyways. But Marvel was having non of it.

“Nope, that’s it! I’m making the call!” The red glad man shouted over the blonde brit and pulled out his personal phone which looked like it had been pulled strait out of a sci-fi movie.

This caused John to lunge at Marvel who in return floated away out of his reach.

“Are you daft? I’ll never hear the end of it so don’t even- Hey! Don’t you dare, I swear-!” They were quickly interrupted by a black looming silhouette quickly approaching them.

“I hope that you two have come up with something since you’re able to play around like this.” Batman demanded in gruff manner, man looking worse for wear just like the rest of them. Marvel swiftly positioned the dark one between him and his would-be assailant.

“Oh we did have a solution from the very start but someone thinks that we don’t need any help. His poor ego wouldn’t be able to handle it.” He told as he threw a look over his makeshift barrier’s shoulder.

“Shut your cakehole.” John hissed but was reluctantly put in place by a hard glare from mister darker and gloomier who turned to the floating magic-user.

“What is this solution exactly? Help from who or what?” At his inquiry the boy-man hero couldn’t help but beam when he began to explain what, or rather who he had in mind.

“Well I was thinking calling our-” But he was rudely cut in before he could get far.

“We aren’t calling anybody because we don’t need his help! We can take care of this on our own!” Batman turned back to the blond and was clearly at the end of his patience.

“We are running on borrowed time Constantine, if there is any chance to for us to stop this then we should take it since we don’t have any other options left.”

The two began to argue so heatedly that they didn’t pay attention to Marvel speed dialing the number he kept close to his heart. With a dopey grin he bounced on his heels while he waited for the other side to answer. After just two rings the line connected.

“Hi kid! What are you calling in for, did you get out of work already?” A jovial, baritone voice rang out which instantly relaxed the kid-not-kid hero. The all-composing feeling of warmth, protection and safety could almost be felt through the phone which never failed to make him feel comfortable and at peace.

“Hi dad! No, I’m still at work and we kinda shorta need your help. Badly.”

He could near feel the change in his father’s mood and he definitely heard it in his voice.

“What do you need? Where are you?” Came the rapid questioning. His smile never left as he thought how dad always went strait to business when it came to his family and friends. Always ready to help no matter what or why.

“Well, apparently the apocalypse is happening and we have no idea how to stop it… Can you help us? Please?” He tentatively asked as he glanced back at the bickering duo. Sometimes he asked himself if he really was the only secret child there.

“Ha ha, no need to beg, let alone ask. I’ll be there in a jiffy once I know where you guys are. Just try and hang in there kid.” Voice on the other side commented in lighter tone.

Marvel let out a sigh. He knew that everything would be okay after all.

“Thanks dad. We are currently stuck on Metropolis in it’s central, it’s a complete mess in here.”

“Everything will be fine. See you soon.” The voice chuckled and cut the call.

Yes, everything would be just fine. He turned to call out to the idiots who looked to be near ripping each other a new one.

“You two can stop now, he’s already on his way!”

He had to wince at the speed which the blonde turned his head to stare at him. Then came the familiar cursing.

“Fucking shite!”

He merely rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in irritation. He glared at the magician.

“Seriously, what’s your problem? It doesn’t have to be this difficult you know.”

Before John could comment, Batman pushed pass and stalked up to Marvel.

“Who did you call?”

He couldn’t say much before more of their fellow heroes started to trickle in. Flash no surprise being the first.

“Hope you got something up your utility belt Bats, we can’t take this much longer.” Pleaded the red speedster. He was joined by Green Lantern carrying injured Superman and ouch did he look roughened up.

“Have to agree with Flashpoint. Were running out of juice fast, and even Big Blue is out cold.”

Marvel looked at the others coming in. Martian Manhunter, Zatara, Wonder Woman, Black Canary and even Doctor Fate was there, none of them looking any better.

“Well, I’m glad to announce that help is on their way so we can all sit back and relax for a bit. This will be over in no time.” He declared brightly.

The others goggled at him like he made the most outlandish statement in all of history, minus Constantine who has decided to use this small window of calm to drown his headache in his flask while he still can.

“What the hell are you on about? What help? Who could possibly help with this!” Flash yelled out the question in everybodies mind.

“I would like to known this too finally.” Batman demanded this as well.

Seeing everybody hanging onto his up coming explanation he smirked at John who gave him oh-so-eloquently middle finder in retaliation. Well to bad, he would have to just deal with it, the big baby.

“Oh nobody too important, just the most powerful and influential being in all multiverse. Some of you might know him by his monikers like the First Champion, the Balancer, the High King and the Great One.” He said flippantly as he pretended to check his nails, trying his absolute best to hid his smug smile when he noticed Zatara and Fate going rigid and pale.

Zatara near stumbled thanks to his shaking knees. He took couple faltering steps towards the Champion of Magic. His expression mix of reverence and fear as started to whisper as if dreading that someone or something might hear him if he spoke too loudly.

“Y-You couldn’t possibly mean King-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence for they all felt the change in the air, in the ground.

He has arrived.

Time came to a crawl, the world slowed it’s movements in face of approaching force. It quaked, it trembled, it slithered. Leak becoming a downpour, a tear in reality of sickly green opened above the group, high out of reach. What little light still had remained in the hellish landscape around them were drained as if all the world’s shadow congregated around the opening to greet its master like a deprived servant. Then a figure of black and white caped in light seemingly holy, descended from it. Even from afar they could distinguish their towering form who’s muscles failed to hide under its full-body armor. Their mountainous presence becomes more and more apparent the closer they came. What they thought as wings of pure and white was actually a cape of moving light.

Blazing green eyes as that of the tear gazed upon them from under their moonlight hair, which coupled with the iron grown of flames created figures of shadow dancing across their hardened features as if to praise their beholder’s glory.

Zatara had already collapsed on the ground in utter disbelieve. All the myths and legends were true all along.

“King Phantom.” He spoke in awe and bowed before the king as did equally shocked Doctor Fate.

“Hi dad!” Marvel yelled and dragged the laughing magician by his coat to greet their new arrival.

All of their associates looked between the clear powerhouse of a being and their red heavy hitter in utter incredulity at the revelation. Zatara and Fate near had a heart attack at the way their magical colleague addressed the mythical presence. Marvel had a father? And this horrifying existence was it? What sent them reeling even more was how the king’s responded.

With his arms stretched he lowered himself fully to gather the two smaller men in his embrace.

“Kids! Boy, when you said that you needed help bad I think you might have underestimated a tiny bit.” He joked with a toothy smile as he moved to get a better look at his more-or-less willing captees of his affection. His expression softened even more at the face of Constantine, not the others could see.

“John, it’s so good to see you as well.” He said softly and ruffled both of their hairs, eliciting a laugh from his youngest and indignant pout from his fourth oldest who tried to swat the offending hand away.

“Whatever.” John growled but Phantom didn’t mind since he could see the blush caking his scratched up cheeks.

Now this drew his attention, both of his boys were in horrendous shape and he would do something about it after his job was completed. Looking at the blood willed sky no longer colored by his green and the burning wreckage that is this dimensions earth, he knew he didn’t have much time.

“I suppose we should get this over with then. You two better get back to the Keep after this, understood.” He stated and then was gone just like that.

Now that the oppressive feeling of death and power has left along with the godly being, every single one of the heroes present turned to the two for explanation. Marvel send a pleading look towards his brother, but John pointedly turned away and began to nurse his briefly forgotten drink which was now empty, damn you dad.

Discreetly gulping his nerves down he twirled to face his peers.

“Okay, let’s start with one question at a time please.”

This caused the floodgates to open and Zatara practically jumped him in his feverishness.

“You are a son of King Phantom? The King Phantom? I thought he was nothing more than a myth! A legend told through out several histories!”

As Marvel was trying to dislodge the man he was approached by Doctor Fate.

“I too held the believe that he was nothing more than a story to strike fear onto the forces of evil and to aspire heroes of both old and new. To think he was real this entire time.” He mused, and before Marvel could say anything, Flash barged in as well.

“And what about you John? This might be the first time I’ve seen any otherworldly being be happy to see you.” He pointed at the man who chose to wisely stay far behind.

“Fuck you too!” Shouts the offended man from the back. Even if it’s true doesn’t make it any less rude. And oh look here comes Batman.

“Enough! Marvel, explain.” He demands as he moves effortlessly to the front of the pack.

“Well… you see-” Marvel stammers as he tries under the pressure to come up with something to say but was thankfully saved by the sky shifting again.

As quick as a snap the red sky was returned to its blue color, signaling the King’s victory over his enemy. Marvel smiled widely and even John couldn’t stop a heavy sigh of relieve from escaping his mouth. Good old dad, always up to any task he comes across.

“Incredible.” Wonder Woman gasped, even Lantern had to give an impressed eyebrow at the instant change in atmosphere. And while everyone was distracted by his dad’s handiwork, Marvel shimmied his way to the grumpy magician who was in progress of making his getaway.

“I think we should continue this some other time, there’s a lot of cleaning up to do and me and my bro need to do a little house call. So bye!” He called out with a wave as he was crabbed and transported to their destination before anyone could stop them.

Others could do more than blink as Batman stewed in his place. In Lantern’s arms Superman began to stir.

“H-huh, what did I miss?”

[bedsyandco]

⭑ …   ❝ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 ❞ ; quinn hughes

𝓹airing , quinn hughes x fem!reader

5 times Quinn wanted to kiss you + 1 time he finally did

꒰ 𝓷ote , just some quinny content for your dash <3 as always please let me know what you think. . . ꒱

✮1

You make your way through the crowd to get to the table at the back of the bar, where a few familiar faces already spotted you.

"Look who's here! Nice of you to finally join us," Brock says as you hop onto a barstool next to Quinn.

"Hey, stranger," Quinn says softly and knocks his shoulder into yours.

"Guys, I saw you like two weeks ago. Sorry, I have a life," you say teasingly.

"Watching friends, eating Chinese food, and going to bed by 10 PM is not having a life." Brock says, and Quinn laughs at your offended expression.

"It does when you work the hours I do, thank you very much. I'm getting a drink. Do you guys want anything?" You ask and make your way to the bar.

When you get back, Elias is sitting in your seat. Noticing there's no more chairs open, Quinn goes to offer you his, but you stop him.

"It's fine, don't worry about it," you say, and Quinn pulls you to stand in between his legs. Your back leaning against his chest. His arms wrap around your waist, and he hooks two thumbs in your front belt loops, keeping you close.

Throughout the night, you can feel Quinn's breathing on your neck or his head on your shoulder while he talks or listens to one of the guys.

When Brock went to the bar to get a refill on your drinks and Elias went to the bathroom, you and Quinn were left alone at the table.

You turn around in his arms, looking up at him.

"Now is your chance to steal your seat back," Quinn jokes.

"I'm pretty comfy right here, actually," you say, and Quinn smiles softly.

In that moment...

he really wanted to kiss you.

✮2

You jump in surprise as someone knocks on your door. You weren't expecting anybody...least of all the man you found standing at your door.

"Quinn...what are you doing here?" You ask, opening the door wider to let him in.

"I haven't seen you in a few days, and I know you work late tomorrow, and we're leaving on another roadie...I didn't wanna go another week without seeing you," he says and you smile.

"Wanna watch a movie with me?" You ask and he nods, both of you making your way to the couch.

Halfway through the movie, you're cuddled into Quinns side, both of your eyes on the screen.

Quinn feels your eyes on him and looks down to meet them.

"What?" he asks softly

"You played really well tonight..." you say

"You watched?" Quinn asks surpirsed

"Yeah... I always watch. How do you think I know when to tell you congratulations..." You respond.

"I thought you just looked the score up after the game, to be honest," Quinn says

"I like watching you play," you say and Quinn smiles down at you...

In that moment...

he really wanted to kiss you.

✮3

"This is not a good idea," You say shakily as Quinn ties your skates.

"You're gonna be fine... don't be so dramatic. I'll be there the whole time," Quinn says and holds his hand out to lead you onto the ice.

You wobble a bit and grab onto Quinn, looking at him with nothing but fear in your eyes and he bursts out laughing.

"You should see your face right now," Quinn says amused.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," you snap.

"You've lived in Vancouver your whole life. How can you not skate?" he asks

"Contrary to popular belief not all Canadians come out of the womb knowing how to skate. Besides the one time I tried, I fell and broke my wrist and had no intention of ever trying again."

"Just keep your hips straight and push out with one foot and then the other," Quinn says.

You concentrate so much on doing what he says you don't realize he's let your hands go and you're skating on your own.

The moment you do realize, instant panic takes over, and your legs start to go separate ways.

Quinn tries to pull you up, but he's laughing so much, he isn't much help.

"Quinn, help me up." you say, standing in a half split and clinging to Quinn's waist, voice filled with laughter, and Quinn just laughs more.

With him laughing and you clinging to him, neither of you is very stable, and both of you end up on the floor, you on top of Quinn, who was still laughing.

"You did it though, for a second" he says and you scoff

"Can you buy me ice cream now?" you ask pouting

"Yeah, you deserve it." he says and looks up at you. Cheeks flushed because of the cold, a cute little beanie on your head.

he really wanted to kiss you.

✮4

You take another deep breath, and another practice swing, before finally pulling back and hitting the ball.

It goes really far, just not in the right direction...

"Quinn! Did you see that?!" you ask excitedly, and Jack has to turn around to hide his laugh, and Luke rubs a hand over his face to hide his smirk.

"I did see...it was...very far," he says, and you swing your stick, making Jack duck and head for the golf cart.

"Man... she's so smart, but she can not play golf to save her life," Jack says, and Quinn swats at him.

"It's her first time asshole. She's doing great," Quinn says and walks towards you.

"Love really does make you blind." Jack says, and him and Luke laugh all the way to the golf cart.

"You know as much fun as this has been, I don't think I'll be doing this again any time soon," you say and Quinn frowns...

"What? Why?" he asks

"The first couple were fun, you know, but then it just gets really boring and really hot. I was really hoping one of you would've told me to stay in the cart by now," you say and Jack's mouth drops open.

"Were you bad on purpose?" Jack asks

"I'm not good by any standard but those last couple was just to fuck with you a little bit. Props for trying to hide your reactions, but you're a horrible actor Jacky, you're gonna have to do better than that when I give you your Christmas present."

Jack and Luke laugh, and Quinn smiles as you hand them the sunscreen and tell them to put some on.

he really wanted to kiss you.

✮5

You and Quinn were swaying to the music, smiles on your faces, observing Emma and Brady.

"They look so happy," you say

"They really do. You look beautiful," he says, and you blush.

"Thanks, so do you."

"You ever think about it... getting married?" Quinn suddenly asks. "Just in general...someday."

"If the right person asks... yeah," you say.

"Wanna marry me if we're still 30 and single?" Quinn jokes

"There's no way you'll still be single at 30 Quinn, but if that's the case, then yes. I would be honored." You say, and Quinn smiles as the song comes to an end.

Suddenly, Taryn is there dragging you to the side of the room where the bouquet toss was happening, and you smile apologetically at Quinn.

You stood at the back, trying to stay out of people's way. You weren't really trying to catch it. But three seconds later, you stood with the bouquet in your hands, awkwardly looking around the room until your eyes met Quinn's. He smiled as you thrust the bouquet into Taryn's hands and scurried your way over to him, hiding in his chest.

he really wanted to kiss you.

✮+1

You and Quinn were snuggled up at the end of the boat... watching Jack wake board with the sunset behind him.

"I love having you here," Quinn says rubbing patterns on your legs softly

"I love being here..." you reply.

"Think you wanna come back next summer?" Quinn asks, and you turn to look at him.

"I don't know... think I need some convincing," you whisper and move your face closer to his.

Quinn gently cups your face and presses his lips to yours. You soak up the moment for a while before it's interrupted by Jack and Luke's yelling, which results in Jack being horribly distracted and falling into the water.

"I've been wanting to do that a long time..." Quinn admits

"So have I," you say and kiss him again.

he finally kissed you.

[vivwritesfics]

Could you do super cocky frat/college Lando? Y/N doesn't like him cuz of his attitude. But after lots & lots of flirting, she starts giving in to his charms (and hotness). He's a bit narcissistic, so when he knows she's in the palm of his hand, he has her undress him, making her feel and kiss his muscles, and then he has her get on her knees and kiss him through his underwear, and then he pushes his c*ock down her throat until she has tears in her eyes, and he's smirking and boasting non-stop, and he makes her admit how big he is and how good he tastes, and he makes her beg for his cum at the end 🤭

horny jail for you (trying some new formatting for this one) (i also changed the plot)

warnings: smut, oral (male!receiving), dominant lando, begging

they were supposed to meet in the library, half an hour ago. she sat there, book open, waiting for her. she had already taken time out of her day to tutor him, at her professors request, and he hadn't been bothered to show up.

five more minutes, and then she'd pack her things up and go.

that five minutes came and went. with a huff, she began packing up her things. she slipped her notebook into her bag and packed away all of the sparkly pens she'd gotten just for the situation.

and then he walked in. still in his gym clothes, face flush and skin sweaty, he walked towards her. "sorry, gorgeous," he said and sat down beside her. "got caught up at the gym."

his smile was so damn charming. that was how she'd gotten into this mess in the first place, wasn't it? agreeing to tutor him once he'd flashed her that dazzling grin. even now it had her knees buckling, would have had her on the floor if she wasn't already sitting down.

swallowing the lump in her throat, she pulled out her notebooks and work books again. "should we get started?"

his attitude was bad, there was no other way to put it. he was cocky and why wouldn't he stop flirting with her? well, she knew why he wouldn't stop flirting with her. he wanted her to write the essays for him and thought the flirting was the way to get her to do that.

he could tell how nervous he was making her, but she wasn't going to give him. "you can do it if you just try," she said, pen tapping against her hand. "i'll even check it over for you if you want."

that was a wrong move. she'd already done all she could aside from actually write the essay. she'd made him a plan, given him key words to include and set sections out into word counts.

"yeah?" he asked, lip between his teeth. "how about you come to mine tomorrow to check it over?"

go to his frat house. she couldn't imagine anything worse. but then he pouted and released an admittedly pathetic please, and she'd agreed.

for two days, she'd gotten on with her own work. she kept her head down and studied.

after those two days, she made her way to lando's frat house. she'd been there once before, at a party at the start of the year. her friend had gotten so damn drunk that she had to leave before anything 'fun' (fun by frat boy standards) could happen.

she stepped up to the door and knocked.

max verstappen pulled it open. his expression was perpetually grumpy, until he laid his eyes on her. his grin match that of a wolf as he took her in. "come on in," he said, stepping to the side.

she swallowed and obeyed. "i-i'm here for lando," she said, somewhat terrified under his gaze.

max folded his arms over his chest. "lando!" he shouted, head turned towards the stairs. "there's a little mouse here for you!"

little mouth. her face burned as she looked anywhere but at him. the frat house was gross, but that was expected. it was a stereotype of every college movie she'd watched before attending herself. empty pizza boxes all over the place and a tower of red, plastic cups in the middle of the living room.

from up the stairs, one of the doors open. she looked towards it, met lando's eye before he shouted, "send her up!"

"see you later, little mouse," max said and stepped out of her way. heart thundering in her chest, she started up the stairs, heading to the door lando was holding open.

his grin had her shying away. "little mouse, huh?" he asked, hand on her back as he pushed her into his bedroom. "i like it."

his gaze was like fire against her skin as he brought her to sit on his bed. once she was there, lando turned to his desk and turned on his laptop. "i didn't really know what i was doing with this one," he said and turned it on.

he pushed his chair back and gestured for her to come look. she did just that, leaned over his shoulder as he pulled up... a blank word document.

"shit, not that one," he said and opened another. this one had about two pages of text. it was small and not easy to read from her place leaning over him.

as if he could tell this, lando let out a huff. he grabbed her hips, pulling her onto his lap. "there," he said, voice holding an edge. "better?"

swallowing, she nodded. but there was no way she could concentrate with the way he was holding her hips. she tried, she really really tried, but lando moved his hands to her thighs.

that was too much. that had her squeaking and climbing off of his lap.

"what?" lando asked, as if he really didn't know. but his smirk said otherwise. "you don't like it when i touch you?"

she picked up her bag from the floor. "i'm going home," she said quickly.

but lando had strode across the room, shutting the door before she could. "oh, come on," he said, flexing slightly as he stood in front of her. "you're wound so tight, baby. don't you want someone to help... loosen you up?"

she swallowed when she looked at him. but when lando reached out and touched her, she didn't pull away. she didn't protest when he dropped her bags to the floor and when he stepped towards her. she didn't protest when he pushed off her cardigan and dipped his fingers into the waistband of her skirt.

his fingers grabbed the zip. he pulled it down slowly, giving her ample time to say no. but she didn't. "is this okay?" he asked, a moment of sweetness as he let her skirt fall to the floor.

she took a moment before she nodded. was it okay? he had a point when he said she was wound tight. so why not let him unwind her?

when she nodded, lando gripped the bottom of her skirt and pulled it over her her head.

this was happening. this was actually happening.

once he had her standing bare before him, her clothes and underwear discarded around the room, lando took her hands and pulled them towards his jeans.

he settled them over the button of his jeans. she got the hint and popped the button. She went to push them down, but lando tutted her. "ah, leave them on, gorgeous," he said and she did just that.

he had to take her hands again and reach them into his jeans, into his underwear. "on your knees, baby," he whispered and she sank down to her knees. she pulled him from his underwear.

his cock stood to attention in front of her. if she was any closer it would have slapped her in the face.

she wasn't a virgin, no, but this was oral. she wasn't used to giving oral, wasn't used to having something like this in her mouth. and, clearly, lando could tell.

he leaned over, gripped her cheeks until she parted her lips. "you look so pretty," he whispered. it wasn't exactly encouragement, but she wrapped her fingers around his base and moved forward, taking his lip between her lips.

as soon as she sat him in her mouth, lando threw his head back and let out a moan.

it was just small kitten licks at first. she was teasing him, she had to be, and lando hated it. he needed himself sheathed all the way in her throat.

his hips moved just a little bit and she was already gagging around him. god, it felt so damn euphoric. she unwrapped her fingers from around his cock and tried to settle on his hips, to push him back, but lando was so much stronger than her.

"relax your throat," he grunted and pulled back. this time when he moved his hips, he didn't move them as far. he settled on a steady rhythm, fucking into her mouth a little bit further each time.

but, each time her nose was buried in the curls at the base of his cock, she pulled back, messing up his rhythm. lando leaned over, gathered up her hair as best as he could, and held her still.

it was messy, spit covering her face as he fucked into her mouth. but she was loving that, the damp between her thighs told her that much. each time the tip of her cock hit the back of her throat, she moaned around him.

"there you go, gorgeous," he grunted, speeding up slightly. "told you that you needed loosening up." he pulled on her hair, pulling her off of his cock. "go on, tell me how much you like it. fucking beg for it, baby."

at first, she just made a desperate whine and tried to move forward. but lando held her steady, wouldn' t her go until she admitted just how much she loved it. it was so shameful, having to beg for his dick, knowing the entire frat house could hear it.

his pace was brutal until his hips stuttered and he let out a moan, spilling down her throat.

he pulled back, but she chased after him, not letting his cock leave her lips until he coated her tongue. "holy fuck," he gasped when she let him go, showing him the site of his seed on her tongue.

she swallowed it.

requests closed for everyone but frat!lando (pls someone give me an excuse to write frat!lando x reader x frat!max)

[gojotojis]

Butterfly pt. 1

part two

This story will contain sexual assault, I beg you not to read if it will trigger you.

summary: you’re spiraling after a traumatic sexual experience and the only person that sees it is your neighbor.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem reader

content MDNI: mentions of sexual assault, sexual assault, alcohol abuse, depression, anxiety, drugs, ptsd, trauma, age gap, mentions of death/murder via movies

Note: this is actually so personal to me so pls be kind. this is a genuine depiction of my assault, this is me coping. I am in no way glorifying or romanticizing sexual assault, again this is my story. Writing is when I feel most safe and we are all strangers so I’m okay sharing this. Any hate, blame or criticism will be immediately blocked. Also virginity is a social construct.

April

You had been so eager to give away your virginity, and he seemed so nice. He knew all the right things to say, how to make you feel like he really liked you.

He said he was a virgin which made you feel safe and comfortable enough to sleep with him. It started out as kissing which led to more.

You couldn’t help how nervous you were, frozen until he was flipping you onto your stomach. You became terrified when you felt him nudging at your back entrance.

“No,” you breathe, your heart hammered in your chest. You swatted at him but he forced your hands down.

“Please stop” you beg as you tried to squirm away, crying as you felt him pushing into you, tearing you open. You screamed, it was painful and he pulled away.

Your fingers swiped where he hurt you and blood coated them. You crawled away from him until you were grabbing your clothes and running away.

You’re traumatized, but it only worsens when you ignore him for days and he blows your phone up calling you a slut, ugly, fat and a whore.

He spams your phone with videos of him having sex with other girls, him telling you how you don’t compare and that he lied about being a virgin.

You feel like shit, and he pushes it further when he spams your Instagram and messages your friends, flirting with them and saying awful things about you.

You finally block him but the damage is done.

You loved reading more than anything but when a sex scene comes, you’re taken back to that night and the book is ruined.

You can still feel him forcing himself inside of you, it’s like it won’t stop. You cry in the shower, scrubbing your skin till it’s red and raw, hating yourself, blaming yourself for letting this happen.

For being so desperate that you gave something so intimate away to someone so awful.

You tell no one, too ashamed and disgusted with yourself .

Beginning of August

You climb up the stairs, AirPods on full volume with a Mitski song playing. Your fingers tap against your thigh as you hum to yourself.

You’re not paying attention, letting out a small ‘hmph’ when you collide with soemthing hard and fall to the floor on your butt. You’re embarrassed as you look up at the tall man looking down at you.

His hands outstretch to you as his mouth moves but you can’t hear anything over your AirPods. You spot his phone beside you, and grab it. You don’t take his hand as you stand up on your own but you do hand him his phone.

He’s peculiar to say the least, he’s always either wearing a black flindfold or sunglasses, today he’s wearing the blindfold. You have the urge to ask him why he wears it but that’s invasive and rude.

He moved in two months ago right across from you. He’s usually gone for days on end but when he is home, he’s always asking to borrow something from you whether it’s sugar, milk or eggs.

It’s slightly annoying but you’re too scared to tell him, you wonder if he’s ever heard of a grocery store.

His lips are still moving so you pull your AirPods out. “Huh?” You ask, furrowing your brows and lips parting

“Are you okay?” He asks and you nod staring up at him. You think he must be blind, literally and feel actually awful.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been paying attention,” you say and then it dawns on you, what if he doesn’t go to a grocery store because he can’t see. You start overthinking and guilt racks through you.

“It’s my fault really, what are you listening to?” he asks, you’re confused how he knows you’re listening to music but then again it was blasted. You hold your phone up to him and then internally slap yourself. “Mitski, it’s called I bet on losing dogs,” you explain and he nods.

“I love that song,” he says and your eyes widen, he doesn’t look like he listens to her.

“What’s your favorite song?” You ask, genuinely curious. “What’s yours?” He asks and you don’t know why that makes you laugh for the first time in months. “I bet on losing dogs,” you say.

“That’s my favorite too,” he says, and you wonder if he’s flirting with you. Part of you blushes but the other part of you panics. Does he just want to sleep with you and hurt you? You try to shove the thought down, he asked a simple question.

“I should get going” you say staring at your shoelaces.

“See you around y/n” he says before he’s walking off and you wonder how he knows your name, you never once shared it with him and he’s never shared his.

Mid August

Your head tips back, eyes rolling. The sound of music drowns out as you feel yourself nearly seizing from the red and purple strobe lights. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve blacked out, your mouth tastes disgusting and your throat burns. The cause of it, lying in a puddle on the floor.

You lift your head up, to try and comprehend your surroundings. The girl beside you leans down, holding a rolled up dollar and snorts the thin white line off the table.

She sniffs and turns to you, offering you the dollar, you vowed to never touch that shit but part of you wonders if it’ll make you feel good, the way the alcohol does.

Your brains screaming no, begging you to leave but your fingers grasp it and she dumps more onto the table. She lines it up with a credit card and you hesitantly lean down, you choke a little as you snort it and sniff.

You slump against the sofa and slowly feel it take its effect. Your body feels so fucking heavy, it’s like you’re wearing a meat suit. You lift your fingers up and watch as they multiply when you wiggle them around, the girl pulls you up and drags you to the dance floor.

You’re like a rag doll in her arms as she makes you dance. Your head tilts back staring at the ceiling and you laugh, it’s dark and intoxicated. The music suddenly feels amplified and you’re clutching your ears, so fucking overstimulated and you panic, feeling the bodies grinding against you.

Your eyes water when you feel hands grip your waist from behind and they press against you. You’re pulling away from them and stumbling through the crowd, fighting your way to the exit.

Fresh air hits your lungs the moment you step outside and you inhale, closing your eyes.

Home, you have to go home.

You ignore the several people that ask if you’re okay as you stumble down the sidewalk, heels clicking against the pavement.

Relief fills you at the sight of your apartment building, once you reach it, you’re climbing the stairs until you miss a step and fall down. Your head smacks against the floor and little black spots cloud your vision.

“Fuck!” you hear, almost certain it’s your mind playing tricks on you until you feel large and warm hands gripping your face. Their touch is like electricity against your skin.

“Please let me die,” you mutter as a familiar blind folded face comes into view. He’s waving a finger infront of you and you go cross eyed.

“What did you take?” He tries to ask you but your hearing is muffled. His face is blurred but you can make out his lips moving.

You lift your arms up and reach for his face, your fingers graze over his lips and he stills. They’re soft and pink.

His hand gently grabs your wrist and moves your arm back down to your sides. His head tilts like he’s studying you as your vision slowly recovers along with your hearing.

“Can you hear me?” He asks and you nod weakly. He sighs before you feel his arm hook under your knees and the other around your back. He lifts you up and you shake against him.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you beg, his brows furrow but he doesn’t say anything. You’re trembling as he walks you to his apartment. He’s gonna hurt you, he’s gonna trap you and hurt you.

You squirm in his hold until you’re out of his arms and sliding down the wall. You cover your face and pull your knees to your chest. His hand touches your knee and you scoot away. He immediately retracts it.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise” he says as you peek between your fingers. His expression is so genuine, and concerned but he’s a man and you don’t trust them. Your brain feels like it’s working overtime trying to think as he lifts his pinky up.

“Please let me help you,” he says, his voice is soft as he kneels infront of you. Your shaky hand reaches toward his and your pinky wraps around his.

He smiles gently, and helps you up. He unlocks the door and guides you inside. You’re too fucked up to take in his apartment.

He pours a glass of water and hands it to you, before he’s handing you two pills of advil. Your pupils are dilated and you look so out of it, your breath reeks of vomit and vodka.

He’s not use to this, any of it. He’s never been in this situation and it’s frustrating because he wants to help you, he knows there’s an underlying reason why you shake and flinch from his touch. The way your eyes survey all exits and keep distance between you two.

Everytime he’s seen you in the halls, you’re listening to music in your own little world with your head down. You’re always shy, and timid.

“You can take my bed and I’ll take the floor,” he says not wanting to leave you alone incase you have a concussion.

Your throat tightens at the idea of sleeping in his bed, at falling unconscious where he can so easily hurt you but you’re tired, so fucking tired.

You hug yourself as you attempt to walk into the only bedroom in the apartment. You slowly climb into the bed, curling into a ball. He watches you from the doorframe, trying to make sense of what his eyes can’t tell him.

When morning comes, you’re gone.

September

You sigh, sifting through your purse for your keys. You push through several empty travel bottles of vodka and tampons, coming up empty. You hear two things behind you, keys jingling and a meow.

You turn around, one hand is holding your keys while the other has a black kitten pressed against his chest. You only care about the kitten at this point, you look up at him and he’s smiling at you.

“You dropped your keys,” he says but you’re itching to touch the fur ball in his arms.

“What’s it’s name?” You whisper not wanting to scare it.

“Dunno, just found him outside,”he says and you slowly reach out, petting the baby. It’s little mouth let’s out the most broken meow but it’s fierce and you smile.

“Are you gonna keep it?” You ask and he shakes his head making you frown. He walks toward his door and starts unlocking it.

“I can’t, I work too much” he says, opening his door. He walks inside, leaving the door open. You awkwardly stand there before peeking inside. You feel embarrassed about the events from two weeks ago, you’ve avoided him since. You can’t imagine what he must think of you.

You slowly walk inside, fingers clutching the ends of your oversized sweater anxiously. He sets the little guy on the floor and you immediately shut the door not wanting him to runaway.

“He’s gonna need formula,” you say, carefully dropping to your knees. You pull your hair from its ponytail and fling the tie across the floor. You giggle watching the cat dart after it.

You feel his eyes on you as absurd as it may sound considering the blind fold but you do. His lips twitch as he watches you play with the kitten.

“What’s your name?” you ask, something that’s been on your mind lately.

“Satoru, Satoru Gojo,” he says and you hum. It’s pretty.

“Thank you, for the other night. I’m sorry I kind of lost it on you,” you say, watching the cat run at you as your hand drags across the floor like a spider before it tickles him. His little feet kick at your wrist but it’s like a feather hitting you.

“That happen often?” He asks.

“No” you lie, admittedly you usually stop before you get super fucked up and you hadn’t touched coke till then. He doesn’t push and you’re grateful for it.

“So what’s the song of the day?” He asks and your brows furrow, arms chasing after the cat who starts running sideways.

“You must have another song you like,” he says shrugging.

“K. by Cigarettes After Sex, let me guess. That’s your favorite song of theirs too,” you say and he smiles.

“It’s like you’re stalking me,” he says and you laugh, it’s the cutest thing he’s ever heard, more so than the little creature that’s clawing his way up your thighs. His claws hooking into your jeans, determined to get you.

“Favorite album?”He asks and you indulge him.

“That’s hard, there’s so many,” you say, pulling the cat off before he can claw up your sweater.

“Top five,” he says making it slightly easier for you.

“Brand new eyes by paramore, all lana del rey albums, Trilogy by The Weeknd, anything FKA twigs and Wiped out by the neighborhood. You?” You ask and he shrugs, leaning against the doorframe to his bedroom.

“I don’t listen to music,” he says and your face scrunches, musics your love language and your safety net. It speaks and conveys what you can’t.

“Not one song?” And he shakes his head. His life must be so lonely and boring, you frown.

“I did listen to that Mistki song though, depressing much?” He asks and you roll your eyes.

“Well, yes but that’s what makes it so good,” you say and he doesn’t argue. You wish you could see his eyes, eyes speak a thousand words.

“Favorite movie?” He asks, this is sadly the most anyone’s ever asked about you, you feel guilty that part of you is living for this attention.

“Bones and All, Suspiria, Django Unchained, Dune and Pearl,” you say.

“I’m seeing a pattern here,” he says and you raise a brow. “You don’t listen to music but you watch movies? And what may that be?” You ask. The little voice in the back of your head is begging you to go home, he’s only doing this to get in your pants, why else.

“Nah but one of my students seen some of them, I’ve heard all about Pearl and her axe,” he says, watching the kitten swat your hair tie around.

“She’s just a girl,”you shrug, and his lips tug into a smirk. You don’t like the feeling that takes over, the butterflies that swarm your stomach. Handsome doesn’t do him justice, he’s beautiful even when you can’t see his eyes. From his undercut to his jaw, and his tall lanky stature, he carries himself like he’s the highest predator up the food chain. It’s not threatening, it’s…sexy.

“I forgot American Psycho” you add and his eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline before he’s bursting into laughter.

“What? It’s hilarious satire and Christian Bale is…hot,” you say. He wants to ask you a question but thinks better of it, this is the most you’ve ever spoke and he doesn’t want it to end.

“Are you a teacher?” you ask, lingering on what he said moments ago.

“Yeah, you?” he asks. You dropped out of college, feeling too stupid and incompetent, in all honesty you’ve never seen a future for yourself and it feels embarrassing.

“Bookstore,” you say.

“So you like books?” he asks and you give him a look that screams ‘duh’.

“I do, I’d tell you my favorite book but you probably already know it since it’s yours too,” you say as the kitten comes running at you. You gently slide him across the floor and he runs back, loving it.

“Guilty, but you should probably tell me just incase we aren’t on the same page,” he says, you hate the smiles he keeps making appear on your face.

“Normal People”you say, you wonder why he wants to know all these things and what they matter to him.

“It’s like we’re the same person,” he says, you wonder if this works on the girls. You don’t want it to work on you.

“He looks like a Salem,” you say looking at the black cat that’s just obsessed with you.

“I think he’s found his mom,” Gojo says and you want to argue against it but you don’t because he’s right, you’re keeping him.

End of September

You sit on the couch with Salem curled in your lap and a bowl of popcorn beside you, you’re ready to start the movie until someone’s knocking on your door. You feel your anxiety fester but push it down.

You carry the kitten as you walk to the door and look through the peep hole. Your breathing hitches at the sight of Gojo in sunglasses, you swear he hasn’t been home in two weeks but like he said he’s always working.

Now that you think of it, that’s so odd. He’s a teacher who’s never home and works odd hours. You try not to overthink it as you open the door.

Gojo beams at you and the little guy in your arms. He reaches out and starts scratching underneath Salems little chin which sends him into a purring fit.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” you answer, unsure of what else to say.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“I was gonna watch a movie,” you say looking back at the lit tv screen, but you remember he can’t see.

“Pearl?” He asks and you’re slightly eager to put it on for him. Your life is lonely, you’ve stopped talking to everyone. Your bestfriend pushed you away months ago and nobodies really cared to see that you’re okay. Your mom and grandma constantly call but you can only take so much criticism.

You try to contemplate the pros and cons. Gojos been nothing but nice, he’s slightly funny and because of him you have Salem. Cons: he’s flirty and a man. Your stomach stirs, and your body tenses as you open your mouth.

“Would you like to watch it with me?” you ask, trying not to let your mind wander off to that dark place in your head.

“Okay,” he says and you step back, letting him enter your dim apartment. He takes his shoes off and looks around, taking in the hues of greens, browns and white along with the various plants that take up space.

There’s a picture of you as a little girl with two other kids that look just like you, a boy and girl on the wall, some family photos, graduation picture and baby pictures. You were so adorable, still are.

Your place is a contrast to his. His is fairly empty with a few hints of grey, white and navy.

He sits on the opposite end of the couch as you put on Pearl, Salem leaves you to cuddle in Gojos lap. Traitor.

“Song of the day?” he asks before you start the movie.

“Good to love by FKA twigs” you say and hit play.

You usually hate when someone talks during a movie but you’re desperately wanting to know his thoughts during every scene. He laughs through most of it,

“Did she really just set her mom on fire and then leave to go have sex?” He asks, you bite your lip. “She’s just a girl,” you say and he shakes his head. You reach into the bowl for popcorn and feel his fingers graze yours, his touch is like static and you get goosebumps. You pull away as subtly as possible, you hope you don’t give off the wrong message by all of this.

“She’s deranged,” he says as she stabs the projectionist with a pitchfork repeatedly.

“Christ, who gave this girl an alligator,”he says when Pearl pushes the man’s car into a pond and an alligator eats at his remains.

By the time the movies over, he’s leaving. He says he has to work in the morning but he types away at his phone before handing it to you, your names written on a contact, waiting for your number.

You try to hide your surprise and hesitantly type your number in.

October

Gojo: song?

you: Haunted by Beyonce

Gojo: starting to think you’re working for the government

you: how so

Gojo: only a fed would know all my favorite songs

you: you sound crazier than pearl

Gojo: utterly insane

You enjoy Gojo’s company, still hesitant but he hasn’t given you a reason not to trust him.

Mid October

You hum to The Party and the After Party by The Weeknd, sending a link to Gojo as you walk.

You: song of the century

Read at 8:08pm

You’ve been crafting a playlist for him, you’re embarrassed by it though, what if he thinks it’s lame. You title it ‘Peals Greatest Hits’ and make the cover a picture of pearl with a pitchfork, you think he’ll laugh at that.

It’s nice having a friend again.

You wait for Gojo to respond but he doesn’t, he’s probably busy. This time he’s been gone for three days and you don’t question it. You’ve managed to learn little things about him, he’s told you about his students Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara.

He even raves about his students from last year, Toge, Yuta, Maki and a student he simply calls P, you tried to ask what the P stands for and he said Pedro which you laughed, kind of an uncommon name here but you don’t push it.

He’s mentioned his family and the pressure they’ve put on him, how he’s like the golden child of his family.

He actually laughed when you asked if he was blind, your cheeks heated up as he told you he has really bad sensitivity with his eyes which still made you feel bad for him.

You reach your building and start your walk upstairs, eager to see your cat but stop when you reach the top. You’re not sure why it bothers you when you see Gojo with a woman going inside his apartment. She’s pretty, sharp features and glossy eyes. A mole under her right eye. You wait for them to go inside before you make your way to your apartment.

Maybe you’re a creep but you stare through the peephole for what feels like hours, waiting for her to leave but she never does. You wonder if Gojo has a girlfriend, wouldn’t he have mentioned it? But then again he’s a man, when do they ever.

End of October: Halloween

You try not to feel insecure in your pink tights and red bodysuit, this is the most revealing you’ve looked since before that night.

You watch as a row of lemon drop shots line up infront of you, the girls you’ve made friends with since you came in, all cheer and clap as you knock back shot after shot. You order six more courtesy of your blonde friends tab, the bar tenders hesitant but you bat your lashes and just like that you’re getting your way.

The liquor helps to take away from the insecurities, you stop worrying if your stomachs too big or your arms too bulky and relax. Several hands pull you to the dance floor and you dance with them, one of the girls hands you a blunt and you smoke it. You spend the night smoking and drinking till you’re absolutely fucking cross faded.

Once you’re at your apartment building, you’re literally crawling up the stairs. You stop when two sets of shoes come into your view, you slowly look up to Gojo and the woman from two weeks ago looking down at you.

“Should we call someone?” The woman asks.

“Nah, she’s mine,” Gojo says pulling you up off the floor. You stumble backwards but he catches you before you fall, pulling you toward him.

“I’ll see you later” the woman says, walking off and he nods. He’s scooping you up into his arms.

“What are you suppose to be?” He asks.

“Scarwit bitch” you slur and he laughs.

“Scarlett Witch?” He asks and you nod.

You’re disappointed when he takes your keys and opens your apartment door. He carries you to your bedroom.

“What did you do, rob Barbie?” he asks looking around your pink room, you’re too tired to comment as he sets you down on your bed.

He brushes your hair out of your face.

“Thanks Toru,” you whisper.

November

Gojo: you hungry?

You: yes…

Gojo: what do you want to eat?

You: pizza, meat lovers and Hawaiian.

Gojo: pineapple on pizza? we have to find a dealbreaker eventually

Gojo: in or out?

You: in

Half an hour passes and there’s a knock on your door. You open it to Gojo with two boxes of pizza, he sets them down while you grab plates.

“song?” He asks, he hasn’t missed a day and you don’t know that he’s made a playlist with each one you give him.

“Kimdracula by deftones,” he subtly adds the song to his playlist as you open up the box. Your belly rumbles as you take a slice of each.

He wastes no time, eating while you take little nibbles. You don’t like eating infront of people, not after being so degraded on your body by the only person that’s seen it naked. Your appetite sours and you set your pizza down.

“Do want to watch X? It’s the technical sequel to Pearl,” you say, he couldn’t give a shit about that deranged girl but you like her so he likes her.

He nods and you wash the pizza grease from your hands, he does the same and you both are moving to the couch. Salem jumps up, of course he picks Gojo as you shuffle through your movie selection before clicking on X.

You feel your face redden forgetting they’re literal fucking pornstars filming porn.

“She looks exactly like Pearl, what the fuck,” he says and you laugh.

You subtly look away, during the sex scenes. They aren’t unbearable but it’s just uncomfortable for you.

“Like sixty years later and she’s still creepy as shit” he says when it gets to the scene of Pearl staring over Maxine while she sleeps.

Gojo actually leans forward pushing his sunglasses up, utterly engrossed in the movie as everyone starts getting killed off one by one. He cringes at Lorraine’s death which you do too. And he cheers when Maxine runs over Pearls head.

“You can have Pearl, Maxine’s mine” he says making you roll your eyes.

“Guess you’ll be happy to know Maxine has her own movie coming out next year” you say.

“Oh we’re so seeing that,” he says and you internally smile but that little voice in the back of your head reminds you, he’s just a man.

You try to ignore it but you feel inclined to ask, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He asks with his brows raised.

You actually feel silly asking the question, because how are you supposed to casually mention the girl you’ve seen him with without sounding like a stalker.

“Just asking,” you say innocently.

“Nah, I never have the time for that stuff. Ive been on dates but that’s about it,” he says and you can’t help that words that blurt out.

“So you’re a virgin?” you internally slap yourself once the words leave your lips.

“No” he says laughing at how hard you’re blushing.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be invasive” you say and he shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he’s hesitant to ask but he does.

“Are you a virgin?” he asks and tears roll down your cheeks.

[https-milo]

PLEASE DO SOMETHING MEGUMI I WILL BEGGGGG

no need to beg brother, I got youuuu!

BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND!

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

Summary: Being the sibling of Yuji Itadori had its perks... Like the fact his best friend was a total cutie!

m. list

1.1k words

Reader is adopted • Yuji is 16, the reader is 15, Choso is 19 • No sorcerers AU • slight miscommunication trope • fluff

"Fushiguro!" My brother greeted his friend happily at the door as he let him in. The spikey black hair silhouette was one I was all too familiar with, seeing as he came over every couple of days.

"Hi," Megumi greeted. He noticed me standing in the doorway of the kitchen and waved. "Hey, Y/N."

"Oh um, hey, Fushiguro," I replied. I didn't let him get another word in before I rushed off to my room and closed the door behind me. I jumped onto my bed and screamed into my pillow. My older brother, Choso, walked in. He must've heard me scream from his room since the walls are thin and I'm right next to him.

"Uh, Y/n?" Choso asked once I stopped. I refused to move my head and just hummed, a sound that was muffled by the pillow. "Are you okay?"

I sighed and sat up, holding the pillow close to my stomach. "No, blueberry is here."

Choso's eyes lit up and he sat beside me. "Yuji said he would be. How does that make you feel?" He teased as he poked my side.

I hit him with my pillow. "Shut up, you're so annoying. Man, curse Yuji for having cute friends." I groaned and leaned my head against Choso. "Every time he is here, a piece of me dies." Choso patted my back comfortingly. I sighed dramatically and walked downstairs to the living room where Yuji and Megumi were.

I found Yuji on the couch but Megumi was nowhere in sight, I looked around confused. "Where'd Fushiguro go?"

"Oh, he had to use the bathroom," Yuji explained as he used the TV remote to look at different movies to watch with Megumi. I nodded and sat on the loveseat that was next to the couch. I watched as he flipped through the different movies Netflix offered in its catalog. Megumi came downstairs and sat on the end of the couch. He looked at me and tensed when our gazes met, his eyes quickly darted away from mine and faced the TV. I blushed furiously at just looking at him and covered my face with my hands, trying to cool my face down.

"Uh... You okay, Y/N?" Yuji asked.

I swiftly removed my hands and nodded enthusiastically, "Yep! Ahahahah why wouldn't I be?" Yuji quirked a brow at me and Megumi squinted in my direction from the corner of his eye. 'Oh my god! He is so cute! Someone euthanize me!' I internally squealed with glee. My face only flushed redder and I tried looking away from him as the movie started, but I would find my gaze back on him occasionally throughout the movie.

Halfway through the movie, Choso called me away. I went upstairs to his room and lightly punched his chest in excitement. "Oh my gosh, Cho! He's so majestic and ethereal! Like an angel on earth!" I squealed.

"That's why I yelled for you," Cho said, taking my punches. He pulled out his phone and showed me a picture of the living room. In the picture, I was staring at Megumi with visible hearts in my eyes while Megumi and Yuji watched the movie intently. "I went and got some water a couple of minutes ago and saw this. You're so obvious."

"How can I not be? He's so dreamy," I sighed whimsically. "Curse Yuji for bringing him around!" I huffed with faux anger. "It's torture being around someone I can't have constantly!"

"Sounds like you need to do something about that," Choso said with a shrug.

Megumi hadn't come over in two weeks. I honestly felt like I was going through withdrawals from not seeing him. I was doing my homework when Yuji appeared in my doorway, "Hey, did you say something to Fushiguro the last time he was here?"

I tilted my head, "No? I didn't say anything except hello. Is everything okay?"

Yuji nodded, "Yeah. He's just been avoiding coming over here lately." Yuji shrugged. "Well, whatever, I'll just have to convince him. I want him to watch Human Earthworm 3 with me again."

I deadpanned, "Haven't you already forced him to watch it with you like... 10 times?" Yuji nodded and walked away. I sighed and looked back down at my homework.

A couple hours later, Megumi Fushiguro was at my front door. I was the only one downstairs, so I answered it. "Oh hey, Fushiguro," I greeted with a red face.

"Hey, Y/n," Megumi replied as he stepped into my house and took his shoes off.

"I'll go get Yuji," I said. I was about to turn away but Megumi grabbed my wrist and made me look at him.

"Do you hate me?" He asked solemnly.

I was in shock looking at his hand around my wrist, but I snapped my head up at his question. I fervently shook my head. "What? No of course not! Why would you think that?"

Megumi let go of my wrist and crossed his arms, "I heard you and Choso talking. You said; 'Every time he is here, a piece of me dies' and 'Curse Yuji for bringing him around'." His eyes narrowed at me.

I blinked and my eyes widened. "You heard that?! That's so embarrassing..." I groaned in annoyance.

Megumi's eyebrows furrowed, "So you do hate me?"

"No... there's more context for those," I sighed and bit my lip in contemplation. "I don't know how to explain it other than when I'm around you, I feel the need to be fatally shot."

Megumi's eyes widened, "What?" He was utterly confused.

"W-well, it's just... You're so beautiful and cool I don't deserve to be in the same vicinity as you! I like you a lot and I know I shouldn't because you're Yuji's best friend but I can't help it." I hid my face in my hands. "Ugh, I look so dumb right now, huh?"

Megumi chuckled before nodding. "Only a little. How crazy do you have to be to admit to wanting to die because of how attracted you are to someone?"

I chuckled lightly, "I think it runs in the family."

Megumi hummed, "Well, I think you're pretty cool too." He rubbed the back of his head. "Actually, me and Yuji had a talk about me liking you a while ago. He said he didn't mind." His face was a bright red as I looked up at him with stars in my eyes. "I think that's why I was so worried about you hating me."

My eyes widened. "You better not be joking right now. I swear, if you are I'm going to kill you."

Megumi shook his head. "I'm not." He cleared his throat and looked at me bashfully. "So... will you give me the honor of being your boyfriend?"

"I think I'm dreaming..." I mumbled before nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, literally 1000% yes."

Megumi smiled, "I'm glad. Do you want to watch Human Earthworm with me and Yuji?"

I sighed, "Anything for you. This will be my 100th time rewatching it though."

Megumi chuckled, "Yeah, I think he can say the script by heart at this point."

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[asonofpeter]

Night Shift

Pairing: Jaime Reyes x F!Reader

Summary: Jaime doesn't like that you work a night shift at a bar, so setting out to get a job at Kord Industries, you're shocked when he comes home with something else....

Warnings: mentions of men being pervs, lots of screaming and a little bit of violence, SPOILERS FOR BLUE BEETLE!

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: My first full fic in a while? Yes, it is indeed and with my new love, Jaime Reyes. If you haven't seen Blue Beetle, pause and go buy a ticket cause this movie is good! So proud of mi Xolito! Anyway, I'm proud of this, so enjoy! 💕💕💕

I don't consent to my work being copied, reposted, or translated.

“You don’t have to do this, y’know? I’ll get the job tomorrow and work hard to support the family and us,” Jaime stood up from your bed, grabbing hold of your hands to stop you from getting ready for work. 

“Jaime, I know you want to do everything you can to stop us from losing the house, but we need the money, wherever we can get it from,” you inhaled. 

You moved in with the Reyes three years ago after your parents kicked you out. The details are unimportant and messy but you were happy you ended up in a loving household after all. The only problem now, you’re on the brink of becoming homeless.

“But a job where drunk assholes violate you?” he scoffed and you rolled your eyes, knowing most customers haven’t gotten handsy since you started. “It’s not right,” he shook his head, squeezing your hands. “I don’t want you to have to go through that,” he rested his forehead against yours. 

You knew he meant well. It sucked having to work at a bar where wearing low-cut tops and push-up bras made for extra tips. Especially when you worked during the night. But then again, even when businesses are going bankrupt, bars are seemingly filling in at an all-time high. You had to take advantage of the dire situation even if Jaime didn’t like it.

“I can handle my own,” you smirked. “Nana taught me a thing or two,” you winked. 

“I bet she did,” he chuckled. 

“And besides,” you removed your hands from his grip, smoothing them up his arms until they rested on his biceps. “I have my big strong boyfriend to protect me,” you looked at him finding the blush forming on his face adorable.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in as he leaned forward to kiss you. His lips moved against yours slowly, one of your hands moving up to tug on the hair of the nape of his neck. 

Living in a small house with five other people gave you no privacy whatsoever, so moments like these were cherished. All those stolen glances, hidden kisses, late-night talks—it all meant something. 

“I gotta go, okay? I’ll see you in the morning,” you pulled away. 

“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you walk to work alone at eleven at night,” he grabbed your arm lightly, pulling you back into his embrace. “I’ll be there to pick you up at seven too,” he said and you sighed out contently.

“It means a lot, but don’t you have your job interview tomorrow?” you rested your head against his chest as you both walked out of your and Milagro’s room.

“I’ll sleep, wake up, pick you up, then come back and get ready,” he shrugged and you agreed with his well-thought-out plan. 

“Ya te vas, mija?” Rocio asked once you both entered the kitchen and you nodded. “Cuidate, y come tu comida, no quiero que te desmayes,” she handed you a paper sack and you smiled, thanking her. 

It was things like that which made you grateful for Jaime’s family—your family. The constant protection and worry they hold over you like one would for a daughter or sister. Making sure you had a lunch packed so you can eat and not faint during your shift. It warmed your heart and made you grateful every day. 

“Make sure she gets there safe, okay, Jaime?” Alberto pointed to his son and your boyfriend nodded, reassuring the two. 

Walking out of the house, you found your hands intertwined as you made your way down the block. You glanced at Jaime to find him smiling at you before he looked ahead. You grinned at the fact you caught him before you too continued your focus forward.

Palerma City was alive at night, even in the small barrio you lived in. The streets were dark, flickering lamp posts illuminating the people who were still up trying to make a living by whatever means. You looked far past, the bright neon skyline of the city, all the rows of high rises where all the rich white folk were fast asleep tucked away in silk sheets. 

You would get there one day. 

“What did my mom pack for your lunch?” he asked, pulling you out of your thought.

“A torta de jamon, an apple and orange, some Fritos, and oh, a gansito,” you gasped in excitement before you stuffed the bag in your backpack. “I know exactly what I’m eating first,” you giggled. 

“My mom literally said we ran out of gansitos,” he said in shock. “She loves you more than me,” he feigned hurt and you wrapped your arm around him, cooing as you kissed his cheek.

“What can I say? I’m lovable,” you hummed.

The two of you turned the corner and you found yourself at “Margaritaville”, the newest establishment where you got paid minimum wage and received great tips from businessmen who got off on a pretty bartender flirting with them before they made their way home to their wives. Or from people who recently got laid off from their jobs and needed someone to talk to.

Either way, you’d put on your best smile, bat your lashes and make sure your top was low enough if that meant being able to pay part of the rent.

“Be safe, okay?” Jaime pulled you in for a hug. “I’ll be awake at 6:30,” he promised. 

“I will,” you mumbled into his neck before pulling away. “See you soon,” you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

He cupped your cheek before you pulled away, your fingers pulling along his, straining to stay in touch as you kept moving toward the door until they unlinked, his arm stayed hovered in the air for a split moment while yours dropped to the side. He watched as you turned back and waved until you entered through the back door, making sure to stay for a minute before he turned back around. 

The lingering touch of you remained on his fingers until he arrived home and made his way to bed. It wasn’t fair you had to become a main stream of income for the house. It shouldn’t be you pulling in the long hours, it should be him.

He needed to get that interview at Kord Industries tomorrow.

~

You undid your apron, shoving it back into your backpack. You let out a sigh as you did a once over to the barely empty bar. The next shift already arrived and was taking care of the customers. Letting out a yawn, you placed your tips in your pocket, opening the back door only to be greeted by Jaime who was waiting at the curb.

“Buenos dias, mi amor,” he smiled and you felt your cheeks blush at the pet name he liked to change out every once in a while. “Made you breakfast,” he handed you something rolled in some paper towels before you unveiled two bean burritos. “How was work?” he kissed your cheek while he took your bag from you.

“Made $150 in tips,” you stated, biting into your food. “Getting paid tomorrow, so it went well,” you nodded. “Customers were more to themselves tonight, except for this one guy who was crying about his wife leaving him. I think he left looking for a prostitute to be honest,” you chuckled. 

“Poor dude,” he hummed. “But the money is good,” he said, wrapping his arm around you. 

The rest of the short walk was made in silence and it was calming to just have Jaime by your side. The eight-hour shift takes it out on you and you couldn’t wait to go to sleep. 

“Hola,” you greeted as you walked through the door. 

“Como te fue?” Nana asked and you responded to her before a yawn came out.

“Disculpe,” you pressed a hand to your chest. “I’m gonna go shower,” you said, the family understanding as you made your way to your room. 

After a quick shower and changing into casual wear, you felt refreshed as you walked back into the family room. The whole family was gathered as Jaime stood in the middle, hair geled back and his fancy clothes put on.

“Wow, que chulo,” you complimented with a bright smile plastered on your face as you stood behind the couch. 

“You see, cabezon? You look fine,” Uncle Rudy told his nephew and Jaime nodded in defeat, clearly flustered. “Y/N wouldn’t lie, she loves you too much for that!” he cackled and you joined in, making Jaime blush even more.

“Let’s go and get this over with, I still don’t trust that Jenny girl,” Milagro muttered under her breath and you sent a glance at Jaime. 

You were aware of what happened when Milagro and Jaime lost their job with Victoria Kord. Millie was correct to have a distaste for the older lady, but after her niece offered an olive branch, giving Jaime an opportunity–you weren’t sure if she was in the right to have that distrust. But then again, you weren’t there.

“Descansas, okay?” Nana kissed you on the cheek and gave you the blessing before she walked out and you nodded. 

The rest of the family walked out, leaving you and Jaime left. 

“Good luck, okay?” you grabbed his face and gave him a chaste good luck kiss. “I know you’re gonna woo them over,” you sent him a sure smile. 

“How are you so sure about that?” he held your wrists, running his thumbs over your delicate skin. 

“Cause, you’re Jaime Reyes”.

~

“You don’t know what’s inside?” you heard Millie ask. 

You were awakened by muffled conversations, your brows furrowing as you checked the time. They couldn’t have come back that soon and if something serious happened, they would’ve woken you up. 

About to drift back to sleep, you eyes shot open by shouting. The voices of Jaime, Millie, and Rudy combine together. Bolting out of bed fast, you opened the door and ran into the dining room, finding Millie and Rudy to be playing hot potato with a blue bug, Jaime trying to get them to stop.

“Mira, look what you did! You woke her up,” Rocio gestured to you and the room suddenly got quiet. 

“Ay, Y/N, I’m sorry,” Jaime winced, trying to grab the thing from Millie but she held it out of his reach. 

“Look what Jaime brought back. That Jenny girl is a total floozy, like what is this that she gave him?” she cocked a brow, holding it clearly so you could see.

“A bug?” you rubbed your eyes. “Why would she give you a bug?” you asked, walking closer. 

“She told me to guard it with my life, I wasn’t even supposed to open it,” your boyfriend explained and his words made you uneasy. 

“I think you should put it back, you don’t know what it can be,” you turned to Millie. 

“She’s right,” Jaime held out his hand and Milagro reluctantly agreed, placing it in his palm.

You watched as he was about to place it back in the box until it lit up, his face inching closer to inspect it. You stared back in amazement, the bug coming to life.

“I think it likes me,” he grinned, glancing up at you with a twinkle in your eyes that made your heart skip a beat. But that smile was instantly wiped away the moment the bug launched itself onto his face.

“JAIME!” you screeched, the family shooting up from their seats as they tried to aid him.

“It’s on your face!” Uncle Rudy screamed before he grabbed onto the bug, attempting to rip it off but it shot out a bolt of electricity, sending him across the room and Jaime against the wall. 

Your body began to shake and you wanted to run over to help Jaime but he got up, the bug detaching from his face until it crawled over his shoulder and under his shirt like a spider you wanted off immediately. 

“Jaime!” you shouted, his body thrashing around the room like he was fighting with the bug. “Baby, please,” you cried, hands over your mouth as you tried to begin to process what was going on but you couldn’t.

“Oh god,” Jaime stilled, hunched over as he looked at you. “I think it’s inside of me,” his gaze filled with panic and you felt your skin crawl. “It’s inside of me!” he screamed, hand reaching out for yours before he doubled over in pain, the bug poking out underneath his clothes before arms pierced through, sending him up against the ceiling.

Another wave of screams sounded, the love of your life’s agony cries being the worst thing you ever heard. The tears were falling down your cheeks. You wanted to help him but couldn’t. You wanted to know what was going on but didn’t. You were completely helpless in this situation.

Black goo grew over his body, his clothes burning to crisps and you were afraid of what it was going to do once it got all of him. Were you about to lose your Jaime? How did you get to this point when it was just a job interview? 

“Y/N!” his call for you made your heart stop and you tried telling him you were here but his cries drowned it out. 

Suddenly, he was completely transformed, a suit of armor in black and blue engulfed him. The cries and the screams quieted down as you all stared at him. A split second ago, you thought he was going to die, but now he was fine? It didn’t make sense. 

“Mijo?” Rocio called out as Jaime walked over to the photo of La Virgen, his illuminating yellow eyes staring back into the reflection.

“What was that?” he looked back in shock, hands over his mouth. “Did you hear that?” his voice was panicked, his expression hidden with the eyes providing just the tiniest amount of concern. 

“Jaime, what’s going on?” you took a step forward. 

“That voice, you don’t hear a voice?” he walked forward, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by all of you. The suit seemed to have turned on, blue light glowing between grooves and you all watched in awe. “Systems check?” he mumbled, looking around the room. 

“Jaime?” you asked, noticing the arms powering up.

“It’s okay, everything is going to be okay!” he shouted just as he was flown through the ceiling before he became a dot in the sky. 

Nothing was okay.

~

Reblogs are the best!

[guiltyasdave]

it’s nice to have a friend

this is a secret santa gift for @wethairjoel - merry christmas my love 🫶🏻

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~2.6k

summary: Joel and you have been best friends for years, but maybe this Christmas it’s time for the both of you to admit that that’s not all you want. (Goddamn I should write Hallmark movies)

tags: no outbreak!AU, friends to lovers, idiots in love, Sarah is alive, Ellie is reader’s sister, able-bodied reader, bits of angst/jealousy, Joel being emotionally constipated, mentions of alcohol consumption, FLUFF <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics who is amazing!

full masterlist here / follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!

much love to @reddedmiller for assuring me that this is cute and not terrible, i love you 🫶🏻

“Ellie, come on! They’re here!”

Your back is turned to the door as you’re yelling up the staircase, waiting for your younger sister to finally come down. You turn around, fixing the open door and your waiting friend Joel with a tired smile.

“Hi,” you sigh, waving at Sarah, who’s waiting in the backseat of Joel’s truck.

“Rough morning?” Joel chuckles and lets you pull him into a quick hug.

As you’re nodding, Ellie finally comes trudging down the stairs, her backpack haphazardly thrown over one shoulder and her hair in a loose ponytail. She wordlessly flips you the bird as she walks past you and you roll your eyes, used to her grumpy mood in the morning.

“Sorry,” you mutter in Joel’s direction, ushering her out of the door, “didn’t mean to make you guys late.”

Joel laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’, it’s no big deal.”

He casually throws an arm over your shoulder as he leads you to his car and opens the passenger side’s door for you while Ellie is already climbing in beside Sarah.

Joel starts the car and makes his way to the girls’ school, the radio playing soft rock music in the background and the girls chattering away behind you.

“Thanks again for doing this,” you smile at Joel.

“‘Course. You’re the one doin’ me a favor here, really.”

Joel and you had both agreed to take the day off and go shopping for Christmas presents for your girls while they were at school.

You had moved to Austin two years ago, a few months after becoming Ellie’s legal guardian. Ellie and Sarah had classes together and had quickly become best friends, easing your worries about Ellie being an outsider at her new school, and they asked to spend more time together outside of classes almost constantly.

That’s how you met Joel, the both of you bonding over being the sole caregiver for your girls and being younger than most other parents at the school. It’s an easy friendship and one that you cherish greatly. Joel is a good friend, making you laugh when you’re with him, always willing to help if anything at your house needs fixing, hosting barbecues for the four almost every weekend in the summer, and someone you can always turn to for parenting advice.

So what if he’s also so handsome that it almost hurts to look at him sometimes and your heart rate still picks up when he’s close to you? When you had first started hanging out more, you had thought that there might be more between you, with the way he kept calling you “darlin’” and the flirty remarks he threw at you, but nothing more ever happened and he never gave you any indication that he wanted anything more, so you figured that it was just his southern charm and that he treated everybody like this. Not wanting to screw up the one real friendship that you had managed to build in your new hometown, you continued to swallow down any deeper feelings, any attraction that you might feel towards him.

You drop the girls off at school and continue the drive downtown, stopping on the way for a coffee. Joel, who you have never seen drinking anything else than plain black coffee, teases you relentlessly over the Christmas themed drink with syrup and an obnoxious amount of whipped cream that you have picked for yourself. It’s a never ending discussion that comes up every time you have coffee together and one that you've gotten used to, with Joel not understanding why you would taint the coffee’s taste and you not understanding how he’s able to drink the bitter beverage without smoothing it out with milk at least.

When you finally reach the mall, already packed with bustling crowds of Christmas shoppers, you sigh. At least you’re not alone, and you have a plan of what you want to get. You pull out the list of potential gifts and stores where you might get them that you had written the night before, making Joel chuckle.

“Always prepared for anythin’, huh?”

You grin back and nudge him with your elbow. “You’re gonna thank me later, trust me.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mutters and follows you through the crowd of people, a calming presence by your side.

You make a good team, somehow both more equipped to pick out presents for the other’s young girl. Sarah had wished for new CDs, movies and posters of her favorite bands to redecorate her room, an endeavor that you’re more than happy to help with. Ellie wants new strings and picks for her guitar, one that you had bought second hand and that Joel is teaching her to play almost every weekend, and new drawing utensils.

Due to your thorough planning, you manage to secure all the goods before noon, a fact that you don’t hesitate to rub into Joel’s face and he reluctantly agrees that this shopping trip had been done much faster than if he had gone alone, playing up his grumpy demeanor but you know him well enough to see the warm and playful glint in his eyes.

Since you still have a few hours to yourselves until the girls will return from school, you decide to get another coffee and maybe a snack together, this time actually sitting down in a café rather than picking it up. You’re treating yourself to another fancy drink, Joel is sipping on another black coffee and you’re sharing a blueberry muffin while you’re talking about your plans for the holidays.

Ellie and you will be over at the Millers for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, a tradition that you had established last year and that you’re more than grateful for. You love Ellie and she’s the only family that you care about, but you want her to have the best time possible, especially at Christmas.

Joel excuses himself to use the bathroom and leaves you alone at the table. You’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone when another person sits down in Joel’s seat. You look up slowly, taking in the guy in front of you. Slim, blonde, about your age, kind of handsome, you presume, if that part of your mind wasn’t taken up by another man. But that’s not a thought that you’re supposed to have, you try reminding yourself.

“Hey,” the man says, smiling at you. He has a handsome smile, too. “I’m Dan.” He extends a hand to you and you shake it, too perplexed to do much else.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, I just came in and saw you sitting here all alone and I just thought I’d take the chance and ask if you wanted to go out with me sometime?”

You stare at him for a second, the question barely registering in your brain, before you snap out of it. Why not, you tell yourself, this might be good for you. Good to get the idea of Joel and you out of your head once and for all.

“I- um, yeah. Sure!”

You plaster a smile on your face and exchange phone numbers with Dan who promises to text you and gets up just as Joel comes back, scowling at Dan’s retreating back.

“Who was that?” he asks, and you wonder if you’re imagining his tone being colder than it was before he left.

“Just a guy,” you murmur, feeling embarrassed and weirdly guilty, “wanted to go out with me, I guess.”

“And, will you?” You’re not imagining it, Joel definitely sounds colder.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Who knows if he’ll even text me,” you shrug and stand up abruptly, suddenly desperate to get out of the situation, “let’s go.”

Joel’s answering huff doesn’t do much to calm you down and the walk back to the car is more silent than you’re used to with him, none of the usual bantering between you two.

He drops you off at your house and while you had planned to invite him in to maybe start wrapping your gifts together, you’re now kind of desperate to get out of this weird tension between you, so you just grab your bags and hop out of the truck. Joel mumbles his goodbye and you watch him drive off while you’re standing in your doorway, your eyebrows furrowed. You think that maybe something just soured his mood, even if you can’t fathom what it might have been, and calm yourself with the thought that you’ll just text him later.

You do just that, sending him a photo of your wrapped gifts a few hours after you got home, but he doesn’t respond. You don’t hear from him for several days, your calls remaining unanswered and there are no replies to your texts. You actually resort to asking Ellie if Sarah has said anything, but she’s just as clueless as you are.

The weekend rolls around and you go on your date with Dan, who, unlike someone else, has texted you. He takes you out for lunch and while the date is nice and he’s being polite, easy to have a conversation with and you’re fighting with yourself trying to like him, you’re bored.

You don’t feel any spark between the two of you, a spark that you, as you begrudgingly have to admit to yourself, always feel when you’re with Joel. You decidedly swallow that thought back down as soon as it occurs to you, but it stays in the back of your mind, like a kind of craving that you just can’t turn off.

You tell Dan that you’re sorry but that you don’t see the two of you turn into anything more, which he accepts graciously and wishes you all the best and you once again want to kick yourself for not feeling anything at all for this kind and blissfully uncomplicated man.

Grinding your teeth, you call Joel the next evening and to your surprise, he finally picks up.

“Where the hell have you been?” you demand without as much as a greeting.

“Just busy with work,” his voice huffs through the speaker and you can’t help but start feeling slightly more at ease at the sound of it, even if you don’t believe that he was too busy to contact you for days, but at least he picked up your call now.

“How’d your date go?”

He sounds… careful, like he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer. You’re confused for a second; you didn’t even have the chance to tell him about those plans; until your gaze falls on your sister who’s sitting on the couch opposite from you with headphones over her ears and frantically scribbling in her notebook.

“Between Sarah and Ellie, no secret is safe, huh?” you grin.

“So it’s a secret?” His voice is tense.

“I guess not, I just didn’t- I don’t know.” You huff a frustrated sigh. “But it doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna see him again, so…”

“Did he do something?” Joel demands immediately and you feel your cheeks warming at the way he switches into protective mode.

“No no, don’t get all riled up. He was nice, just… not it. I wasn’t really interested in him anyway, so.”

“Huh,” Joel mumbles and though you can’t see him, you can tell that some of the tension is dissolving.

You chat a little more, working out the finer parts of the plans for your shared Christmas celebration in a few days, and by the end of the phone call, you feel like things between you are back to normal.

It’s the second Christmas Eve that you’ve spent at the Miller household and it’s just as chaotic as the first one. Joel’s brother Tommy comes to visit, bringing with him a bottle of whiskey and an air of mischief that immediately infects the two girls who are already giddy with the energy of Christmas, the prospect of getting presents tomorrow morning and the inevitable sugar high that comes with consuming mountains of Christmas cookies.

Ellie and you are meant to sleep over, Ellie in Sarah’s room and you in the guest room, so you indulge in a few glasses of whiskey, feeling pleasantly tipsy and like a warm, hazy glow is surrounding you. You sing Christmas songs along to the radio with the girls, laugh loudly at Tommy’s crude jokes and even get Joel, who is slightly drunk himself, to dance with you for a few minutes.

When you finally retreat to the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, you somehow already sense Joel’s presence behind you before he speaks up.

“Hey,” he murmurs as you turn around, his gaze trained on the floor at your feet.

“Hey,” you echo, searching his face, “what’s up?”

He rubs his neck, a mannerism that you’ve come to connect with him feeling uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “I know I’ve been acting weird around you the past week, and…” he trails off again, still not meeting your gaze. Joel has never been good at expressing his feelings, and you can’t deny that you’re curious about what he’s going to say. You knew that it hadn’t been just about work stuff. Joel takes a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself for what he’s about to tell you.

“I didn’t- shit, I’m not good at this.” He rubs his neck again. “I didn’t want you to go out with that guy. And I know that that’s no excuse, but I wanted… I wanted you to go out with me. I’ve wanted that for quite some time, honestly. And I never knew how to tell you, I didn’t want to ruin the friendship that we have, but then that- that fuckin’ guy came along and I just thought, what if I had my chance and I missed it? But still, I shouldn’t have put that on you, I-”

You interrupt his rambling when you step into his space and place your hand on his upper arm, his gaze finally flying up to meet yours.

“You wanted… to go out with me?” you whisper, almost not able to believe what you’ve just heard.

“I- yes. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’ll never mention it again, I just wanted you to know.” He shrugs helplessly and you can’t help the smile that’s slowly growing on your face.

“Joel,” you murmur, taking another step closer to him. “I’d love to go out with you. I never thought- you never said anything, and I didn’t want to make things awkward between us, but…”

This might be it, the moment that you’ve always hoped for but never thought would happen.

“I like you. More than as a friend. I mean, I really like you.”

Now you’re avoiding his gaze, feeling heat flush your cheeks at your admission. You feel his fingers on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his warm brown eyes, so close to you.

“Guess we’ve both been kinda idiots,” he smirks.

A grin is slowly spreading on your face. “Guess so.”

He leans towards you and your eyes slowly close, just before his lips touch yours.

None of you are aware of the audience that’s observing the both of you from the living room.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Tommy mutters as he leans back into the couch and takes another sip of whiskey. Sarah and Ellie both sigh in agreement.

thank you so much for reading! if you liked it, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment - nothing would make me happier 🫶🏻

[merowkittie]

hiii! I was thinking about fem reader asking hobie to pierce her nipples bc she thinks it’ll look cute to which he agrees. but when he gets them done he’s literally so horny bc of how hot they make fem reader look..

hope you have a great day/night <3

Thanks :), you too, sweets!

Piercing Problems — Hobie Brown

Summary: Hobie gets a little horny while piercing your tits.

Warnings: lots of talk about your boobs / very suggestive / not proof read I’m sorry but it’s 2AM / talks of needles, piercings / a short smut scene (a flashback) / umm I think that’s it..

Sorry is he’s ooc, still trying to figure out his character also this was rushed because this was requested a good week or two ago..

Hobie was back at it again with piercing your body.

He had you sitting on the counter in your shared bathroom. Your locs were put up in a bun behind your head with some pieces hanging out and framing your soft face.

You were dangling your legs from your sitting position, swinging them back and forth, waiting for your boyfriend to finish getting his stuff together to pierce your nipples.

To say you were scared was an understatement. You were sure this would feel like you were dying and you were 100% sure you’d pass out in the process. Hobie had told you that you didn’t have to do it but you thought about all the perks about getting them.. and they were really cute!

“Ya ready, love?” He turned to you with a sharpie in hand. He walked move in front of you to be standing between your legs.

You nodded your head and lifted your shirt up to reveal your hardened nipples. They were cold from the chilly air of the bathroom. Hobie cupped your breasts, fondling them childishly.

You kicked him in the thigh and sighed. “Stop! Mark the area already and pierce it.. I’m going to piss on myself, I’m so fucking scared Hobie.”

He looked at you and rolled his eyes. He pressed a kiss to each of your nipples and then to your lips as a way to reassure you. You knew he knew what he was doing but he liked to play a lot.. too much.

Here’s how the conversation went with him to even agreeing to pierce your nipples in the first place:

“Mm.. fuck! Hobie, please..!” You placed your hand on his head somewhere in his wicks and tugged his further into your body.

His lips were attached to your nipples and his fingers inside of your cunt. His fingers were pumping in and out of you at a fast pace. Your hips were meeting his motions but stopped after you felt your cunt start to squeeze him hard and your stomach felt so full.

“Please what, babe?” He stopped his fingers for a moment, waiting to here the words he was looking for from your pouty lips.

You whined and whimpered at the loss of his thrusting fingers. You tried to move on your own but he held down your hips with his free hand.

“Please.. Please B, I need to cum so bad! I need you..” you looked at him with your lust blown eyes and he nodded, biting at your nipple which made you yelp.

“There you go, baby punk. I’ve gotcha ya. Lemme hear those pretty noises, yea?” He smirked up at you when he saw your eyes roll back in your head as his fingers started their movements again.

When you two finished, you kind of just laid around watching movies and talking mindlessly about stuff. Your nipples ached because of all the biting and sucking Hobie was doing to them. They were so sensitive. Though, how would it feel if you had piercings? I mean besides the feeling you thought they’d look cute on your breasts.

“B. What do you think about nipple piercings?” You peered up at him.

He didn’t say nothing at first, seemingly in thought and then nodded.

“Yea, they’re hot. What about ‘em?” He questioned, his eyes now on you. He knew where this was going but he just wanted to hear it from you.

You hummed. You didn’t know if you were very sure about your decision so you sat in silence for a minute, thinking it over. The pros and cons. The pain, pleasure, what about it be like? Then you were like fuck it.

“I want ‘em. I think they’re cute. What do you think, querido?” You bit your lips in anticipation of his response.

“I think you’d look quite lush.” He smirked at you. Instantly agreeing with this decision and he wouldn’t mind piercing it for you.

Now here you two were in your bathroom, at probably four in the morning, piercing your nipples.

You prayed a good six times during the prep process. You really weren’t one to handle pain well. A bit dramatic people would say.

After Hobie marked little dot indications on your nipples he placed the clamp on one and you gasped.

“What the fuck. B! That shit hurts. Is it supposed to feel this tight?” You winced as he adjusted it a bit and grabbed the needle.

He shrugged, “I wouldn’t know, lovie. How did it feel when I pierced your stomach?” He raised a brow waiting for you to respond.

You thought for a second and it felt pretty similar.

“The same way.”

“Then you’re good, shut your gob.”

You huffed and playfully kicked him again. He was getting annoying.

“Alright Alright. Don’t move, I’m gonna pierce ya now.” He grabbed the needle from the napkin he placed down besides you and steadily aligned it with the mark on your nipple. “Count with me, one?”

You felt the needle start to poke you and sucked in a breath, Hobie gave you a look and you let out a shaky breath. “Tw- FUCK!”

Before you got done saying two Hobie already put the needle through and slid the bar through your bud and quickly screwed the ball onto it.

“Oh my god, Hobie. Are you mental?” You stared at him wide eyed. Your face scrunched up in disbelief and confusion. You had tears coming down your face and you didn’t know what to do with your emotions at the moment.

He snickered at your reaction and clamped your other nipple, preparing for the next piercing. He cleaned the needle he used and the bar. He already cleaned the area he was gonna pierce and marked it. He thought you were doing alright, could tone it down with the screams cause it was, super early in the morning. You guys didn’t need another noise complaint.

As he started to line the needle up with your nipple he asked you a question, “Did you know Gwen and Miles kissed? Finally, right?”

“What!” You exclaimed and then that turned into a muffled yelp as he did what he did last time, slipping the barbell in and quickly screwing on the ball.

“Yup. Lad took forever!” He chuckled.

Once he finished cleaning any blood from the piercings you took a look at them in the mirror. Your tits looked beautiful with the shiny silver of the piercing sticking out of it. Hobie was behind you admiring his handy work.. and how your nips looked. His hands came crawling up your aides and he cupped the bottom of your breasts, holding them up as they sat perky in his hands.

He kissed your temple and rubbed his hands up and down your stomach and back to your breasts. You knew what he was doing and you felt butterflies in your chest at his movements.

“You like them?” He asked you. It wasn’t really a question more of a statement.

“Hell yea. They’re awesome, B.” You smiled, tilting your head up at him and kissing his jaw.

He hummed and pinched your sensitive nipples, earning a whine and a playful swat from you. You could feel him press against you and you knew he was hard from just staring at your tits with the newly added piercing.

“You know.. I should repay you right?” You turned around and placed your hands on his chest. Looking him in the eyes you bit your lip. He nodded, as if to tell you to go on, “Do you want me to help you out with that?” One of you hands traveled down to the bulge in his boxers. Rubbing it slightly causing him to groan.

“Mhm.. I want a view of those tits when you ride me.”

[dellalyra]

𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 - 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙤

𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘺!𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘶 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴.

𝘊𝘞: 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺, 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘺, 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘶 𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵

part one

recommended listening:

The Search - NF

Waltz for Richard - First Aid Kit

Late Night Talking - Harry Styles

It wasn’t a question for any of you.

These kids? They were staying.

No way in hell was Suguru letting those kids, sweet, good kids go to the fucking Zen’in estate to be ruined and brainwashed into the same thinking as the higher ups.

They settled in easily, Tsumiki enjoyed playing with Suguru’s hair, braiding it to match hers sometimes in the morning. Megumi definitely gravitated to you, a comforting presence, less extroverted than either of the boys. Satoru loved introducing them both to Digimon - which Megumi became enamoured with.

And then - one day when the kids were at school, and you and Satoru were at work - Suguru had a mission.

A village. A shitty village. The middle of nowhere.

Pathetic, weak, cruel people.

Two small, tiny and scared girls.

Two small girls, no more than 4.

Two small girls, in a fucking cage.

He came so close - so fucking close to just wiping the village out. He could have done it. He nearly did. There were only 2 reasons he didn’t.

Y/N and Satoru. He couldn’t, he couldn’t do that to you both. He couldn’t do it to himself.

He finds himself grateful this didn’t happen 2 years ago. Because then he would have followed through.

Without hesitation.

He hauls both girls into his strong arms, and leaves the town with a warning that if something like this happened again - he would be back, and he wouldn’t be alone.

The terrified girls slept soundly as he transported them back to the house. He opened the door, and softly kicked it shut behind him.

“Suguru? Is that you? ‘Toru and I are about to start a movie - I made pop-” Your voice carries from the kitchen as you round the corner and the plastic bowl of popcorn clatters to the ground at the sight before you. Two small girls, one curled up in each of your boyfriend’s arms. Suguru looked exhausted, and there was something in his eyes that was rare to see - fear.

Satoru came skidding around the corner at the sound of the bowl falling, clad in one of Suguru’s hoodies and basketball shorts. He stops in his tracks right beside you.

“Holy shit.”

“They were in a cage.”

“What?” You whisper.

“The mission. They - they kept them in a cage.” He stuttered, voice laced with raw fury.

“Suguru, baby, give me the kids. I’ll lay them down on the sofa. ‘Toru?” You say as you take a tiny girl in each arm, they were so small. Not the size a 5 year old should be.

“I got him, princess.” Satoru says, turning to Suguru who is stoney faced.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go to the kitchen.” Satoru says, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and pulling him into the kitchen to sit at your cosy table.

Suguru sits, elbows resting on knees and hair falling in inky tendrils down around his face. Satoru kneels in front of him, between his knees as he lets him breathe for a moment. The last time he saw Suguru like this was after Riko, the darkness in his eyes reflected what he felt inside.

You walk back into the room, having put the sleeping girls down, wrapped in blankets on the sofa.

You sit on the table beside Suguru, and exchange glances with Satoru.

“Suguru, what happened?” You ask, gently as possible.

You hear a deep breath.

“The village. The curses they had, weren’t curses. Just two little girls, they were scared of them so they locked them in a fucking cage. I couldn’t - I couldn’t leave them there. I - fuck, Satoru, Y/N - I… I nearly killed them. The village. All of them. I was ready to burn that place to the ground.”

The shake in his normally languid voice startled you and Satoru. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into your chest as you press kisses to the top of his head and Satoru wraps his arms around his middle and kisses his cheeks.

There’s 3 of you, and 4 kids now. It took some discussions and figuring stuff out - but you all believed the twins should stay with you. Megumi was 6 now, Tsumiki was 8, the twins newly turned 5. At 21, you never expected to be mother of 4 but you wouldn’t change it for the world - not when you had the two best dads by your side.

It took Suguru a few weeks to shake the feeling from the village, but the twins soon came to be known as two balls of sunshine. Megumi took some time to warm up, but about 6 months later acknowledged them as his sisters, Tsumiki was just happy to an even bigger family.

Figuring out the legalities was tricky, when you all decided to adopt the kids formally. Eventually, you decided that Megumi and Tsumiki would be legally you and Satoru’s kids, and the twins would legally be Satoru and Suguru’s. Having the Gojo name as backing would ensure a level of safety for each of the kids, so that was decided from the get go.

The twins insisted on sharing a room, which was fine by you - so they stayed in the room next to Tsumiki. They were just old enough to start school, so you enrolled them at the same school as the older two. Megumi immediately went into protective big brother mode and more than once you were called in because he beat up some kids being mean to his baby sisters.

However one day, you were called in with Satoru and Suguru and told that Nanako and Mimiko had beat up some boys who wanted to fight Megumi. The three of you barely contained your laughs when you found out that your two now 7 year old girls beat up 5 10 year old boys with ease.

As the kids grew up, they started to ask questions about the family. So you came up with your answer. You and their dads had so much love that you all decided that you would use that love to be with each other, because you all made each other happy. You loved Suguru and Satoru, Satoru loved you and Suguru, Suguru loved you and Satoru. Then, because you guys loved each other so much - it grew even more love, and that’s where the four kids came in. It wasn’t always easy, having four kids under 10 in the house, but with there being 3 parents (and a usually semi tipsy aunty Koko in the living room) it was easier.

It was never even discussed, but Satoru somehow became Papa to everyone and Suguru became Dad (daddy had been off the table, because that’s what you called him).

One night, Suguru was cooking a meal for you and Satoru. The girls were having a slumber party with Utahime and Aunty Koko, and Megumi was having a nature documentary evening with Uncle Nanamin having vehemently declined the offer of joining the slumber party with the girls.

You three sat and ate, laughed and chatted and then went to snuggle up on the sofa with a glass of wine each.

After an hour or so, Satoru left to get a top up for everyone.

But when he came back, it wasn’t wine in his hands - but two small blue velvet boxes.

You clasped Suguru’s hand as you gasped and he whispered the white haired man’s name.

“This isn’t half as flashy as people would expect from me, but neither of you like flashy - plus, it only felt right for this to be just for us. Nothing we’ve done has been normal, from day one, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. When Y/N and I first started dating, I never thought I could love a person as much as I loved her - until I realised that I was ridiculously in love with you too, Suguru. When Y/N and I realised we loved each other, and you - and you loved us back - any infinity or infinite void would never compare to that feeling of having you both by my side.” He kneeled down on one knee in front of you both, as you sat up with Suguru’s arm around your waist. “Y/N. Suguru. Will you both do me the honour of promising to spend the rest of your lives doing stupid shit and annoying the hell out of everyone together with me, and each other?” You couldn’t hold it in any more as you flung yourself at the kneeling man and pressed your lips to his, one had dragging your other love behind you as you said yes a million times. Your antique ring was accompanied by a plain tungsten black band for Suguru and a platinum one for Satoru.

The wedding was simple, you all married each other (that was tricky to organise) and had a classic, small and intimate reception at the rooftop garden in Tokyo.

The years passed, the kids became teenagers - 4 teens simultaneously was testing - Tsumiki and Megumi were easy enough, Tsumiki worrying both her dad’s endlessly with her popularity with boys and Megumi was easy going, just sullen and grumpy - but not that that was a change from when he was 6. The twins were just as fun as ever.

Tsumiki’s curse hit everyone hard. She was everyone’s big sister, everyone’s rock. You vowed with your husbands that you would find a way to wake her up, you promised the kids.

Once Megumi was getting ready for his move to the dorm at Jujutsu High, the twins started talking about how in a years time they’d be starting too, a year below their brother. Gakuganji tried to coax the twins to enroll in Kyoto, so that not all 3 of the Gojo-L/N-Geto kids would be in Tokyo but he was swiftly denied with a ‘shove your shitty old school, I’m going with my brother, you wrinkly ballsack’ by a 14 year old Nanako.

Gojo said he’s never felt more proud.

With Tsumiki… not around anymore, Megumi only a few months from only spending weekends at home and the twins joining him in a year - you and your men realised the house would feel pretty empty pretty soon, and you all felt a bit young at only 27 for empty nest syndrome.

Geto was the first to broach the topic. Suggesting that maybe, because your IUD is running out next month - that maybe, you just don’t get a new one. You looked to Satoru, who quickly nodded in agreement. Because the truth was, you all loved raising your adopted kids so much, but they’re grown now.

So maybe, just maybe

It was time to try for a baby…

Before any pregnancy started - you rang Satoru one day - telling him to come to your location. Megumi and you were there. Behind you, hoisted up by your eldest son, was an unconscious pink haired boy. You introduced him as Yuuji. Why was he unconscious? Oh! You had to knock him out, because he’s also Sukuna.

He came home with you that night. You set up the spare room so that he could settle and you could tend to him before he started school.

“Another kid? Y/N, Megs just moved out.”

“Hey! You two both brought home your strays. This one’s my stray.”

The next weekend, a fiesty girl reminiscent of yourself a decade earlier joined the gang - your second stray, your Nobara.

Again, Satoru saw your little body roommate first. He noticed a trace of cursed energy in your belly before you did. There were tears and joy between all three of you. Neither of them cared who the kid belonged to biologically - it was a baby made of a huge amount of love. That’s all.

They were nightmarishly protective during the pregnancy, never leaving you alone. Geto discovered his intense kink for seeing you with his kid in your tummy and couldn’t keep his hands off you, Satoru was only spurred on more by this - seeing your belly all soft and round with his baby? The baby that he made with the two people he loved? Had him leaking in seconds.

9 months later and 14 exhausting hours later, the baby arrived.

The minute you all saw the baby, freshly cleaned and placed in your arms, the three of you burst out laughing.

“Well, I guess there’s no question over the paternity of this little one.” Satoru giggles.

That’s because Genji Yu Geto L/N Gojo was staring at you all with the brightest blue eyes from under a swathe of snowy white lashes to match his snowy white hair. He was placed into Suguru’s arms, who kissed you and his husband and thanked you both for his beautiful son.

Raising the baby was no different from raising the kids, you were all the parents. He was loved so much by all three parents, all four elder siblings and his Grandpa and Grandma Geto.

Genji’s godparents were Shoko and Nanami.

When Genji was 2, you fell pregnant again. You quickly realised that unless the child only had your genetics, it would be easy to tell who had who’s genes. This was proven when Keisuke Geto-L/N-Gojo entered the world, all dark hair and dark eyes and ivory skin. Your two babies were carbon copies of their biological fathers, but funnily, Genji behaved like Suguru, and Keisuki like Satoru.

Nobara and Yuuji were asked to be Keisuke’s godparents, with Yuuji very confused by how it would work being his godfather and brother in law - now that he was dating Megumi.

Izumi came next, he looked exactly like you - just with eyes that made him clearly Geto’s, but your hair, your nose, your lips. The youngest now, with Genji being 5 and Keisuke aged 3.

Utahime and Hikari were named as Izumi’s godparents, and they doted on the boy.

You figured you’d finish there. 3 boys under 5? Impressive given that the three of you were only 33.

However, the sudden craving for toasted marshmallows and Sakura mochi 3 years later at Megumi’s 24th birthday made you freeze.

Grabbing Shoko, you drove to the store.

8 months later, the most beautiful little accident arrived into the world. Suki Geto-L/N-Gojo arrived to the world announcing her presence with lungs capable of deafening an elephant. All shiny soft white whispy curls and sparkling blue eyes, your baby daughter joined the world. A true beauty, perfect in every way, Satoru’s other carbon copy but every ounce of her mother’s temper, moxie and gall, she became the apple of her elder brother’s eyes, and the angel of her sister’s. Mei Mei and Choso were chosen as Suki’s godparents.

Your husbands? The most doting fathers ever. You typically wake up on a Saturday morning with Geto’s arm slung around Satoru’s waist, who is leaning his white head on his chest, Suki having a bottle on Geto’s lap with the bottle held by Gojo, Izumi having pancakes on Satoru’s lap and Keisuke and Genji on either side keeping watch over their siblings or trying to braid Geto’s hair whilst watching scooby-doo. Every time, you’d sit beside them, scooping Suki into your arms and the two elder boys would curl up on their dad’s lap. All was peaceful. Well, that was until big bro Megumi and Yuuji-kun arrived.

All four of the elder kids? Adored by all three of you.

All four of the babies? Adored by all seven of you.

[majorblinks]

in love like we were (red velvet seulgi)

(ft. the rest of red velvet) (smut, female reader, actress seulgi, actress you, cheating, choking, homewrecking, mommy kink, spanking, praise and degradation, semi-public sex, fluff, i support women's rights but more importantly i support women's wrongs, jk this is fiction do NOT cheat on your partners..., 24k words)

So, here’s the bottom line: you never meant for any of this to happen. Hand to God. Er - alright, whatever, maybe you shouldn’t be dragging God into any of this, considering-

“Christ, you’re so fucking wet.” 

-okay, you’re pretty much in the least holy position possible. 

The lighting in the bathroom’s dangerously dim, but if anyone were to walk in, there’d be no mistaking it: the scent of sex, the needy, desperate whines, the way Kang Seulgi’s got you on the counter with two fingers driving into your cunt, laughing as you drip down her wrist, embarrassingly soaked. The media would have a fucking field day. Your careers would be permanently ruined. And yet-

“Shut up,” you’re choking out. “Shut up, shut up, just fuck me-”

“Baby.” Seulgi tuts. Her fingers stall. “Ask nicely.” 

You know what she wants. And - unfortunately, humiliatingly - it happens to be the exact same thing you want. 

Your eyes squeeze shut. “Mommy-”

Beside you, her phone starts to ring. 

Seulgi stops cold with her fingers still buried in you at the sight of the name flashing across the screen. The picture, too: Seulgi, grinning widely, with her arms thrown around an unbelievably gorgeous dark-haired woman. Smile demure. Not a hair out of place. Looking like she’s straight off the movie sets she frequents, made-up and meticulously styled. 

“Oh, wow,” you say, strangled, breathless. Derisive, at the contact: capitalized, first and last. As detached and businesslike as she could possibly get. “Your contact name for her is just Bae Irene?” 

“That’s her name, isn’t it?” 

It quite literally isn’t, but you’ll let that one slide. “Unsentimental much?” 

“You think so?” A harsh thrust to your cunt. You buckle at the movement, gasping, clutching the lip of the bathroom counter. Seulgi’s smirk is murderously sharp, eyebrows twitching upwards. It’s a good thing one of you is finding this funny.

“Seulgi-” 

“Enlighten me then, sweetheart.” She leans in close. Timbre of her voice like gunfire, like she knows she’s about to deliver a fatal blow. “What was your contact name for her when you dated her?” 

And that’s something that should be digging up graves, unearthing corpses: there’s the coffin, there’s your past relationship haunting you, there’s the residual remorse like Catholic guilt. There’s the fact that she’s got a girl at home and you’re casting yourself as the other woman just by letting her touch you. There’s Seulgi’s other hand wrapping around your throat, just as her fingers curl deep inside your cunt - and every ghost in the room packs up and goes home. They know a foregone conclusion when they see one.

You can’t talk. You’re back to whining pathetically, pussy clenching around her fingers. “That’s what I thought,” husks Seulgi, maniacally victorious, and lets Irene’s call go to voicemail. 

“Mommy, mommy, mommy-”

Fine, God can get the fuck out of here. Yeah, Seulgi’s your ex-girlfriend’s current girlfriend, and now she’s making you cum harder than you ever have. The holy spirit’s just gonna have to make his peace with that. We all make mistakes. It’s so human. Seriously, come on: it’s not like you’ll make this one ever again. 

Well, probably. 

-

For context, a month and a half ago, you just had the worst breakup of your life. 

-

There’s no real need to recap the gory details, play back a previously-on to catch an audience up. Really, all you have to know is this:

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” 

It’s late September. Sky clear and cloudless through your windows. The day ironically gorgeous around you, like it’s taunting you. And Irene stands in your doorway with her hands balled into bloodless fists by her side, the expression on her face never wavering.

“It’s just not working,” she repeats, like that means anything. Like it’s rehearsed, inflection practiced and pristine. “And-” A breath, regulating. “I feel like it hasn’t been working for a while.” 

Here’s where you’re at: reeling through a shock to the system. It’s you, adrift in the center of the sea, fatally unmoored; you and no map and no way home, facing down the last two years of your life in the resolute line of Irene’s mouth. All your words shipwrecked; any fight you have left chained to stones and sinking. You, alone.

“For a while?” you get out, sounding very small. 

Irene’s lashes flutter fast, a miniscule crack in her composure. Then, like it takes a Herculean effort for her voice not to shake: “I’m sorry.” 

And just like that - cut to black, let the credits roll, force the audience out of their seats; pack up the rest of Irene’s clothes and let her take them, leave like she was never there. No warning, no explanation. Just like that, it’s over. 

-

The news’ll hit the press by the end of October. It’ll make the rounds throughout social media, pictures of you and her together, award-winning actresses, looking so happy and in love that you’ll feel like throwing up. There’ll be conspiracy theories, headlines claiming to know exactly where it went wrong; fans mourning melodramatically, hashtags and trending topics. Someone will talk about it and it’ll rip all the same wounds right open. It’ll break your heart on loop. It’ll be horrible. 

And in any other life, if you’d just left it alone after that, you would’ve gotten out of it all completely unscathed. 

See, it’s all about the narrative. You as the designated victim in your story; she broke up with you, and you’d be able to thrive off the sympathy from that forever. Themes of love and loss, healing and recovery, forgiveness and starting fresh. And one day - in some sort of neat little epilogue, wrapping up loose ends - you’d be able to meet up with Irene again and laugh about the old times, and you’d be so benevolent, accepting apologies; she’d take the blame, and smile, and wish you the best. Leave you as the heroine, with your perfect happy ending. Time healing all wounds, as they say - what a tale, what a message; critics would’ve praised the life lessons taught, call it coming-of-age, honest and raw and real. But instead-

Well, instead, you’ve got no other story to tell but this. You figure it’s as good a place to start as any. 

-

It’s a month and a half after Irene breaks up with you, but she somehow manages to send you into complete and utter insanity all over again. It’s a talent, but she’s always had a lot of those. Here’s how it really begins:

“I actually have a new lease on life,” you say, over the phone on a Friday, lazing on your couch. “I’m actually feeling so optimistic right now.”

The feeling’s warranted, you’re thinking. It’s a perfect, peaceful day. You’re in between projects; you don’t start filming again until January. It’s a much-needed break, and you’re taking full advantage of it. 

“That’s amazing,” says your best friend, sounding like she means it. “That’s so, so great. So - uh - if that’s the case, I do have some… news for you.” 

To her credit, she takes it upon herself to soften the blow, at first. Gives a comprehensive recap of the celebrity rumors going around lately, dances around it with the best of them. First there’s all that baseless (and biased, you’re pretty sure) gossip about Park Sooyoung’s fiancé being a cheater, there’s the usual scandal around Ahn Yujin, there’s that conspiracy theory about Im Nayeon and her secret boyfriend-

“That’s her shirt. ”

And there’s one very specific rumor about your ex-girlfriend and Kang fucking Seulgi. 

“Look, it’s…” Your best friend is peering down at your phone screen with the single worst poker face you’ve ever seen. Then again, she’s not the actress between the two of you. “It’s probably not even that serious. It’s, um. Yeah, it’s probably nothing.” A cautious peek out of the corner of her eye. “It might not even be Irene’s, right?” 

“Wendy.” 

Wendy draws back at your tone, then immediately pats your shoulder gingerly like you’re a particularly prickly feral animal. “Dude, I’m trying to be consoling here.” 

She’s doing a shit job at it, but even if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. You’d be losing your mind either way. 

Because when Wendy first got you on the phone while she was on the way to your place, filling you in on the goings-on of your rich and famous peers - right, she told you, like an afterthought, people are saying there’s something between she-who-must-not-be-named and Kang Seulgi, but that’s ridiculous, that’s obviously not happening, isn’t that so funny - and you’d laughed along, too, disbelieving. It’s been a month and a half, you thought. Kang Seulgi’s not even Irene’s type. Earlier this year you’d seen one of Seulgi’s smash hit blockbuster flicks with Irene and the only thing Irene said about Seulgi’s performance was a semi-scathing critique about the way her face looked when she was crying. It’s nothing. It’s-

“It’s her shirt,” you say, again, floored. 

Wendy gusts out a tiny sigh, giving up the performance. “Yeah,” she says. “I know it is.” 

Now you’re both sitting on your couch, staring blankly at Kang Seulgi’s most recent Instagram post. Disheveled black hair. Delicate lines of her nose, her jaw, her mouth. Smoldering dark eyes, lips pulled up in a careless little grin. Tall black boots and heinously expensive jewelry, all caught in high definition. And to top it all off-

“I used to wear that shirt,” you say, viciously, glaring hard at the picture. 

“And it looked so much better on you,” says Wendy, lying badly. 

“Seungwan.”

“I said I’m trying. ” 

“Okay, and I appreciate it, but-” You accidentally swipe to the right; oh, wow, it’s a photo series, that’s fantastic. “Oh my God."

It’s a bloodbath, really. Every image is that same infuriatingly effortless brand of sex appeal that Seulgi’s clearly become accustomed to marketing; she could stick a serial number on it at this point, sell it in stores like she sells out theaters. Face strangely regal and refined, almost austere; smirk pushing it just off the edge, measuring up to sexy rather than stoic. Filthy bedroom eyes, curl of her mouth suggestive by default. It’s obviously a practiced expression. Probably an equally practiced pose, something crafted to deliberately accentuate the toned muscles in her thighs, lean pull of her calves-

“Are you-” starts Wendy, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“I’m really, really pissed off,” you clarify, like that explains why you’re staring so hard at Seulgi’s legs. “I seriously can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Right,” says Wendy, slowly. “Because for a second I thought you were eye-fucking photos of your ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend.”

“I would obviously never do that. That’s crazy.” A pause, and then it actually hits: “New what?”

Your voice hitching frantically high is enough to send Wendy on the immediate defense; no, she says, nothing’s actually confirmed, so you can chill out. One shirt - even if it is so obviously Irene’s, down to the tastefully frayed tear in the collar; bought distressed, of course, because Irene’s too classy to rip up her own clothes - doesn’t actually prove anything. They’re probably just fucking, crass as it sounds. 

“Yeah,” you say sarcastically, “because that makes it better.” 

Wendy simply arches an eyebrow, her almost elfin features - warm, long-lashed eyes, prettily pert nose; today she’s got drawn-on freckles that complete the illusion - arranged in mild confusion. “Well,” she says. “Doesn’t it?” 

“Does it?” you echo, a little grouchily, eyes still stuck resentfully on Seulgi’s face. 

Look, it’s not just that you’re losing, here - it’s that you’re losing because of her. 

“I mean, yeah,” says Wendy, like it’s indisputable. “Because would you rather Irene just be hooking up with Kang Seulgi for fun, or would you rather know that Irene fell for Kang Seulgi in a month and a half in some cheesy whirlwind romance where they discovered that they’re soulmates and now she’s totally over you?” 

There’s a pause. 

“Okay,” you say, disgruntled. “When you put it like that. ”

“I’m not putting it like anything,” Wendy replies, whimsically. “That’s the way things are, man.” 

“Ugh,” you respond, and bury your face in her shoulder. 

Because if it’s true, and that’s the way things are-

You’re backpedaling to a month and a half ago, abandoned in the doorway of your apartment; a tsunami with no warning signs, no signals or sirens. Irene’s winning, in a different way. She’s got Kang Seulgi as her girlfriend with her victorious smirk, her reputation, her awards and her fans and her fame. If they’re dating, Seulgi’s cast as the perfect counterpart, the brooding bad-girl love interest, and they’ll sail off into the sunset together, and you’ll die the anticlimactic off-screen death of the side character no one gives a fuck about. Probably from tuberculosis or something equally depressing. Alone. 

“This is so ass,” you say miserably, voice muffled by Wendy’s sweater. 

“Look at it this way,” replies Wendy, softer, smoothing a hand over your hair. “It’s been a month and a half. You dated Irene for two years. This-” she taps Kang Seulgi’s unreasonably pretty face with a manicured nail- “is definitely just a rebound. Meaningless.”  

You emerge, watch her face, watch her click your phone off, screen going blissfully dark. It’s easier to cope when the problem’s not staring at you from a screen, smiling like she’s at the top of the world looking down, forever above it all. “Really?” 

“They haven’t gone public with it, right?” Wendy reasons, defaulting to logic. “So it’s clearly not serious. I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

It’s hard to argue with her when she takes that tone. No, Wendy’s not an actress, but she spends her life up on a stage, performing in front of a crowd - she knows how to be convincing when the occasion calls for it. Yes, of course I adore my fans, of course I love all my songs, of course the idol life is perfect; of course your ex-girlfriend wouldn’t move on so fast, she loved you, she’s struggling too. 

“Okay,” you say, sucking in a deep breath, watching Wendy’s reassuring smile. You’ll buy into logic for one in your life. You’ll be like everyone else, and believe her, for now. “No, you’re right. You’re right.” 

And she must be. Because if she’s not, then-

-

“The shirt’s ugly as shit anyway,” says Wendy, loyally, leaning into last-ditch efforts. “Like, you were doing charity by even letting it touch your body.”

“Thanks,” you say. “You know what? You’re absolutely correct.” 

“It’s basic, too. Vintage, my ass. I could buy one that looks just like it off of Depop for ten bucks.” 

“I’m really digging all the hate in your heart for this t-shirt right now.” You shift your head towards her collarbone. “Except I did used to wear it, so I don’t know what you’re trying to say about my taste.” 

“A lapse in judgment,” Wendy proclaims. “You have great taste, historically.” 

It’s sweet of her to say. Of course, in, like, three days from now, you’re going to make her eat her words, but neither of you know that just yet. You’ll let it be true until then.

-

Wendy leaves a little later; she’s got an early flight tomorrow, some music show overseas. Call me if you need anything, she tells you, and you hug her goodbye, but you tell her you’ll be fine. Sure, you end up idly scrolling through some of Kang Seulgi’s recent posts, but that’s normal, that’s justifiable. Checking out your replacement, even if it is just a short-lived fling. Photo after photo of her draped in leather jackets and stretching in sports bras and glittering gowns on red carpets - fine, she’s so fucking hot, she’s perfect for a rebound. Womanizing reputation and all. It’s understandable. You wouldn’t be able to blame Irene for wanting her. Dating her, though-

But they’re not. You dispel that thought as quickly as it comes. Logic, you remind yourself. Like Wendy said: they haven’t gone public with it. Meaningless. Ridiculous. So, really, you have nothing to worry about. 

-

A day later, they go public with it.

-

“Okay, so I’m not a mind reader,” Wendy is saying frantically into the phone, like she thinks she’s talking you off a ledge. “I didn’t know. Dude, I didn’t know-”

You’re staring at SEULRENE trending on Twitter, under news article after news article touting that the two actresses announce they’re dating, that they finally made it official, that they’re so infatuated with each other, so happy -

“I’m gonna kill her,” you say, seriously.

“That’s such a horrible idea.” A pause. “Which one?” 

In the two years that you and Irene were dating, together you managed to curate a particularly rabid fanbase between the two of you, people who lamented that love was fake and didn’t exist after the report of your break-up was made public information. Posting selfies of them crying. Dramatic edits of you and Irene to sappy sad love songs. And now, in the wake of Irene dating someone new:

ooooh no bc this is actually very nasty and evil, someone Tweets. ok so based on the timeline my moot put together (thread linked below of insta stories & tweets for proof) it’s been literally a month & 14 days since they broke up… either irene moves on fast or imo she was prob fucking around with seulgi the whole time…

Somehow your fans are keeping better track of the details than you are, but maybe that’s not so surprising. They’re like the FBI, or something. It’s honestly impressive.

NO… someone else replies underneath. YOU THINK IRENE WAS CHEATING?

idk but the timing sure seems suspicious doesn’t it 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

“Was Irene cheating on me?” you choke out into the phone.

Another, longer pause. “Are you stalking your own stans on Twitter?” 

A guilty flick across your screen, swiping out of the app. “Of course not.”  

Wendy makes a noise like hissing air through her teeth, as if in physical pain. “You need to delete all social media off of your phone right now. For your own good, man, I’m serious. For your mental.” 

“I’m gonna hit Kang Seulgi with my car,” you say, fuming. “I’m gonna commit vehicular manslaughter.” 

“It’s not manslaughter if it’s premeditated. And you don’t even know how to drive.” 

“Yeah, exactly.” 

And it’s not like Irene’s done anything wrong, per se - it’s not even that. Sure, it’s a quick turnaround, but the two of you are broken up, and she’s allowed to do whatever she wants. No, it’s something else, something much more bitter and bruising-

Okay: it’s not lost on you that Kang Seulgi’s basically your exact opposite. 

She’s the country’s favorite bad girl, reputation larger than life and with this air of mystery, of carelessness, of unassailable cool. Starring in all these gritty action flicks or psychological thrillers or hard-hitting dramas, perpetually covered in blood and soaked in sweat, defined lines of muscle in her arms, along her stomach. Straight-faced and curt and sarcastic in interviews, when she chooses to give them. A revolving door of girls that’ve never been granted any official title - nothing exclusive, nothing serious - or, at least, not until Irene. You’re the antithesis, the sweet-faced girl next door, dressed up in schoolgirl skirts and playing high schoolers even at twenty-one. Innocence personified. Even dating a girl a decade older than you wasn’t enough to tarnish your image. 

So it’s so easy to imagine Seulgi with Irene, smiling that same heedless smile that’s plastered all over her Instagram - saying I know what you had before; I know it wasn’t enough. Let me show you everything you’re missing out on. Oh, she bored you to tears , didn’t she; come on, watch me bring you back to life. Serpent in Eden, fangs like the devil. Smiling because she knows she won. 

“When did this become a competition?” asks Wendy, after a beat. “I mean, I’m all for coming up with crazy delusional narratives in my free time, but - what, you think she did this on purpose?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you insist, scrolling through her Instagram again. “It’s just - God. It’s like, out of everyone, why did it have to be Kang Seulgi?” 

A sigh. “No, I get it. You feel like they ended up having this instant connection, or whatever. Because it’s so fast. So it’s kind of like - you’re wondering what she has that you don’t, right?” 

Well, sort of. You know what she has that you don’t, on a surface level: she’s (marginally) more famous than you, hotter and more established, she’s got more awards, more money - she’s got visible abs and those toned thighs, hands threatening in every photograph; seduction down pat, like she’d been trained for it; this way of making everything she does seem so easy-

An extended stretch of silence. “So is it that they’re in a serious public relationship or is it really just the Kang Seulgi of it all?”

You’re swiping through a photo series of Seulgi on set for her most recent action film, her with a fake cut done up in SFX makeup stretching bloody across her collarbone, her nose glinting with a sheen of sweat. Gaze trained off into the distance, bruises underneath enticingly dark. Flex of her bicep in the sixth one as she closes her fist around a pistol. Half a smirk at the camera in the eighth, eyes saying it all: you want me and you can’t have me; you want me, but doesn’t everyone? 

“Can’t it be both?” you say, staring hard. 

“Well, it kind of seems like you think she’s really hot and you’re mad about that first and foremost.” 

“Um,” you say, and abruptly it’s like you’ve never acted in your life. “No. It’s, like, way deeper than that.” 

Wendy sounds like she’s holding back a laugh. “Okay,” she says, and lets it go. It’s the kind thing to do. 

-

“I think I understand it now,” she says, later. “She’s currently your mortal enemy because you think she’s better than you.”

“I can handle her being better than me,” you say. “She’s my mortal enemy because she’s better than me and my ex-girlfriend’s in love with her.”

“Who said anything about love?”

But along with the story, there’s a handful of paparazzi pictures posted in each article, plastered all over Twitter - Irene and Seulgi laughing as they pile into a car together, hands linked, smiles blindingly bright. Stunning even through blurry photographs, in every medium; the two of them spotting the cameras and not caring at all, treating them with great angles, perfect shots. So sure of themselves. Pictures and a thousand words, et cetera. It says everything it needs to.

“Seriously, though, do I really need a reason?” you add, after an hour of ranting. “She’s my ex’s new girlfriend. It’s been a month and a half. I’m allowed to want her dead.” 

“Totally,” says Wendy, supportively. “I’m sure there’s no other explanation for why you feel so strongly about her.”

“There really isn’t,” you say, and leave it at that. It’s practically the truth, anyway. 

-

Later that night, as you’re still stalking Seulgi on Instagram, you accidentally like a photo from February. It’s bad, but it could be worse. At least it’s not from last year. At least she’s clothed in it. 

(Mostly. It’s her sprawled over a motel bed in a ripped band tee and lacy panties and nothing else. But it’s also very clearly a photo from set - you recognize it from a movie of hers that you went to see with Wendy a few months back. R-rated, fully scandalous, entirely brilliant, sure to sweep the end-of-year awards ceremonies you have coming up. Seulgi played the drug-addicted fuck-crazy frontwoman to some rock band, had half a dozen topless scenes, thrown back on the sheets like a timeless sex symbol: makeup smudged, chest heaving, moans practically pornographic. Eyes heavy, hooded, meant to seduce. 

But this picture’s got none of that. Seulgi’s very clearly mid-laugh in it, for one, breaking character; someone had happened to snap a candid, catch her in a moment of gorgeous, wild imperfection. It’s one of the only photos on her Instagram that isn’t her face fixed in a practiced smolder, that doesn’t relegate her pretty mouth to a smirk. A rarity, where she’s not living up to her reputation. 

And you can’t stop staring at it. Wondering what it was that got her to crack. Strangely spellbound by that one expression, unable to pull your eyes away.)

So your finger slips, and you like it - whatever. But it’s probably fine: you doubt Seulgi even has her notifications turned on, and even if she does, she gets hundreds of thousands of those per day. She’ll never see it. 

Nobody needs to know, really. And even if they do, it’s not like it means anything. 

-

do you think this is heartless of irene though, you text Wendy. like i know i said i wasn’t mad at her but

irene? heartless? replies Wendy. generally yes. but in this context….. ummm…

???

i mean. sorry. but its KANG SEULGI

and? you say. And then, because it’s easier to lie to Wendy through your teeth when she can’t see the expression on your face: kang seulgi is like deeply mediocre as an actress. and otherwise. i don’t know what you’re talking about. 

It’s a mistruth of biblical proportions. Miraculously, Wendy doesn’t even call you on it.

whoa…. she says, instead. cant wait for these texts to get leaked so u get crucified on twitter for talking shit about THE kang seulgi

wendy why would these texts ever get leaked. 

idk….. for the right price…..

you leak these texts and i’m leaking your nudes. 

go ahead i look fucking great in all my nudes!!!!! tf!!!!

And that’s how you know it’s really over: Wendy can’t even blame Irene for going after Seulgi. Wendy, who’s always had a vague vendetta against Irene (her vibes are permanently fucked and can never be resuscitated, Wendy informed you once, while drunk, and has since never offered another explanation), backing down from an opportunity to insult her. It’s bad. It’s really bad.

KYSSSSS, you say. Then, immediately: okay i’m sorry i didn’t mean that i’m just emotional right now. 

we’re going to a party when i get back, texts Wendy. u need to get out of the house before u become so delusional that u have to be institutionalized.

fine, you say, unable to fight back. It’s starting to seem like she kind of has a point. 

-

(Looking back on it now, the actual first problem is this: 

Wendy’s right. You think Kang Seulgi is so, so hot. But the even worse thing is that you’ve thought this for ages: binge-watched every movie she’s ever been in, gone through dozens of interviews, drooled over red carpet photos. Since you started dating Irene. Since long before that. But it’s always been fine - distant and manageable, irrelevant and light-hearted - because you’ve never once acted on it, because you’ve never once met her. Nothing that’ll ever come to fruition at all, and for good reason. And it doesn’t matter now, because she’s dating your ex-girlfriend and so you want her dead. It’ll never be anything more than that. 

Or, at least, that’s what you think.) 

-

Two days later, and - well, there’s always a party. You’re all too rich and famous and repressed. It’s just how it’s always been. 

The typical scene’s already in full swing, when you get there: looming mansion, rooms gaping wide, the most well-known names in the country spilling out over the spotless tile flooring, laughing and drinking and enjoying some semblance of freedom. You’re all so used to smiling into a lens like surveillance is second nature - you’ll get reckless at times like these, when you know you can afford it. When you know there’s only a miniscule chance of getting caught. 

“Seriously,” you say, phone tucked close to your ear, talking loud over the music: “if I don’t find you in the next ten minutes, I’m leaving.” 

“But then how will you get laid without me?” Wendy says, on the other line. 

You roll your eyes, then shoot a wave at one of Wendy’s idol friends across the room, someone she probably knows from a music show or a collab stage or because they’re part of the same company. The idol industry’s a little different than yours; they’re constantly at the same events, frequenting the same venues. It’s easier to forge connections. “You mean because you’ll be my wingman or because you’ll take one for the team and fuck me yourself?” 

“It’s a toss-up,” says Wendy, who’s talking equally loudly, probably trapped in some opposite corner of this manor of a house. “I still haven’t seen if you look hot enough tonight. I have standards, bitch.” 

“Right,” you say, as you notice Park Sooyoung and her fiancé, isolated off to the right in what seems like a particularly intense conversation for a party. “You really know how to turn a girl on, Wendy. I’m, like, creaming my jeans.”

A horrified pause through the pounding music. “You’re wearing jeans?” 

“Obviously not. Weren’t you the one who said-”

“Yeah, yeah. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” 

Cliché, but you won’t knock it ‘til you try it. They’re tropes for a reason. So you’re looking for a very specific kind of attention tonight: short skirt and shoes with a heel and hair straightened to a shine. This Kang Seulgi thing is the last goddamn straw, giving you a mission, an objective: you need to get fucked, and soon. You don’t need to find the love of your life, or whatever. You just need to prove you’ve moved on.

“Shouldn’t be that hard,” says Wendy. “I’m sure there are plenty of social climbers at this party who want what you have and think they can fuck their way into a job or whatever.” 

“So you’re saying that they’d want me for my fame and not anything else?” She’s got a point, but you’re not about to tell her that; it’s enough to get a fuck, and that’s all you’re asking for. “Thanks. Really, that’s so helpful.” 

“Your fame and your ass,” replies Wendy, cheerfully. “What else do you need? Like, it clearly wouldn’t be for your personality-”

“Fuck off. I’m going out to the balcony,” you say, beelining towards the glass double doors; they’re recognizable enough, and you need the backup. “Come find me, okay?” 

“Okay, no, that’s too vague. There are like fifteen balconies in this place. How will I know-”

-

And everything that happens next occurs with horror-movie proportions: the fatal anticipation, the red flags flying. Any audience member’s screaming at the screen right now, warning you: don’t go through that doorway, don’t make that decision, turn on your heel and run. It’s a slasher and you’re heading right into the killer’s arms. It’ll ruin you for life. It’s so obvious-

(There’s a storm coming. There’s the crack of lightning, electricity at your ribs. The sky’s a second from splitting open. What are the odds, what’s the mathematic probability; you and the girl you’ve been obsessing over for the past three days - or earlier than that, if you’re counting just how many of her movies you’ve seen, put on repeat, lost your mind a million times over - in the same place, the same time. You’re distracted; you’ve forgotten to put your guard up. Again with all the fucking clichés.)

-but there’s hindsight, and all its clarity. You’re just not there yet. You’re too close to see it coming. 

-

There’s a woman smoking on the balcony. 

There’d be a sitcom laugh track here, if anyone were watching - how clueless can someone be, how comically stupid - because you don’t even realize it at first, much less recognize who it is. You’re pushing open the heavy double doors, still talking loudly to Wendy, trying to elaborate on statues that could serve as makeshift landmarks - and in the rush of the cool autumn wind, you finally spot her standing there. Cue raucous laughter. Take a breath for delighted applause. 

“Ah, sorry,” you say, automatically, coming to a stop. 

“Yeah, you should be,” says Wendy, still on the phone. 

The doors shut with an ominous sound behind you; bad omens, butterfly effects. Smoke curling around the woman’s hair, turning her silhouette spectral, ghostlike. Clad in a dress so short there’s no way her teeth aren’t chattering around her cigarette. You say, into the phone, “Not to you, idiot. I’m talking to-”

And then the woman turns, and you’re so shocked you accidentally hang up the call. Because it’s-

Well, everyone probably already knows by now. 

What they don’t know - what nobody could know, except you, in this one moment - is the overwhelmingly, tragically physical effect seeing her in person has on you. Lungs suddenly like they’re struggling for air. Pulse like the thrum of music still blaring inside, bass as a bloodline, melodies as chemical compositions. Somehow, entirely by accident, you’d built her up in your head to be this deity, this goddess, this fictitious impossibility: she’s otherworldly in her films, in photographs, spur-of-the-moment snaps taken by fans. Beautiful like something out of a Renaissance painting, striking and regal and ruminative. You’d never even imagined anything else. 

And it’s there, in bits and pieces, a glimpse of the myth in motion. Threat in the high hemline of her skirt. Lips startlingly red, blood and sin and more suggestive things. Collarbones like cliffs to throw yourself off of; glint in her eye like she’s armed and dangerous. Like she’s everything her movies paint her out to be. 

But then there’s everything else.

“Oh,” you say out loud, throat dry, and you’re paralyzed. 

Because she’s nothing like she is when you’ve seen her in print, awards shows and billboards - and in that moment, it all starts crumbling to the ground. 

She’s positively tiny in real life, that’s the first thing. Sporting platform boots and still a few inches shorter than you are; sleeves hitting below her elbows, veins visible in her arms, patterned under her skin. Lipstick bleeding just past the line of her mouth, smudged unevenly at her cupid’s bow. Hair a little wild in the wind, slipping undone and coarse over her shoulders. Eyeliner worn-in, mascara leaving faint, sooty shadows under both eyes. Tiny moles you’d seen photoshopped out in magazines; one just underneath her eyebrow, stark against fair skin; one of her knees is badly bruised, blooming a faint, sickly yellow-green. Posture slightly slumped as she turns to look at you, shoulders rounded, set of her lips a bit crooked, pulled up at a corner. 

“Hey,” Kang Seulgi says, voice gravelly, and that’s really when everything falls apart. 

Because she’s nothing like she is on billboards. Because she’s better.

-

Here’s how it happens, if you had to explain yourself: you meet and it’s already so far gone. You can’t help but blink dumbly, heart thrown into an avalanche, splitting your ribs; smoke everywhere, fires set ablaze. Off the key of reason, each bit of her just past perfect and heading straight to immeasurably, unquantifiably beautiful. Rough edges and nails unpolished, hands like an invitation. Lips puckering around her cigarette, hair somewhat blending into the night sky - and Seulgi looks right on back at you, staring openly, drinking you in. 

“Hi,” you say, breathlessly, because you forget that you’re supposed to hate her guts. 

“Hey,” says Seulgi again, and she’s still staring, eyes wide. It’s becoming incredibly apparent that there’s no need for introduction. She knows who you are.

(That’s the next problem. You know each other, even though you’ve never met. There’s no escaping it now.) 

The seconds tick by in spellbindingly slow motion. Like you’re waiting for the clock to strike midnight; waiting on an inevitability, a prewritten series of events, an entirely scripted array of scenes. Moon a deliberate director. Stars the screenwriters, setting marks, assigning meaning: put a pause here, pull back on the dialogue - the critics will get all the subtext. 

You’re frozen. You just can’t stop looking at her. 

“Sorry,” Seulgi says, suddenly. 

“Um,” you say back, because for one crazy moment, you think she’s talking about Irene. And for an even crazier moment you think of saying no, it’s fine, I forgive you - no, obviously I haven’t been obsessing about it since I heard the news; God, you’re so much more than gorgeous, I get it; fuck, I’d never blame anyone for going after you. Look at you. Look at you. 

But then Seulgi gestures with her cigarette between two fingers, and you realize she’s talking about the smoking. And she abruptly doesn’t sound sorry at all when she says, “You can go back inside, if you want. Not trying to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities here.” 

Your mouth falls open. 

“Seriously,” Seulgi tacks on, at your silence. “I wouldn’t want to, you know.” Slow pan of your body, your hair to your heels. Something about the way she looks at you, then; severe quirk of her eyebrow, the amused sniff of air through her nose. “Get in your way.”

And, well-

“It’s a bad habit,” continues Seulgi, mouth at an exponentially sharper tilt, and takes another lazy drag. 

-it occurs to you that she’s kind of being a bitch. 

And that in itself is fucking mind-boggling. Because she’s the one dating your ex-girlfriend after a month and a half. Because if anyone should be getting nasty here, it should be you - you’d have the right to, you should be furious (and you are, you remind yourself, you’ve been furious at her this whole time, she’s your mortal enemy, seeing her in person doesn’t change that), you should follow through on your threat of running her over with a car, it’s so stupid that she’s the one trying to get a rise out of you right now-

“Disgusting habit, actually,” you say, barely giving her a chance to breathe. “But if you want to die from lung cancer, that’s totally your prerogative. I don’t care either way.” 

So, obviously, you make the split-second decision to be a bitch right back. It’s just the thing to do. 

A tiny, maddening smirk curls around Seulgi’s mouth. “That’s a little strong, kid,” she says. “You wouldn’t care if I died?” 

“Does it really matter to you what I care about?” You’ve got your arms folded over your chest; you can’t believe she just called you kid. Yeah, she’s got like ten years on you, but - Jesus Christ. “You don’t know me.” 

“You don’t like me,” says Seulgi, like she’s mildly delighted by it. 

“I just said I don’t know you, Seulgi.” 

The moment her name leaves your mouth you know it’s a mistake - but you can’t quite figure out why. Just that you’re both aware of something of a seismic shift, the whole house tipping sideways; moon slipping slightly out of orbit, constellations doubling back to take another glance. Both of you unsteady in your heels; Seulgi’s lips part, and she’s staring again. Expression oddly slack, as if struck. Smoke softening the line of her jaw. 

“Seulgi,” you say, again, trying to recover. 

You can’t come up with anything else. It’s as if you’ve never done improv, like you’ve never charmed your way through talk show interviews. There are tiny, glimmering studs lining Seulgi’s ears, a perfect match to the small pendant she’s got around her neck, glinting in the moonlight. Nestled right where her neckline dips scandalously low.

“My eyes are up here,” says Seulgi, apparently taking the opportunity to bring back the hostility full-force. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, just as fast. “There’s barely anything worth looking at there.” 

There’s a pause. 

Okay - fine, it’s possible that was maybe going a little far. To be fair, you’ve never had a first conversation this tense, with anyone; you don’t know the regulations. It’s ridiculous that you’re acting like this. But it’s her - it’s something about her stupid smile and her smoking, her reckless beauty and her big reputation, that look in her eyes that says she gets whatever she wants, even if she has to take it. 

You glance upwards just to see that Seulgi actually almost looks like she’s about to burst out laughing. Lips twitching, irises strangely bright under silvery moonlight. Smile revealing her teeth.

But she doesn’t, though it looks like it takes some effort. “Wow,” she says, instead, and returns to condescending amusement as quickly as she’d left it. “That’s really mature.”

“You’re the one who stole my girlfriend and you wanna talk about maturity?” you spit. “That’s hilarious.” 

It’s not your best move. As if anyone could steal a grown woman, much less one like Irene - but Seulgi’s looking at you like that, and you have to land a blow, even if it’s irrational. Plus sometimes you’re susceptible to social media bullshit.

Seulgi’s still smiling. “I’ll have you know there was no overlap,” she says. “Very above board. But it’s cute that you buy into Twitter conspiracy theories. Spend a lot of time stalking your own stans?” 

“Okay,” you shoot back, “but how would you know that my stans are coming up with Twitter conspiracy theories in the first place?” 

There’s another long silence. 

“So you’re stalking my stans,” you conclude. “That’s way worse.” 

“Um,” says Seulgi, suddenly looking considerably less intimidating than she did two seconds ago. Then, “Well, you’re the one who liked one of my half-naked Instagram photos from February.”

“Okay,” you say, again, arms crossed over your chest. “But why do you know that?” 

“My stans are well-informed,” Seulgi explains, tapping her cigarette against her bottom lip. “They like to keep track of who likes my shit.” 

“All I’m getting from this is that you regularly monitor both my stans and your stans when they talk about me.” 

Seulgi stares at you, mouth opening a little; like she’s guilty, like she’s caught. “So,” she says. 

“Loser,” you say, probably proving her point about immaturity.

But it doesn’t even faze her; you blink once and she’s smiling again, for some godforsaken reason. She says, “You know what, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Corner of her mouth curling further, putting her cigarette out on the railing. “I’m actually a big fan of you, to be honest.” 

“Ugh,” you say, cheeks flushing hot with frustration. It seems so obvious that she’s making fun of you; because she’s older and sexier and more famous, because there’s no way you were even on her radar before she started dating your ex. “You’re so - whatever. I’m leaving. Bye.”

You turn to go, fully intending to never speak to her again. Asshole, you’re thinking, she’s such a-

“No, no,” Seulgi’s saying, laughing, “hold on, we should-”

And it’s the littlest thing that does it, in the end: 

Seulgi’s fingers close around your wrist, and all she does is tug lightly. Barely any pressure at all. But she’s stepped forward to get her hand on you, and so she’s so close when she pulls you back to her; you stumble a bit in your heels, not expecting it, almost tumbling right into her. And - as if it’s an instinct - her other hand falls carefully to the small of your back, steadying you with her palm at your spine. Face so near to yours you can smell her perfume under all the smoke. Gazes locking; clink of chains, discarding keys, handcuffs latching tight. It’s instantaneous. 

There are fifty things you should probably say right now - don’t touch me, we’re strangers, we don’t know each other; are you this presumptuous with everyone you meet, do you try to provoke them, or is it something about me; please don’t say it’s me. But the truth is that the moment she gets her hands on you, it’s already pretty much doomed.

“Oh,” Seulgi breathes out, like a revelation.

She’s no longer laughing, so thrown even she can’t act it off. Eyes so dark, pupils scarily dilated. Wind flicking inky strands of hair across her face. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips; you shiver underneath her hand on your back, your wrist, pulse hammering underneath her thumb. Seulgi’s been messing with you since the second you met her, but even she doesn’t have the power to charge the atmosphere like this; electric current, preparing for the roll of thunder, bones thrumming restless and wired under your skin. Seismic shift, give it a sequel: any second the house’ll catch fire and disintegrate. 

“You should probably let go of me,” you warn, faintly, shivering, staring at her mouth and thinking fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Seulgi’s lashes flutter fast, blinking herself out of a trance. 

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s an undertone to it; she steps back, lets you go, visibly bites the inside of her cheek. Like she needs to snap herself out of it before it’s too late. “Right. Sorry, kid. I didn’t - I really am a fan, you know.”

“Are you,” you say, too enthralled to try and catch her in a lie. The air’s still so thick: it could splinter every surrounding window from the outside in, tear through glass like paper. You can’t comprehend the change - can’t understand why you can still feel her hands on you, white-hot and consuming. It’s too fast a tilt, throwing your head into vertigo; you’re still so full of misplaced expectation. Will she, won’t she. 

“I have been for a while,” says Seulgi, suddenly bashful. She won’t, you’re certain. She can’t; she’s out of your league and so gorgeous and she’s taken, she’s so unavailable, you just met, she’d never. “I think you’re…”

“You think I’m…” you mimic. 

Seulgi’s eyebrows raise, and her gaze drops. Surveying you again, your face, your hair, your body - measuring you up to your films, the fiction and the fantasy. And there’s this look in her eye; you can’t tell what she sees when she looks at you. Her hair’s filtering moonlight; she’s all surrealism, the temptation of imperfect things, the immeasurable beauty. Soft line of her neck. Sharp glint of her stare. And out of nowhere you already know it’s over, before she even opens her mouth. 

“Fucking incredible,” she murmurs, at a sensuous rasp, throaty insinuation curling around every syllable. 

(She will, then - it’s done and decided. She will.)

And it’s so idiotic, because you’re actresses, for God’s sake. You make a living off of faking feelings, playing parts. But there’s something about you and her and how high you are off the ground, on top of the world, larger than life and the city far beneath your heels; all it takes is a little bit of proximity. You’re both too used to having everything you’ve ever wanted right at your fingertips. All it takes is a touch. 

“You should go,” you say, quietly, hands aching to have her. 

Out of nowhere you’re too close together again. You’re not sure who stepped forward first, not sure who started it; not sure who’s fault this is going to be, when you play it all back. You can’t rationalize it in the least. Sometimes it’s just a feeling. 

“I don’t think I want to,” Seulgi murmurs back, just as inexplicably captivated as you are, too near to rein it in. “Do you really want me to?” 

“You have a girlfriend.” It’s not an answer. You’re drawn into her eyes as if by gravity; deep-space, brilliant astronomy. You can’t make yourself sound as guilty as you should. “Seulgi.”

There’s that problem with her name in your mouth again: like a death sentence, like a missile deployed, like a cocking gun. It’s a direct hit. You’ll never be able to take this one back. 

“Fuck,” Seulgi says, out loud, and then she kisses you. 

-

(Oh, there’s no way to explain it. It’s exactly the kind of thing that’d cause walk-outs in theaters, reviewers throwing up their hands in disbelief, baffled; the chemistry is there, sure, but where’s the logic, where’s the narrative sense, where’s the justification. That can’t be all it takes, that would make you and Seulgi both morons: five minutes of snarky conversation and sexual tension and you both cave, how does that work, who approved this fucking script-

Well, they’re just gonna have to get used to it. It’s a film where neither of the main characters have any common decency, so what did you really expect - and, truthfully, it only gets worse from here on out.) 

-

Right away it’s too intense, too sensual and filled with filthy intention. Countdown clocks, hourglasses dripping sand: you’re existing on completely stolen time and it shows. Her thigh finds her way between both of yours; your back hits the wall right next to the double doors. You’ve never had a first kiss so fucking sloppy - licking along your lip gloss, the seam of your mouth; teeth colliding, fingers digging into your hips; deliciously invasive, like she’s trying to devour you: motive shifting, nails working their way against your scalp, scraping until you whimper. You’re seconds from humping her thigh like an animal, making a mess to clean. And you’re suddenly so, so wet. 

“Are we really doing this?” Seulgi’s all smoke, old horrible habits; vices, addictions. “We - God-” 

“Depends,” you say, too turned on to be anything but a bitch. “If you wanna be a morally corrupt cheater who cheats on your girlfriend with someone you just met-”

“Are you gonna say that’s my prerogative again?” 

“Well.” You can’t believe she’s onto you so soon. “It is.” 

“You’re such a brat,” she says, with feeling, and then sees the look on your face. “Oh, wow. Of course you’re into that.” 

Apparently she’s onto a lot of things about you. “Who says I’m into that?”

It’s a bad point to call her bluff. In no time at all Seulgi’s got her thigh between your legs again, dislodges her hand from your hair and holds a fist to your shoulder; pressing you down, forcing friction. You can’t stop yourself - you’re rocking your hips, you’re soaking through your thong, trying not to whine - you can’t comprehend how you got here so fast, so wanton and desperate, how natural it feels for her to pin you against a wall and work whimpers out of your mouth - how much you want it-

(Fine, maybe the real truth is that the minute you saw her and her eyes and her hands and her short dress you wanted her so bad you forgot how to function, she got a little mean with you and it turned you on, she got too close to your face and you instantly thought of her fucking you senseless - fine. It’s been doomed from the very first second. Maybe you’re just as morally corrupt as she is. Maybe even more.) 

“Huh, I don’t know.” There’s no justifying it. Seulgi’s mouth held in a wicked smirk, gleam of teeth like the definition of the upper hand. Taking it without question; you’re into that, so she’ll be what you want. “Your cunt dripping all over my thigh right now?” 

“This is so fucked up,” you manage, needing to kiss her again, needing to be bent over and fucked on her fingers, needing more. Her own question thrown back in her face: “Are we really doing this?”

You’re finally gonna get your answer. It’s her, and it’s hopeless. Serpent in Eden. Fangs like the devil. Heedless smile, photographs and their infinite words: let me show you everything you’ve been missing out on; come on, baby, let me take you home; let me bring you back to life. 

“Yeah,” sighs Seulgi, and presses her lips to yours, one more time. “I think we are.” 

-

She pulls you inside by the hand, shoving past some of the most well-known names in the country. She’s careless about it, too. Like you’re incomprehensibly the only thing in the room she can see, fingers intertwined tight with yours, your nails and her bare knuckles, a near-perfect fit. She trips over someone’s foot and has to catch herself on a doorframe, and you laugh until she tells you to shut the fuck up, but she’s laughing too, and kind of looking like she wants to kiss you, right there in public. She doesn’t, because she can’t, and you know it. You let the moment go.

-

Seulgi doesn’t take you home. She’s got Irene there, probably; that’s the first reason. The second is that, truthfully, the two of you aren’t only stupid, you’re also impatient - if you have to wait any longer you’re gonna lose your minds.

“You know, I have this theory about you.” 

So that’s how you end up in some upstairs bathroom, your back flush against the sink, her hands up in your hair and her teeth over your throat, your nails leaving marks on her wrists, her thighs. Those fucking claws, Seulgi says, and grins at the scarlet-red scratches; like she likes you when you’re riled and needy, like there’s a sort of test you’ve passed. Tugs the neckline of your top down with rough fingers; kisses sloppy and open-mouthed down your neck, your collarbone, licks a line down your chest. And right as she’s hovering over a nipple, breath so hot you’re already whining, that’s when she says-

“What?” you say back. Too thrown off, too turned on; you’re blinking down at her swollen mouth, panting. It barely registers. “You have a what?” 

“Here’s how I see it.” It’s almost conversational. Seulgi flicks her tongue over your nipple, draws back just as quick. You whine without meaning to, spine curving, begging for more. “Girls like you,” she says. “You always have a type.”

There’s something dangerous about her tone, something sending you on high alert, alarms wailing, windows blown out or breaking in. Something about how she says girls like you, like she’s already got you all figured out - physical evidence to a heinous crime, already crafting her case. Motive and opportunity. Gleam in her eyes before she puts you away for life. 

“What?” you say, again, voice wavering.

Her hand trails down your stomach, searching for more skin. Tugs the hem of your skirt up. “I think you have a thing for it,” Seulgi says, and dips her chin, indicating herself. “Older women. All that entails. See, I don’t think someone like you accidentally starts dating someone like Irene.” Her hand stops at your inner thigh, won’t go near your cunt, won’t touch you where you need it. “You get off on that kind of age gap, right?” She doesn’t need you to answer for her to know it’s true. “You like feeling helpless. Like you need to be taken care of.” 

She leans forward; her lips hover over yours, unwilling to kiss you again. She’ll make you work for it. She says, “You like pretending that you’re just this naïve good girl, corrupted by some older woman who couldn’t keep her hands off you. Like you’re just such an angel, baby. They couldn’t resist.” Raises her hands to your hips and presses down. “I think it makes you so fucking wet. ”

You hold your breath. You can’t give yourself away this early, you’re thinking. You can’t be so predictable - it’s humiliating, it’s unbearable. “Seulgi-”

Unwilling to kiss you, or at least she’s trying to be - but you say her name, and that’s all it takes for her to break. 

There’s something about the way she kisses you, then, hoisting you up until you’re perched on the bathroom sink, tongue slipping across your bottom lip: like you should’ve known. Like the first second you saw her, it should’ve sent your nervous system haywire, veins knotting themselves and bloodstream freezing like ice. Like no matter what - talk about butterfly effects, talk about roads and pathways and predestination - the second you saw her, she was always going to see right through you. Like she was always going to tilt her head like this, pull back with her lashes a flicker against her cheekbone. Pull back and demand-

“Say it.”

You’re barely breathing. “Say what?” 

Seulgi lifts an eyebrow, amused by you playing dumb. And there’s a purpose to it - a monologue, an anticipation, a breaking point. Testing you against the pull of her blunt nails scraping your thighs, won’t touch you further until you give in. Excruciating, temptation incarnate.

“Say it,” she purrs, again. “I know you want to.” One hand on either thigh and parting them, slowly. “I’m not gonna fuck you until you say it.” 

And then she runs her knuckles against the drenched spot on your panties, right where your cunt’s soaked through - and the pressure’s not nearly enough. Pulls your thong to the side, your cunt glistening wet; every part of you throbbing with aching need. She’s watching your face with an intent, arrogant sort of certainty. She knows you’re about to give in.

“Sweetheart,” Seulgi says, sends your skin simmering hot with just a word. You can’t handle how shiny her hair is, still tangled from the autumn wind - can’t stand the way her irises glint in a dark room, like she’s so great she’s defying logic, like fame’s really made her something supernatural. Can’t stand that she’s unfathomably beautiful. Can’t stand that she’s not yours. 

So you give in. 

-

“Mommy, mommy, mommy-”

Somewhere in there - that’s when Irene calls. But it’s not a question, what’s more important right now: Seulgi lets you run your mouth and stays hooked on every word, taunting you, laughing as your cunt soaks her hand. Keeps fucking your pussy like there’s nothing in the world she’d rather be doing, and lets the call go to voicemail. 

-

Seulgi fucks you like she’s everything her reputation makes her out to be, and that’s the only way to put it: rough and brutal and intense, off the edge of violent. You’re thinking of the box office killer you saw her in a few weeks back - she played the love-interest-turned-villain, led the reveal with knuckles chapped and split, smile lined in blood - and it’s the risk, the ruthlessness: it’s like no one’s ever gotten what you need until her. Throat under her hand, saying filthy things about how wet you are, how fucked up, how pathetic and naughty, fingers around your neck and squeezing hard. You’re long past the threshold of embarrassment, recognizing humiliation - the only thing you’re thinking about is cumming around her fingers, her murmuring against your skin. You’ll let her say anything.

Which is probably a bad call, in retrospect, because the obscenity that comes out of her mouth-

“No,” she snaps, when you try to cover your mouth with your palm, stifling moans. Slips her hand from the base of your throat to your wrist and tugs. “Let me hear you moan for mommy, baby.”

You’re helpless to obey, and she laughs when you do - fully laughs, fingers curling in your cunt, the sloppy wet sounds loud enough to fill the bathroom, echo off the walls. “Mommy,” you’re whimpering, losing it, stare hooked on her red, irresistible mouth, “fuck, you-”

There’s a dark flush in her cheeks, up to her neck; you try and kiss her and Seulgi holds her mouth out of reach. Leans in and says, breath hitting your teeth, “Are you always this fucking desperate?” 

No, you can’t say, no, never. I swear it’s something about you. You. It’s you. 

Because it’s so mortifying, but it’s true: Seulgi’s eyes and her hands and the way she’s got you firmly in place, one hand between your legs, the other returning delicious pressure against the nape of your neck. Tone of her voice, musical with mirth. The way it’s like she’s got everything that’ll turn you on indexed and itemized - demeaning you, making you work for it, beg for it, in this bathroom where the party’s still carrying on outside, blissfully unaware - like, somehow, she already knows. 

Then, like you’d spoken it out loud: Seulgi grips the back of your neck hard. “Or is it just that you like fucking other people’s girlfriends?” 

See, you’re an actress, in your profession, in your habits. You’re so used to being in control. Pulling at your muscles like they’re on marionette strings, perfectly maneuvering your face, your body. You can lie your way out of anything, if you put your mind to it. You’re even better with the truth. 

But you can’t even shake your head, can’t get a protest out past your whines. Seulgi’s got a hold on you and your thighs clamping down around your wrist. “I think it turns you on,” she says, and as if to punctuate it, her hand leaves your neck and connects with your cheek, quick and hard. “Smug little slut. Acting all bratty, humping my leg - you wanted this, didn’t you? I bet right when you saw me you got so wet. Already thinking about calling me mommy. ” Lips ghosting over your jaw. “You’re so obvious.” 

“That’s not-”

Another slap, the crack of her hand mesmerizing, head-spinning. “Don’t lie to me,” Seulgi says, but it’s almost amused, one eyebrow raised, sharp pull of a smirk. “You think I can’t feel your pussy clenching around my fingers?”

And she just keeps going and going - it’s a revenge fantasy for you, huh, she says, seducing your ex’s girlfriend, whining like a bitch in heat until I finally give you what you need; irises like staring down the barrel of a gun, dark and explicitly dangerous. The world’s suddenly impossible to hold in your head, parameters blurring, inhibitions seeping out at the edges - you abruptly can’t comprehend anything but the tactile, the physical - fuck status, fuck scandal, fuck anything but her in front of you - saying you’re so soaked, baby, creaming all over mommy’s fingers like that. Saying cum for me. Saying now. 

You do, and then she doesn’t stop. It’s not like you expected anything less. 

-

“You’re lucky I think you’re so fucking cute,” she tells you, pain in all the right places. “Depraved as fuck, but cute.” 

-

Afterwards:

“God,” you mutter into the crook of Seulgi’s neck. She’s holding you upright on the counter, laughing a little, breath against your temple. Lips brushing your hairline, impossibly gentle. You’re so thoroughly fucked; you forget what the protocol for no-strings sex is, illicit affairs. You were in a relationship with the same girl for two years: you’ve never learned how to have meaningless sex. Well, it’s coming back to bite you now. “Seulgi.” 

She stops laughing, sucks in a sharp breath. “You’re fucked up,” she tells you. “Saying my name like that.”

“I’m not-” You’re grinning. “I’m just saying it. Like a normal person.” 

“Nothing about you is normal,” says Seulgi, with mild fondness, and lets one hand drop between your thighs. 

It’s meant only to tease, obviously; she drags two fingers through your drooling cunt, makes you whimper from overstimulation when she bumps your clit. You’re trying to blink yourself back to clarity - all you can see is her face, her smudged lipstick, mask slipping further. Mascara fading under her eyes. Sheen breaking through her foundation on her forehead. 

“You,” you say, captivated. “You’re so…” 

You just met her for the first time tonight. She just introduced her current infidelity into the fucking dirty talk, like a taboo straight out of some really questionable porn - and, yeah, she just made you cum like you never have before. She’s possibly insane. She’s sick in the head. She’s so, so stunning. 

“You have serious issues,” you say, instead. “And you probably need to seek professional help for them. Let me make you cum.” 

Seulgi fully laughs then, something clearly out of sheer surprise, and it’s lovely: nothing like the sexy, raspy, careless thing you’ve seen her do in movies, on talk shows. No, it’s this adorable, unselfconscious bout of giggles, like she’s close to letting out a snort. You’re struck, staring. Watching her eyes squeeze shut and her head tip back, cheeks flushed. Watching her, gorgeous. 

“Okay,” you say, too weirdly endeared to be frustrated by it. “You don’t want me to make you cum, then.”

Seulgi’s lips part, laughter dropping off. “It’s not that. It’s just - baby, you can’t even stand up right now. And you don’t have to.” Runs her tongue across her top teeth, like she’s been starved for years and she’s finally satiated. Lets her eyes fall half-lidded, and adds, lower, “Fucking your needy little pussy was enough for me right now.” 

Your mouth dries up.

But the idea’s already spreading feverishly hot; settles at the tips of your fingers, gives your hands a motive. There’s that low throb behind your navel, desire untameable, physical. You need to hear it, hear her moaning for you, feel her cunt clamp down around your fingers. You’ll fight dirty to get it, too. Alright, it’s more than returning the favor, it’s so selfish-

You slip down from the counter, heels meeting the tile with a click. Your body trapped between Seulgi’s and the sink. You, leaning in, noses bumping, and say, breathless: “Mommy, I wanna make you cum for me.” Further, mouth capturing hers, the barest amount and nothing more. “Please.” 

-but this started out selfish, so there’s no other way it could really end. 

“Jesus,” exhales Seulgi, ruined. Then she pauses. “Wait, you’re gonna finger me with those?” 

You stare, uncomprehending. 

Seulgi nods downwards. “What are you trying to do, slash my vulva?” 

Right. Your nails - almond-shaped, painted a glossy black; they’re not acrylics, but they’re uniformly long, regardless. “Um,” you say. “Fuck.” Then, “Well, I can probably improvise.” 

-

You both rummage around in the bathroom cabinets until you - remarkably - find both a nail clipper and a nail file. It’s one of those really nice ones, too, metal and practically indestructible. “God’s on our side,” says Seulgi, as she watches you clip your middle fingernail down, then your ring. 

“I seriously doubt it,” you say. “You’re gay and unfaithful. God definitely hates your guts.” 

Seulgi swirls the nail file in the air, wisely, like she’s communing with a higher power. “No,” she disagrees, and takes your hand gently, getting to work. “God totally gets me. She understands.” 

You lean back and let her, entertained against your will. “Understands what?”

“That I’m dumb.” Seulgi’s concentrating hard on sanding the uneven edges of your newly short nails; better safe than sorry. “And impulsive. And I make really self-destructive decisions. And you’re so adorable and so fuckable. And I really, really can’t help myself.”

“All valid reasons to cheat,” you say, dryly, even though this definitely isn’t something you should be joking about.

“That’s what I’m saying,” says Seulgi, equally as straight-faced, and presses her lips to the back of your hand. “All good, baby. You can make mommy cum now, or whatever it was you were begging to do.” 

“Asshole,” you mutter, jerking your hand back. It’s futile, meaningless; all you do is take a step closer to her, anyway, looping your arms around her neck. “Why would I make you cum if you’re just gonna be a bitch to me?” 

“Sweetheart.” She’s smiling now. “I think we’ve established that me being a bitch to you just makes you want to fuck me more.” 

Well, shit. You can’t really argue with that one. 

-

She’s the one on the counter this time, and you get two fingers inside her before she can run her mouth more - and Seulgi’s so responsive when she’s getting fucked, like she’s forgotten the role she’s playing, the arrogance and the degradation. Eyelids shuttering, head craning back, exposing the line of her throat. Kissing you like she can’t hold back from it, tongue trailing your teeth. Her voice drawls sweet and sultry, calling you good girl, oh, you’re so good for me, sweetheart, fucking mommy so good. I know, you wanna eat me out so bad, but you can’t ruin your makeup, I get it. Priorities, whatever. I respect your vanity. 

“What?” you say, caught on a strange, sudden laugh, still pumping at her cunt, drawing sordidly wet sounds; cracking jokes at your expense while she’s on the verge of cumming all over your hand, that’s a new one. “Uh - fuck you?” 

“Right,” Seulgi pants, gripping your wrist, bearing down on your fingers. “Exactly.” 

And that’s probably the first red flag - the second, third, fourth; fine, you’re collecting them like the bruises you’ll have tomorrow, on your throat and wrists and thighs - because there’s a camaraderie there that shouldn’t be. You don’t even know her, and you’re trusting her enough to make you cum, make you laugh. It’s a warning sign. You’ve blown past those. Perfect, she’s repeating, anyway, pleasure stringing syllables together. You’re so perfect. So-

You hold her gaze when it’s over, suck your cum-soaked fingers into your mouth, enjoying the way Seulgi’s expression cracks open candidly, staring without shame. Not all your nails were cut short; your left hand’s scrawled scarlet marks into her thigh. Maybe they’ll fade fast - maybe they won’t. To be fair, that’s not exactly your problem. 

Seulgi breathes out harshly, looking somewhat tortured. “Baby.” 

Talk about red flags, you’re thinking, and release your fingers from your lips with a wet little pop. Maybe you’ll leave a few of your own, too. 

-

For all intents and purposes, this aftermath should be devastating. Apocalyptic, the end of the world. There should be some huge, tearful declaration of regret, of remorse, repenting to some higher power. Maybe you’d slap her. Maybe you’d blame her. Maybe she’d turn into a crying mess, lamenting betrayal, crying how will she ever come back from this, it’s the biggest mistake of her life-

“So,” says Seulgi, suddenly. “You wanna get out of here or something?”

You turn and look at her in the mirror, sentiment like whiplash. “Excuse me?” 

She’s already watching you, mouth quirked at a corner, caught - and then she doesn’t stop staring. Observing you openly, like she’s got a complete and total claim to you, canvassing every part of your body. Penetrative and unrelenting. 

“Like, go home with you?” you ask, stepping forward. 

You skid a little bit in your heels; Seulgi steadies you at an elbow. “Yeah,” she says.

“No,” you say, staring at her mouth, her pretty white teeth. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You have a girlfriend. You have Irene. Why would I…” 

But you’re standing here in this bathroom, freshly fucked and nothing close to classy; there are probably dark smears of lipstick covering your mouth, your collarbone. Hair beyond saving. Why would you, you’re thinking - but then again, you already have. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” you say, out loud. 

“So much,” Seulgi says, “but I’m definitely into it.” 

And now she’s more than smiling - positively beaming, with teeth and all, lighting up her whole face - like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. And she’s gorgeous. Something vaguely poetic about her face, features purposely and masterfully articulated; she’s so striking you can’t ever picture her being a normal girl, going to college classes and working part-time jobs. Maybe she fell into fame by accident; maybe it dragged her in, parasitic and poisonous. Either way, she’s here.

You step closer; you can’t help it, like magnetism, like gravity, like all everlasting clichés, applying even in the worst contexts. “Shut up,” you’re saying, and it’s only then that you realize you’re accidentally mid-laugh. “I’m not going home with you, Seulgi. And you’re definitely going to hell.” 

Seulgi’s hand finds your waist too easily, slipping into place. Eyes glittering in the half-light; you’d call it seeing stars, but that’s all of her. Space sweeping wide with the fall of her hair, curve of her mouth like a sliver of the moon. Guiding you right into a storm just to make you beg for more. 

“Alright,” she says, perfectly content. “But I’m pretty sure you’re gonna end up in hell, too, kid. We’re in the same boat here.”

Kid, she says, making you smaller. You should hate it and you can’t bring yourself to. 

“Promise?” you say, and hold out your pinky. 

It doesn’t mean anything. Her word’s been rendered null and void since she moment she touched you; there’s no commitment she makes that you should trust. But you’re fuck-addled and delirious and enchanted by the look on her face, the way her irises are so dark almost match her pupils: midnight, shadow, sin. You’ve known her for an hour, tops. She’s so beautiful you want her to do everything to you, but you won’t let her. There’s still a line, hypothetically. 

“Promise,” Seulgi says, without a hint of irony, and wraps your pinky around yours. It’s so funny, it’s hilarious. You laugh until you fall right back into her arms.

-

It’s over. Well, in theory. 

Mostly, it’s the worst mistake you’ve ever made, and you’re not going to repeat it. So you don’t get Seulgi’s number. You don’t say something coy about doing this again sometime, about seeing her soon, about how she should maybe dump her girlfriend and get with you instead - there’d be no point. Because it’ll never, ever happen again. 

“Totally,” agrees Seulgi, and presses you up against the bathroom door just to kiss the life out of you. Forehead bumping yours clumsily, breathing against your teeth. “Never again. I’m right there with you.” 

“Seulgi.” 

“Jesus,” she says, laughing right into your mouth. “You’re cute.” 

There’s nothing choreographed about it, nothing sorted through by intimacy coordinators, directors critiquing your chemistry. She’s got your jaw gently between her fingers, all smoke and sweet perfume. Kisses you once, lightly. 

“I’ll see you later,” she says, like another promise. 

You try and scowl, can’t quite pull it off. “The fuck you will.” 

“Fine,” Seulgi says, eyes curved in her smile, thumb to your bottom lip, skimming lightly. “Fine. We’ll never see each other again.” 

-

Never again, you’re repeating as you leave, reminding yourself, clutching the stairwell. Going home alone, swearing you regret it. Never, ever again. 

-

omg ok i’m so sorry please don’t be mad, you text Wendy, right after calling your driver. i know we didn’t meet up but i don’t feel well and i think i have to head home :(

ok no worries take care of ur mental!!!!! says Wendy. also i ran into park sooyoung and she and her fuckass bf just had a fight or something so now we’re going to ditch the party and go get food.. wish me luck <3

her fuckass fiancé, you correct. they’re getting married next month. 

Then: the bite of the wind, the hit of hypocrisy. Pots and kettles. Purpling edges of bruises spilling out from the neckline of your shirt, you can probably still smell Seulgi’s smoke in your hair - fuck, alright, okay. 

You follow up, quickly: so if you’re going to homewreck their relationship you better do it before the wedding!!!! it’s just easier legally. 

She doesn’t answer for a beat. You squint, re-reading it; okay, it’s sort of extreme. ummm i’m joking LOL, you text again, chewing on your lip. homewrecking is very bad!

right right right right, says Wendy, who has never taken any severe moral stance on homewrecking and isn’t about to start now. okay i love u pls call ur therapist and get better soon!!!!!

The thing about calling your therapist: that’s probably something you should do, yeah. Get better soon - not fucking likely. 

-

And here’s the worst thing:

None of it breaks. You go home, you wait, you bide your time waiting for the other shoe to drop; there’s gotta be people who saw, who are trying to turn a profit off of selling secrets, who are good and honest and won’t tolerate something awful like cheating - but there’s nothing. No articles insinuating guilt, no trending Twitter hashtags, no headlines or anonymous sources or incriminating photographs. You’re not stupid enough to think you’re gonna get away with this, but it kind of feels like you’re gonna get away with this.

“Fuck,” you say, out loud, as you’re scrolling through Netflix and landing on one of Seulgi’s new action films, an automatic preview starting to play. She’s gorgeous, she’s villainous; the rasp of her voice alone sends your spine aching. “Fuck.” 

So you’ve decided that you’re never going to make this horrible mistake again; one and done, one strike and it’s out of your system - that’s the smart choice to land on, in the moment. But then none of it gets out. And it plants the dangerous little thought in your head: if nobody knows about it, you begin to wonder, if it’s this easy to keep this terribly illicit affair a secret - well, it kind of makes you think that-

-

You watch the movie. It can’t hurt, at this point. You’ve already committed graver sins than that.

-

“Okay, seriously, what is the matter with you?” 

So, it’s all you can fucking think about. Not that it’s even a surprise. 

In the shower, while you’re on the phone talking to your agent, thumbing through a script for a new project. Images in your mind on repeat, abject filth: Seulgi with her mouth on yours, Seulgi pinching your nipple between two fingers, Seulgi with your thighs clamping around her wrist and making you whimper mommy, mommy, mommy; stain of her lipstick on your neck, sweat shimmering over her delicate collarbones, how she’d looked at you after a little bit in awe, and laughed. Not meanly, not condescending. Just like the situation amazed her, to be there with you. 

You’re hopeless, floating through the next few days in a fog. Brain skipping through the same details, uncannily appreciative of cinematography: black hair mussed by the wind, blue-green veins pale in her wrists. Rasp of her voice, breath hot against your ear, against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your cunt dripping down her hand as she curls her fingers; her dark eyes like the night in the dimmer light, like they’re sewn up with stars-

“Are you dissociating right now?” says Wendy, eyeing you like she’s seconds from getting your psychiatrist on the phone. “Alright, wait - name five things you can see, four things you can touch-”

-and Wendy, obviously, is not going to leave you alone about it. 

“That’s for anxiety,” you say, staring at your nails. You’d clipped them all short after the party; it’s less incriminating that way. “And I’m fine.” 

Wendy snorts. “Now I know you’re full of shit. When are you ever fine?” 

It’s two days later. You, horrifically enough, have an awards show to attend in the evening; in about fifteen minutes you’re about to have an entire team swarming your apartment, makeup artists armed to the teeth, hairstylists wielding heat protectant and flat-irons. Before that, though - okay, you’ve never been good at hiding things from Wendy. 

“So,” you say, as the two of you are lounging across your bed. It’s hard to know how to put something like this gracefully without lines to memorize, cues to follow. “Remember that party the other day-”

“Obviously.” 

You’re stalling. “I know I said I went home because I felt sick. But, um…” 

Wendy throws you an aghast look. “But you lied?” She hits you in the thigh with her phone. “Figures. Fucking actresses. You’re all just pathological liars who learned how to profit off of it.” She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “Ugh.” 

She’s got you pegged early, but she always seems to. “What about Park Sooyoung?” 

“Park Sooyoung’s an angel,” says Wendy, immediately. “She’s an exception.” 

You’d probably be able to chat around the topic for hours, if you’d felt the need - but you’re dying to talk about it, a little bit. Nothing’s like I thought it was, you want to say. I swear the sun’s put itself out, I swear I saw the devil in the flesh; she was so much more than I thought she would be. “At the party,” you say, instead, bracing for impact, “I kind of - okay, when I was on the phone with you, and I hung up - it was because I ran into Kang Seulgi.” 

Wendy gasps. Rolls over on her side, auburn hair splayed over your sheets, eyes comically wide. “And you didn’t end up in prison for murder?” 

Oh, no; you just did something a lot worse. “We did have an… altercation.” 

The implication alone jolts Wendy upright. “You fought her? Like, physically?” Mouth open, jaw hanging off its hinges. “Without me?” 

“Uh.” You guiltily divert your gaze out the window. “Not exactly.” 

“Not exactly?” Wendy tugs at the sleeve of your shirt, forcing you to face her. “What does that mean? There was just mild bitch-slapping or something?” 

You pause. It’s not the time, but it’s there anyway, the way you make a wet dream a memory: Seulgi with her palm pressed tight to your throat, Seulgi with her hand smacking across your face. Seulgi with her gaze dark and attentive, the path of her fingers slick across your thighs, always pushing for more, more-

“Um,” you say. “I mean, there was slapping involved.” 

And all hell breaks loose.

-

It’s actually almost impressive, the way Wendy hears slapping and instantly connects the dots. Even more impressive, the way she loses her shit on the spot, goes one to ten - punching your shoulder repeatedly, voice reaching a fever pitch, shrieking oh my God, you evil homewrecking whore, what the hell, I knew you wanted to fuck her but I never thought you’d actually pull it off-

“What are you talking about?” you say, thrown entirely. 

“Come on.” Wendy’s got one of your pillows in her fist and is now attempting to clobber you with it; she’s tinier than you and more uncoordinated than her ultra-successful idol career would insinuate - it’s an easy dodge. “Every time you see a picture of Kang Seulgi you start salivating, and you have no morals when you’re horny. You think I don’t remember how many times you saw that movie where she was topless for fifty percent of it-”

“I watched that for the plot. It was my favorite movie of this year for the plot.” 

“Jesus,” Wendy says, appalled at how transparent you are. “You call yourself an actress?” 

But here’s probably the more fucked up thing - Wendy doesn’t really care. It’s not the kind of thing she’ll unfriend you over, or leak to the press, or tell Irene; her morals are just as compromised as yours are, here. And in the end, all she does is laugh so hard it brings tears to her eyes, says you’re setting an example for queer homewreckers everywhere. Says you have to teach me all your tricks - I wanna be where you are. It’s nasty of her, probably, but Wendy’s always on your side. She’s also in love with a girl who’s getting married in a month. She’s got her own motives. 

“I wasn’t even trying to do anything,” you say, defeated. “We just met and right away it was so-”

You don’t even have the words for it. How do you sum up a mortal sin in a sentence, verbalize an impossible chemistry - there’s no rationale that makes it okay. You say, lamely, “I just wanted her.”

“And you always get what you want,” Wendy interprets, because it’s true. Even if it’s awful and wrong, goes unsaid. Even if you’re willingly ruining someone else’s relationship; even if it’s selfish and horrible and you’re going to hell for it. 

“Yeah,” you agree, sighing. “I mean, most of the time.” 

And it’s ludicrous. You’re reworking your own code of ethics because you saw Seulgi through the blur of a smokescreen, because you’re addicted to the look in her eye, because you’re realizing she’s way less cool and collected and mysterious than she pretends to be. Fucks you like she wants you dead then lets you make her cum with a gentle hand stroking through your hair, all praise and open pleasure. There’s no excuse for it. 

“This is going to be a total trainwreck,” says Wendy, with very malicious glee; it’s a film that’s bombed in the box office, all the critics hate the conclusion - the characters should’ve got what was coming to them and they didn’t, they say, what the fuck kind of message is that. “But I can’t wait to see how this ends.” 

-

“Besides,” you say, “It doesn’t matter. It’s completely a one-time thing. It’s never happening again.”

Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that, you’re telling yourself. Maybe if you repeat it enough, it’ll come true. 

-

So, if you wanna know about the second time it happens:

-

It’s later that same night, because irony loves to make a fool of you, laughing at you from behind a camera, thumbing over a script, lines she already knows are coming. Awards shows, it’s how they go; all the major players are there. Well, except for Irene, who’s overseas as an ambassador for some high-end fashion brand; you see people talking about it on Twitter, disappointed that she and Seulgi won’t make their power couple debut on the red carpet. Either way, she’s not coming. It’s already completely fucked off of that fact alone.

im putting 100 bucks on kang seulgi taking u home tonight, texts Wendy, beforehand, as you’re getting your makeup done. all the pieces are in place…

please get a grip on reality seungwan i am NEVER talking to her again, you say, and leave it at that. 

Look, you know Seulgi’s gonna be there. Embarrassingly, just the thought of it sends your stomach into knots, your brain into overdrive. You’re used to keeping your composure even under the most stressful of situations - nature of fame, it’s just how it works - but the anticipation of seeing Seulgi again is so -

lmfao ok, says Wendy. as if u can keep ur hormones in check….. whore!!!!! 💀💀💀

i will get my bodyguard to beat you to a pulp, you say. 

alright thats it. im reporting u for making threats to my life. 

you can’t report me on twitter for something i said over text lol…

bitch i meant report u to the AUTHORITIES. 

You swear you have a spine, a backbone. You swear you’re gonna show up and stun on the carpet, maybe take home an award or two; realistically, you’re not even gonna run into Seulgi at all. You’ve made it this far - you stepped onto the scene at eighteen and so it’s been three years of frequenting the same ceremonies as Kang Seulgi, and you’d never met at any one of those, never so much as interacted. Maybe you’ll get out of this alive. But there’s still that fucking feeling, the whole way to the venue - like there’s fingerprints as evidence on your body, like everyone might be able to see through your dress to all the places she left a mark on you-

(You get there and she’s gorgeous. She’s there and she looks like a goddess, dressed in blue, submerged in it, sweeping you along. Same boat, you remember her saying; if we go down we go down together. Sink to the bottom of the sea and let the ocean swallow us whole. You force her voice out of your mind; it’d be better to pretend she doesn’t exist. It’s also impossible.)

You’re not nominated for any of the same awards. You sit in entirely different sections. But you’re so aware of the fact that she’s in the room that it’s driving you a little crazy; you have to make this concerted effort to keep your eyes off of her, keep from staring, blushing, making any missteps or wrong moves. You’re back under spotlights, scrutiny. You don’t let your eyes trace her body in her dress, and she doesn’t look at you at all. 

At first, it actually seems like you’re going to make it. 

-

(Same boat; same room and opposite sides. Same old fucking mistakes.) 

-

It all goes to shit when you steal away to the bathroom halfway through the show, and - because behind the curtain, someone’s controlling the setting, the scenes, getting you exactly right where you’re supposed to be - Seulgi’s already in there when you step in. It’s a trope. It’s formulaic. It’s real life reduced to rom-com clichés, except there’s nothing funny about a moment like this. 

It’s done. You stop dead in your tracks, door shutting soft behind you. “Hi.” 

And you’ve been so good all night, you have - keeping your smile contained and your eyes from straying - but it’s different when she’s in front of you, like seeing a deity in the flesh, like someone that you should drop to your knees and worship. Dress a glittering navy, floor-length and cap-sleeved, tapering in at her waist. Hair in tastefully tamed waves, begging you to run your fingers through it. There’s something about the stark black of her hair, the starlike sapphire beadwork gleaming on her dress, her fair skin, her pink lips - she looks almost ethereally ghostlike, a spirit out of a story, so gorgeous she leaves everyone she touches haunted. Skin silk-soft. Makeup immaculate. Nothing like how she looked when you saw her last, already half-undone, autumn wind throwing her into gorgeous disarray. She’s living up to her reputation, curated perfection. And she’s flawless. 

Seulgi’s staring at you with that same wide-eyed look she had the first time you two met. She says, sounding somewhat strangled, mesmerized: “Oh.”

It’s then that you realize she’s playing some dumb mobile game on her phone. 

“Uh,” you say.

Seulgi immediately abandons her phone on the counter. “Sorry,” she says, and it’s like you’re getting deja vu.

“Are you ditching an awards show to play games on your phone?” you say, stepping closer. You can’t help yourself. Seulgi straightens as you do, like an automatic reaction to your presence, spine curving to face you. You try not to read into it. 

“I got bored,” she says, blinking. Her eyes are stunningly made-up, sending them otherworldly striking; liner sliding into sharp points at the corner of each eye, false lashes individually glued and arranged purposely. That’s the thing about awards shows: you’re all selling a product, acting even more than you do on set. 

“You really are a loser,” you say, somehow delighted by it.

“I know,” she says, leaning against the counter, and now she’s smiling. “Hey, kid.” 

And it’s as if you’ve both forgotten how to act at all.

Because it’s the same as it was before; like a reprise, like a relapse. You get too close together and you feel it, that impossible tug, the way the moon controls the tides, the way celebrities control their own images; Seulgi rests her elbow on the counter and you watch the flex of her bicep, the splay of her fingers, nails manicured but enticingly short. Remembering how it felt to have those fingers fucking your cunt, wrapped around your throat. Realizing that not an inch of her belongs to you, and that you don’t have a backbone, and that you want her anyway. She’s parting her lips, inhaling deep. She knows. 

Nothing helps. You’re halfway to dry drowning; shutting off airways, breathing rendered impossible. Water won’t reach your lungs, but it’ll still be the thing to kill you.

“I don’t think we should be alone together,” you say, softly, the first to call it as it is. 

“Alright.” Seulgi folds her arms over her chest. You’re struck by the way the straps of her dress pull over her collarbone, her slender shoulders; tailored to perfection, and she’s too beautiful to be real. “Then go pee. I’ll leave.” 

“I didn’t have to pee,” you say. “I just - nerves, you know. I needed some air.” You wave vaguely around the bathroom. “Or alone time, I guess.”

“You did,” says Seulgi, getting implications. She tilts her head. “But you’ve been to so many of these, no?” You’re moving even closer without realizing it, pulled out to sea. “And just this show is making you nervous?” 

You’re supposed to be cutting off conversation at the source, quitting your vices cold turkey. “Yeah,” you say instead, throwing her a dirty look. “I wonder why that is.” 

“It’s a mystery,” Seulgi agrees. 

“Jesus.” Her attitude’s so cavalier, her eyes so fucking intense; you couldn’t wrench yourself away even if you wanted to. It’s intoxicating. It’s irresistible. “You and I had sex a day after you went public with your relationship with Irene. Can you at least pretend to feel remorseful about it?”

Seulgi cocks an eyebrow. Her arms unfold; her mouth flicks at a corner. I do too much pretending in my day-to-day, the expression says; I don’t let my life imitate my art. I’m with you. Why fake like I want to be anywhere else? 

“You’re an actress,” you add, like anyone needs a reminder. 

“So are you,” she returns. “I don’t see you feeling very remorseful about any of this either.” 

“I do,” you say, itching to step forward, to fall into her arms, to make her laugh, to beg her to fuck your brains out. “I regret it. It was a mistake. I really fucking regret it.” 

“No, you don’t.” Seulgi’s fingers graze your wrist, wrap around your hand. Pulling you closer like it’s something she’s allowed to do. Calling your bluff, again, like she’s seen too much of you to be fooled by all your usual tricks - and there’s tension brimming where there shouldn’t be. Like you’re back on the balcony, inhaling smoke; like it’s all about to go up in flames. 

“Well,” you say, unsteadily. “I will.” 

But, first-

-

You shouldn’t fuck her. There are a million reasons why you shouldn’t fuck her. Every regular watcher is threatening to cancel their streaming subscription - the self-sabotaging, the mess; God, the screenwriters must hate you, constantly making you make the shittiest decisions, ruining your character; where’s the resolution, where’s the redemption arc. But-

“You’ll be a good girl for mommy, right? Be quiet while I fuck your little cunt?"

But you’re fucking her. There’s no way around it. 

You’re pressed against the bathroom counter and she’s pushing your dress up your thighs; you’re clutching handfuls of your full skirt, hitching it up to give her access. She trails a hand upwards, takes your panties and pulls them to the side. “Sweetheart,” Seulgi says, intention cut into her mouth, carnal and wicked, “I asked you a question.” 

You’re nodding wildly, lip tucked tightly between your teeth. You’ll be quiet, you’re trying to communicate with your eyes alone, you will, you’ll behave-

She thumbs your clit, dips to feel how soaked you are, pulls back with the pads of her fingers wet and glistening. Eyes snapping to yours. Pitch leaving no room for discussion. “Words, please.” 

“Yes, mommy,” you whimper, and Seulgi grins. 

“You’re so much less bratty this time around,” she muses, sinks one finger in your dripping pussy, leaves you gasping for air. “All you needed was to get your pussy fucked right, huh? That’s all you needed to learn your lesson?” 

She really starts fucking you, then, like she’s addicted to the moans you’re letting out of your mouth; works in two fingers, then three - it’s not as brutal as the first time, but just as all-consuming, life-wrecking, devastating, the sounds as she finger-fucks you just as slick and nasty. Cunt clenching around her fingers, wet down your thighs, hips rocking; she goes for your jugular, pressure against both sides of your neck; claustrophobic, erotic, breath shuddering low and trapped in your throat. Grinding when she rubs her palm over your clit, aching for more. Begging to cum in a low rasp. You’re not learning any lessons in this room: that’s a fucking given. 

Seulgi’s more in control than you are, but barely; her eyes are tied to your lips, to the wet raw heat of your pussy, dripping down her hand. I’d love to fuck that face, she says like a threat, ride that pretty mouth, cum on your tongue - but I really can’t ruin your makeup tonight. (Privately, you think she’s already ruined a lot more than that.)

“Next time,” she promises, eyes sly and undertone murderous, and you cum right around her fingers. 

(There are a million reasons why you shouldn’t, but you do anyway.)

-

You’re right, in the end. You’re absolutely gonna regret this. 

-

Afterwards, take two:

Any second it’ll hit, you’re telling yourself. Reality, all-consuming guilt, the weight of what you’ve just done - again. Your conscience is gonna make you start sobbing, push you to a confession, push Seulgi away and scream at her. Any minute now, you’ll-

“You’re definitely gonna win it,” Seulgi’s saying, about your nomination for your most recent drama, the award you’re up for. “You were unreal. I swear every time I see you cry on-screen, I really feel it. It’s so…” She shakes her head, overcome. “Powerful, I guess. Sorry. That sounds lame.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” you say back, smiling. “Thanks. And - you’re gonna win yours too.” She’s nominated for your favorite film of hers, the one where she played the rock star, wore too much eyeliner, created a character that broke your heart. “That movie’s my favorite one of this past year, just for the record. I’ve seen it like a million times. I love it to death.” 

“You would,” says Seulgi, arching an eyebrow, but there’s something soft around the edges of her grin. “I’m topless for so much of it.” 

“Not because of that.” You pause, allow: “But it was a perk.”

“I’m sure.”

“No, seriously.” You turn fully; Seulgi’s leaning a little into your side, already, and doesn’t flinch when you bump her shoulder, fingers at the crook of her elbow. She chances a glance at you, smooths a hand over your hair. “It was your voice.” 

Seulgi lets out a little laugh. Brushes under your eye with a careful thumb, flicking away a flake of mascara. “What?” 

See, she’s a rock star in this movie you love, like you said; it’s all made up of concert performances and sold-out stadium tours that look so real, fake talk show performances, studio audiences. Strumming at a guitar in the quiet moments. Singing aloud to herself, her band, her love interest. Rich and honeyed, gliding over every note, thick and raspy at all the right times. “Your voice,” you say. “I mean - it’s amazing. You would’ve made a killing as an idol, you have to know that. The soundtrack to that movie - it was all I listened to for months. You’re absolutely gonna fuck my Spotify Wrapped.” 

Seulgi’s mouth opens a little. Her fingers pause at your temple, the bobby pins holding your hair back. 

“So I guess you could say I’m a fan, too,” you say, suddenly shy. “I have been for a while.” 

You were right, before: no one should’ve allowed you two to be alone together. It opens the door for this, for opportunity, for mortal fuck-ups; Seulgi’s manicured fingers drop to your neckline, the walls threaten to tear themselves down, the sinks ache to switch on and flood the room. Current rushing in, taking you both away - where are the lifeboats now, the escape routes - you’re swept off your feet in the waves. Seulgi tangles a hand in your necklace like she wants to snap it off and she’s tempering her instincts. Anyone could walk in and catch you. They don’t. 

“You,” she says, sighing. Not like she’s giving up, but like she’s giving in. “I can’t get enough of you.” 

“You’re gonna have to,” you say, hot and helpless under her touch. “You have a girlfriend. And this is all really fucked up.”

You keep saying this like it means anything, like it’ll trigger a fight or flight response, send Seulgi running. “I know,” she says instead, stays exactly where she is, blunt nails grazing your collarbone. Fastened to you as if with thread, incapable of tearing herself free. “You think I don’t know that?” 

“I don’t know what you think,” you point out, searching her expression. “I don’t know anything about you. Except that you’re a fan of me and you love being called mommy and every time you get your hands on me you try to fuck me until I can’t walk.”

“See?” says Seulgi. “You know all the important things.” 

There’s nothing funny about this - her cheating on her girlfriend, her girlfriend being your ex - but there’s this expression on her face, corner of her mouth turned up, studying you freely. Dark eyes reading nothing but beguiled amusement. Tapping two fingers against her bottom lip like she might still be able to taste your cunt off of them. 

“We’re strangers,” you say, so enthralled by her. “Complete strangers.” 

(That’s the problem with fame, you think of saying. It doesn’t feel like it. I’ve seen hours of your interviews, all of your movies. I was lying: I know so much, I know more than I should. You feel like you knew me before we met; I see the way you look at me, the way you touch me. Like you’ve imagined it happening a million times before.)

“I know,” Seulgi says, smiling. 

There’s a kind of odd acceptance to it, in that one single sentence. You can’t look away from her, and it’s mutual - Seulgi pulls your chin down with her thumb, and kisses you. 

It’s almost tender, sweetly gentle, like she has every right to do so. You’re smiling, for some reason, grinning against her lips. She must know it, because the next thing she does is sink her teeth into the corner of your mouth, enough to sting but not enough to break skin - and a whine traps itself in your throat. You kiss her and you can feel it, really feel it: this uncontainable scope of fame, between the two of you. Supernovas in this sort of world, side by side like meteors on a crash course, like heat death, like that same self-fulfilling prophecy. 

Give it one more minute and you’ll call it off, you’re thinking, winding your arms around her neck. Any minute now. 

-

You’re actually about to leave at the same time, but there’s the telltale sound of some music performance going on, some idol group; it’s better to sneak back into the show on a break, an intermission to situate. That’s what you tell yourself. In reality, it’s probably something about the allure of stolen moments - Seulgi leans against the counter, opens her phone, starts playing the same dumb mobile game she was engrossed in when you first walked in; you crook your head over your shoulder, watch her do it - and nothing about it makes sense. It’s all beyond logic. For some reason, she’s talking freely, randomly, now asking your opinion on festive outfits for pets; for some reason, you’re indulging her. It’s almost normal. It’s fucking asinine. 

“This is crazy, you know,” you say, unprovoked, as she loses the same game for the fifth time.  

“This is crazy,” Seulgi agrees, somehow correctly attributing it to your situation and not her lack of gaming skill. “There’s something about you,” she says, chin in her hand, gazing at your reflection. It’s exhilarating, the way she stares without trying to hide it; the way she doesn’t even attempt to play it cool. “Like I want to crack your head open and pick your brain.” 

“You are so psychotic,” you say, loving it. “You can’t just say you have a crush on me?” 

“I’m twenty-eight,” she says, a little petulantly, pout offsetting the sentiment. 

“Not too old to have a crush,” you say. “Not too old to have an ongoing affair.” 

There you go again: acknowledging the weight of what you’re doing like it’ll snap you out of it, force your moral compass back into alignment. Seulgi huffs a little through her nose, absentmindedly drops her lips to the side of your head. Leaves with the line of her lipstick still intact, somehow. Starts talking again, about what she usually does on Christmas, seeing if she can order some miniature Santa hats for her cats, new colorful lights to put around her house; you’re watching her phone and humming a little in agreement, drawn in. Rasp of her voice something like the North star, guiding you to unfamiliar territory. She keeps making you laugh. You both know exactly what you’re doing and you’re doing it anyway. 

“Congratulations,” Seulgi says, as you’re about to leave, holding the door open for you. “On your award.” 

“I didn’t win anything yet,” you tell her, bemused. 

“But you’re going to,” she says, laughing, leaving no room for debate. Squeezes your hand as you pass, like she’s saying, I mean it. I’m lying through my teeth to everyone else but you. It’d be no use. It’s you.

You roll your eyes, and let her have it. You’ve let her have so much already. 

-

She’s right. You win the award. You step up to the podium, thank your manager and your company and your fans. From the tables of actors, Seulgi wolf-whistles - honest-to-God, loud and disruptive; probably just to make you laugh, and it works. You can’t stop grinning. You’ll see the pictures later, plastered across social media: smile more genuine than any movie you’ve ever been in, any performance you’ve ever put on. Wow, some of your fans will say, already crafting theories; I haven’t seen her look this happy in a while; I wonder what it is, I wonder if she’ll tell us. It’s dramatic of them, you think. You don’t read into that, either. 

You could DM Seulgi, private message her on Twitter, get her number from an acquaintance, contact her in fifteen different ways. You don’t. It’s for the best, really. 

-

ok you’re right i need to go to jail, you text Wendy, after. i need to be arrested and put in jail…. i am a danger to myself and others. 

YOU WENT HOME WITH HER???? is the immediate response. I CALLED IT PAY UP BITCH

no we fucked in the bathroom 😭😭😭😭

in PUBLIC???? oh my god. And then: u are so lucky u got famous right after u graduated high school because u would never have made it into college. DUMB FUCK

ok that’s going a little far. 

U ARE UR EX’S GF’S MISTRESS UR THE ONE WHO TOOK IT TOO FAR FIRST, says Wendy, and then sends a string of incomprehensible emojis. u could have fucked ANYONE else. ANYONE. U ARE THE ONE WHO MADE THIS HAPPEN!!!!!

Alright, it’s certainly aggressive. But she’s not really wrong, either. 

-

You post a series of photos on your Instagram of your dress, of the night, thanking the designer and your fans, saying you’re so grateful for the award, the opportunity. You look just like you always have; clean-cut and pristine, good-girl shine completely intact, like you’ve never made a single mistake in your life. Seulgi doesn’t like it, doesn’t comment. You let it be. 

-

lolll at her and seulgi both being at that event at the same time, one of your fans says on Twitter, about you. come on there have to be SOME pap pics of them getting into a knock down drag out NASTY fight in the street like

no catfight sry, someone else responds, and links a video: this is the only interaction we got between them? but it’s kind of…. idk

The video’s a fifteen second clip of the event itself; you and Seulgi aren’t seated at the same table, but it’s close enough for you to both be in the same shot. And it’s barely anything at all; the announcer says something and Seulgi looks over her shoulder at you, twitches an eyebrow upwards. You meet her eyes immediately, nose scrunching, the subtle dig of your front teeth into your lip. She smiles, just barely; your lashes flutter fast, and you look away. 

It’s the tiniest thing. Could read as anything from hostile to cordial to a complete accident to what it truly was, at the time: like you’re both high schoolers commiserating over a lame teacher, an annoying classmate, sharing a private joke between the two of you. Much too comfortable to be strangers. It’s your second time meeting; you’ve both seen too much of each other - on-screen, uncovered skin - to be anything but overly familiar. 

is anyone else seeing the enemies to lovers vision, someone says. like the chemistry…. OH

??????, someone replies. IT'S A 15 SECOND CLIP AND SEULGI’S STILL DATING IRENE.

okay but look at the material like they’d be hot together i’m sorry

As if that’s all it takes to make it okay, you’re thinking, scrolling through it, entertained when you shouldn’t be. The two of you being hot together, erasing all your sins. Ah, well. Maybe in a perfect world. 

-

You watch the movie you’d been talking with Seulgi about that night - your favorite one, the rock star role and the topless scenes and her stunning voice. It bowls you over like it always does, brings tears to your eyes at the ending; it’s just that kind of film, angsty and gorgeous and devastating, Seulgi’s performance somewhat earth-shattering every time. All the right nuance, leaning into the subtleties. She’s brilliant; every line brutal and beautiful in equal measures, every turn of her head a revelatory, religious experience. The very first time you watched it was alone, a few months back, clicking through various streaming services - you like everything Seulgi’s been in, so it was a no-brainer - and two hours later you were sobbing into your hands, rethinking your whole life and every personal career choice you’ve ever made. Putting it as five stars into your secret Letterboxd account and adding a review that says i'm pregnant and the baby daddy is kang seulgi’s performance in this movie and leaving it there, self-explanatory. It said enough, you thought.

Honestly, it’s possible you should’ve seen this whole affair coming. 

-

“So, what’s the deal?” asks Wendy, when you see her in person the next day. “Are you still pretending like this is just a - what, a two-time thing, now? That you came to your senses and it’ll really never happen again this time?” 

“Um,” you say. 

(The fact of the matter is this: there’s a new ache in you, something only she can ease. You try fucking yourself - with your fingers, with toys - and it’s nowhere near as satisfying. Even with you picturing her voice murmuring low in your ear: so pretty, baby, taking mommy’s fingers like that. Cum for me. Cum. So you touch yourself and it’s effective in the barest sense, and nothing more. Like Seulgi broke you the second she got her hands on you and now she’s the only one that can get you back. You’re needy all the time, distracted and wet; longing for her voice, her mouth, the hungry glint in her eyes when she looks at you. Longing for something you know you shouldn’t want, and it only makes you want it more.)

“It’s gonna happen again,” you admit, and Wendy bursts out laughing. At least you’re being honest with someone. 

-

Later that night - because you hate to make sound decisions, because common sense has thoroughly escaped you, because you can’t make mistakes without making them habits, too; because there’s the sharp edge of a horror sting, Hitchcockian, and every murderous whodunit needs a plot device and a dumbass final girl - Wendy says that the two of you should go to a party. Another one of her idol friends’ places, she says. Plus, the last party you went to worked out really well for the both of you, so. 

“Is Seulgi gonna be there?” you ask, sussing out motives. “Is that why you’re doing this?” 

“How should I know?” says Wendy, innocently, but you figure everyone probably already does. 

-

(Because - yep, you’re gonna be the person who fucks your ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend three times in one week. God’s just gonna have to deal with that in his own way.)

-

So you return to the scene of the very first crime, in spirit: another party, another packed mansion. Another short skirt and sheer tights and an opportunity to fuck your whole life up. Well, at least Wendy’s by your side for this one - it makes a difference, having her for support. 

“Wait,” you realize belatedly, when you get inside. “This is Park Sooyoung’s house.” 

“Oh, is it?” says Wendy, arm linked in yours and searching the crowd. “That’s so funny.” 

“Good God.” It’s not hard to pick Sooyoung out; she’s at her own kitchen counter, black hair spilling over her shoulders, her fiancé with an arm around her waist and a drink in his hand. She also spots Wendy the second she enters the vicinity, breaks into a smile that echoes something like relief, all teeth and tired eyes - wedding planning must be taking its toll. “So we’re at this party for you, then.” 

Wendy smiles back at Sooyoung, the same way she does in every broadcasted performance; grin glittering, irresistibly earnest charm. The line of Sooyoung’s mouth softens, goes tender. “I figured if you’re gonna homewreck a perfectly good relationship just so you can fuck the girl of your dreams, I should get to do the same.” 

It’s one way to land a blow. “The girl of my-” you choke out, stop, have to take it back. “Okay, Seulgi is not-”

“Uh,” says Wendy, raising an eyebrow at something over your shoulder. “Turn around.” 

You stop cold. You’ve seen a movie just like this before - you know a spoken cue when you hear one. “No.” 

“What do you mean, no?” 

“We just got here. She can’t already be here. It’s too soon.”

Wendy bites her bottom lip into her mouth, agitated and amused in equal measures; you’re too wired to place the source of it, waves already crashing against the hull, the threat of salt and sea and drowning. You’re putting off the inevitable. If you turned around right now, it’d all play in slow motion, your gazes meeting in a crowded room, right out of one of your dramas - she’d stare at you like she always does, those fucking eyes, craving and unreal and unrelenting, and-

“Anything else,” you say, frantically. It’s too early in the night; you’re too fucking sober. “We can even go talk to Park Sooyoung. Come on, girl of your dreams-” 

Wendy’s focus flicks behind you again. “Alright,” she agrees, too easily. “Let’s go.” 

It’s then that you should probably figure out what’s going on here, but you don’t. 

It’s always been easy to talk to Sooyoung, for you - the two of you first met on the first big project you’d ever filmed, where she’d played your older sister - and tonight she’s just as lovely, effervescent and flawlessly gorgeous, always indulgent in conversation. It helps that Wendy’s there; they go back even farther, though it’s a story you’ve heard a million times. Sooyoung has a specific smile she saves just for Wendy, a way she laughs when Wendy cracks a joke - that’s a whole narrative on its own, prologue to finale. 

“The wedding’s so soon, though,” you’re saying emphatically, propping your hip against Sooyoung’s counter, preoccupying yourself with staring at her engagement ring so you don’t let your eyes wander anywhere else. “Are you stressed?” 

Sooyoung hums, adjusts her long hair over her shoulder. She, for some unknown reason, has her fingers hooked in the sleeve of Wendy’s top, fingers absentmindedly brushing her wrist. Her soon-to-be husband’s suddenly nowhere to be seen. “Not really,” she says, though the minute crease in her forehead says otherwise. “I mean, I have a wedding planner that I’m paying a small fortune to, so. Basically the only thing I have to do on the day is show up and look pretty.” 

“Oh, no,” says Wendy, grinning, sensing an opening. “How are you ever gonna make that happen?” 

Sooyoung shoots Wendy a sideways look. “I know,” she says, mouth at a playful tilt. “Getting me to look good? Ugh.”

“Hey, if you believe in miracles…”  

You fight back an eye-roll. For as long as you’ve known them, they’ve always been like this; the banter, the back-and-forth, irrationally entertained by each other from the jump. It’s beyond you how Park Sooyoung’s ever convinced herself that she likes anyone more than she likes Wendy - why spend the rest of your life with anyone else but your favorite person - but she’s made her own decisions. It’s not like you’d have any room to judge, at this point. Speaking of which-

“-is everything okay there?” Sooyoung’s saying, when you start listening again. “I bet it’s at least a little awkward, right?” 

“It’s very fucking awkward,” says Wendy. It becomes immediately apparent that they’re talking about you, either sensing that you’ve tuned out or so wrapped up in each other that they’ve forgotten you’re standing there entirely. “But - you know. She’s working through it in her own way. Certainly making some drastic choices.” 

“But not good ones,” Sooyoung interprets, tone indicating she thinks it’s a joke. 

“Absolutely not,” confirms Wendy, deadly serious.

A sigh from Sooyoung. “Is it fine that all three of them are here, then? I guess - I never know how to go about these things, I don’t know, like, what’s fair game, whose side to take-”

“Wait,” you say, cutting in. “All three of us?” 

Wendy grimaces, tossing another glance right over your shoulder, scoping out how bad the situation is. There’s a bomb she’s been managing to delay in increments, a hastily built dam holding back a rush of water - and, now, that break in the floodgates. It’s over. It’s been over for ages. 

“Well, yeah,” says Sooyoung. “You, and Seulgi, and-”

-

Needless to say, you’re about to prove Wendy completely right, yet again - the only choices you ever make are fucking awful, but you’ve gone way too far to go back now. 

-

Look, at least it’s nothing like the movies. 

It’s the farthest thing from slow motion: you turn around and it’s like everything hits in that same split second, no soundtrack to soften the blow - a sucker punch, a car crash - no perfect pacing, leisurely pan of a camera lens. It’s you and your ex-girlfriend and the girl you’ve been fucking; the roof seems to sink low, walls pulling in tight, doors locking you all in. Debris and smoking wreckage. There’s no way to romanticize that. 

“Um,” says Sooyoung, already turning to go. “You know what, I’m gonna…” 

It’s a relatively graceful exit for a moment like this. Wendy, whether out of some loyalty or some sick desire to see how this trainwreck plays out - alright, it’s probably both - stays right by your side. Like you said: backup. There are some things you don’t have the sanity to face alone. Such as-

“Hello,” says Irene, with a hesitant little smile. 

It’s very nearly devastating - that's the thing. It comes so close. 

There’s her categorically perfect face, beautiful like she’s getting put in front of a panel and scored on it, tens across the board - poise of a pageant queen, composure like the movie star she is - exactly like you’d always remember her, since two years ago when you first started dating, since nearly three when you’d met for the first time. And despite her haughty, aloof image, there’s still that visible soft spot she has for you: in the gentle tug of her lips, chin tilted barely upwards, color of her eyes warm and familiar. It’s enough to pull you back in. It’s enough to dredge up memories like floodlands, something that’ll consume you entirely. 

“Hi,” you say, speechless for all the wrong reasons. 

(And here’s the thing: you should be thinking of all that. You spent two years loving her, kissing the curve of her smile, wrapped up in her arms; her date to every movie premiere, your face all over her social media. You’d been a brand together, a phenomenon, a love story to admire and aspire to - a perfect slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, soft and simple and romantic; you hadn’t fallen in love, like the poets say: you’d slipped into it quietly, like being tucked into bed at night. And that was better. That was the way it should’ve been.)

You should be a mess, right now. You should be racked with guilt - she loved you, how could you do this to her, what about your morals, your dignity - honestly, and it comes so close to being devastating, you swear, the first time you’ve seen Irene since the breakup, in front of you and smiling like that, it’s almost enough to bring you to ruin-

“Hi,” says Seulgi, next to her, voice short and somewhat shot. “Nice to meet you.” 

-but it’s nothing compared to the way you want to get absolutely fucked to death by Kang Seulgi right now. 

“Oh, that’s right,” says Irene, cordially, and your history hightails it out of the room. It’s a party; she’ll keep it friendly, light. You clearly aren’t making this a whole thing, so she won’t either. “You haven’t met Seulgi before, have you?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” you say, playing along. It’s the role of a lifetime: acting like you’re someone who didn’t cum all over Seulgi’s fingers just yesterday. “Nice to meet you, Seulgi.” 

It’s a bad move, saying her name - but then again, it always is. 

You just can’t help it. You’re too overcome by the sight of her. It’s like she’s never looked so close to you, so dangerous; top with too many buttons undone, deep cut down her chest, divide of her collarbone, skin unmarred and inviting, hair loose and wild. Suddenly it’s like you feel everywhere she’s ever touched you, marked by notes and chalk outlines, body a crime scene; here’s the evidence, here’s the guilty verdict, open-and-shut. And Seulgi’s looking right back at you, too, lips parted, flushing through her foundation, eyes heavy with liner and blatant desire. Bites on the inside of her lower lip, visible and rough; scans your entire body, top to toe, throat constricting as she swallows. She’s wearing the tiniest plaid miniskirt, like she’s making a mockery of a school uniform, fulfilling someone’s very specific fantasy. And she’s so, so fucking hot. 

“Yeah, cool,” says Seulgi, staring like she wants to bend you over the nearest flat surface and rail you in front of everyone, and not making much of an effort to act at all. Then, abruptly: “I need a cigarette.”

She turns on her heel and bolts for the back door.

“Wow,” says Wendy, next to you, watching Seulgi as she makes her escape. “She seems… nice.”

Irene’s silent, watching your expression, face impassive. 

“No, I get it,” you say, working your tone into something sympathetic; keep the layers, the feigned bitterness, the judgment. “I’m her girlfriend’s ex. Of course she’d feel a little awkward around me.” You smile reassuringly at Irene. “It’s okay. I’m sure she’s great.” 

The corner of Irene’s mouth turns up, grateful. Close press of her lips, and doesn’t speak. 

“It’s good to see you,” you say, getting the gist anyway. 

Because Irene’s as she always is, at the end of the day; assuming she doesn’t need words to communicate, counting on the people around her to read her mind, do the heavy lifting for her. There are worse character flaws for a person to have, you reason. It’s at least a damn good thing she never learned to do the same for you. 

(Oh, the things she’d see, if she could get into your head. Brimming with the uncontrollable urge to either burst out laughing on the spot at Seulgi’s unsubtle exit or run after her and kiss Seulgi senseless, watch her smoke and let her make you smile, lean into her body and say you’re so cute, do whatever you want with me; I’ll be yours for tonight, if that’s what you need. We’ve made so many mistakes, you and me. Let’s make some more.) 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Irene says, finally. She won’t pull you in for a reconciliatory hug, won’t lay a finger on you; she knows all her boundaries. She’s probably the only one in this room who does. “I’m glad to see that you’re doing well.” 

“Thanks,” you say, because if only she knew. 

-

Speaking of worse character flaws.

-

“Get your shit together,” you say, out of the corner of your mouth, when you run into Seulgi on the back patio. “I thought you were an actress.”

“It’s a crime that I’m not fucking you right now,” Seulgi says around her cigarette, lighter flicking fast. A beat, and it catches. “I’m gonna lose my mind.” 

There’s that same pretty pink blush high in her cheeks. It could be the cold but it isn’t. “Your girlfriend’s here,” you say, like she’s unaware, like that’ll make her take it back, like you don’t wish you were on your knees and eating her out just as much as she does. “We are horrible fucking people, Seulgi.”

There’s really no use - it’s a formality, completely performative. Seulgi’s got her gaze stuck on your tight top, your legs wrapped in sheer black tights, your boots, your blunt nails. Stare hooded, expression suggesting unspeakable things. 

“Alright, kid,” she agrees. Alright, she’s saying; I’ll be anything, as long as I can have you. “I think I can be okay with that.” 

-

It’s a long, torturous night. 

Not that you thought it’d be any different. Irene’s as much of a presence as she always is, despite how physically small she is - it’d be hard to find a room she couldn’t command with a snap of her fingers, a click of her stilettos - but it’s unbearable when she’s with Seulgi, the two of them attracting stares and attention simply by virtue of being together, stunning separately and surreal on each others’ arms. It’s manageable, at first; your jealousy’s so misplaced and so you start drinking a little yourself, laughing loud with Wendy, ignoring it. It’s fine. 

But it starts unraveling completely probably about two hours in. 

“I can’t take this anymore,” you say, watching Seulgi prop her elbows atop Sooyoung’s kitchen island, hair winding its way past her shoulders, looking like how light runs from night skies, seeps its way from shadowy corners. Can’t stand the way she leans in and whispers something to Irene, and Irene’s reactions are as muted as they always are, when she’s not on camera; a quick quirk of her mouth, and nothing more. Seulgi’s eyes slide to you every other minute. She looks bored. She looks vicious. “I need to be admitted to the psych ward.” 

“So I’ve been saying,” says Wendy. “For years.” 

Seulgi’s laughing, now, but in that closed-off, false way she does in talk show interviews. Playing with Irene’s fingers, their heads bent together. She darts another look towards you again. Put your money where your mouth is, you want to tell her; you want me so bad, then have me. Give it all up for me. 

“I wanna test a theory,” you say, to Wendy, because it’s all about the scientific method, and you know Seulgi won’t give anything up for you at all, unless pushed to the brink. It’s just the way things are. 

Wendy tilts her head. “Is it Kang Seulgi-related?” 

“Uh.” You’re too obvious. 

She rolls her eyes, rephrases. “Is it gonna get you laid?”

“Yeah,” you say, because it’s too late for shame, but it’d be tactless to say well, that’s gonna happen regardless. Even if it’s true. 

“Fine.” Wendy sighs, sends a baleful look over to where Park Sooyoung’s smiling softly by the back door, wrapped up in her fiancé’s arms. “At least one of us should be getting fucked tonight.” 

-

You’ve acted in enough dramas to know how to manufacture chemistry with anyone, but it’s a little extra effective with Wendy; the two of you aren’t scared to touch each other, giggle together like you’re in on a dirty, private joke, ignore that there’s anyone else in the room. You’re codependent, and she’s gorgeous, crop top revealing her toned stomach, plenty of places to trace with your fingertips. It’s easy to put on a show. And it’s not at all a subtle one; Wendy’s got an arm around your waist in turn, murmuring something in your ear, lips brushing your jaw when she pulls back. Transforming every touch into something intimate, suggestive. 

“I really don’t think you need to be doing all this,” says Wendy, as you wind a lock of her hair around your finger, flutter your eyelashes like she’s flirting. “Seulgi’s already cheated on Irene with you twice. Doesn’t that already prove enough?” 

“No,” you say, stare purposely focused on her mouth. It’s pettier than that, anyway. See me with someone else, you’re thinking; see how you like it. It’s a thought that’d be understandable if you were trying to stick it to Irene right now, instead of a girl you’ve met (and fucked) twice, but- “Is she looking?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Wendy’s grinning, unable to work her lips into a sultry kind of pout; it’s something she’d be able to do on stage, but it’s different when she’s back here on earth with the rest of you. “And I think she’s gonna wring my fucking neck.” 

You throw a glance over your shoulder. Seulgi’s still over in the kitchen, jaw flat and eyes trained on you without a cover, no façade in sight. She’s getting that look on her face - the one that says she’s gonna fucking strangle you for this - and the way her fingers flex outwards instead of curling to fists - saying if I do, you’re gonna beg for more. It’s working. Of course it’s working. Seulgi’s fingers are trembling a little bit, restless; desperate for a vice, you or her nicotine. What’s worse, really. 

“How far are you willing to go for this?” you ask, hand falling to cup Wendy’s cheek. 

“As far as you want.” Wendy’s always game, and she’s spent a few too many nights alone. She’s got her own points to prove. 

“Great,” you say, smiling. “Kiss me.” 

“So romantic,” says Wendy, but she does it anyway. 

-

It’s not like you haven’t done it before, but it’s different under the influence - under alcohol, under Seulgi’s stare burning a hole in your back, under the cover of darkness like you’ve never shone under spotlights - and it works. 

“Oh, man,” says Wendy, pulling back, sliding a hand through your hair; your lip gloss glimmers on her bottom lip. “We’re fucked up. And I think I need to stop before Seulgi actually puts out a hit on me.” 

“She shouldn’t care,” you say, innocuous, tracing Wendy’s sides with your fingertips. “She has a girlfriend. Why should she give a fuck who I’m making out with?” 

“We’re not making out,” says Wendy. She’s got glittering eyeshadow on the inner corners of both eyes, sparkling in low light. You think of city streets and skylines, her face on billboards, her voice on the radio, how her fans would froth at the mouths if they could see her like this. “I kissed you once.” 

“We’re not making out yet,” you correct her. 

“Well, in that case,” says Wendy, and pulls you back in. 

(By the back door, Park Sooyoung’s watching the both of you, lips pressed together in a thin line, blinking fast as if unable to reconcile what she’s seeing. Unsure of what she really wants, never knowing how to get it. Feelings are funny like that.)

-

It’s only a matter of time, but it always is. 

come outside, the text from a number you don’t recognize reads. i’m taking you home. 

seems like a bad idea to hitch a ride home with a stranger, you respond right away, knowing even with the anonymity, fingertips trembling like your entire body aches to scream her name. Wendy’s got an arm around your waist, the two of you tucked in a corner and talking to one of her friends; she reads the texts over your shoulder and laughs out loud. You add, i’m famous or whatever. there are a lot of people who want to hurt me. 

yeah, is the only response, like a threat in itself. you’re right. they do. 

-

You don’t know what Seulgi tells Irene to get away with this, but it doesn’t really matter. 

“Oh, wow,” you say, as you make it down the driveway just to see her already standing by the front gate. She’s got her phone in her hand and a sleek black car idling on the curb. “What a coincidence. You know, I just got this text from this person who’s clearly stalking me, wanted to take me home with them - so crazy, seriously, fans these days-”

“Get in the fucking car,” Seulgi snaps, voice deadly low; closes her fingers around your wrist and tugs.

She doesn’t leave you any room to argue, but it’s not like you would, regardless - you wouldn’t leave even if she’d let you. 

So you’re piling into the backseat of the car, and the second the door shuts, windows tinted, she curls her fingers in your hair and kisses you. Desperately, like she’s been wanting to the moment she saw you, right when you walked in a room; possessive and sloppy, the taste of her mouth, the bite of alcohol - oh, she’s drunk, she can’t curb a single impulse like this. Knuckles bone-white and every breath like a gasp; you’re losing your mind already, inhibitions like a foreign language, something you could never really get a grasp on. She sighs right on your tongue, sharing air like a necessity. The car starts moving. Nothing registers but her. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” says Seulgi roughly, fingers tangled in the flimsy strap of your top. “I don’t give you attention for one night and you start throwing yourself at anyone desperate enough to fucking touch you-”

“Are you jealous?” you taunt, asking for it. “Even though you were there with your girlfriend?” 

Her gaze locks on yours. Pupils drowning her irises. Staring at the flick of her tongue against her teeth. Other hand on your thigh, underneath your skirt. 

And then she wraps one hand in the fabric of your tights and tears. 

All the air vacates your lungs, a head-rush if there ever was one - and now she’s got complete access to everything she wants, your thong, the way she can probably see how you’re soaking through it. You get out shakily, like it’s what matters: “Those were expensive.” 

“Darling,” says Seulgi, smugly arrogant, “I’m pretty sure I can afford to buy you new ones.” 

Her ego shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it is. You’re squirming in place, begging to be touched; you’d let her fuck you right here in the back of this car with her driver stone-faced at the wheel, let heat fog up the windows, let it be a sex scene straight out of some filthy erotic art film, you squealing and cumming all over the leather seats - but you’ve been bad, Seulgi murmurs against your ear, and so you can wait. She’s thumbing your cunt through your panties, agonizingly slow, forcing you to grind down against her fingers. Anything for friction, for pressure, for her hands right where you want them-

“You make me kind of insane,” she mumbles against your mouth, a break in the character, revelation of the truth. Pulls back with her lips swollen and red. “God. I just wanna do super fucked up things to you, all the time.” 

“Then do them,” you breathe out, and Seulgi smiles widely, teeth glinting like they’re coated in venom. 

You don’t fuck in the car, but it’s close. Her driver doesn’t say a thing. That’s something you’ve all come to know, early on in this world: money can buy anything, especially silence. It’s the only way you’ll ever make it out of this alive. 

-

Finally, she takes you home. 

-

Your first thought is that it’s fucking unbelievable.

You’re so used to McMansions and penthouse apartments, sterile and unwelcoming - but Seulgi’s place is artsy and cluttered like she’s an ancient, eccentric billionaire instead of a twentysomething movie star. Strange intricate sculptures and colorful throw pillows. Paintings covering the walls that seem vaguely obscene. Sprawling plush rugs, overgrown plants situated at almost every corner in glazed terracotta pots, vines weaving their way towards the floor, over windowsills. A few very elaborate-looking cat trees, dangling with lilac fabric flowers and strung up with tiny plush bees. The view’s stunning. It’s not the only thing. 

“Whoa,” you say, forgetting you’re supposed to be begging for forgiveness, or something. “The feng shui of this house is, like, nuts.”

“Thanks,” says Seulgi, mildly endeared and holding your hand, like she’s accidentally forgotten the same thing. 

But it doesn’t last long - she drops to her knees right there in the entryway and works your boots off of you, one leg at a time - her heels are undoubtedly thousands of dollars, but she discards them like they’re nothing, lets them clatter across the floor. You don’t even make it to the bedroom before she’s got your skirt rucked up around your waist and she’s pulling at your ruined tights; off, she’s saying, standing, mouthing at your neck, I need them off - and you’re too needy and pliant underneath her, too ready and desperate to be ruined. “Mommy,” you’re saying, making your eyes big, tapping into every trick of the trade, “mommy, I’m so wet-” 

And there’s the sharp sound of her hand colliding hard with your cheek. 

“I don’t wanna hear it,” drawls Seulgi, tone slipping low and deadly, and drags you up the stairs. 

You don’t have time to catalog the rest of the feng shui - you would if you could - because the second you hit her bedroom Seulgi’s tugging at the rest of your clothes, lifting your shirt overhead, unclasping your bra; you’re pawing at her in a similarly insatiable way, hands unbuttoning her blouse, yanking at that goddamned schoolgirl skirt, entranced by the look on her face: lips bitten, cheeks flushed, painstakingly pretty. Like you might be ruining you as much as you’re ruining her. I’m so sorry, you’re blubbering, as her nails scrape at you, mommy, I know I was bad-

“And you know what happens to bad girls, right?” 

Yes, you’re thinking, staring up at her with watery eyes - oh, yeah, you know how this ends. 

Stomach-first on Seulgi’s lap, for one. Soaked and trembling on top of her, drenched through your thong. Gasping because you can’t quite catch your breath. That’s how it goes with sex, with her, like you can never get your fucking bearings, like you never know when she’s gonna strike-

“Here’s the thing about you,” you hear Seulgi say, one hand stroking gently through your hair, voice suddenly soothing. “You’re never gonna learn how to behave unless I teach you, huh?”

-and that’s right when the flat of her palm comes down on your ass. 

Tears spring to your eyes immediately. “Fuck-”

“Oh, baby girl.” Her hand’s back in your hair. Click of her tongue against teeth. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” 

Another one, the loud crack of her hand. You flinch violently, wriggling in her lap - she gives a tiny laugh, loving it, yanking a little on your hair. She says, in a rasp: “And you’re so wet, aren’t you?”

It’s barely a question. You’re leaking through your thong, dripping onto her thighs. She’ll probably make you lick it up later, make you face it, take it. You can’t hide forever, she’ll say. I see what all of this does to you. 

Seulgi leans down, rubbing her hand up your spine, fist clutching at your hair. “You can’t be acting like a whore in public like that, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “It’s unflattering.” 

You can’t speak, squirming and humiliated, embarrassing whines tearing their way out of your mouth, out of your control. You’re shuddering, you’re pathetic, seconds from coming apart at the seams; her fingertips skate back down, circle your ass, threatening to hit. She’ll hurt you and you’ll like it, she knows. You already do. 

“In private - I mean, do whatever you want.” Another hit, then another - you’re crying now, dizzy and light-headed - you’ve never been more wet in your fucking life. “That’s how you got so far in this industry, isn’t it? You just let everybody take a turn with this slutty fucking cunt. That’s how you get all your jobs, right?” Seulgi’s palm rubs the length of your cunt, harsh and rough; the apartment’s crumbling, foundation tearing itself up - she hits you again - leave as many bruises as you want, you think of saying, give me something that’ll haunt me when you leave, please - “I mean, I already know you like fucking people with experience.”

And it’s a vile thing to say, it’s so sick, and so not true. You’re a superstar, you should have your own level of ego, should fight allegations like those - but the truth is the only star left in the room is above you, laughing as your pussy leaks all over her thighs. She adjusts your body in her lap like you’re made for her to manhandle, turns you until she can see your face, the tear tracks on your cheeks. 

Your eyes on her, never snapping away. Do whatever you want to me, you’re saying, I’ll take it. 

“Like a good girl,” Seulgi interprets.

“Yeah,” you say, hoarse and already gone. “Like a good girl.” 

(If you’re gonna make all the wrong choices, you might as well make it worth your while.)

-

Seulgi makes you cum first - and then second, and then third - with her hand forcing you down by your hipbone, lips at your navel and trailing downwards, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. It’s somehow filthier fucking her in her own bed, no public bathrooms or images to keep clean: she makes you cum and cum until she emerges with her chin glistening and a feral smirk on her face, pleased with her handiwork, the half-moon crescents of her nails against your thighs, the way you can’t stop whining. 

“Oh, baby,” she sighs after, at the look on your face, spaced out and wrecked. “Did mommy work you too hard?” Rubs a wet hand along your ribs, uncaring of the way she smears your own cum along your skin. “I thought you said you could take it.” 

“I can,” you say, vehement, trembling all over. Prop yourself up on your elbows, breathless, and say: “I can give it pretty good, too, mommy.” Lean forward, capture her mouth against yours, tasting your own cunt. “If you’ll let me.” 

Clutches the headboard and sits on your face, hips rocking against your mouth, your tongue lapping greedily at her cunt, dripping cum all over your jaw - she cums once and you push her to the bed, work your fingers in the tight wet heat of her pussy, say mommy, I just wanna make you feel good. Thumb circling her hard little clit, fingers curling inside her, punching out full-hearted moans from her slick mouth. You’re supposed to be a pillow princess, probably, that’s absolutely your archetype - begging for a girl’s fingers or mouth, getting fucked into oblivion and calling it there - but you’ve always been greedier than you should be, needing to take and own and touch and fuck. And Seulgi’s so fucking sensitive. 

“That’s my girl,” Seulgi’s saying, one hand wound in your hair, syrupy-sweet; she won’t raise her voice anymore when it’s like this, when you’ve been good, when you’re seconds from making her cum again. She knows when you deserve the praise. “God, fuck-”

You push her to orgasm over and over until she hits her own limit, shoves you to the bed and says, Jesus, I can’t, I can’t. Ends it by taking your wrist and dragging your fingers into her mouth, tongue laving over her own cum, stringing sticky over your hand. Looks right at you the whole time, perched on your thigh, breathtaking. She’s smaller than you, but you never feel it. Like without trying, she could bring the whole world to her feet and make them beg for salvation - like without effort, she owns you. 

“I’d ask you who taught you to eat pussy like that,” Seulgi tells you, voice gravelly from moaning, “but I think I probably already know the answer.” 

It leaves you giggling, nose against her neck, consumed by her. It’s a fucked up thing to joke about, but it’s just one more thing to add to the list. 

-

(It’s hysterical, because she’s the one who should be begging for salvation - no one needs to repent more than she does. Oh, well. She’s about to spend all night on her knees, worshipping; if she’s right and God gets her, then it’s possible God can let this one slide, just this once.) 

-

Afterwards - ah, you know what they say. Third time’s the fucking charm. 

-

You don’t really mean to stay the night, but it happens anyway. Maybe you’re learning to pick your battles. You’ve made it this far giving into every stupid impulse - you know what you want, so why fight it, really. 

Seulgi’s something of a miracle to witness, first thing in the morning: gorgeous and completely dead to the world, streaks of eyeliner smeared across her closed eyes, foundation shiny and worn, whatever was left of her lipstick staining her pillowcase. Everyone’s favorite movie star, so utterly human. She’ll probably break out from falling asleep in her makeup. You probably will, too. 

“Seulgi.” 

You stretch, disentangle yourself from her; you’re sore in all the most satisfying ways, ass a stinging mess. Seulgi shifts in lieu of a response, hums, clearly a light sleeper. A smile flickers at her mouth. 

“Seulgi,” you say again, brattier, and bury your face in her hair. 

It does the trick: her name, your tone. “Kid,” Seulgi says, curving to make space for you, voice hoarse from sleep, like she’s retaliating. Then, with a laugh, eyes blinking open: “I can’t believe you stayed.” 

You pull back just to cock your head at her, assessing intention. She reaches out a hand under the sheets and grazes your bare thigh. Like she’s trying to see if she’s sleepwalking, lucid dreaming - her subconscious knows what she wants; it’ll cater to her. Sometimes she touches you like she’s not convinced you’re real. Sometimes you think you do the same for her. 

“Did you want me to leave?” you ask, grinning, somehow already knowing the answer. 

“No,” Seulgi says, anyway. Smile sleepy and stunning, a glimpse of the sun in the room with you. “Stay as long as you want.” 

It’s a blatant lie, but a heart-stoppingly sweet one. Actresses, you think, disparagingly, and lean in to kiss her mouth. “Bullshit,” you say, calling her on it. 

But she’s giggling in that way she only does when it’s real, and so you slip back between the sheets, letting her arm fall comfortably over your waist. Let the other actors carry on without you; let the plot shift around you as it goes, improvisational; let it leave you be. Oh, you don’t deserve this kind of reprieve, not by a long shot. Somehow, it’s still what you’ve got.

(Because the truth is that the moment she takes you home, it’s already over. It’s one thing to keep an affair like this confined to public bathrooms and dark corners - it’s another to hold its hand, wrap it up in her bed, let it sneak into the sheets and spend the night. Look, you’ve seen all the movies: there’s no feel-good film that lets people like you and her win. But the tape’s still rolling: there are still people listening in, sound technicians with boom mics, directors monitoring your work. We’ve set you free, let you play it by ear, they’re saying - impress me, come on, show me something good. Give me an answer that’ll satisfy an audience. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?)

Stay, Seulgi says, like she’s even got a right to ask. Stay, she says, so you do. 

-

Fine. The truth can wait for another day, after all. You’ll just have to let it haunt you until then. 

-

obligatory author does not condone cheating and homewrecking disclaimer here. also this is another case of me intending this to be a one-shot and then it got too long..... okay the part 2 will come eventually i SWEAR!!!! if you made it here thanks for reading 24k words of fuckery and brainrot ily <3

[simpforboys]

the gift of eywa

neteyam sully x fem!omatikaya!reader

summary: kiri gives you the best birthday gift

warnings: ATWOW SPOILERS!! flashbacks, mentions of nightmares/death/blood/gunshots, some angst, fluffy end, kiri is powerful af, depression

you and neteyam are 18-19.

this is based on a theory (or rather hope) that kiri is going to bring back neteyam for the 3rd movie and i need it to happen.

the dreams constantly got worse.

endless nights of tossing and turning, the horrible memory of what happened that night.

the night you lost your mate.

immense panic washed over you as jake helped you, lo’ak, and spider bring neteyam’s wounded body onto the rock-covered island.

“watch his head!” you shouted.

tears filled your eyes as you rested his head gently in your lap, his fading eyes looking up at you.

jake lifted his son to see the bullet went cleanly through the lung. you saw the way his face fell and knew eywa was coming to meet your mate.

“no… no! my neteyam, look into my eyes.” you stroked the boy’s hair in the way he absolutely loved.

his eyelids were fluttering as his chest went from rising and falling rapidly to almost a complete stop.

“until we meet again, my y/n…”

the constant pain of knowing your mate died in your arms was horrible.

that night happened two months ago. for two months you’ve received pitting looks from your people.

the most you’ve slept is probably twenty six hours throughout the sixty days, even though they started to blend together now.

you cannot remember the last time you smiled. genuinely smiled.

the remembrance of neteyam lived within the clan, as his energy went back to eywa with his funeral.

meeting neteyam when you were 15, the two of you immediately clicked. everyone in the clan knew you were going to be mates.

the day of your 18th birthday was when tsaheylu occurred. the night you officially became neteyam’s, and neteyam officially became your’s.

“are you sure?” neteyam looked over your glistening face, the white dots glowing perfectly under the tree of souls.

“positive.” you gave your soon-to-be mate a smile, grabbing your braid.

neteyam grabbed his, connecting your queue to his. the feeling was powerful, unlike anything you could imagine.

two souls had finally become one.

being mates of course came with the closeness of family. the sullys grew very fond of you, neytiri saw herself in you.

besides neteyam, you grew close to kiri. she became your good friend, someone you could go to when neteyam was being a skxawng.

and kiri noticed the way your face lost some of its color. you became numb, dull, and heartless.

it was very rare for mates to pass so young. and unfortunately, eywa has passed that fate upon you.

it made you bitter. people would bring you care baskets and you would shame yourself for getting pity.

but deep down, you knew neteyam would not want you to be sulking. he was such a bright soul, he would want you to live for him.

live. living; alive. it felt wrong to do without neteyam. the last time you felt alive was when you rode on neteyam’s ikran over the sea to the metkayina village.

the travel was rough, through storms and late nights. but neteyam made it special, he would let his ikran fly and would focus on you.

sometimes it felt as if his hands were still on you, holding you the way he used to.

you had become a little thinner from the lack of food you were ingesting. it was hard to do anything nowadays.

your ilu missed riding with you and would often swim up to the marui pod to check on you.

and kiri had enough.

her deep connection with eywa made kiri begin to research, to ask ronal questions.

and one day, kiri snuck out of the pod and went down to the spirit tree. she connected her queue and instantly, eywa heard her.

eywa had heard kiri’s prayers, neytiri’s sobs, and your broken heart.

the great mother had given one more chance.

kiri snapped her eyes open, seeing neteyam’s body in the center of the tree. she swam over, gently shaking her brother.

her heart almost stopped when neteyam’s eyes met hers.

➽─────────────────❥

your nineteenth birthday had finally arrived. the first birthday in years you would spend without neteyam.

the sullys had given you gifts, to which you sadly thanked them. tuk had crafted you special little piece, a heart with you and her oldest brother.

it brought you to immediate tears, to which neytiri just held you as you cried in her arms.

“i miss him.” you sobbed into her chest.

neytiri had quickly grown into the motherly figure in your life ever since you left the high camp.

“i know…” neytiri softly cried, petting the top of your head in a soothing way.

she gently sung a soft tune into your pointed ear. your rapid heartbeat began to soften.

unbeknownst to you, kiri was leading neteyam back to awa’atlu. the great mother had brought her brother back, and knew this would be the best birthday gift she could give.

the metkayinas erupted into shouting as they noticed the boy who once died, now alive and smiling.

he wanted to see you.

neytiri’s ears perked up from the shouting. jake peeked his head out of the pod, seeing his once deceased son riding on the back of an ilu.

“what the hell-“ jake quickly ran out of the pod.

curious, tuk followed.

“tuk!” neytiri called after the youngest, getting up from her position.

lo’ak came running into the pod, grabbing you from your slumped position.

“what do you want?” you groaned.

“you have to see this, y/n!”

you stood up, peeking out of the pod to see the metkayinas surrounding what appeared to be kiri.

you narrowed your eyes, carefully approaching the crowd. neytiri’s sobs were heard from hundreds of feet away. the omatikayas were hugging something, kiri’s smile wide.

as you got closer, it seemed as if all eyes were on you. when you finally focused your gaze on what everyone was crowded around, you met bright yellow eyes.

his bright yellow eyes.

“neteyam…” you gasped.

“my y/n.” your mate smiled at you, his tail high in excitement.

you approaching the boy you grew to love in a slow and cautious manner.

“h-how?” you stuttered, reaching your hands out to hold his face in your hands.

warm, soft, and blushing just like they always were when you touched him.

“the great mother has given me a second chance, thanks to kiri.”

you looked at kiri, a tear in her eye as she grinned at you. “happy birthday.”

the amount of tears that flowed out of you in that moment almost seemed impossible. you jumped onto your mate, crying in his arms.

the metkayinas cheered from eywa’s gift.

“happy birthday, my y/n.” neteyam whispered into your ear.

you began to fall to your knees in the sand, neteyam holding you tightly against him. “mawey, y/n. mawey. i am here.”

eywa had finally heard your prayers. and now that you finally had your mate in your arms, you were never going to let him go.

[tihgnari]

✮ 03. not my favorite (ღ)

tw: none / wc: 1k

"mom, no way," you beg, looking at her exasperated across the kitchen as she takes out the leftover containers. "you can't do this to me on my first day back. you will not subject me to this torture."

your mother is in her sleepwear, hair already in rollers with the korean face mask you gave her earlier already stuck on her face. she laughs at you, taking out all the leftovers from earlier's late dinner. "oh, stop being dramatic. you act as if you didn't grow up with those boys."

"but it's —"

"no buts," she cuts you off. "besides, just welcome them over. let them eat the remaining stuff, i'm sure they'll finish everything. i also heard kazuha's coming over, which is rare because it's usually always just the three boys swinging by here after their gigs to put back their stuff in the garage… so…" she drags out the last vowel of her sentence, looking at you suggestively. "maybe he's here to see you! not every day his childhood best friend comes back to town."

"mom, please —"

"they have a new guy in the band, too, by the way — well, second new guy after the other one left. his name's kuni, the poor guy moved here with his uncle when his father, his last parent, passed away two years ago and he had to stop college, can you imagine how hard that is? i wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"who even is the source of that gossip —"

"you go get ei and miko over there and just, hang out, you know? buy some drinks for all i care, i trust you. make friends, make memories, make the summer count, okay?"

at this point, she's done putting everything out of the fridge. she crams most of them in your tiny microwave, unintentionally doing what she initially asked you to do and why she pulled you out of watching a netflix movie with the gays in the living room. after you sense she's done with her little speech, you approach her, putting the remaining containers into the tiny device. your mother offers you a tight hug and a kiss goodnight, and you let her because you know she hasn't done that in a while.

your mother scurries back to her bedroom after muttering a quick "so glad my baby's back," and you finish putting the containers in rows of three on the kitchen island.

how do you say 'no' to that?

—

"YN!"

"AETHER!"

"YN!"

ALBEDO!"

you let out a delighted shriek as they tackle you in a hug, genuinely happy to see them after a few years. the van with their belongings is pulled up at the back of the house, for easy access to the garage — which, you learned from your mom, is where they've been practicing since last year after she offered it to the boys — "well, it was empty and no one was using it anyway, so why not?"

albedo and aether practically jumped out of their respective seats at the front of the van in their excitement. with their blonde locks flailing about, you're awfully reminded of golden retrievers that are happy to see their favorite person back after a long day. "so nice to see you guys again! how have you guys been? you both have gotten so handsome i can't believe you guys actually had it in you!"

"and you're still shabby yourself!" the three of you laugh as aether retaliates immediately, ever quick-witted and sharp-tongued.

"ah, well," albedo starts. "same old kids in the past, just playing smaller instruments. we finally became regulars at nowhere, so you should definitely come to our gigs sometime!"

you gasp. "no way, that's great! you guys have been waiting for a consistent gig for so long! how did you guys do it?"

"well —"

"i convinced them," a fourth voice says, butting into the conversation as you hear his boots hit the gravel and a car door shutting. "the owner adores his only daughter, and his daughter unfortunately adores me… so, it wasn't that hard to convince her, really."

you catch his innuendo and it makes you roll your eyes. "not even five seconds after seeing you again and i already remember why i hate you."

you turn around from the two boys and there he is in all his glory. kazuha laughs, pulling you in for a hug that you do not return. you keep your arms strictly across your chest as you turn your head away from him in disgust.

"oh, don't be like that to your favorite."

flabbergasted by what you hear, you look at him challengingly, the close proximity nearly catching you off guard. "you're not my favorite."

kazuha smiles.

"say that without blushing, and maybe i'll believe you."

a silence entails you both, neither one backing away from the intense eye contact until — "oh! yn, meet our new drummer, kuni!"

thank you, albedo.

you pull away from kazuha like he's a walking plague, straightening yourself to meet the guy your mother was talking about. his name sounds familiar as she often mentions him fleetingly when you text, only earlier at the kitchen did she actually take the time to introduce him and give him a proper introduction.

"hello, nice to meet you," he says. kuni's handsome, that was your first impression. from the way he carries himself, you know he's the calmer one in the band. from texts exchanged with your mom alone, you inferred he's helping your mom run the flower shop.

"i heard about you," you offer a handshake. "you help my mom run the shop, correct?"

"yeah," he takes your hand. "why, is there a problem?"

you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "well, if that's the case i owe you! thanks for helping out my mom, especially when i'm not always here."

kuni slowly smiles, "it's a pleasure, really."

you usher the misguided boys back to the house to offer them something to eat after helping them put their stuff in the garage, and through all that, a certain someone's ruby red eyes can't put a finger on how his bandmate looked at you — like a spark of interest broke through that usual air of nonchalance to him.

well, that's something you don't see everyday.

BAD BLOOD » previous : masterlist : next

a genshin impact band au w select characters

summary — you thought you'd be spending summer break helping at your mom's flower shop or attending kazuha's gigs, but the last thing you expect is to be caught in the crossfire of two band vocalists who hate each other's guts with a burning passion.

note — kazuha and yn's dynamics are so fun to write lmao

🏷️ OPEN! @raidenshogunmommy @arealistonao3 @kazumiku @kur0kki @quacking-simp @rifran @deffenferofjustice @keiiqq @solelial @rvoulte @monikidk @animeobsessed56 @siluc @miy-svz @aries-afk @potteraep @cindywasneverhere @moonjellyfishie @cridtiins @yoruunight @kunihaver @meigalaxy @vyvixen @riabriyn @v4mpess @kamisstufff @pluviwinkle @sp1ng @smhpunkacademic

[fandom-alley]

Sun Kissing

Summary: The BAU team just finished a case on the California coast and were rewarded with a couple days off for vacation, so Spencer's girlfriend convinced him to spend the day at the beach. Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem Reader Category: Fluff, slight bit of angst with Spencers feelings towards the beach Warnings: 13+, kissing/making out in public, slightly inappropriate thoughts in public Word Count: 1.6k AO3

“Are you sure about wanting to go to the beach? You do know we’re probably going to get sand in the food, potentially a sun burn which heightens your risk of melanoma, and not to mention the drug resistant bacteria that’s spread through seagull feces.” Spencer said with a glance down to his girlfriend, who stood beside him looking out at the ocean with a smile on her face.

“Spence, I’m sure. Remember half an hour ago when you told me we could do anything I wanted with our extra day off, and then when I said ‘are you sure, what if it’s something you don’t like’ and you told me you’ll like anything we end up doing because we’d be doing it together? This is what I choose. And we’re already here. I promise you I can help you enjoy the beach.” Y/n said back.

“I’m not sure,” Spencer said, biting his bottom lip in hesitation. 

“Okay, how about this. Give it at least an hour, and if you’re really hating it we can just go for a stroll on the boardwalk and get some ice cream,” she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Spencer always had trouble saying no when she gave him this look. Head tilted back so she could look up at him, brown eyes wide and reminiscent of a puppy, with a small pout. Usually she gave him this look when she was trying to convince him to order take out or to watch one of her favourite movies. And it was always a resounding yes, even if that movie was Mean Girls, and for the 5th time in a row. But they had never been to a location one of them had disliked before, so this was new territory for them.

“Okay. I can accept this compromise, but I make no promises,” he agreed with a sigh. Y/n jumped up in excitement, clapping her hands together like a kid who just received the best birthday present ever. 

The excitement that y/n found in even the smallest moments was something about her that made Spencer just fall in love so much faster than he was used to. When she first started working for the BAU, covering JJ’s role as the media liaison, he was instantly infatuated. He liked to think he hid it well, but Derek would poke fun at his crush any chance he got.

When JJ came back from maternity leave and he saw her sitting in  y/n’s chair, his heart skipped a beat. Thinking that he had missed his chance, that JJ was back to re-fill her roll and he would never see y/n again. Until she walked out of Hotch’s office five seconds later with the biggest grin on her face that he had ever seen. 

Everyone in the bullpen had stopped to watch as she stood outside his door, jumping and squealing as if she had just found out she won the lottery. But really it was Spencer who had won, since she had been in a meeting with Hotch where he was offering her a full time position, thanks to JJ being promoted to a supervisory special agent.

Spencer asked her out that night, and they had been together ever since. 

Now, Spencer held onto her waist as she rose up on her toes to give him an excited kiss after saying yes to the beach.

“Come on, it’s not that busy we can get a good spot down by the water!” She grabbed their two bags of beach supplied while he grabbed the small cooler full of drinks and snacks, then she led the way down the sand towards the calming blue waters.

He only tripped on the uneven sand a few times before y/n found a spot on the beach that was to her satisfaction. He watched as she dug out a big blanket and shook it out, placing it onto the ground and securing two corners with their bags. He placed the cooler on the third corner, and his shoes on the last. 

Spencer had to admit, when he wasn’t thinking about potential bacterias in the sand, the warmth of it really did feel nice between his toes. 

He took a seat on the blanket, watching as his girlfriend unpacked all of her beach essentials. Her Kindle, sunglasses, a small pillow to rest her head on while she tanned. And an umbrella that she aggressively stuck into the sand, casting their spot in a shadow that Spencer was grateful for. It wasn’t the hottest day out, but the sun could burn you even behind the clouds.

Spencer didn’t bring any of his books to the beach, not wanting them to get covered in sand that would inevitably make its way back to their hotel room. Instead he opted to people watch. Or more specifically, girlfriend watch. His eyes were drawn away from the water and towards her when she started to take off her clothes to reveal her bikini. A deep red with white stripes, it reminded Spencer of a candy cane and it made his mouth water.

She caught him looking at her chest, and when he didn’t look away, she smirked. 

“Spencer, get those thoughts out of your head, we’re in public,” she laughed. 

“What thoughts?” He asked innocently, finally looking to her eyes, and at the quirk of her eyebrow he gave in. “Sorry. But it’s hard when my girlfriend is most beautiful girl here.”

Y/n blushed and glanced around at the other people dotting the beach. Given that it was the middle of a work day in May, it was mostly young families and retired old couples walking up and down the sand for their daily exercise. But she took the complement in stride. 

“Keep buttering me up like that and we’re going to be leaving earlier than an hour and skipping the ice cream as well.” Y/n leaned over Spencer, bringing herself closer to kiss him. 

They might have been in public, but Spencer couldn’t help himself and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her in closer as he got lost in their kiss. Y/n nipped at his bottom lip, sending a shiver down his spine. He ran his hands along her body, enjoying the feel of all her skin thanks to the small bikini. They came to a stop on her butt, which felt as if there was no fabric there at all thanks to the style that she chose, so he squeezed. She let out a quiet moan, which fuelled him even further. Shoving his tongue in her mouth with a new fever, he tightened his grip on her butt in preparation to pull her fully on top of him, but before he could they were interrupted by a kid screaming not too far away.

Y/n broke away, panting, as she looked down the beach at the kids playing. Nobody was giving them any dirty looks for so much PDA in public, but Spencer still let go of his hold on her, guiding her to lay down beside him as he put her arm around her instead.

It took a few minutes for their breathing to return to normal, both of them with their eyes closed enjoying the warmth of the sun on their bodies. 

“I think I could enjoy the beach,” Spencer broke the silence. Y/n propped herself up on her elbow to look at him.

“Yeah? So does that mean we can stay longer than an hour?”

“Actually, after the hour I was thinking we could go back to our hotel room and have a different kind of fun,” he smirked at her, lazily running his fingers up and down her arm. 

“Oh! I like that idea,” Y/n blushed, thinking about reenacting what they just did on the beach but in the privacy of their room, and continuing on without any interruptions. “But first we’ve got to make the most of the beach. Let’s go for a swim!”

She jumped up off the blanket and Spencer watched as her hips swung while she ran towards the water. 

“Come on!” She stopped a few feet before the water, turning back to yell at him. “Take that shirt off and come for a swim with me.” Then she spun back around and ran into the ocean until she couldn’t run anymore, and dove in. 

It had been a while since Spencer had been in the ocean, or even a swimming pool, and he kind of craved the feeling of being weightless in the water. He pulled off his shirt and ran to meet her. It was cold and a shock to the system as he dove into the water, but it helped cool off his thoughts of what he would be doing to her an hour from now. 

They didn’t go in too deep, which made it easier for Spencer to sneak up behind her and lift her over his shoulder. Y/n let out a yell as he spun around and tossed her into the water. 

“That’s not fair, I can’t lift you like that,” she said when she resurfaced. Then as he was distracted about to apologize she splashed him with as much water as she could manage. Which wasn’t as much as he probably could have done, but it was enough to get some of the salty water into his mouth. 

Y/n laughed as he spit it out and wiped the water off his face. But then he was on her in a second, tickling her sides and making her squeal in laughter.

“I surrender, I surrender!” She managed to say between breaths of laughter. Spencer stopped his attack and pulled her into his chest for a hug.

“I love you.” He said with a kiss to the top of her head.

“I love you too. Thank you for enduring the beach for me,” Y/n said, squeezing him a little bit tighter. 

“Anything for you, my love.”

Thank you so much for reading!

[toji-sweetheart]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐭 | 𝐞. 𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

synopsis: When pro hero Red Riot asks you on a date, you can't believe it, only to find out that maybe he isn't that into you.

wc: 1.4k

tags: all characters are over 25 + angst + any missing tag lmk!

Kirishima stood nervously at your front door shifting his weight on each foot before gripping the bouquet in his hand ultimately crushing the green stems. 

Taking a deep breath he knocked on the wooden door. “Hold on!” You called out, he could feel the sweat starting to roll down his back at this point. When you swung the door open he inhaled sharply seeing you dressed in a loose floral print dress that didn’t cling too much but he could still pinpoint your curves, his gaze started from your toes to your hair making you feel self-conscious under his stare. 

“Is this okay?” You asked running your palms over the stretchy fabric, his red eyes melted into you and he smiled brightly.

“Of course! You look gorgeous!” His compliment made you smile, Kirishima reached his hand out to you holding the flowers that you smelled.

“These are beautiful, I’ll be right back.”

The both of you walked down the steps and to his car where he opened the door for you.

“Thank you.” You replied in a sweet voice, Kirishima smiled and gently shut the door behind you finally taking a deep breath. His palms felt sweaty and clammy when he got in the driver's seat of his car. His red eyes glanced at you, your smell permeating the small vicinity.

It’s been two months since you two met at a Hero Convention and ever since that day the two of you talked daily, then finally Kirishima got the courage and asked you on a date which you automatically accepted because truth be told you’ve been waiting for him to ask especially after the long nights when you spent on his couch watching movies or playing board games, the tension so thick you found it hard to breathe sometimes.

You watched Kirishima from the corner of your eye and smiled. “So, how have things been going lately with everything?” You asked. He turned the radio down.

“Pretty amazing. I’m glad that you said yes, I’m not going to lie I was nervous you would say no.”

Smiling again you reached over and patted his thigh. “Of course I said yes, you're a good guy Kirishima and I mean that but I was asking how work is going and just stuff in general.” You replied giggling which sounded like the most beautiful music to Kirishima’s ears. 

“Oh, uh,” Blood pooled in his cheeks making you smile again, “being a Hero is exhausting as you know but besides that, I’ve been just hanging out with Bakugo and Kaminari.”

“They seem nice, except Bakugo.” Your comment made Kirishima laugh.

 “Try living with him, the other night I had to stop him from pummeling Denki for playing music past ten.”

“Have you thought about getting a place by yourself?”

“Eventually, we’ve been through a lot together but I’ve been looking. What about you? How’s it going?”

“Well, as you know I’m trying to get my agency up and running which isn’t easy, especially on top of being a Hero but I cut back on my hours and I’ve been hanging out with Mina when I can and you of course.”

“We’re here,” Kirishima announced pulling up to a curb shortly after the conversation ended and silence filled the air, a line of buildings stood with multiple store names of different things. 

“What are we doing?” You asked. He got out of the car and walked over to your side opening your door, you grabbed his hand and he gently pulled you out. 

“Remember when you said you wanted to take dancing lessons a week ago?”

“Are you serious?” You cried jumping up and down clapping, nodding he took your hand and entered the dance studio looking around, it was warm and inviting making you that much more excited. 

“Hello! Welcome to Salsa San. Are you two here for the class?” The older woman at the front door asked.

“Yes, I signed up a few days ago. Eijiro Kirishima.” Peering past the woman you saw the wide open floor plan and the mirrors that hung on the wall showcasing the people dancing. 

A smile tugged your lips. After getting checked in you and Kirishima walked to the dance floor and stood there side by side listening to the teacher.

“We have two new people here today with us! Say hello!” The instructor said, everyone turned and looked at the two of you and exchanged pleasantries with everyone else. 

Kirishima pulled you flush against his body and had one hand under your thigh that was hooked on his waist, and your cunt pressed against his crotch the other on the middle of your back while he dipped you, coming back up you laughed making him laugh as well, after switching partners a few times you were finally back with your date.

He let go of your thigh and put his hand on your waist, he moved his hips in sync with the music. “I had no clue you could dance.” You noted watching him freely move with a smile that made your cheeks ache. 

“Back in high school one of my classmates taught me a few different dances.” He replied tugging you that much closer to him, his body heat soaking you making your cunt wet with excitement.

He spun you out of his arms and back in then dipped you once again this time then brought you back up your face only mere inches from his, his eyes glazed over with such intensity that you forgot how to breathe. He let go of you when the music ended and bowed. “You’re most definitely the best dancing partner I’ve had.” He complimented.

“I can say the same.” You replied kissing his cheek quickly.

After the dance class, both of you walked down the street going to different stores. Kirishima put on a show by trying on different hats and posing which had you holding your sides and tears streaming down your face while taking pictures of your heads pressed together making silly faces. 

“How about we go get some ice cream?” He suggested when you two walked back out on the street hand in hand again, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be with him like this. 

“Two scoops of mint chocolate,” Kirishima said when you both came closer to the counter, he looked at you and smiled so you ordered your favorite ice cream in a waffle cone. 

While you dug in your wallet for money he already paid for the ice cream, “I was going to pay.” You said taking the cone from him. 

“You can always pay me back.” He replied with a wink. 

Walking out of the ice cream shop he held your hand and led you to the park where the conversation got deeper than what you two usually talked about.

“I don’t have many people I can open up to but I’m so glad that we met Eijiro, I feel like I can tell you just about anything and I love hanging out with you.” You murmured, he stopped mid-walk and turned to look you in the eyes, and your stomach turned and flipped. Is he going to kiss you?

“I can say the same, you’re a really good friend.”

Did he just put you in the friend zone?

[arkhamabyssfiles]

Loading FILE...RED_HOOD_MEMORY_08 BRUCE WAYNE: AGE, 37 HELENA WAYNE: AGE, 15 JASON TODD: AGE, 17

Jason looked blankly into the TV, unable to concentrate into the movie for too long. It was and old western so he guessed it shouldn’t be too interesting for him anyways. And yes, his body had started to ache some time ago, and perhaps the fever had gone up, but it was nothing that would kill him. If only the burning of his throat was more bearable he wouldn’t have allowed to be bundled up into the sofa at Bruce’s side—who even if he wasn’t as sick as him, he still had been confined by his unrelenting daughter and butler.

“I’m sure you got this bug from one of those stupid parties.”

“Maybe,” Bruce conceded after some moments.

“It sucks.” After all, the medicine that had been given wasn’t helping that much, and no stronger douse would be administered until he went up to bed. Helena had explained some of the reason behind it, but he’d already forgotten.

Bruce hummed at his side. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten this sick, but it was the first time he was at ease while being sick. No anxious thoughts of needing to get out and earn or get whatever he needed for the next couple days, or having someone getting into his place while he wasn’t in conditions to fight the intruder, nor wishing to have something nice, warm and easy to swallow but having only water or not so fresh fruit and bread. Or simply not being alone. Jason knew that Bruce could be in front of the Batcomputer right now—or looking over Wayne Enterprises papers for a change—, even when supposed to rest he probably found it hard to do when doing nothing, something Jason understood too well, and he still chose to sit down here with him to watch TV and listen to his complaints.

This is what having a real parent feels like, huh. Jason thought sleepily, thinking of how Janet and Willis had hardly even noticed when he was sick in the days he was still too small to get by on his own. Gotham’s gravity, boy. It makes everything worse. Janet was too fond of telling him that often, but having said gravity right now sticking him to a comfy couch beside a man that could snap someone’s arm the moment they put you or any innocent person in danger wasn’t so bad.

Jason didn’t notice when he fell asleep, but in that dazed state he heard quiet voices, saying something about dinner, then he dreamt he floated around some stairs with many pictures of cats, dogs, and some bats; and then his dry burning throat forced him to open his eyes. The first thing he noticed is that he wasn’t at the TV room/small cinema anymore but in his room, the second thing was that he was sticky, and the third after he groaned—and regretted it immediately when his throat burning flared up— was that there was someone sitting in the high-backed chair of his room near the bookcases that didn’t have as many books as he wished.

“Are you hungry?” A soft voice asked him. Jason blinked a couple of times, having a hard time making the association of the familiar voice with a tone he hadn’t known it could take.

“No.” He put an arm over his eyes and wished to get back to sleep and forget the discomfort of his body, but he was too uncomfortable to do so. Shuffling made him look over, Helena had left whatever she’d been doing in the vacant seat and grabbed a tray with something on it. “How did I end up in my room?” He asked.

Helena smiled from ear to ear, “Dad carried you up, it was so cute how you cuddled like—“

“Stop. I don’t want to know,” He said filling dizzy and his face hot from the fever and embarrassment.

“Ok, here. Sit up,” Helena’s voice still held contained enjoyment at whatever sorry picture he’d shown while unconscious. She put the tray in his nightstand and waited as he sat up slowly against the headboard, once there she put two pills into his hand and passed him a glass of water. After he had taken them, she changed the glass of water with one of something warm. He took a sip without asking what it was. His eyebrows slightly shot up and he smiled completely forgetting his previous embarrassment.

“Warmth lemonade?” He didn’t know why he found it so funny, maybe because he’d found in books portraying older times that that was one of the remedies often used for the sickly.

Helena sat on the edge of his bed and reached her hand to his forehead as she answered with the same soft voice, “It’s good for sore throats.” Her hand felt nice and cold against his feverish skin and it moved away too soon… Jason looked to the opposite side and took another drink of the lemonade—it did helped a lot with his burning throat.

“You’ve sweat a lot—do you want to change clothes?”

Jason almost spluttered into his lemonade.

“I’m not going to change your clothes,” Helena laughed shortly at his shocked face. “I’ll just bring you some to change into and a wet towel to wipe some of the sweat away.”

Jason took the last of the warm lemonade and after moving and feeling his clothes sticking to him accepted the offer. She passed him the clothes after a little rummaging through his wardrobe and walked into the bathroom to get the towel. While she did that Jason wondered why she was here and not Alfred—he glanced at the clock searching for an answer. 11:13 p.m. It wasn’t that late, but even if the old butler was used to the hectic hours that Bruce kept, that didn’t meant he didn’t get tired, or that he wouldn’t accepted in good grace the help when it came to attending a sickly household. Besides, Helena did was studying to become a doctor. Which reminded him—

“Don’t you have to go to med school tomorrow?” He asked once she put everything in his reach, including a basin of water to rinse the towel—where she’d gotten that basin he didn’t know—. Jason noted as well she was in her sleepwear, some loose pants and a lilac hoodie two sizes too big for her, it engulfed her and made her look smaller—it was kind of cu— What the hell was he thinking?

“Yes, but I’ve been napping. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” He answered automatically when he clearly had been at least been feeling guilty about it, but his brain had short quitted after thinking she was—

“Alright,” She smiled knowingly and walked to the door, “Get changed quickly and go to sleep.”

He did and after ten minutes she came back in after two knocks. By this time he’d already laid back again under the covers. Jason wondered what she wanted now, but didn’t ask as she put on his nightstand a thermos and she muttered that it was more lemonade—of course it was. Then she picked up the discarded clothes and towel, and Jason winced mentally, uncomfortable of her having to touch his sweat drenched clothes even when she seemed to not mind at all. After she finished tidying up she pulled something from her hoodie pocket, a patch of some kind—

“What are you doing?” He asked with misgiving, when she reached towards his face.

“It’s just a cold patch,” She answered moving his hair away from his forehead carefully and sticking the certainly cold patch to his forehead. Jason didn’t want to admit it, but this was nice, simply getting cared for because someone wanted you to get better for no other reason than that. He didn’t know if he’d always have this as much as he’d never known he could have something like this, so for now he just allowed himself to receive this without complaint.

“Feeling better?” She asked sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Yeah—thanks…” It took him some effort to say it, but he didn’t regret it when he saw her smile and say an honest ‘you’re welcome’. Jason wondered if the crusade her father carried had passed on to her in a different way, the strong desire to help and save people could come in many ways and forms after all. So he asked, “Is this why you want to be a doctor?”

Helena flopped into her back and looked into the ceiling. “I’ve always wanted to be able to heal people, or at least help them to the limit.”

“So you’ve always wanted to be a doctor?” He asked. The medicine was starting to take its effect, but talking for a while after a day of doing nothing was helping him more than anything to fall back into drowsiness.

She hummed and curled up on her side, now looking at him.

“That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird to want to be a doctor.”

“It is. Knowing what you want to do and how you’ll do it since you’re a kid and going through with it is weird.” Not that all weird was bad, this was the good kind of weird, but it still was weird.

“To be fair, I thought I would be a princess for a time.”

Jason laughed, then regretted it as it made his body ache, “But you are. I guess there’s lucky people out there who do get all their dreams to come true.”

“All my dreams—I wasn’t a princess until you came, Jason,” She said quietly.

So quietly and he thought perhaps a little sadly, that maybe he wasn’t meant to hear that, but he had. Jason swallowed and it wasn’t because he felt his threat ache anymore, the medicine had taken care of that.

“You should go to your room,” He said, it was time for her to go rest, she’d already helped him enough.

“But I already got comfy,” Helena complained.

“You can’t sleep in my room.” Jason wasn’t completely sure why he felt so strongly about it, but he did.

“It’s like a sleep over,” She countered.

“You’ll get sick.” Jason tried to reason, because he currently wasn’t able to bodily remove her from his room.

“I was sick last week.”

“You were sick last week? You seemed fine,” Jason said surprised. She had seemed fine, not that they crossed paths every day with her long schedules at med school, but she’d been there for dinner every day and chatted and pestered him as usual.

“I took some medicine and slept the most of two days. I know when to stop unlike some other people. Besides, only dumb people catch a cold as badly as you do.”

He let the insult slide, because he was still too busy thinking at how he hadn’t noticed it when she had just taken a look at him to know he was sick. Then after some minutes when he’d started to doze off, it hit him—

“Then it was you who passed me this damn bug!”

After a moment of silence in which he thought she’d fallen asleep she said, “Maybe.”

Fuck damn, wasn’t too much like Bruce at times.

END OF MEMORY... For more FILES check previous entries...