#and this isn’t even close to all of the scenes i could have put

[hyuckworld]

need to binge the masterlist…. long overdue but ๐·°(���﹏⋞)°·๐ (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) "(っ- ‸ - ς)ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (꩜ᯅ ꩜｡) ദ്ദി˙ ᴗ ˙ ) interpret this message

also i have almost (almost......) forgiven you for The Crime™ but i will be mourning its loss while i read this #seventeen fluff fic…….. also can’t say i’m surprised about mingyu being bullied but mc better than me because i would Not let him be my EX

vernon already going through it at work and then there’s mc god (Pretending I Don’t Know What Vernon’s About To Be Put Through) but oml him geeking over how pretty she is what if i Die <///3 the disney movie discrimination is CRAZYYY if vernon was woke enough he would’ve been even More down bad after the disney princess movie question

He tried, as confidently as he could, to voice out his supposed opinion. “Nolan’s Inception is one of the greatest films ever made.”

LMFAOOOO THIS MADE ME LAUGH TOO SORRY VERNON of course he’s a christopher nolan fanboy 🤮

HIM TAKING HIS SISTERS MOVIE SET IS INSANEEEEE i would never forgive him fr but also from mc’s perspective…… waoww ❤️ he want me so bad ❤️

vernon: Mingyu was the biggest piece of shit to grace the halls of his university me: 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 #NEEDTHAT

Your smirk deepened. “Judging by your blush, you’re either terrible at lying…or,” you offered, voice lowering a little as you drummed your fingers against the counter, “You’ve never had a hot girl this close to you.”

my queen why en GET HIM AGAIN!!!!!

this might as well be a contract killing with the way they’re about to swipe mingyu’s entire collection Tbh but ACTUALLY SO VALID BECAUSE WHY IS MINGYU SLANDERING MC LIKE THIS 😡 also vernon feeling guilty for being an asshole because of his hate boner for mingyu #truelove

AND VERNON AGREEING TO THIS PLAN WITH ZERO CONTEXT OF WHAT IT IS LIKE HE IS DOWN HORRENDOUSSSS he’s so valid tho don’t let anyone hurt ur queen <3

“Please tell me, Miss Bond, how are you planning to carry this out?” You offered him an incredulous look. “I don’t know what that reference means, I’m too pretty.”

LMFAOAOOA THIS IS THEE BEST TWO LINER ok three but like. ok just the dialogue. ok.

vernon malfunctioning because he insinuated he wanted to see mc again and in the context of robbing mingyu’s house again GODDD WHAT A LOSERRR (i want him so bad u have no idea) (god i should’ve bullied u harder into writing that smut scene)

You still could not believe how your ex-boyfriend was taking this long for the realisation to hit. Even when Eric jumped up on the screen, holding onto the ship’s ropes, the watcher only regarded the character intently, as if he was somehow part of the stranger film.

LMFAOOO WHY DID IT TAKE HIM SO LONG TO REALIZE FUCKKK he just secretly really enjoyed watching it ❤️ AND HIM TAKING SO LONG ON MULAN TOO i love my men useless with innate babygirlism so somehow this isn’t even giving me the ick .

VERNON HALFWAY OUT THE WINDOW AND MINGYU STILL CALLING HIM A NERD GODDD HOW ARE U GONNA ROB SOMEONE AND STILL GET GAGGED . okay wait my bad i read further and he actually followed up with the craziest line ever #ThankYouAmourCheol like wow. true literature

the way he’s so endeared even though she’s geeking out to disney Omg that is called real true love <3 UR KIDDING HES GONNA KISS HER TO THIS SONG….WWAOWW oh i killed myself i really did <3//33 WOW WOWW….. and she likes him sm missing out on TANGLED for a man like gawd. and the shrek reveal was so perfect he really matched her freak in the end

worst timeskip of my life TELL US WHAT HAPPENED IN BETWEEN. also the fact that it was to shrek goddd they were boning to all star

THE BARBENHEIMER SCENE LMFAOOOO kitten and the reader killed themselves after reading that thank u mc Okay waow. CUTEST FACKING FIC EVER i need to die at the way he was ready to commit crimes for mc from beginning to end. his down badness needs to be studied. in a lab. with me as head scientist. anyways that was beautiful and i think fia ficology also needs to be studied because how does it hit every single time!!!!!!!

𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐨-𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝

❝Who knew all it takes is a hot girl with top-tier taste for a man to admit he's wrong?❞

𝒈 𝒆 𝒏 𝒓 𝒆 : fluff, comedy, suggestive, college! au

𝒘 𝒐 𝒓 𝒅 𝒄 𝒐 𝒖 𝒏 𝒕 : 21.7k words

𝒔 𝒖 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒓 𝒚 : self-proclaimed movie mastermind chwe vernon minds his business—whether that be avoiding the popular, problematic kids in his college to reducing customer interest in his parents' film store. his plan of isolation, however, is completely destroyed when you, a seemingly insane disney fan, slam his perfect movie taste and ask for his help to take down an evil ex.

𝒄 𝒐 𝒏 𝒕 𝒆 𝒏 𝒕 : loosely inspired by watching the detectives, film major! vernon who owns an outdated film store, fem! reader is the baddest (but also the craziest) bitch in this fic, vernon is a loser, film major! mingyu who will be violated many times in this fic sorry king, mentions of many filmbro films which will also be violated, self-indulgent mentions of some of my favourite films, a few super dark jokes nothing serious though, kissing, mentions of sex and the act of cumming (all joking wise) but no actual sex because im fearing god today (super suggestive at best), barbenheimer reference <3

𝒕 𝒂 𝒈 𝒍 𝒊 𝒔 𝒕 : @hyuckworld @junyangis @hiraethmae @lllucere @intoanothermind @kokoiinuts @shnnzsworld @lilifiedeans @talkyoongitome @vanishingboots @cookiearmy @person1fys

𝒂 𝒖 𝒕 𝒉 𝒐 𝒓 ' 𝒔 𝒏 𝒐 𝒕 𝒆 : she is finally here !! so so sorry for taking so long </3 i never thought it would be finished atp but thank you addy and alice for pushing me to complete this lil fic !! addy ur film major info birthed the filmbro slander, and alice...no smut LMAO LOSER anyway do enjoy homies <33

𝒑 𝒍 𝒂 𝒚 𝒍 𝒊 𝒔 𝒕 : if you're too shy (then let me know) by the 1975 || q&a by seventeen || wonderful women by the smiths || confidence by ocean alley || talk talk by charli xcx || oh my! by seventeen

back to masterlist

“NO, THE HOBBIT IS SET BEFORE THE LORD OF THE RINGS.”

This particular customer, however, refused to grasp the concept. “But the Hobbit was released after,” he repeated, as if he had not heard twenty minutes ago, when he first entered the store. “Wouldn’t it make sense to watch the more recent movies?”

Vernon clamped his lips together, stopping himself from saying something that would lose him a potential buyer. Well, not that it would matter much, considering the man before him could not comprehend what a prequel was, but still—he had to make this idiot understand.

“I understand that, sir, but the Hobbit is a prequel to the Lord of the Rings.” Holding onto the DVD set, he pointed to the grand picture of the movie’s protagonist. “It’s based on Bilbo Baggins’ adventures.”

“But was that not the little fellow from the Rings?”

“No, sir, that was Frodo. Bilbo is Frodo’s uncle.” The boy then clarified, tone heightening, “You know, where he reclaims his home from Smaug?”

“Smog?” The customer parroted incorrectly, scratching his hair as if the action would jog his memory. “Now why does this hobbit’s home have health violations?”

The twist of his lips was inevitable. “Smaug,” he corrected. “The dragon…the villain…the whole reason the movie was created?”

“See, I only know that one slimy creature with the ring. What was he always saying…” The man snapped his fingers, a lightbulb switching in his otherwise empty brain. “Ah, yes!” He then completely distorted his voice, rasping, “My presh-shious!”

For a split second, Vernon was a little gob-smacked at the impression. Then, he remembered he needed sales, and made sure to laugh as if that customer was the funniest man that ever stepped foot in the store. 

This particular joker, who was clearly not understanding Vernon’s analogies, instead asked, “Well, which one do you recommend?”

Ah, the fated question. 

Besides from the Lord of the Rings collection, he had been asked this very question a few too many times, when customers would browse the films on offer and ask for his opinion. Not that he considered himself an all-knowing master of movies—

He smiled. Now that was something he could chuckle about.

“Well, sir, the Lord of the Rings is a timeless classic. I would recommend it to anyone interested in a well-written, well-produced fantasy.”

The man twisted his lips. “But I don’t really like fantasy, though.” 

Vernon could not help his smile dropping. I don’t get paid enough for this.

With as much strength he could muster, he persuaded the idiot to get a rom-com instead, and ushered him out. 

He sighed, going back to the desk. The store was never busy—unsurprising, since nobody buys DVDs anymore—but that was how he liked it. The less customers that bothered him, the better. He did not want to be that type of guy, but he would rather have his own company than those who thought that the Marvel movies were God’s gift to man. (The Spiderman movies, however, he had to leave out of his apparently controversial statement).

Vernon was about to close the shop out of pure boredom when someone stepped in. 

His eyes darted to the newcomer. 

They stayed as he beheld you.

Perhaps this was a gross generalisation, but he did not expect someone so cute walking in a store this run-down. Maybe you had mistaken it for a vintage shop, planning to rob the CDs, or thought there might be decades old clothing in here. He was certain you had walked in by mistake, but then you began to browse the movie sections.

His first thought was that you seemed to have excellent taste. 

You slowed your steps in the classics section, eyes roaming at the Fan Favourites shelf which was simply movies Vernon had seen this week. Still, they were amazing fucking movies, hence their place on the shelf, now being admired by the likes of you. He wondered what you thought of the one DVD you picked up, assessing the blurb at the back. Roman Holiday. The boy could have smiled—you truly had a knack for picking out special films. 

Your fingers lingered on the movies for only a couple of minutes before you saw the desk—first the counter, and then the person behind it. 

The fact that your first instinct was to smile at the boy behind the counter had a profound effect on him.

Now, he did not want to sound pathetic; he did not know you, had never seen you before, but someone this aesthetically pleasing did not come to stores like his. Someone who picks up Roman fucking Holiday and be this cute did not acknowledge boys like him.

But Vernon Chwe will be cool about it. He will not look like a loser in front of you.

He pretended to look over some DVDs on the counter desk as you approached him. “Hey, there,” you greeted, and only then he allowed himself to look up, glancing you over. Already you had propped your arms on the top, eyes darting around the store as if finding something which deserved your attention. “I wanted to ask about a specific film. Well, films.” 

Films? Vernon really thought all the intelligent minds had rotted in this lifetime, but clearly you were an exception. “Of course,” he said, setting the movie on the side. “What genres are you interested in?” he ticked his head towards the Fan Favourites. “You were looking in the right place, to be fair.”

“Hmm?” you only spared that shelf a momentary—dismissive—glance. “Oh, sorry! I was looking for a specific box-set, but I can’t seem to find it on the shelves. I was hoping you could have it out back.”

Specific box-set? Vernon tried to contain his smile. Of course you were looking for a collection of timeless classics. “What’re you looking for?” he asked you, hoping you were going to request Hitchcock’s best. If you asked for Wong Kar-Wai’s trilogy, he might have fallen to his knees. 

You smiled at him.

Then dropped the bomb.

“I don’t know if you’d have the Disney Princess box set? You know, the complete edition?”

Vernon’s eye twitched a little. What the fuck?

Your gaze on him did not shift. “Are you okay?”

It took a moment for him to realise that you had asked him a question. “Huh? Right, sorry,” he said hurriedly, mind rushing for the many possibilities as to why you had requested a set like that. Perhaps you were braindead? No, that was too harsh. But then, who was watching Disney movies at that age?

Then an idea came into his head, and it made him feel much better. 

“So sorry about that,” he reiterated, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway…Disney Princess set, huh?” He sighed out a laugh. “A sweet treat for your younger siblings, then.”

“Younger siblings?” A swift shake of your head, still smiling. “Haven’t got any of those.” 

The twitching was back. “...anyone under the age of 12 you know?”

“Now you’re making me sound like a freak,” you mused, locking your hands together. “Is it that shocking that I’m getting the set for myself?”

Vernon’s any attempt to diffuse the conversation died the moment you said those words.

Disney. Princess. Movies. The box-set you wanted was a Disney. Fucking. Princess box-set. 

At this rate, his eye-twitching was very much visible to you. “Don’t tell me no one’s ever bought a Disney movie from you,” you said, surprised by his change of attitude.

“Well,” he jeered, “I usually have first-time parents with their toddler kids asking me about sets like that.” 

You then titled your head back a little, taken aback with the comment. “Are you saying I’m too old to watch Disney movies?”

“No!” he instinctively defended himself, though he had virtually no defence to offer. He had, in his own words, called you a hag. 

This was it—he was usually stellar at keeping his opinions to himself. Now, the one time he could have kept his mouth shut, it spluttered open and not only embarrassed him, but one of the only cute potential customers. He was his own saboteur. His own destruction. 

After catching the flurry of emotions on his face, you had a realisation. 

Did his stupid comments get to you? Perhaps they would have, had you not seen his like before. Not only that, you had a sneaky feeling he himself had no clue on what category he was slotted into.

So you let the corners of your mouth curve upwards—up to the point where you were smirking, completely catching the boy off guard. 

“My god, you’re a filmbro!” 

Those emotions that you had witnessed now all conjoined into confusion. “Huh?” was his intelligent answer to the accusation. Filmbro?

And then you began to chuckle—little bursts of soft giggles, which escaped your mouth the more the revelation settled over you. “Wait, wait,” you began, “I need to ask this first!” You wiggled your finger at him. “What is your favourite film?”

Again, the fated question. This time, though, he felt as if his answer would not be the right one. Still—if there was one thing he was confident about, it was his expertise in films.

He tried, as confidently as he could, to voice out his supposed opinion. “Nolan’s Inception is one of the greatest films ever made.” 

There was one, solitary, quiet moment.

It was ruined by the subsequent laughter, courtesy of your mouth, which could not shut after his answer. You had to grip the counter, cackling at the response, and Vernon could only gawk at you, face reddening with every second spent watching you keel over. 

After what seemed like a lifetime (but was only about thirty seconds), Vernon finally cleared his throat. “Alright now, that’s enough comedy,” he muttered.

Another thirty seconds later, you finally seemed to calm down. The mischievous mirth on your face, although would have had any man swooning at your feet, seemed to irritate him all the more. “I’m sorry,” you gasped out, wiping a slight tear from your eye, “You just…you reminded me of my boyfriend.”

Of course. Vernon nearly clicked his tongue in disappointment. Of course the pretty, borderline-mean, borderline-terrible-taste-in-movies girl was taken. Fuck my life, son.

Your smile flickered—almost as if it turned cruel. “My mistake…ex-boyfriend.”

His eyebrow then raised a little. Maybe life can be unfucked; maybe the pretty, not-that-mean-as-he-thought, changeable-taste-in-movies girl was still attainable. 

Your eyes wandered once more, but this time to your hands. “I was actually going to get the Disney Princess set for him.”

The eyebrow decided to raise further up. He was dying to know why you were 1) getting your ex-boyfriend a present and 2) getting your ex-boyfriend the worst fucking present. But of course, due to the lack of balls in his pants, he did not ask you.

The crazier notion was, maybe you knew the lack of balls that should be present in his pants, because you iterated for him. “I’m surprised you’re not asking why I’m giving my ex a Disney Princess movie set, Mr. Filmbro.”

That term had him immediately frowning. “I don’t particularly care,” he lied as best as he could. He then crossed his arms. “Plus, I’m afraid the store doesn’t have the sets. I’m gonna have to order them in.”

A tilt of your head. “Are you lying?”

The cross of his arms was gone—now his hands were raised in surrender. “No, no!” At least not the set order bit…

Although it was quite clear that you did not believe him, you spared him this once. “Alright…” you receded your arms from the desk, taking a step back. Instead, you pointed at him. “But don’t think I’m gonna leave you alone on this!” 

Vernon’s insanely suave, cool, mystique response was giving you a thumb’s up. “Of course.” 

As you walked back to the entrance, hand on the door, you looked back at him. “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Filmbro.” 

The eye-twitch was about to come back. He did not bother waving as you left the shop.

VERNON COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU FOR THE SEVEN DAYS BETWEEN YOU AND TODAY. 

It was slightly embarrassing—he supposed he should have expected some extraordinary meet-cute, where someone who looked and acted like you would waltz into his dusty-ass film store and ask for possibly the worst movie collection to grace the western cinema. 

But then you called him a fucking Filmbro, and now the self-hatred might bubble to the surface of his usual calm demeanour. 

The boy scoffed as he fixed the alphabetical order of the CD covers, located in the Classics section. Filmbro…what the fuck do I look like a Filmbro for…

He firstly supposed that he should consider it a compliment—so what if he had superior knowledge of movies over the average morons that wandered into the store? He was paid minimum wage for this knowledge! Fuck, he was doing a degree within this field! (Not that he was quite sure he would end up as a blockbuster director at the fine age of 21, but the arts majors were always told to dream beyond the realistic limits.)

The more he contemplated over the vicious term, the more it began to bother him. Filmbro…Film. Bro. God, it sounded like a classist clique—a club where the members considered themselves above the laws of society, but were horrendously ridiculed by the outsiders. At the end of the day, he had always been an outsider in these clubs—he did not enjoy being the laughing stock, even if it meant being a member of an elitist group. 

Whatever. So what if you called him a Filmbro? He had only spoken to you once; the opinion of one girl—regardless of how pretty she was—was not of any relevance to him.

But then you sauntered into his store, and suddenly he forgot that he was seething over you for an entire week. 

There you were, footsteps harmonising along the bells of the entrance, and he swerved back to see you. You, in all your frill-skirted, layered-shirted, gum-chewing glory, catching his eye and bringing back the smile which you had offered him the moment you bestowed him that term of little-endearment. 

“Hello again, Mr. Filmbro.”

Don’t be a prick, don’t be a prick, don’t be a prick—

It was fine—it was okay. Vernon was a man now—no longer in his teens. He could have a normal, pleasant conversation. He was mature and able enough to interact with a girl who just happened to disagree with him on certain interests. 

He would be cordial—kind.

“How can I help you, Miss Disney-Hag?”

His skin nearly crawled. I need to kill myself immediately. 

A bit of a low blow from his nickname, but you were laughing, a silly little melody. You must have been crazy, because any other sane, rational human being would have been offended—should have been offended. Vernon fought to keep his face straight. 

“I see you’ve been thinking about me then,” you said. 

That had him looking away, walking behind the counter. “It’s not everyday I get a grown-ass woman asking me about children’s films.”

You mocked a gasp, slapping a hand over your chest. “Ouch. Do you hurt every girl that walks into your filmstore, or is this special treatment reserved for me?

Vernon focused on the cash in the register. “When another girl asks for the special edition for the Cinderella trilogy, then I’ll hurt her just the same.”

You clicked your tongue. “I should have known all men suck in their own ways.” You then approached the counter, propping your elbows atop the surface. “At least show me you’re good at your job and bring me the movie set I ordered.”

At this precise moment, all the thoughts about your stubborn addiction, playful smirk and how terrible the Little Mermaid was had completely vanished.

Shit. 

Maybe his irrational dislike ran further than he thought.

“Yeah…” but then he realised he sounded incredibly suspicious, and cleared his throat, forcing a little assurance in his usual monotone. “Yes! Yeah, of course! The movie set.” He took a step back, nodding his head ever so slowly, as if his head was not churning out a million different plans. “Give me one second…”

“Sure,” you could barely get out before Vernon whirled on his heel, bursting through the backstage door, and into the Chwe flat. 

He did not know whether this was going to work out. 

Like lightning he ascended the stairs, hands brushing against the bannister as he went past his bedroom, door slightly ajar. Not the destination he was seeking, he stopped before the neighbouring door—this one firmly closed. 

The boy made sure to knock first. No answer. Perfect. Slowly turning the knob, he opened the door, peeking around just in case there was someone in the room, and then he would have to resort to more planning. Since the coast was crystal clear, though, he put his mind at ease, only focusing on the main plan.

The room he had entered was a myriad of pop culture references and childhood memories, plastered on the butterfly-covered walls, sitting atop bedside tables or hanging off the hooks. Vernon never realised how invested his sister was with certain TV shows or films till he saw Lindsay Lohan’s mugshot plastered next to her bed. He had asked about it once, but she only waved him off. You wouldn’t understand her impact, she had said to him, and went back to shitting about him to her friends. 

Prying away from the poster, his eyes settled on what he came for, settled in the middle of the huge book shelf.

Sofia prided herself with her book and movie collection, a hereditary trait which Vernon shared: the top and bottom shelves were filled with her all-time favourites, even resorting to furthering her obsessions with the merch related to her treasured characters. He remembered laughing at her ideas until he saw a Barbie FunkoPop figure staring back at him one day. That notion was already horrendous, but the black, soulless eyes had guaranteed its spot in his sleep paralysis the next day.

Thankfully, the little horror was not on show on her bookshelf—this time, right in the middle, was the very prize that he sought. 

The Disney Princess Movie Set—Complete Edition.

Packaged in pink casing, Sofia’s most treasured piece sat, almost with its head held high as the other movies orbited around its pull. As far as Vernon remembered, it held all the Princess movies, and was worth at least 6 hours of his wages.

The boy looked around the room, as if his sister would appear any second.

Then, like a thief in the night (even though it was broad daylight, and would definitely be caught), he swiped the set off the bookshelf, and hurried out of her room.

“Sorry, Sofe,” he could only murmur under his breath as he dashed down the stairs, hoping you had not been bored by his absence, and left him with stolen goods at the scene of the crime.

He opened the door adjacent to the shop, and he almost sighed in relief when you perked up, eyes darting straight to your apparent order. When he saw your face light up like fireworks in the night sky, he titled his head back a bit, stunned by your boisterous reaction.

“You actually bought it!” you exclaimed, drumming your hands against the counter as he set the movies down. “I had a feeling you would blow me off.”

“Business is business,” Vernon said, crossing his arms, “Shit taste in movies will not stop me from making my money.”

You clicked your tongue. “Spoken like a business major.”

“Film major, thank you. I would rather kill myself than submit to the horrors of finance.”

“Don’t die on me just yet.” Bringing out your purse, you fished through its contents, first setting your card on the counter. Then, you brought out a crumpled piece of paper. “I actually have a few more films I want to ask about.”

The boy was expecting another long list of early 2000s rom-coms—perhaps an opinion for every Disney movie ever made in its existence. He swore if he had to hear about Rachel McAdams’ versatility one more time, he might blow his brains out in front of a customer. 

Then you dropped the names, and he had to surge his head forward.

“What are your thoughts on Wolf of Wall Street, American Psycho, Pulp Fiction…Fight Club, Saving Private Ryan, Scarface…” You squinted at the list, finding the names neverending. “Jeez, this list keeps going, huh?” 

He could not help the scoff. “And you called me a Filmbro.” He set his forearms on the counter, locking his hands together. “What do you need these movies for?”

“They’re for my ex-boyfriend.” 

The term had him pausing. Of course—the ex-boyfriend. How has he heard of this man, but not know a thing about him? Shit, he did not even know your name.

“This ex of yours has…an interesting taste,” he said slowly. “What’s he like?”

“I can tell you he attends the same college as you. Well, us,” you clarified, jerking your head towards the college colours of your server’s hoodie. “Film major. Just like you, actually.” 

“Oh?” Small world. “What’s the name?”

“Kim Mingyu. Do you know him?” 

Vernon Chwe nearly shit his oversized jeans.

A hesitant nod of his head. “I have a few classes with him.”

“Oh?” Your stare was a little more intense now. “What do you think of him?”

Right. 

Another fated question—the people around him had to stop asking him such controversial questions, or else he was bound to piss someone off. You were already letting him off the hook too many times; one more judgemental comment, and he was having that Princess movie set smashed on his head.

Kim Mingyu. Fuckass Kim Mingyu. Film major—just like him. One of the most popular boys in the year—very unlike him. All the teachers love his essays, all the girls love his freakishly-perfect six-pack, which Vernon is extremely irritated (and devastatingly intimidated) by. 

What all these people failed to realise, though, was that Mingyu was the biggest piece of shit to grace the halls of his university—and the planet, if dramatics were in order. If you thought that Vernon was a filmbro, then Mingyu was Filmbrother. Filmcomrade. Filmnemesis. 

It was as if you could hear the thoughts churning in his head. “You can be honest, you know. He did dump me at the end of the day.” A smirk began to appear. “Say your worst.”

The reassurance did not help. “I mean,” he started, swiping your card, “He’s okay? I haven’t talked to him enough to have an opinion on him.” 

A half-truth—that should suffice. 

But because the fates like to shit on his head every now and then for kicks, they decided to leave you unsatisfied with his answer. “Or, you can keep lying!” 

Excellent intuition, really. “I’m not!” he exclaimed, slapping the card back on the counter. “I really don’t know much about him.”

The big man upstairs was testing him even further, when, with a determined gaze, you set your elbows atop the surface. You leaned closer, tilting your head to the side as you inspected him, and Vernon blinked back at the sheer lack of space you had created. His mouth twisted, eyes frantically darting at the features of your face, not quite taking in the entirety of your being. Your vision seemed to work perfectly, because it caught the slight flush at the tops of his cheeks, where it was just pale skin seconds before.

Your smirk deepened. “Judging by your blush, you’re either terrible at lying…or,” you offered, voice lowering a little as you drummed your fingers against the counter, “You’ve never had a hot girl this close to you.” 

Fuck everything and everyone, because that only made him blush more furiously. You could not help the chuckle that escaped, deciding to cease torturing him and take your card. “I’ll not say the answer, Mr. Filmbro, but I think you already know.”

Since he had no plans of turning into a human form of a ketchup bottle, he evaded the topic entirely, instead focusing on interrogating you. “You still haven’t told me how Mingyu is related to the movie list you made.”

That seemed to hold your interest. “Oh, of course!” Putting the list back into your bag, you began, “Well, the list holds my ex-boyfriend’s favourite films. I wanted to know your opinion on a few.”

He could not contain his sigh. Oh, he had an opinion on these films that you mentioned. Again, he would rather be buried with his thoughts on the specific genre than ever tell you. The curiosity, though, was eventually going to eat him alive.

So much for minding his business.

“I mean…” he began to think, trying to find the right words. “I don’t mind them? Godfather is a good film, but I’ve seen better from Brando. I like American Psycho, but again, people tend to miss the point of the movie.”

As you nodded, listening to his two-cents on the movies you mentioned, he paused, furrowing his brows. “Why do you care about my opinion?”

You smacked your lips together, folding the list back. “I don’t know much about you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, “But you don’t run a filmstore without knowing a thing or two about the films you sell.”

“So?” He crossed his arms atop the counter. “Shouldn’t you have asked the guy who you made the list about?”

“Trust me,” you said, your smirk turning more into a rageful flash of teeth, “I know exactly what he thinks of these films.”

Don’t particularly know what to make of that comment. “Well, I don’t know what my opinion for these films is going to help you in any way.”

“It has helped.” You paused then, waiting to see if he would egg you on, asking how his seemingly tame opinions would play into the grand scheme of things. “All part of my master plan.”

Master plan? Vernon may have been interested before, but he was certain that, before, he could have hid it without letting you catch onto it. In a sudden flash, though, as if his mouth was beyond his control, he regrettably slipped out the words which had you smiling more than he would have liked.

“What master plan?”

He almost closed his eyes. Shit. Now I’m fucking invested.

The corners of your mouth, lifting upwards, had him almost nervous. “I was hoping you would say that.” 

Great. Brilliant. Fantastic. Fucking Stupendous. Vernon could not think of other pretentious synonyms. “I will tell you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, once again settling your locked hands on the counter, “If you help me out with it.” 

That had his eyebrow shooting upwards. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I intended.” A pause. “Look, I know it’s a little crazy…being asked by someone to help in some mysterious plan. But hey!” you added, “You know who the target is, and you know I can be trusted.”

“Calling your ex-boyfriend a target makes this sound like a contract killing. Also, I actually don’t know that,” he corrected, crossing his arms. “The only thing I know about you is your weird obsession with children’s movies.”

“Well, buddy, that’s basically my entire personality, so you don’t need to know any more!”

Vernon sucked in a breath. “I don’t even know your name.”

Your eyes darted to his features, the sharp brows, the speculative eyes, the flared nostrils. His lips, which were twisted in a curious, bemused line. “That’s an easy problem to solve.” You decided to battle his frown with a smile. “_____.”

_____. At least he knew one important thing about you. He swore Mingyu had mentioned your name before, but then he should not also hold certainty—that boy’s favourite subject had always been himself. 

You snapped him out of his thoughts. “This is when you tell me your name now…or do you enjoy being called a filmbro?”

Man…he could not look you in the eye afterwards. “I don’t…” he got out, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And it’s Vernon. Chwe Vernon.” 

“Vernon,” you repeated, lips curling upwards. “Alright, Vernon, since both of us know each other’s names, you can definitely help me now!” 

The said-boy tried to smile, which was more a grimace. “Well…”

“Tell you what,” you said, trying to find something in your bag. “Wait, give me a second…shit, where is that piece of paper…?” You finally managed to fish a crumpled piece out. “Right!” After catching sight of a pen lying around the counter, you took it and scribbled something quickly, sending it his way.

Taking it, he looked at the messy scribbles—your number. “You’re looking at it as if I passed you a death threat,” you snickered. Vernon gave an uneasy smile. “Just think it over. I need movie expertise, and there’s no one else I know who can help me more than a guy who runs a film store.”

The boy behind the counter listened to you, paper still in hand. Maybe Mingyu made some points breaking up with you—you did not know who Vernon was, save for the name that was tied to him, and the job he was forced to do by his parents. Realistically, he had to decline, because if he has ever learned something in his life—or from watching a myriad of golden age romantic tragedies—is that you never trust the beautiful, crazy girls. 

“Hey,” he heard you say, and he swore your chirp had softened. “I’ll go ahead with my plan in a week’s time. If I don’t hear from you, then I’ll know your answer. You don’t have to tell me now.” When he looked at you, he saw your expression shift. “That’s why I only gave the paper.” 

He supposed he could appreciate this sentiment. “Thanks,” he could only say, pocketing your number. “Is there…anything else you want? Aside from the—” a snide glance at the DVD set—”the movie?” 

“I saw that,” you scoffed, taking hold of the movie set. “And no, I’m alright. I’ll bother you about children’s movies another time.” 

“I’ll make sure these children’s movies are all conveniently sold out when you come,” he countered without thinking. 

You could only shake your head, trying to contain your laugh. “Careful, or I just might bother you after the plan.” 

Vernon did not know what he felt at that notion���would he want that? However, he did not have time to ponder, since you were already heading for the door. As you nearly left the store, bell ringing, he did not hear the door close. He glanced up, catching you looking at him with an indecipherable expression. “Yes?”

You waited a moment before parting your mouth. “I hope to hear from you, Mr. Filmbro.” 

With that, you swiftly exited the store, leaving this Mr. Filmbro even more helpless than he was between the seven days between your first encounter, and now this very second. 

“JO MADE SENSE WITH FRIEDRICH AT THE END. SHE SIMPLY…NEEDED A MAN AFTER PINING FOR LAURIE.”

The professor listened in the small circle, the rest of the students typing or writing down the answer. “Like, realistically,” Mingyu went on, twisting his mechanical pencil between his fingers, “The whole point of the movie is her relationship with Laurie, and that was shattered the moment he married Amy. Friedrich was like…” he pouted in thought, furrowing his brows. “The light at the end of the tunnel…does that make sense, Minghao?”

The said-man nodded. “Interesting take,” he noted, walking closer to the circle he was teaching. “So you agree that Jo needed Friedrich at the end of the film?”

“Absolutely.”

There were a few murmurs around the room, majority of them agreeing with the golden boy who was sitting at the head of the circular, white table. Vernon, who was sat one girl away from him, typed furiously in his laptop, adding to his notes. MINGYU IS A FUCKING IDIOT…CINEMATICALLY ILLITERATE…BORDERLINE MISOGYNIST…Okay, perhaps he was exaggerating on the last one, but his analysis of the question pissed him off. 

Did Jo need Friedrich at the end of the movie? Was what Professor Minghao had asked them about an hour ago. Vernon knew the answer immediately, and, although did not share it with the seminar, was surprised to be disagreed by the majority of the class. Not surprising, however, when his class was filled with men who could not imagine a woman in a film wanting anything else but a man beside her. 

Whatever, he thought, straying from the web page and instead checking the release date for Oppenheimer when he heard your name crop up amongst the discourse in the table. 

“Did _____ actually?” 

“Oh, yeah, said she thought Jo should have been on her own.” A click of tongue. “Not surprising, coming from her.” 

Vernon instantly perked up, fingers pausing on the keyboard. Not surprising? The boy was actually floored at that opinion—and how valid you were for expressing it. 

“I mean,” another girl, right next to him, chimed in, “Didn’t you say she was really stupid, Gyu?”

“God, I don’t know where to begin,” Mingyu said, aghast, and the boy who eavesdropped felt a little dread at every word that escaped his mouth. “Everytime I watched a movie with her she always got bored, or argued with me when I tried to explain shit to her.” 

“I remember we sat with her while we were tryna do our film project last semester,” the boy beside Mingyu recalled. “She had no fucking clue who Martin Scorcese was, man!” 

The group audibly gasped, save for Vernon, who could not help himself, refusing to mind his business. Nasty habit this—he made a note to call you out for this later on, should you walk into his store again. 

Fuck. He did not want that. Of course he did not. He should stop thinking about it too. 

You, that is.

“She’s gotta be the dumbest one yet, Gyu,” the boy snickered, snapping his laptop shut. 

“You don’t even know the half of it,” the dumper groaned, raking through his locks. “You know she was always watching those fucking Disney princess movies?” Vernon’s eyes widened a little. “Man, I remember she wouldn’t get enough of them. Like, what are you, six? Why the fuck am I watching a movie about a midget dragon?”

Then, Mingyu said the words that made the eavesdropper’s spirits shot down. 

“_____ may have been hot, but she was one stupid bitch. Thank god I got rid of her.” 

The others agreed. He may have spoken more on the matter of your lack of media literacy, but the professor was back, and the seminar had quietened, all in focus. 

All except for the boy who had not given his two cents on the matter, frozen solid at the conversation that occurred. What the fuck was that? He had first thought, over and over to the point that he nearly typed it in the seminar document. He had always known Mingyu was an asshole, but what he said about you gave him a very uneasy feeling.  

What sent him over the edge was that a lot of his grievances sounded identical to Vernon’s own words. 

Miss Disney Hag he had called you—to your face he had insulted your taste in films, and you had only laughed. He wondered how you felt when it was Mingyu amplifying those very opinions on a daily basis. 

A frown marred his features. Damn it. He knew he was a loser, but he did not know he was an asshole. Like Mingyu…

Vernon visibly shivered. 

As Minghao voiced out the objectives for the second half of the seminar, the boy brought his hand into his trouser pocket, slipping out the paper. He looked over your number, the messy scribbles dancing in his eyes. Darting to his phone on the table, he held it in his free hand, looking over the contacts. 

“Damn it,” he said under his breath. 

Was he going to regret this? Most probably. Will you probably make him do something that would result in a fatal injury, and land a permanent stain on his social record? One hundred percent. 

If he knew these things already, then what he should have done was toss the paper in the nearest bin. What he did instead, as he typed in some vital information in his phone, was something that changed his life (or at least the life he will live for the next few weeks).

vernon: u dont have to wait till next week 

vernon: ill help u with the plan

There. And now, he shall wait.

Which, he pondered as he saw the immediate response, was not very long. 

normal disney enjoyer: wait who tf is this??

Oops. 

vernon: oh mb this is vernon lmao

vernon: from the filmstore

normal disney enjoyer: oh damn why didn’t u say so !! freaky ass text 

vernon: ??? ive said it now tf

normal disney enjoyer: and im happy u have ;)

Well. Vernon sighed a little, trying to focus back on his work, but to no avail.

Let’s see what you have in store for the next week.

VERNON WAS WONDERING WHETHER HE STILL HAD TIME TO KILL HIMSELF. 

It could be quick—maybe if he jumped in front of the next incoming car, full speed, he might suffer a haemorrhage in his brain, and die bleeding out as his parents took him to the hospital. Of course, that does mean that it would be slow and excruciating, but he thought that nothing would be as painful as whatever you had planned for him.

Come on…maybe it won’t be that bad. Perhaps his thoughts were spiralling too quickly. Perhaps his assumptions of you were a stretch, and that all this anxiousness, pent up in him, would wash away the moment he saw your car pulling up to the store’s driveway.

He felt himself prepare mentally as, eventually, your small, red car slowed in front of him. Right before him, he saw the passenger window roll down, and he caught sight of your smiling face, teeth showing. 

Perhaps it truly would not be as bad as he imagined. 

“Get in loser, we’re going trespassing.”

Nevermind.

“Oh my God,” was the unsatisfying answer to your perfect reference. Seriously, you should not bother saving your precious material on such a lame boy, but there was something so exciting about his eyes sharply rolling, colour staining the tops of his cheeks. “I’m not doing this if you’re going to quote terrible movies the entire night.”

“First of all, fuck you. Mean Girls birthed half of your customers.” You flicked the lock on the passenger door, pushing it open. “Second, you don’t have a choice. You’ve agreed to ruin Mingyu’s life.”

“First of all yourself, I did not agree to that.” Begrudgingly, he settled shotgun, snapping the car door shut. “Second, Mean Girls was a waste of Rachel McAdams’ talent.” 

You scoffed, starting the car. “I don’t take opinions from men who can’t drive.” 

This shut the boy up nicely, clamping his lips together in quiet shame. He wished he could argue with that—you, he feared, had a good point. Despite that, it was not his fault that his parents insisted on the reliance of public transport; the bus was his greatest villain—aside from the middle school kids in his store that always ask for the next FIFA game. 

You could not help taking a second glance at him, chuckling at his defeat. “Don’t be sad, Mr. FIlmbro,” you reassured him, changing gears. “I like my men a little pathetic.” 

That did not help at all—his eyes widened, gawking at you, but you were already looking ahead, pressing your foot on the accelerator. 

“Jesus!” he exclaimed as he held onto his seat, taken aback by your sudden rush of speed. “I thought you wanted to kill Mingyu, not yourself!”

“My bad,” you only said, turning right. “I’m just so excited! You know, getting there.” 

“I can see that,” he mumbled, looking away from you into the back. Strapped in with the seatbelt, bizarrely, was Sofia’s Disney Princess Set, as if the dozen-movie box was a toddler in need of extra assistance. What the fuck…?

“I’m having these films in pristine condition, Vernon,” you explained, though it still made no sense in his head. “You understand, don’t you?”

Of course not. “Sure.” 

He waited for further explanation, which, as the silence continued, you decided to throw him the conversational bone. “I don’t just carry the set around with me, you know.”

Sure. “Of course not.” 

“It’s relevant to today’s plan,” was all you would offer, speeding more to reach the destination quicker. Vernon held onto the belt a little tighter, still eyeing the movie set rather suspiciously before focusing back on the road. 

The drive was not long—perhaps thirty minutes at most—but he knew he was leaving the rougher parts of the city when nicer neighbourhoods welcomed his vision, the litter on the roads disappearing, instead trees in an orderly line painting the sides of the pavement. The further you drove into these suburbs, the more he was surprised at the sheer luxury of the exterior of these houses; granted, he did not originate from poverty, but his idea of a holiday was three days in the comforts of his bed, bingeing the Miyazaki collection with a lifetime supply of mint chocolate chip ice cream on his lap. 

Vernon had to save his mouth dropping to the seat of the car floor when they rolled into the Kim household’s drive. 

He was aware that Mingyu derived from wealth—the former could not help noticing his pricey, flashy brands every time the taller boy sauntered into the Film Sound classes, but he did not expect this Bridgerton-ass looking house, nestled in between the other million-dollar homes in the neighbourhood. He was greeted with a clearer picture the closer you parked in their drive, surprisingly empty; it was around that moment that you noticed that all the lights were turned off in the house, almost a haunting image. 

The boy was on his way to make a comment about your terrible spying skills when you rebuffed him immediately, saying, “I know what you’re thinking. I have it covered.”

“Please tell me, Miss Bond, how are you planning to carry this out?”

You offered him an incredulous look. “I don’t know what that reference means, I’m too pretty.”

His answer to that was a thin, long line of his mouth. You chose to ignore it completely. “Mingyu’s parents are out of town right now, and his sister’s on a ski-trip in Austria.”

A glance of confusion. “In the middle of March?” 

A shrug. “You know what rich people are like.” Weirdly enough, he knew exactly what you were talking about. “But it worked out great for us.” With a hard exhale you got out of the car, the boy beside you reflecting your actions. “All the easier for what we have to do.” You opened the car door behind the driver’s one, unstrapping the seatbelt and carefully bringing out the movie set. 

“How’re we getting into the evil lair, then?” he asked dryly, crossing both his arms. “I assume the millionaires don’t happen to put a spare key under the carpet?”

“Imagine,” you said, sighing melodramatically. “I tried making them do it so I could sneak into his house, but for some reason, Mingyu never agreed to it.” 

“I wonder why,” he muttered.

“Worry not, young grasshopper!” You strolled to the very right of the house, where a thin wooden door was almost hidden from view. “Where there is a door closed, another is mysteriously open.” 

With a hard push, the door trudged back, swinging heavily away. He stared at it, not quite believing how someone can be so careless to keep their gates unlocked. “Another weakness of Mingyu’s—” You pointed at the cleared path into the house—”whenever he leaves from the garden, he never locks the gate.”

Vernon could not quite believe it. “Either the wealthy are incredibly secured in their safety, or stupid as fuck.”

“I think you know the answer to that,” you joked, going further into the journey, ushering him over. Like a siren calling his name, he followed you, unaware of the shit you might be getting him into. 

Into the fancy garden they arrived, clean-cut hedges bordering in dozens of flower bushes, peppered also with a few fruit trees—berries of every kind ripening on the green. While Vernon admired the natural luxury, you hurried to the nearby shed, where a ladder was situated right beside it. “Quick, help me out here!” you shouted in a whisper, ushering him over. Dropping the DVD set for a moment, you grunted as you held the large ladder up with his assistance, slowly making its way to the brick wall of the house. “Wait, line it up against that window over there,” you instructed, jerking your head towards the far right window, no doubt on the second floor. Once the ladder was lined up properly, you moved the boy out of the way, shaking the rails to make sure it stayed put. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Vernon muttered, watching you take the Disney Princess set in one hand, the other making the first step on the calendar. “We can still…you know, not commit breaking and entering.” 

“You can happily leave, Mr. Filmbro,” you offered, looking up at your destination. 

That had him scoffing. “My ass is not walking two hours back to my house.” 

“That seems more like a you problem then!” you chirped. “Now are you following me up, or pussying out?”

Once again, pussying out seemed like the obvious choice for the boy. He was not made for missions such as these—he was merely meant to watch other people act out said missions in front of his television. Unfortunately, because he was too far away from the film store, it was either sitting it out, waiting for you to come out and do something diabolical, or at least watch over you should you cross a line (if the latter were the case, then Vernon had already failed). 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept uttering like a mantra, waiting for you to climb up enough to hold onto the ladder as he began to follow after you. He made the mistake of looking up as you climbed up, and he got a full, HD view of your ass. He tried his very best to look away out of some semblance of respect, but you also made the mindful decision of wearing the shortest skirt known to man. His fuck, fuck fucks! rang louder, causing you to shush him.

“Stop freaking out, my guy!” you called out, right on the top of the ladder. “I know my ass is crazy built but this is not the time.”

“That’s not why I’m freaking out, _____!” he countered, but knowing you, you did not care for his explanations. He only waited as you pushed open the slight-open window, all the way to the top before climbing inside.

As he reached the top of the ladder, he watched you dust yourself before glancing back at him, ushering him inside. “Here goes nothing,” he said to himself, hands on the top of the window ledge as he put his foot on the sill, pushing himself inside. 

Vernon dropped into the unknown room, an oof! leaving his mouth as he landed rather ungraciously on his feet. Quickly, he looked up, surroundings rather dimmed due to the lack of lighting. Still, with the help of the moonlight, he could slowly make out the huge smart TV in the middle of the bedroom, beneath it a wide shelf filled with DVDs, some opened and scattered on the carpeted floor. The bed was on the opposite side, right next to the window the two of you had entered in, black and gold sheets tousled and unmade.

As you turned the light on, the boy then made out that Mingyu, in fact, did not have a bed frame, but just a mattress, with the sheets barely done properly.  The wall on his left was a full black-shutter closet, where he could see the collection of his designer clothing behind the gaps. Posters were plastered on the rest of the walls, most of them being the Tarantino classics —a reclined, raven-bobbed Uma Thurman watching him with bedroom eyes being the most prominent—with certain papers of autographs also stuck next to the posters. There was another poster—American Beauty and the girl surrounded with rose petals—which had him quickly looking away.

“Jesus,” was all he could say, but he supposed he should not have judged. He himself had only his posters in his room—except he did not have the same taste as a middle-aged incel.

“I know.” You looked around at the familiar space, and the memories you had made here. “Imagine having sex in this hellsite.”

Then the image of you having sex with Mingyu on that messy bed came into his mind, and Vernon could have combusted then and there. “I can’t imagine,” he mumbled out, walking to the door, opening to make sure no one was inside. “_____, are you sure no one’s here?”

“Swear on my life, Mr. Filmbro.”

He had to trust you now—or you had very little respect for your life. 

He kept eyeing the DVD set you had in your hand. “Are you still not gonna tell me what we’re doing with that?”

You marched over to the shelf beneath the TV, settling yourself down. “Come here and I’ll show you.” You patted the empty carpet space next to you for added emphasis.

Hesitantly, he obliged, sitting cross-legged next to you. Finger pointing as it scoured the shelf, you carefully brought out one of the films from Mingyu’s selection, all the while sliding out a Disney film from your own set. “Now, tell me,” you began, as you showed him the two movies. “Do you think The Dark Knight and Mulan are a good match?”

First pulling a face at the choice, he then resorted to keeping his twist of features as he turned to you. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“So like, you know Mulan is a woman disguising herself as a soldier in order to defeat the Huns and save her father’s honour, right,” you explained, though you had a small feeling he was not particularly listening. “And Batman is the same thing, except he dresses up as a fucking bat…stupid furry.”

Vernon could not understand how you compared one of the most beautiful, nuanced depictions of a broken, three-dimensional superhero into a furry, but he needed to get to the bottom of your plan, once and for all. “No, I mean, what are you doing? Why the hell are we here?” 

You tutted extra loud. “I’m gonna swap the CDs, dumbass!” You held up the princess movie. “Thought Mingyu could say to me that Disney princess movies sucked, huh?” Then, the classic DVD’s turn to rise. “Let’s see how he’ll like watching a talking dragon in China instead of a talking bat in Fantasyland!” 

The boy could only watch, shock growing with the successful swap of the movies, the secret Mulan CD safely tucked into the The Dark Knight’s DVD case. “It’s Gotham, actually,” he murmured, but he knew you were not listening. “Wait, _____, we really just snuck into your ex’s house to swap a few movies?”

You looked up briefly as you began opening another DVD case. “I mean, if you want to trash the place, that’s fine, but you can’t do anymore than what Mingyu’s dirty ass hasn’t done already.”

Fair point. “I think you’re going insane. Like, clinically.” He kept looking at the door, which was closed shut. “He’ll kill us if he catches us.” 

“Forget about us, you’re barely doing anything!” you exclaimed, tossing some of Mingyu’s movies to him. “Can you actually help me instead of complaining?”

What he should have done was argue with you properly, perhaps even make his escape and leave you to dig your own grave. Sure, he could not drive, but was it not just three pedals, a wheel and a dream? He could have left, never to see you again. 

But then his eyes wandered to the Inception DVD scattered beside you, no doubt collateral damage as you took out the other Nolan films, and saw a Disney Princess movie sitting beside it. Sleeping Beauty, it read out, with the picture of some skinny blonde chick slumbering with a man overlooking her. He thought it a bit strange, almost creepy how this brunette was watching her. 

And then an idea came into his head. 

He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, clamping his lips together. Please forgive me, Mr. Nolan, for what I’m about to do. 

Hand reaching out to grasp both DVDs, he opened one of his favourites, unclipping the CD. You glanced at him, swapping the movies around. You could not help your stare lingering a little, watching his lips pout, brows furrowed as he fixed the new CD in the Nolan set, as if the task was a serious one. Well, it was a serious task for you, but you expected more complaining. 

When he looked up, he managed to catch a small smile on your lips before he quickly looked away. “And now you’re slacking,” he accused, closing the DVD and setting it atop the newly improved. 

“What’s the plot for Inception?” you asked him, cracking open The Princess and The Frog. 

“I thought you knew, since you laughed at me for saying it was my favourite.” 

“I don’t know the full thing,” you admitted. “The only reason I knew about it was because Mingyu never shut up about it…sorry about that, by the way.” 

Vernon sighed. “It’s fine…if I made fun of your Disney favourites, then bullying me for Nolan isn’t the worst…I think.” He looked at your new suggestion before picking out Alien from Mingyu’s selection. “A thief has to implant an idea into this powerful guy’s mind, and he does this through infiltrating other people’s dreams. However, he has to be asleep while he does it.” 

As you began to laugh, he threw you an irritated look. You shook your head, unable to erase your smile. “That’s a really good match.” 

His eyes widened for a moment, mouth parting. For a moment (and he did not know whether he was going to regret making this assertion), he did not care for Christopher Nolan’s disrespect, after seeing your reaction.

With that, the two of you sat in near silence, the crisp opening and closing of the DVDs, the sliding of the discs being the only sound between the two of you. The Princess of the Frog was successfully matched with the Alien—you, unsurprisingly, had not watched the movie, but Vernon had watched both (one against his will, which you could guess), and thought it the best match. Brave was slotted into The Revenant's case, while Beauty and the Beast went straight into Pan’s Labyrinth’s. 

“Okay so…” the boy held up the Pocahontas CD. “Native American princess falls for the coloniser? How the fuck are you defending this?”

You could only offer a sheepish smile. “The soundtrack is really good?”

“Knowing Disney,” he crowed, cracking open the DVD, “They probably have a song on how terrible the poor Natives are.”

You eyed him, surprised. “How the hell did you guess that?”

First, Vernon made a face, as if he himself could not believe his excellent intuition. Then, he only laughed a little, taking out the Dances with Wolves DVD from the shelf. “I’ve watched enough Disney movies with my sister to know how they work.”

“Oh, so you have watched them?” you mused, watching him exchange the discs. “All that time I thought you only watched what Mingyu watched.”

“No, I watch foreign indie films like an asshole,” he clarified, shutting the cases, and putting Dances with Wolves back on the shelf. “The thing is, I still have my grievances against the super popular films. You know the list you mentioned to me the other day?” You nodded. “Most of these film junkies get off on those movies. I’ll admit I like them, but I’ve seen so much better.” 

You snorted. “Like Inception?” Vernon watched you for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “What? You asked him, tilting your head. 

He followed your movement—he too, craned his head, his brown curls cascading along his forehead. “Like Inception…and better.”

“Better?” you gasped out, fingers rising to your bottom lip in shock. “Does Mr. Filmbro prefer a movie over Nolan’s grand—no, best release ever?!”

“Ha, ha,” he monotoned, only adding to your amusement. “It’s still his best film! But,” he added, shrugging a little, “I may or may not have lied to you the first time we met. Inception’s not my favourite movie.”

“What?!” you could barely contain your grin. “Oh my God, if I find out it’s a fucking Disney movie, I’m never letting you live it down!”

“Let’s not go that far,” he jeered, earning a harsh nudge of your elbow. “Hey! You should be thanking me for my honesty.”

“How about you extend that honesty and tell me which movie is your favourite?” 

Vernon mocked a ponder. “It’s a hard pass.” 

“Come on!” you pressed, scooting a little closer, almost reaching out as if to nudge him some more. “You’ve already committed a felony with me. Telling me your favourite movie is naturally the next step.” 

“Because that’s obviously how normal human interaction goes,” he countered, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Tell me.” 

“No.”

“Tell me!” 

“Hmm…no!” he repeated, assembling the last of the DVDs. “Maybe if we raid Mingyu’s house next time.”

“Oh?” Leaning closer, you paused his hands on the movie sets. “Do you want there to be a next time?”

It was then Vernon realised the implications of your question, a consequence of his own suggestion. It was almost comical, how his eyes widened like full moons, and he immediately shook his head. “Now you know that’s not what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” you asked him, and the way he exposed a slight stutter at your question had you laughing. “Would you want to see me again?”

What Vernon wanted to tell you was no, no, no, because another second with you would end with all the blood in his system rushing to his head, and other places. Damn everything and everyone, he would want to see you again—no. No. He wouldn’t. He would not. 

“You haven’t answered the question,” you said, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

The boy was about to stutter out an answer when the two of you heard a door slam downstairs. 

You whirled back, eyes instantly darting to the door. They then focused back on you, widened very much like his not long ago. “_____,” Vernon muttered. 

“Mr. Filmbro…”

The furrow of his brow appeared for a split-second before it disappeared at the shuffling underneath. “What the fuck do we do?” he gulped out, looking around to find anywhere to escape from. This was it—he thought he was getting away with trespassing just because you had convinced him to, but that fuckass ex-boyfriend was going to catch them in his bedroom, two inches away from kissing you, and—

“Wait,” you then said, catching his wrist in your hand. He barely had time to react to it before you shot up from your seated position, hauling the boy along with you. He stumbled, but then you nearly made him fall flat on his face as you ran to the shutter closets, sliding them straight open. The inside was a mess of branded clothing and boxes of sports equipment, but there was one opening with just enough for two people in trouble to hide. 

You first went in, and, with a harsh tug, pulled him in with you. He crashed into you, but you had enough control to slide the shutter door shut. There was so much commotion that when you both finally stilled, breathing harshly as you heard Mingyu enter the room, Vernon blinked back to see your face about two inches away from him. 

He was going to yelp—strong on going to, because you sensed his incoming shock, and smacked your hand against his mouth. His eyebrows could have touched the top of his forehead, but what you noticed the most was the warmth of his skin, burning the longer your touch lingered on his lips. 

The smile you offered him as you put a finger to your lips had him almost passing out. 

“Yeah, man, come round whenever,” was all Vernon could hear, still not comprehending Mingyu’s speech due to your hand. “No, Minseo’s not here, what the fuck? Why do you wanna know where my sister is?” 

Slowly, ever so carefully as not to alert him, you pulled down on one of the blinds of the shutter, spying the movie which he was about to see. Vernon should have been following your movements, but he could only sense you, inching closer and closer to him till you were pressed against him. Of course, you were only trying to better your vision of your ex-boyfriend, but the boy beside you could not focus. The hand on his mouth—God—he needed, so badly, to be put down. Your fingers were soft, and although his lips could not help brushing against your palm, everything in him resisted the urge to react.

Quickly glancing at your accomplice in glee, you dropped your hand from his mouth, silently urging him to watch. He could have rebelled against your pulling away, but he instead obliged. Bringing his face next to yours, he glanced at you one last time before peering at the vision that welcomed. 

There he was, the golden boy, raking his hair as he strolled into the middle of the room, observing the TV before him, and the DVD player sitting at the bottom. He kept humming, as if agreeing with whoever was on the phone. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go to that party later…no, I’m not bringing _____! You know about that already!” 

The boy in hiding quickly snuck a peek at you, who soured a little at the mention. “Hmm? Yeah, whatever. What? Nah, I’m just gonna watch a chill movie before leaving.” Mingyu scanned the films on his shelf. Walking over, he leaned down, sliding out The Shape of Water from his collection, cradling his phone between his shoulder blade and his craned head as he opened the DVD. 

Vernon could not help pulling a face at Mingyu’s choice of a ‘chill movie’ being a film about a mute woman wanting to fuck a water creature. You probably did not understand the reference, but by the growing anticipation on your face, you only cared about the scene you two had created, and was about to unfold just then. 

Mingyu slid the CD into the player, pressing play as he made his way to his frameless bed, settling down in the sheets. “Yeah…no, no, it’s just starting.”

The two of you could hear clearly the opening credits, which began with the most obnoxious opening music of Disney’s intro. Vernon was taken aback by how Mingyu did not realise it from that very moment, but considering he was too busy chatting pure shit on the phone, laughing to himself, the boy assumed he was simply waiting for the action to occur.

“Any minute now, Mr. Filmbro,” you whispered, oh-so-fucking close to him. He did not respond, merely a nod.

Craning his head to see through the shutters, he noticed the animation come to life, the ship within dangerous waters sailing with uncertainty. He snuck a quick glance at Mingyu’s face, which started garnering a little confusion. 

“Are these extra credit scenes? I don’t remember any of this,” he heard the OG filmbro complain. 

You could not help the snort that escaped you. Vernon glared at you, but with little effect. “What?” you whispered. “I don’t remember him being this thick.” 

“What the fuck is this cartoon…” the two of you heard Mingyu pipe up. Finally, the buffoon is realising this is not the two-time Oscar winning animation, but the four-time Oscar winning CGI. “This wasn’t in the director’s cut.”

You still could not believe how your ex-boyfriend was taking this long for the realisation to hit. Even when Eric jumped up on the screen, holding onto the ship’s ropes, the watcher only regarded the character intently, as if he was somehow part of the stranger film. 

Only when, fifteen minutes in, Atlantis is finally introduced that something clicked in his brain. Mingyu tilted his head, thinking out loud. “What the fuck…?”

Getting up from where he sat, he ended the call, informing whoever was on the other side that he would meet later. He took out the CD from the player, examining its exterior. “Can’t see shit on this CD…” He was not wrong—you were smart, choosing the discs which did not have any images, confusing the boy all the more. “Maybe I put in the wrong one…”

He shrugged it off, taking out The Dark Knight instead, another easy, breezy movie to watch when The Shape of Water did not pull through. Now Nolan was a hard one to criticise—Vernon himself was a huge fan, but seeing Mingyu try to watch it irked him. A good thing, then, was it not, that he was bound for a second surprise?

Repeating the routine, he slid the secret CD, settling back into his frameless bed. “Great minds, huh?” you whispered to him, and Vernon only rolled his eyes, not enjoying the dig against him in the slightest. 

“You dated him,” he griped, watching the movie start up.

“Waste of good looks,” you whispered, your partner-in-crime nodding in agreement. The movie beginning had you both falling silent as a bird of prey hits on one of the soldier’s heads. The scene is set in the cold mountains of China, but the sole audience does not catch it immediately. 

“So fucking weird…” Mingyu trailed off again, leaning forwards. “This isn’t the robbery scene…”

Of course it was not—the idiot would not witness one of the best film openings in Vernon’s humble opinion. He would not feast his eyes to the workings of Joker’s bank robbery, nor the cold one-liners from the incapacitated bank manager. 

No, what he was served was the Huns crossing the Northern border, which, as the boy finally began to clock after a good ten minutes, was not what he was expecting.

“What the…” once again, he heaved himself up, walking over to the player. “Now I know something’s wrong…”

Both you and Vernon stretched further close, as much as the closet would allow, to peek at Mingyu’s frustration as he brought the CD out once more, examining the back and front. He then took out some more of his favourites, opening their cases and taking out the CDs, observing them closely. He was suspicious now. How could he not be, when he was expecting incel excellence, but was greeted with the same shit his younger sister—his crazy ex-girlfriend, even—would usually watch.

He blinked back. 

His deathly stillness had the two trespassers pausing. You two looked at each other, faces losing any humour, perhaps recognising that he had clocked on. You watched the scene as Mingyu rapidly added one CD after another, expecting one movie only to have a Disney-fied replacement, completely botching his plans. Every movie that received such Disneyfication further enraged him, the grit in his teeth heard, the tick in his jaw visible. 

The final straw was when the Godfather was slotted in, his all-time, unmatched favourite. There was darkness for the first few minutes, and he sighed too quickly in relief, about to lay back on his mattress. 

Then, a curly-haired girl, a toddler at best, in huge green glasses becomes visible, being told to open her eyes. 

“Is this where magic comes from?”

“What the fuck?!”

And as a conversation between the little girl and her elderly grandmother blossomed, there was a specific dialogue which sent the young boy over the edge.

“This candle became a magical flame that would never grow out…and it blessed us with a refuge in which to live…a place of wonder…An Encanto.”

You nearly burst out laughing. 

Mingyu, on the other hand, could have seen red. 

“Who fucked with my CDs?!” he demanded to no one in particular, though in his mind he knew there was a culprit. “My fucking CDs, man!” 

“Did you do the Godfather swap?” you whispered, barely able to contain yourself.

“Two special families with one heir that doesn’t feel connected to their lifestyle.” Vernon grinned at you, impressed with himself. “It was too easy.”

“Where did you even find the Encanto DVD? It wasn’t in our set.” 

“I found it in his little filmbro shelf.” He ticked his head towards the boy in physical agony. “My guess is that his sister is a Disney fan and left it in his mancave.”

“Oh my God,” you got out, watching the melodramatic scene of your dear ex show rage akin to a teenage boy losing Call of Duty online. 

“That fucking bitch,” he guttered, over and over again as he threw the Encanto CD across the room. Those words came out, and the boy behind the shutters stiffened. Okay—there is rage, and then there is straight up promise of violence. Vernon may not be much of a knight, but if they were caught, he knew he would have to protect you.

He hoped to everything that existed that it would not have to come to that—Vernon would rather fake having a heart attack and have you drag his body out of the Kim Manor. 

It seemed as that might have been a real possibility, until the boy called out a threat to a name they were not expecting.

“Minseo, I’m gonna kill you!” Mingyu roared as he stormed out of the room, undoubtedly on his way to destroy her room, even take his anger out on her Jellycat collection.

As you heard his frenzy disappear down the halls, the trespassers took this as the opportunity to escape the closet, Vernon already creating a little distance in case you come too close and cause his passing out.

“We need to get out now,” he declared as you crept out of the wardrobe, his head whipping to the door which Mingyu left from. 

You nodded, not quite looking at him as you dashed straight for the final DVD. “Oh, Jesus,” He groaned, watching you scramble for the movie, trying horrifically to hide it within your clothes. “You do realise he can come in any second!” 

“Okay, okay,” you said, hurrying over to the window. “Wait, you can go first.”

Vernon raised a brow, following after you. “How come you don’t want to go first?”

You only ushered him further, grinning. “You can peek at my ass again.”

“My eyes will be closed,” he sniped, already carrying it out, trying his absolute best not to imagine your ass in his mind—maybe stakeouts for goofy purposes were not for the weak-willed. “You know, just for that alone, you’re going down first.” 

“Whatever suits you, Mr. Filmbro,” you almost chanted, aggravating him all the more as you stepped out of the window, beginning the trek down. 

He looked down as you descended with one film in hand, still stealing glances at the only door in the room, terrified that the boy would burst through the door, see you both and bring about his downfall. Subconsciously, his fingers hovered just before his mouth, biting the skin around his nails. He knew he should have run himself over with an oncoming vehicle. A messy plan, but still fool-proof. 

“Stop panicking and come down here!” your voice snapped him out of his anxious frenzy. “I know you’re biting your nails off right now!”

The boy instantly repelled his hand, instead furrowing his brow. A little irritating—scary, as well, really—how predictable he was in your eyes. How quickly you had figured him out.

“Alright,” he said, absent-mindedly as he reached for the windowsill. He peaked down again, not realising how far down the descent truly was. Rationally, he knew it was not the worst drop he’d seen on the first floor, but the nerves had started affecting his mind. Now, this entire time he was watching you take one step, two steps down, but he did not have the strength to follow you. 

Still, he knew it was now or never.

Vernon was going to be at your heels (or, more anatomically correct, at your head) when he heard a shuffle from behind him.

He whipped his head around, anticipating the worst.

The worst arrived in all his golden-skinned, empty-headed glory. Holding one of his DVDs, Kim Mingyu stood at the doorway, his eyes widening with every second they beheld the intruder, one leg out of the house, the other a moment away from heaving him up.

Oh. Jesus. Christ.

“The nerd from film theory?”

Vernon’s face dropped. 

The Nerd from Film Theory? The Nerd from fucking Film Theory? 

It was then and there, in that exact moment of time, that the filmbro in question did not give a single care for what the popular boy thought of him. Vernon knew everything about this boy (whether he wanted to or not); his every class, his every terrible friend, even his film preferences, thanks to yours truly. Yet Mingyu did not even know his name—did not even bother to remember.

It was because of that that he managed to garner some essence of his bravado, finally settling both feet on the ladder steps. 

He also decided to add in some corrections to Mingyu’s knowledge. 

“Jo March did not need any man after Laurie…in fact, she did not need any male support, asshole.”

For added effect, he raised his middle finger, as if the burn was sick enough to hurt. 

Mingyu’s devastating response was a confused tilt of his head, clearly not understanding his reference. 

It was enough time for Vernon to hurry his descent down, catching the former more off guard. 

“What the fuck—” was all the boy heard before he quickly tried to travel downwards, feet nearly slipping on the steps by his sheer carelessness. Mingyu’s head popped out from the window, and saw the great ladder leaning against the sill, shocked gaze lowering to where Vernon was descending to.

When his eyes found yours, he could have choked on his gulp. Even more so when you smirked at him.

“_____?”

As Vernon finally dropped off the ladder, dusting himself off, he watched the two of you, staring each other down. When he gauged Mingyu’s fear of you, there was a small part of him that was filled with admiration.

Mingyu’s demand sounded more like a whimper. “What are you doing here?”

You only curled your lips further upwards, grinning like a wild animal. It chilled your ex-boyfriend to the bone when you held the Tangled CD up for him to see, with your other hand raising your middle finger. 

“This is for calling me a stupid bitch.”

His mouth dropped open. That gave you just enough time to grab onto Vernon’s hand, enveloping your fingers around his wrist. 

And run for your life.

Vernon let out a yelp as he was yanked forward by your hold, barely hearing Mingyu’s loud curses and retreating back into the house, no doubt to follow after you two—the trespasser could only guess, much too occupied by your hand, a guiding beacon of mischief, never absent in his life as you ran and ran and ran out of the garden, out of the sleek maze which you two first entered, catching sight of the open garden gate.

The boy heard distant footsteps coming from the house, and as you both saw your car parked beyond the greater gates, you fished out your keys, finally letting go of his hand to dash over to the driver’s side, jamming the key in the lock. Vernon let out a startled noise as the car unlocked, wasting no time to jump inside, heart beating loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear. Mingyu appeared at the main doorstep at the exact same time, even more shocked to realise he had not noticed his ex-girlfriend’s car casually parked before him. 

Just as you climbed inside, swivelling the keys into ignition, Mingyu began to run after the car, a mere ten seconds between him and catching you two.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _____, just start it already!” the nervous boy in shotgun begged, his head swivelling back at every chance, heart lurching at every metre closer the filmnemesis crept.

The car revved to life at your signal.

It was time to get the fuck out of here. 

“GO, GO, GO!” Vernon screamed at the top of his voice, fisting the handle at the roof of the car as you slammed on the accelerator, racing out of the driveway with Mingyu’s bellowing following after you. Of course, since he was a mere, enraged college student, and you both were in a (slight) state-of-the-art vehicle, you zoomed out of the neighbourhood, his curses fading with every turn further out, you managing to escape. 

Vernon, because he had never done such a thing before, was still screaming to leave for the next ten minutes until you had had enough, swerving to the side of the road, not far from his DVD store. You almost crashed into the nearby park, frightening a few birds that expected peace within the sidewalk trees, only to be disturbed by a troublesome ex and a film-obsessed loser. 

You gushed out an exhale, fingers gripping tightly to the wheel, almost as stunned as the boy beside you, who seemed to take in the town’s worth of air in his little body. But then, you realised the gravity of the situation, the sole movie at the back which could not be swapped, and the valiant escape from something you never thought you would come out of alive.

Just then, you burst into laughter. 

The boy whirled his head to you, who could not stop the tumbles of laughter that escaped your mouth, hanging on to the car wheel as you cackled and cackled like the Wicked Witch of the West. Well, that was what you thought you sounded at that time, but you, as always, did not care.

Only that you were wrong—at least in Vernon’s eyes. You were wrong, because if you were laughing like some Disney villain, then he would have been more pissed off—enraged even. He was instead in awe, shocked at the raw guffawing that spluttered out of you without shame. Had the two of you not evaded a great danger? Nearly been arrested for your legally ambiguous behaviour? 

For the first time in his life, he was not embroiled with dread. 

There was no anxiety in his body, no essence of panic at the consequences of your actions. No, he could only stare at you and your mirth, and find himself raising his brows, the beginnings of a scoffed laugh creeping from his lips. 

The more he looked at you, the more his own laughter joined yours. 

And then you were both laughing, giggling beyond control at the narrow escape, and the near crash against some tree. Vernon knew how stupid this whole situation was, but strangely, he did not seem to care—not when you did not see it like that. A very odd prospect. 

After a few minutes, when it finally seemed as if you would settle down, you sighed, leaning back into the driver’s seat. “We should do that again.”

Despite the amusement lingering, he immediately shut the idea down. “Not a chance.”

You admired the ancient lining of the tree’s bark in front of the car. “The way you were laughing with me just now, you’d think you want to commit crimes from now on.” 

A dramatic roll of eyes. “I’m not going to jail. They don’t even have a TV there.”

“You and your fuck ass movie collection…”

That brought out another chuckle from the boy—you smiled at the notion. He then looked at the rearview mirror, where the last movie was splayed, all alone and away from the others. “Kind of a shame we missed out on one last movie.”

“Right?” You followed his line of sight. “Fuck, Tangled of all movies?”

“Wait, isn’t that the one with Rapunzel?” 

You let out an impressed hum. “A week of seeing my face, and you’re already catching on!” A mischievous raise of brows. “Another month with me and you can sing all the tracks from the film.”

“You really shouldn’t have this much faith in me, _____,” he said, shaking his head. “Plus, this might be the one movie I didn’t watch with Sofe.” He saw you perk up at the new name. “My sister. She’s the one who forced me to watch all those Disney films years ago.”

“I like her already,” you mused, a finger on your chin. You paused for a bit, looking down at your shoes, settled lightly upon the pedals. Then, you started the engine once more.  “So…Tangled is the only one you haven’t watched, huh.” 

A glance at you. “Yep.” 

You looked back, hoping to reverse away from the tree. “Right…” You checked your watch, the car slowly moving out of the pavement. “Interesting…super duper interesting.”

It was something insane, fantastical the way Vernon’s nerves seemed to hum at the implications. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“What? I just said that it’s interesting you’ve never watched Tangled…”

The boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “This is where you’re gonna force me to watch the stupid movie.” 

But then he caught the look of surprise on your face, as if you had been caught. “Oh, Jesus, you’re not gonna let me out the car, are you?”

“No, no!” you countered at once, raising your hands. “Well, yes as in I was hoping you would watch the movie with me, and no, I won’t force you.” You sighed a little, fingers back on the wheel. “You’ve already done so much today. If you want to go home, I’ll drive you straight there.”

He watched your expression, the prepared acceptance, the anticipation—the sliver of hope, hiding itself amongst the flurry of other emotions. In all honesty, he was tired; the entirety of this evening had exhausted his social battery (which he doubted he had to begin with) and he still had some sound image work left back at the college studio. If it was any other person asking, he would have happily bunked them off—pretended that he had suddenly developed a terminal illness in the span of minutes, and begged them to drive him back home to ‘live out the rest of his days’.

You, on the other hand, were a problem. He could not let you down—not anymore. Not after today.

When he let out a soft sigh, you were anticipating the worst. Then, he revealed the answer. 

“Let’s watch a fucking Disney Princess movie.”

VERNON DID NOT WANT TO WATCH A FUCKING DISNEY PRINCESS MOVIE. 

The moment you opened the door to your house—a shabby, student house about twenty minutes from campus—stepping inside, he realised there was no way back, and that he had to humour your wish, or else lose respect in your eyes. 

As you brought him down the small hallway, leading into the little living room, you quickly grabbed the takeout boxes of your flatmates, murmuring hurried apologies as you left the room. The boy looked around, the slight cracks of the blue walls, the 32” TV sitting at the opposite end of the fraying couches. Posters of Bridget Jones, Notting Hill, and other Hugh Grant movies were plastered on one end of the wall, while Vernon nearly had a jumpscare when he caught a life-size cardboard cutout of some Disney hero—this one unrecognisable. 

“That’s the love of my life you’re staring at,” came the voice behind him, and he whirled to see you, a huge bowl of popcorn cradled in your hands. “Why’re you standing in the middle like an idiot? Sit, sit!” Vernon obliged, making to settle on the sofas when you tutted. “Are you mental? No, sit on the bean bags near the TV!” 

How stupid of me to assume I could sit on furniture designed for sitting, he meant to crow, but the moment he settled on the bean bags, he instantly preferred their malleable comfort. When he let out a relaxed sigh, you huffed out a laugh, propping the bowl before him. “See?” 

“I was gonna say…” Vernon trailed off, watching you press a few buttons on the DVD player. “Where’s the CD?”

“Already in,” you said, picking up the remote as you settled in the beanbag next to him, scooting closer. Catching a look at his face, you bellowed, “Yes, Mr. Filmbro, I watched it recently!”

“How recently are we saying?”

“...yesterday evening.” 

“And this is the masterpiece you wanna show me,” Vernon murmured, sneaking a look back at the cardboard cutout. “Don’t tell me he’s the floozy that’s leading the film.” 

You turned the TV on. “Fine. I won’t tell you.”

He then looked at you. “Oh, Jesus.”

“Trust me!” you then reasoned, putting a hand on the boy’s knee—the mere touch had his brain rewiring, nerves all ceasing to work on the one point where your touch remained. You really had to stop—first your hand was on his mouth in that damned (blessed) closet, and now this soft reminder. He tried his best not to fix his eyes on your lingering fingers as you carried on, “This film is a modern classic. I promise.” 

Well shit, he thought. When you looked at him like that, you could have convinced him that Quentin Tarantino was a better foot fetishiser than a filmmaker. 

“Okay,” he said, almost believing in your words. 

With that, the landing page for the movie turned on, and there were the main characters; he assumed the chick with the long, blonde hair was Rapunzel, and the man behind her—which, Vernon thought, did not deserve to be celebrated as a life-sized cardboard cutout—was the love interest. Whatever. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he mumbled as you pressed the fated Play, anticipating the worst. 

And as the two of you fell silent, Vernon still holding out on the popcorn, watching suspiciously at the screen, the voice of a man flooded the TV speaker.

“This…this is the story of how I died.” 

The boy immediately reacted, face dropping. “The fuck?” he got out, catching the WANTED! Poster of the very man he bad-mouthed not two minutes ago. 

“But don’t worry, this is actually a fun story…and the truth is…it isn’t even mine.” 

“Wait, this dude is already dead?” he asked.

“Just watch the movie!” you answered impatiently, making the boy sigh and lean back into the bean bag.

“This is the story of a girl named Rapunzel. And it starts…with the sun.”

You wanted to keep your eyes rooted to the screen, watch the unfurling of Mother Gothel’s backstory, but that was precisely when the incessant complaining began. 

“Now why are we already getting context of some random witch’s actions? Less telling, more showing, man!” Vernon kept his arms crossed, shaking his head at the TV. “Oh, great, poor little king and queen in their big ass castle!” 

“Having basic sympathy will take you great places, my guy,” you merely said, scoffing down the popcorn in the bowl. “Their kid just got stolen by some crazy bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, piping down once more when the flashbacks ceased, and the present day was introduced into the story. On the screen, a small, green chameleon entered, camouflaging himself behind a pot of flowers. He guessed that the chick with the long hair—Rapunzel—would be finding him, and, lo and behold, he was right. In all fairness, though, it did not take a film degree to work that out.

He also did not need a film degree to guess that a musical number was about to be introduced, not even ten minutes into the movie. That he worked out all by himself, when the guitar riffs sounded. Beside him, you instantly brightened, smile widening as TANGLED morphed on the screen, the song about to begin. 

It was around that point when, as he spared you a glance, he realised you were about to sing along.

“Oh, Jesus—”

If his life was a romantic film, this would have been the perfect setup; the girl that made his heart flutter was seated dangerously close to him, bean bags already touching with shoulders barely following, watching the cheesiest animated movie. He could have seen the shot now, with his gaze turning rose-y as you would open your mouth and sing along to the song. Of course, you would sing beautifully, better than the original singer, and he would sit there, absolutely mesmerised. 

Oh, he was stunned alright. 

“SEVEN AM THE USUAL MORNING, LINE UP—!”

The boy flinched at the sheer volume of your chant—screech would be the better word for it, for he guessed singing was not one of your natural talents. 

You could not see his judgement at all, eyes closed and clutching your fists to your chest, continuing the song. “START ON THE FLOOR AND SWEEP TILL THE FLOOR’S ALL CLEEEEEANNNN—!”

A scoff escaped him, not quite believing the scene before him. He was shocked to silence, the movie’s music now in his background, the forefront being your attempt to outsing the princess. Either no one had told you how horrendous your singing was, or you simply did not care for the opinions of others. A part of him hoped that it was the latter—for you to be so comfortable in singing away, despite what others thought, made his judgement disappear. 

Shamelessly you sang the entire number, up to the point where the scene cuts and the supposedly hot love interest—whose name was Flynn Rider, apparently, which he should have known if he just read the poster at the start of the movie like a normal viewer—was now trying to steal the crown jewels. 

Vernon was too busy thinking about how stupid ‘Flynn Rider’ was as a name to realise that another song had just started. Immediately you changed your tune, your tone lowering, almost sultry. 

This time, you looked at him when you started singing. 

“Look at you, as fragile as a flower…”

“Ayo?” A glance at the TV screen, where Mother Gothel was now singing. “Another song?”

But you did not answer his question, only singing further as you reached your hand out to him. “Still a little sapling, just a sprout!” You continued, and, at that, your hand patted his mess of curls atop his head, mirroring Mother Gothel’s actions. 

Blinking back repeatedly, he could not even shrug it off, stunned once again by how you were casually able to touch him and not feel anything—while his entire system shuts down like a lagging desktop when it tries to run the Sims. 

The overdramatic flair was present in your singing, changed from the sweetness of the previous song. It was crazy how you remembered each word, not slipping at any chorus—you were a true fan, a committed admirer of the film. Even he could not comprehend knowing every single line of his favourites. 

It was admirable indeed—to love a film as you did this one.

It was what made Vernon smile a little, turning away from your melodrama and focusing on the screen, where Mother Gothel now threatened to never be asked to leave the tower. Again.

This time, he would give the movie a chance. Thank God he decided to wake up.

The movie picked up the pace instantly—he had not expected Flynn to meet—and be whacked out by Rapunzel’s frying pan—so quickly, and had reflected her dejection when the mother screamed at her. He could tell where this was going, especially with the thief now in the closet, but he found himself grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl without turning away from the screen.

By the time the third song of the movie came around, he was taken aback that it arrived further in, surrounded by the thugs of the Snuggly Duckling. Without realising, he turned to you, anticipating you breaking out into a song, but you were merely watching the movie, bobbing your head along to the beat.

Noticing his stare, you glanced at him. “Expecting a show?”

“Since you were giving them out without request, I figured this time would be like any other.”

You snorted, grabbing the popcorn. “I’m saving my heavenly voice for the best song, actually.”

Vernon mocked a gasp. “So you’re telling me Mother Knows Best isn’t the best feature?”

“Don’t chat shit, Mr. Filmbro, because Mother Knows Best is one of the top five.”

“I look forward to seeing which song you’re holding out for,” he only said, turning back to the movie again. The popcorn ran out about this time, and you shot up from your bean bag, promising more as you exited the room, leaving him to continue. 

By the time you returned, the protagonists were escaping, chaos ensuing all around them with the guards, his partners and that eccentric white horse chasing them. Ending up in the cave, they recognise a lack of way out, and although Vernon was aware that the movie ends on the happiest note, a small part of him filled with dread. 

That dread disappeared instantly when Flynn confessed his little secret.

“Eugene Fitzherbert?!” The boy demanded.

You chuckled at his disdain. “Yeah, Flynn Rider was hotter. Eugene Fitzherbert ages him about forty years.”

“Flynn Rider was silly, but Eugene is straight up diabolical.” 

“He is still fuckable regardless!” you shushed him, raising your pointer at him. “You wish you had his sex appeal.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let me just change my name to Bartholomew Whiteman real quick.”

“Hey!” you whacked him on the arm, this time laughing heartily at his quip. “Let my man live!”

He decided to spare your fictional man any more bullying, taking in the town atmosphere where the two adventurers and Maximus had now ended up. “Ooooo, the castle dances are my favourite scenes!” you gushed, scooping popcorn in one hand and eating with the other. “Wait, look, look at the braid!”

“Jeez, I’m looking!” he insisted, watching the girls braid Rapunzel’s hair. Flynn—which Vernon is continuing to identify him as, because Eugene was too much for him—stared at her longingly at the results. Vernon used the popcorn as an excuse to gaze at you matching Flynn’s longing at the screen. Your head rested on your knees, locking your hands in front of them, forming a lazy smile. This smile remained throughout Rapunzel and Eugene’s activities, even to the point when the couple were settled in a boat, waiting for the lights. 

“It’s happening,” you declared, the smile widening as you released your legs from your hands. “Oh my God, it’s fucking happening!”

Raising the volume, the boy watched the screen, where thousands of lanterns were sparking alight at the king and queen’s signal. The lanterns’ lights broke across the borders of the town, melting into the sea, the docked ships. Rapunzel had not noticed though, too busy dropping flower heads upon the water’s surface, Flynn helpfully holding out the bunch. 

As the princess dropped another upon the waterbed, she finally noticed the beginning.

It was then Vernon heard your favourite Disney song.

“All those days, watching from the window…All those years, outside looking in…” 

You followed this time, not as loud as the other songs, quiet and soft, as if letting the blonde shine in her song. “All that time, never even knowing, just how blind I’ve been…”” 

You exhibited the same excitement as Rapunzel, who, noticing the lanterns, threw off Flynn’s balance, hanging onto the curling bow of the boat.

The boy, however, was not really focused on the screen.

Because the music that surrounded the two crept into his ears, playing the strings of his senses; because the lights were off save for the TV, shining its dimmed lighting upon your face, making you glow with the dark purples, blues, golds of the Tangled scenery. He lost all interest in everything because you were looking something out of a daydream, watching the events of the movie as if they were scenes of salvation. The two of you were definitely not on any kind of boat, merely sitting on bean bags. Despite all of that, he began to float—swaying from where he sat, as if he was truly settled on water. 

“Now I’m here—” You put your hand to your chest— “Blinking in the starlight…now I’m here, suddenly I see…”

You kept singing the lyrics, voice more subdued than your last outbursts, and Vernon could only watch you, the pure love of this song radiating off your very pores. Vernon’s anticipation rose with every octave of the singer’s voice rising, eyes never leaving your face, the parted mouth. 

“Standing here, it’s oh! so clear…!”

As the viewers themselves were about to observe the thousands of lanterns Rapunzel witnessed, Vernon himself waiting, he made the mistake of averting his gaze from you, if only to see the grand reveal.

It was what made you unconsciously envelop your fingers with his, clasping his hand with yours.

He whipped his head to yours, eyes widening to the point of spilling. 

You were already looking at him. 

When you sang the next lyrics, Vernon could have melted molten.

“I’m where I’m meant to be!” 

And as the lanterns surrounded the protagonists, lighting up the entirety of the night, you sang the chorus to the boy in your little college flat, no one to witness it but two of you.

“And at last I see the light! And it’s like the fog has lifted!” 

Your voice was hoarse now, all the screech-singing catching up to you. Vernon, in another lifetime, would have instantly resisted, ran for the hills if it was literally anyone else in the room but you.

“And at last I see the light! And it’s like the sky…is new…” 

But it was you—you holding his hand tightly, you looking at him with the light of the lanterns in your eyes, you opening up to him in your little haven, away from anyone else. Granted, you could have offered this performance to anyone, but he liked to think—shit, he was truly hoping—that you would not have done this for anyone else. 

You would have only sang your favourite song to him. 

“And it’s warm, and real, and bright! And the world has somehow…shifted…”

Vernon watched you halt a moment, waiting for the next verse, your hand tightening in his. 

“All at once…everything looks different…”

You were right—the world had shifted underneath him, stilled under the dimmed lighting of this dingy living room. The two of you now faced each other, music still tuning from the TV, but the characters long forgotten, as if they never existed. Yes, you were right in that everything looked different, seemed different, as if he was seeing you for the very first time. 

“Now that I��see you.”

Shit. You were rather beautiful before him.

You paused then, watching his reaction. You tilted your head, thoroughly amused by the sheer awe that radiated from his face, but then you noticed his chest rise and fall, more unevenly the longer you observed him. 

The next detail you caught was how his eyes darted down—down to your lips.

It was the lips, which were watched so intently, that parted.

You attempted at a little humour. “Out of all my talents, I guess singing isn’t one of them.”

But Vernon did not respond with words. Sure, he would have agreed with you, but singing was irrelevant now. Out of all these infinite talents you possessed—your natural charm, your ease in making him laugh, your trespassing and eventual escaping of such crimes—Vernon could not have given less of a shit about singing. Not when you were before him, bathed in an unnatural, extraordinary light, soft music playing in the background. Almost as if he had adorned the rose-tinted glasses, courtesy of the universe.

In any romantic comedy, he would have kissed her.

The boy was not known to be courageous—anything but brave. Real Life, Not Clickbait Vernon would have left by now. The Real Vernon should have pussied out. 

You, however, looked a little too beautiful to be treated with cowardice. 

“Are you going to kiss me, Mr. Filmbro, or are you gonna make me wait till the end of the movie?”

He parted his mouth for a split second, gob-smacked at your question. The twinkle in your gaze, though, had him spluttering out a harsh chuckle, craning his head down at the sheer absurdity of it all. But then he looked up, smiling, not quite believing what he was about to do.

“I should make you wait.”

That was what he said. What Vernon instead did was finally grow the two balls that were supposed to be hidden in his pants, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. 

Now the boy always wondered whether the movies were right—when mouths would touch, move against each other, whether a fire would ignite between souls, whether one really felt as if they were not of this world.

It seemed like Hallmark-level bullshit to him, but the moment his lips touched yours, he began to float out of this room. A soft hum reverated from you, approval at his actions, and he could have burst as he felt you smile against him. 

Maybe Disney was right. God, he really did not want to be in such accord with that stupid corporation, but they were onto something with the fireworks, the orchestral singing when couples kiss. He himself felt a choir-like chant all around him as he brought his hand to your face, angling it slightly so he could gain better access, boost your pleasure as he delved slightly deeper.

He was unstoppable. He was alive and ecstatic and delirious, opening his mouth wider, his other hand now finding your waist, snuffing out any distance between you two. It was not like he was a pro in these situations—he had only ever had one serious girlfriend, and that was at an age where a boy could get away with merely ‘french-kissing’ (as the kids back then would have gloated) your significant other. Again, he may have fooled around a little in college, too, but never had he experienced this haze of lust, this newfound desire. 

This desire enhanced further when you slipped your tongue from the seams, sliding it along his as an invitation for more, and he could have honestly thanked that heinous hag Walt Disney for making movies you adored so much, to the point of showing him and landing him in this situation. Of course he indulged you, opening his mouth enough to let you inside. The sensation of your tongue slipping past his lips had a soft noise releasing from his throat. 

Tangled was all but forgotten, the two of you too occupied being entangled with each other. You pulled him even closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers brushing against the ends of his hair. The soft touches had every strand of his locks standing on edge, a wave of delight washing over him. 

You were sagged into the bean bag, Vernon’s weight upon you sinking you further, but you did not mind it—relished it, his scent engulfing you, the sighs and soft murmurs of his every exhale haunting your eardrums. Who would have thought that a boy who could recite every Joker quote from The Dark Knight—Virgin Supremism you termed the talent—had this kind of game hidden underneath? How was he able to ignite such powerful emotions from you?

How was Vernon ‘Filmbro’ Chwe able to make you feel so good you did not realise Tangled finishing right before you?

The two of you could have spent all night intertwined in each other, perhaps would have gone past the boundaries of mere making out. However, between the haze of his soft whispers to you, your own mist swimming in your head, you heard the starting music of the DVD reverting to the home page, and like instinct you opened your eyes, finding that the movie had ended.

You must have paused, because Vernon immediately stopped, concern staining his pretty features. His knitted brow, eyes laced with nervousness, shamed you for ever stopping. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“Oh, no, no!” You felt like a fool for the answer you attempted to give him. “It’s just, um…”

He followed your line of sight, turning around. Once he realised, he looked back at you, you surprised to find a little shock replacing his concern. “We were going for that long?”

Your smirk had his stomach knotting. “This is what happens when you make out with someone you like, Mr. Filmbro.” 

He could not respond, looking away as his flushed face managed to redden some more. You only laughed at him, playing with the hem of his shirt, his arms still steady as they caged you. “You are so lucky, you know.”

He quirked a brow. “And why is that?” 

“I would never miss the second half of Tangled for a man.”

It was so incredibly stupid, how he felt a semblance of pride at the notion.“Happy to know I’m an exception.”

“You do know I’m gonna make you watch it again so you can say you’ve watched it.”

Vernon tilted his head to the side, lost in thought. You watched him, anticipating. “This is the part where you say you’d rather Mingyu jump you than rewatch Tangled.” 

“Well yes, but…” He glanced over his shoulder, where your shelf of DVDs were stacked, a particular movie which had caught his eye previously now standing out all the more. “I, uh…” 

He looked back at you, and the self-conscious glint in his gaze had you watching his every movement. “I was hoping to show you my favourite movie instead.”

You were ready to make a comment on how you prided on avoiding Nolan films like the plague, but then you remembered the conversation at Mingyu’s house. Your eyebrows could have touched your hairline. “You said I could never know.”

“Well…” a small smile escaped him, slowly pulling himself away. “If I am to be your exception, _____, then I suppose you can be mine.”

Gaping at him, you could only keep silent as he, with great effort on his part, heaved off you, making his way to the shelf. He was lucky, you thought—had he been a moment slower, that comment alone would have had you kissing him again. 

What quickly caught your attention was him sliding his pointer finger through your collection, a series of your favourites. The anticipation was rising, you not quite believing that Mr. Filmbro’s favourite film was within your arsenal. Weeks ago, you would have bullied him relentlessly for the ironic hypocrisy.

When he pulled out the fated DVD, you let out the greatest laugh.

The boy instantly frowned, but you did not realise, cackling and cackling away at the selection, the final boss of Vernon’s favourite film, nestled between his fingers. “Shut up,” he mumbled, but again, you did not hear him, lost in the shrill sound of your laughter, erupting the room to life. 

“Oh, Jesus—” Your chortling did not seem to stop, almost to the point of hiccups. “Your ass…this entire time—!”

“And suddenly I’m leaving!” Vernon announced, getting up and about to drop the DVD. 

He did not last long in his determination when you grabbed onto the end of his shirt, grinning still. “Thank God you’re not a Nolan kiss-ass…that’s all I’m saying.”

All he could do was stand like an idiot, the tips of your fingers caressing the skin just above his trousers. “But I am a Nolan kiss-ass,” he murmured, crossing his arms. 

“That’s what I thought, too, but this film—” you jerked your head towards the prize in his hand. “You’ve redeemed yourself.”

“Stop it,” he only said, crouching down to pull out the Tangled CD, replacing it with the new, and, in his opinion, improved movie. “This is why I didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“And nobody will know,” you assured him, watching the movie’s main menu pop up, the PLAY option highlighted. “This’ll be our secret.”

“First the trespassing,” Vernon began, sitting down beside you, “Then the tampering of movies, and now this.” He grabbed the remote, about to play the movie. “How much more are we gonna sneak around?”

You looked at him, and the smile you offered him had him glancing away—only for a second. “Have you not had fun, though? Sneaking around with me?”

Normally, in a situation where he had zero balls, he would have evaded such a question, not fanned the flames of your fire. But tonight he had watched a Disney movie with you, felt your fingers caressing his skin, had even kissed you in the purple hues of Tangled’s light. Tonight, he could conquer the world.

What would answering a heated question do any harm?

Vernon locked eyes with you then, trying to fight his smile. “I think I could have fun with you anywhere…in secret or for anyone to see.”

As something in your gaze shifted, he turned the film on (an entendre which was completely intentional). 

Once again, the two of you were in the same position, watching yet another film, this time another’s all time favourite. The narrator began in a strange, European accent, explaining the tale of an unfortunate princess, much like Rapunzel, and her dire situation. 

Although it was undoubtedly his most treasured film, the boy had a very hard time paying attention when all he could feel was that penetrating stare of yours, capable of revealing his very soul from beneath his measly shirt. Even when the stranger main character was introduced, following his main routine in his strangest abode, Vernon was not particularly concentrating anymore.

Not when he heard your voice, a soft question amongst the gaudy music of the 2000s. “Do you mean that, Vernon?”

And perhaps it was because you said his actual name, especially when your voice sounded like…like that. Like something from a perfect movie soundtrack, akin to the end-credits of an unforgettable TV show. 

Because he was too occupied with simply admiring you, he merely nodded, biting the inside of his cheek.

And because you were too busy admiring him, his words, the entire night where you had felt pure, euphoric joy, you did Mr. Filmbro a little dirty by making a decision that negated his film.

You shifted closer once more, hands reaching out to hold his face. 

This time, Vernon was prepared when you kissed him.

There was a certain eagerness in your lips this time which was newer—more enjoyable to his senses. It made sense now, why all these couples in movies made out for hours and hours on end. He felt as if he could kiss you forever, move against your mouth, delve inside until his tongue memorised your very imprint. 

You moaned a little louder this time, and the very sound had his heartbeat racing, moreso when, as he pressed you against him, shifting upon his beanbag, he knew then and there that something in the air shifted.

Last time, you had stopped. This time, there was no such indication—the very thought had him skirting his hands around you, holding you tight enough to never let go.

Still—even with such possibilities, there was no way you and him would escalate to the point of losing his virginity.

Whatever happens though, he will still watch the end of his favourite film. 

Whatever happens, Vernon would not be having sex with you if Shrek was playing in the background.

VERNON LOST HIS VIRGINITY WITH SHREK PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.

Certainly not his greatest achievements, considering he could not focus on his favourite movie, but it was certainly not his fault. You were—to put it quite plainly—hot as fuck.

He did not leave until the very next day because—as he had stated that night—he still wanted you to watch Shrek, and did, somehow, end up watching it properly. You did not stop teasing him, and he did not stop shutting you up by kissing you senseless. 

Unfortunately, the boy did have college the next day, so he had to leave at some point, but not without promises of meeting you again. This time, however, you two did not continue the crimes he committed with you. You and Vernon were not modern-day Joker and Harley Quinn.

When the two of you were not terrorising Mingyu’s livelihood, you decided to hang out at the filmstore, where it all began. Vernon would host weekly movie nights, and both of you would eat popcorn and watch each other’s recommendations, scoring them differently in accordance to what was most important for each other.

For the film majoring student, the rating was influenced not only by the actors’ performances, but also from the intricate storyline, the character developments, their relationships. A story, for him at least, was about relationships. Good cinema was about the chemistry between two actors, the emotional connection they had not just with each other, but also their effect on the audience. The actual editing of the film, too, was another bullet point in his criteria.

Your rating, on the other hand, differed slightly. 

“Michelle Yeoh is such a MILF,” was your only comment upon finishing Everything Everywhere All at Once. 

This comment nearly made Vernon lose his mind. “One of the greatest movies of this decade, and this is your only input?”

“But am I wrong, though?”

Vernon sighed a little at that—at the end of the day, you were absolutely in the right. There was a reason Crazy Rich Asians went platinum in his dingy little room. 

Of course, it was not just his personal recommendations that played. You had compiled a list of your all-time favourites, going beyond Disney’s borders, and Vernon was introduced to the dashing timeless genre of the rom-com. Now having a younger sister who (he thought) was a basic bitch meant he did possess some knowledge of the genre, but he had never really sat down and watched a rom-com without falling asleep in Sofia’s bed. 

For you, though, he braved the most famous romances, which he found himself enjoying more than he would have liked—more so when he found one of his favoured actors in 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Heath Ledger singing was something I never thought I needed,” Vernon commented as the ferocious couple finally kissed. 

“And this is the same fella who was the Joker in your little Nolan film,” you reminded him, as if he was not aware already. “Oh, and he was the gay cowboy in that movie.”

“Gay cowboy?” His confusion lasted for approximately thirty seconds before he groaned, pushing you over on your beanbag. “My god, are you talking about Brokeback Mountain?”

“Yes, that one!” you exclaimed, picking up the TV remote. “My guy has range, but him as a high schooler is still my favourite role.”

“You do realise how bad that sounds, right?”

“You know what I mean,” you said, waving him off as you began searching for the next movie. “Now, Two Weeks’ Notice or The Proposal?”

Vernon endeavoured to weigh in on the options. “Which one do you think I’d like?”

“Well, both have Sandra Bullock in them…”

He looked over both DVDs. “Now that’s a white woman I can get behind.” 

You scooched a little over to him, locking your hands together. “We can watch something you like…” When he knitted his brows together, not quite answering you, you went on, almost unable to look him in the eye. “You’ve been super nice, you know…sitting through all my favourites.” 

The boy could not help it, unable to let a smirk slip. “Is this _____ appreciating me for once?” The beginnings of his shit-eating attitude did not develop, since your smack on his arm completely snuffed it out. “Ow, damn!”

“You deserved that,” you muttered, beginning to scoot away until Vernon’s hand on your wrist stopped you. 

When you focused your gaze at him, he already beat you to it. “Let’s watch both today.” 

It was silly, how that made your heart beat faster. “Really? You would watch two rom-coms in a row?”

As his hand pulled you closer, his stare had you almost—almost—nervous. “I’ve done worse for you.”

“Very true,” you said, absent-minded, more lost in the twinkle of his eyes. “Very, uh…good point.”

Vernon thanked all the higher bodies that may have existed for the pure, unadulterated rizz he was attempting to spew. “I’m full of good points,” he crowed. “Now, are you going to stare at me all night, or are we going to watch Sandra Bullock?”

Although your cheeks burned, you pushed him off, earning a chuckle from him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Filmbro. The only man I’ll be staring at will be Ryan Reynolds in The Proposal.”

All of the boy’s suave attitude dissipated at his shock. “The Deadpool guy?!”

“Ryan Reynolds did have range before,” you explained, shaking your head. “Then the superhero bug bit him.”

“What a shame,” he only said, as if Vernon did not follow the Deadpool universe to the point of possessing special editioned comics in his room. Still, he happily slotted the CD inside the player, and excused himself to make more popcorn for the two of you.

As the boy prepared snacks, glancing back every time at the opening scene, he managed to sneak a look at you, eagerly watching the screen. 

He could only smile, putting all the popcorn in the huge bowl before hurrying back to you. 

THIS WAS PROBABLY THE FIRST TIME YOU WORE A SUIT TO A CINEMA. PERHAPS THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME YOU WORE A SUIT AT ALL.

Admittedly, it was not as if you had intended to go into the cinema in formal attire—or, at least the only formal clothing you had. Your first plan was to steal something from your father’s wardrobe, but when you tried it on, it did not fit properly, and you refused to look like an idiot in public.

Not that you cared much about looking like an idiot in public before, but there was another person to look out for. And that person, although had already done embarrassing enough actions for you, did not want to push it further. One more ceremonious act of humiliation, and Vernon would have run a thousand miles from you—or that was what you thought. 

You observed your cinema fit one last time before your bathroom mirror, fixing the lapels for the nth time. Your rented three-piece suit was almost a second skin, waistcoat snug underneath the tweed jacket, matching coloured trousers adorned alongside. You borrowed some Oxford brogues from a friend, which made you realise that you had more posh friends than you knew. You tried to find a hat similar to the one Cillian Murphy wore in the promotions, but because you did not have the wardrobe of a middle aged man, you resorted to let your head rest. 

All of this elaborate planning to see Nolan’s (apparently) greatest release yet—Oppenheimer. 

Because the cinema was not far away from you, you decided to walk, messaging your date to let him know that you were on your way. You were certain he was already there in the cinema; Vernon, since you had started hanging out more with him, had only ever talked about Nolan’s upcoming epic. You swore if you recited the IMDB plot out to him during sex, he would have spunked within minutes (a mental note to experiment on that later). His excitement had you booking midnight release tickets, which consequently made him so happy you thought you had invited Nolan to the town cinema. 

The night, furthering along, had beautified the black sky, stars twinkling on your journey. The consistent vibrations from your phone indicated the boy’s imminent excitement, and you smiled, double-checking your formal attire once more. You would have romanticised the nighttime further but living in student area brought you right back to fearing slightly for your life, so you quickened your step, cinema already a close speck in the distance. 

You knew you were nearer to the destination when the flocks of pink and black grew, the cowboy hats and fake pipes all piling up in your vision. Seeing the pink reminded you of Barbie’s influence, also being released tonight alongside the more serious counterpart. 

A small part of you really wanted to see the midnight release for the new movie. The original plan most people were following was either to watch Oppenheimer and then Barbie, or the other way around. You were so close to procuring tickets for the latter, but decided that it was important to accompany Vernon to the seemingly bigger release. After all, you were never as excited about films as the dear film major you had rather grown to like.

Another vibration of your phone, and you finally decided to stop ignoring said-film major and text him, possibly informing you of his arrival.

mr. filmbro: yo where u at

mr. filmbro: they’re too many pink mfs out here im getting suffocated

You rolled your eyes.

_____: im coming to save u kitten.

mr. filmbro: :0

Once you were inside, it was a complete sea of pink and black and grey. Two sides, which one would assume would be opposing, were all celebrating, sharing their drinks, anticipating when the theatre doors would open to let everyone in. Within this myriad of fans, you tried to search for the most mentally ill one—the one who you were certain had a finer three-piece set than you, who would have happily stolen Cillian Murphy’s set clothes to truly honour the movie. 

Strangely enough, after a few minutes, you could not find him, even after confirming your seats. You searched for anyone wearing anything devoid of colour, but did not find the boy. This time, you decided to bother him, calling him and pressing the phone to your ear. 

“Where are you, kitten?” you purposely growled, lowering your voice an octave. “Daddy’s waiting.”

“Kitten actually killed himself after hearing that,” was his purposeful monotone. 

“Can you resurrect yourself for me real quick? I’m tryna find where you are.” 

“I’m next to the Oppenheimer popup.” Immediately you tried to find it, scouring through the crowds. “I figured you’d find me easier.”

Scoffing, you ignored the Barbie stalls, walking further ahead. “How very smart of you to wear Oppenheimer clothing while standing next to it. So much easier to find you, isn’t it?”

He did not retort back, instead inciting your excitement. “Wait, I think I can see you…?”

Your eyes darted over to the fresh faces of the Nolan fans, all taking pictures of the cast pop-ups. What you were observing were the men and women, all lack of colour. 

What your gaze ended up on was someone completely different. 

What you were expecting was a mini-Oppenheimer, the too-large blazer, the sashed hat upon pretty brown curls. What you received instead was a boy engulfed in all the pinks of the colour wheel.

Pink was the colour of his top, bubblegum pink the colour of the stringy fur coat sporting over said shirt. Magenta was the colour of his flared trousers, whilst rose was the colour of his converse. What topped off the entire look was the hot pink cowboy hat, sitting perfectly upon his wavy locks, completing his fit—a fit which was perfect for the Barbie movie. 

It was around that point that he caught on to your stare—through the oceans of opposing fans, he, too, finally found you.

Vernon heard your curse murmur through the phone. “Oh my fucking God.”

That was when his own gaze roamed over you, shocked and shameless amongst the crowds. Not that the crowds mattered, not anymore. He was a little nervous, he had to admit it to himself, only because there were so many people, and they were only watching for the fad, for the trend. A part of him wanted just you and him in this midnight cinema, the biggest official date yet. 

But then seeing you here, in all your black-clad, Oppenheimered glory, had stunned him to his core. Although he had specifically brought you here to watch the movie, he had completely expected you to arrive in the pinkmania fit. Because you had kindly booked tickets for his anticipated film, he thought at least to participate in the Barbie craze fit.

It was like instinct, how his steps gravitated towards you, his phone still pressed against his ear, very much like you. You followed him slowly, hearing his ragged breaths through the speaker, watching him walk closer and closer until you both were a mere couple of feet away.

Only then did you drop the call, your hands at your sides as you admired him. It was a while before any of you spoke. 

Like always, you spoke first. “Tell me the fur coat is yours.”

A ghost of a smirk. “Sofia’s.”

“Stealing’s like second nature to you now, isn’t it?” you taunted. 

Like always, he dodged your taunts. “I thought you were gonna wear all pink.”

“I thought you were gonna wear all black.”

He tilted his head. “Well, I thought since we were watching both movies…”

Your confusion was clear, the corner of his lips curling further up. “Wasn’t Oppenheimer first?”

He then went inside his flared trouser pockets, fishing out two tickets—its colours matching his outfit. “I know how much you wanted to see Margot Robbie be silly.” 

“I did!” you exclaimed, taking the tickets from him, admiring how pretty they were designed, especially when compared to the Oppenheimer marketing tickets. In your admiration, though, you noticed a detail which had your excitement faltering. “Wait, are you sure? It says the movie’s at the same time.”

Vernon then checked the timings, mouth parting. “Oh shit. Didn’t think about that.” He shook his head, mouth straightening in a line, dejected. “This is what happens when I try to do something romantic.”

“I have to give points for effort,” you offered, bringing your hands to his wrist. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s watch Oppenheimer, honestly. Cillian Murphy is still hot when he’s old.”

“No, no,” he countered, clasping your hands on his wrist. “It’s chill.” He glanced down. “Let’s do Barbie first.”

You attempted to argue him on this, but he simply let go of your hands, with his one hand wrapping around your waist, and the other hand’s wrist being checked for the time. You bit back a smile at his mere actions, relishing his fingers skirting under the suit, the waistcoat. “Vernon,” you attempted. 

“_____,” he said back, staring at you with an awe that you would have deserved had you worn a couture gown, not some rented hand-me-downs. 

You knew he would not take no for an answer now. “But what about Oppenheimer?” you asked anyway as the two of you made your way to the cinema. 

Vernon only pretended to think extremely deeply of the situation, making you elbow him playfully. “Now tell me, Dear Disney Hag, how did we enter Mingyu’s house?”

“Why, we walked straight in!” you answered like an over-enthusiastic student, in which he sarcastically clapped for you. 

“Right on.” As you both walked towards the Barbie theatre, the opposing movie was being screened right beside you, where people were bursting in. “See how everyone is walking in right now?” He gave you a knowing glance. 

That knowing glance had you scoffing in excited disbelief. “My God! Look at you, all ready to commit crimes!” you looped a hand around his arm. “I have taught you well, young man.”

He patted your arm. “Mr. Filmbro has come a long way from chatting shit about your movie taste.”

“So you admit it?” you leaned in. “Disney makes better movies than your flop directors?”

“That’s a completely different claim,” he clarified. “My taste in films is objectively better.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact you're watching the Barbie movie before Oppenheimer.”

He rolled his eyes, tugging you closer. “That’s ‘cause I like you a lot, Disney Hag…”

You did not stop your smile from lighting up your entire face. “You’re not the most insufferable filmbro I’ve dated I guess…”

”I better be the last filmbro you date,” he muttered, watching over the last of the crowds, where they now stood, waiting to enter the theatre.

The longer you waited to answer him, the more incredulous his face became, brows knotted in disbelief. You only chuckled, leaning in and pressing your lips upon his. Of course, he was taken aback, but surprises like these were pleasant, welcomed with open arms as Vernon closed his eyes, pulling you in. 

The moment the line started quickening you broke away, only to make sure no one skipped in front of you and him, and thus deal with yours and his passive aggression. You could not help the giggle that escaped you at breaking away from his lips, relishing in his dazed state. 

Honestly—you truly would not have minded being anywhere with him.

When it was finally your turn to go inside the Barbie screening, you held tightly to his hand. “Let’s go, Mr. Filmbro.”

Vernon only smiled. “Right behind you, _____.”

And as the two of you entered the theatre, hand-in-hand, the boy learned that perhaps he, too, would have gone anywhere with you. 

[thedensworld]

Gentle Daddy | C. Sc

Pairing: Scoups x reader

Genre: fluff, parent au

Summary: welcome aboard to the threenager stage of Seungcheol's son and how he parents him.

Seungcheol was seventeen when he met Chan, the youngest of their group. Was Chan a little brother? Yes. But at the start? Not quite. To Seungcheol, Chan was just another kid, someone he had to look after out of duty rather than choice.

As the oldest in their group, Seungcheol often became the subject of jokes about his strict ways. “Everyone, if you don’t wake up on three, I’ll give you 10 more laps of running,” Seungkwan teased, mimicking Seungcheol's commanding tone from their training days, complete with a mock-serious expression that drew laughter.

“Seungcheol hyung definitely needs someone gentle to balance that out,” Chan piped up with a cheeky grin. But before he could finish, Seungcheol raised an eyebrow and asked, “Balance what?”

Chan swallowed nervously, waving his hand dismissively as the others burst into laughter. “No, no, I was talking to myself,” he stammered.

But now, Seungcheol stood in a different scene, holding his three-year-old son, Wontae, on his arm during his birthday party. The house was filled with chatter and laughter, the kind only close friends could bring.

“Your interior is beautiful, Seungcheol. Come over and do mine next,” Jeonghan quipped, throwing a casual compliment with a hint of a request. Seungcheol rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“Appa did my room too!” Wontae beamed proudly at Jeonghan. Jeonghan’s features softened as he reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Your appa is very talented, isn’t he?”

Seungcheol discovered his passion for interior design when he was searching online for the perfect nursery layout for Wontae. But nothing he found could match the vision in his mind. After discussing it with you, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Trips to the hardware store turned into projects that filled his weekends: crafting custom cabinets, building desks, and designing coffee tables.

In preparation for the party, Seungcheol went all out—rearranging furniture, painting walls, and adding small decorative touches that showcased his new hobby.

“It’s almost as good as Mingyu’s house,” Jeonghan said with a mischievous smirk. Seungcheol chuckled, nodding in agreement. “I think taking care of others did that to me. Just like how Mingyu took care of everything for us back in the day.”

“I want to get down,” Wontae said, squirming in his father’s arms. Seungcheol gently set him down, watching with a smile as his son darted over to Wonwoo, who was showing him a video game on his phone.

“He’s going to be three, wow!” Jeonghan remarked, shaking his head in disbelief. “It feels like just yesterday when I first held him.”

“How is it like?” Jeonghan asked, a rare tone of seriousness in his voice.

Seungcheol sighed, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Go get married and have one yourself,” he said playfully.

“Jeonghan’s getting married?” Your voice chimed in as you returned from putting Wonna, your four-month-old daughter, to sleep. Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan turned toward you. Seungcheol’s eyes softened as he reached for your waist, pulling you gently into his side.

“Is she asleep?” he asked, concern blending with affection. You nodded, resting a hand on his chest.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jeonghan interjected, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“I feel really bad that you’re going through all of this right after giving birth, just for his birthday party,” Jeonghan joked, glancing around at the well-decorated room. The party was being held the day after Seungcheol’s birthday, even though Wontae’s actual birthday was next week.

“I told you, it’s for Wontae!” Seungcheol insisted, his tone defensive but playful.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Jeonghan, I gave birth four months ago. Besides, I’m grateful that Joshua and Mingyu helped with the food prep.” You nodded toward Joshua and Mingyu, who were now joined by Jihoon in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes and joking with each other.

Suddenly, a tiny voice interrupted the grown-up conversation. “Look what Uncle Hoshi got me! It’s a matching tiger onesie for me and Wonna!” Wontae announced proudly, holding up the tiny outfit with wide eyes full of excitement.

Seungcheol’s eyes flicked to Hoshi, who was now rolling on the floor, laughing at Wontae’s reaction. The older man couldn’t help but smirk, shaking his head.

You smiled and turned to Seungcheol. “I’ll go help him with his present,” you said, squeezing his arm before walking over to your son.

Jeonghan, still standing beside Seungcheol, gave him a knowing pat on the shoulder. “You know, it’s great you married Y/N. I never thought I’d see the day when the legendary Seungcheol, the training tyrant, would become the poster child for gentle parenting.”

Seungcheol scoffed, turning to Jeonghan with a mock glare. “A monster? Really? You’re one to talk,” he protested, crossing his arms but unable to suppress the grin threatening to break through.

Jeonghan just laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts. Besides, we all know you wouldn’t be half as patient if it weren’t for her.”

Seungcheol glanced across the room where you were now helping Wontae into the tiger onesie, a soft smile crossing his face. The room buzzed with laughter and warmth, the chaos of their little family perfectly imperfect.

*

Seungcheol woke up a bit late this morning, the warm glow of the morning sun filtering through the curtains. A soft smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of his family already gathered at the dining table for breakfast. The sound of Wontae’s cheerful voice filled the room when he spotted his dad entering.

“Appa!” Wontae called out with excitement, his tiny hands waving eagerly. Seungcheol walked over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Wontae’s head before his eyes found Wonna, cradled in your arms, contentedly finishing her second bottle of the day.

“Wonna Wonna~ did you sleep well, my princess?” Seungcheol cooed, his heart melting at the sight of his daughter’s chubby cheeks. Wonna wriggled in your embrace, her eyes lighting up as she recognized her father’s voice.

“You had breakfast, love?” Seungcheol’s gaze shifted to you, his tone laced with concern. You shook your head with a soft smile. “I was waiting for you.”

He grinned, taking Wonna gently from your arms. “I’ll play with Wonna for a bit. Go have your breakfast.”

You nodded, appreciating his thoughtful gesture, and sat down to enjoy breakfast with Wontae. After some quality playtime with Wonna and tucking her back into her crib for a nap, Seungcheol returned to the dining room. By then, Wontae had retreated to his bedroom, engrossed in the toys his uncles had gifted him.

“Wontae loves Mingyu’s gift,” Seungcheol said with a chuckle, recalling how his son had immediately fallen in love with the plush corgi toy Mingyu had brought him. It was amusing how Wontae adored anything Mingyu gave, no matter what it was.

You laughed as you finished your meal. “Of course he does. He’s your son, after all. It makes sense he’d have a special bond with Mingyu.”

Seungcheol joined in your laughter, the sound warm and genuine. “Thanks, love,” he said when you placed a steaming bowl of rice and soup in front of him.

“Is your head still dizzy?” you asked, sitting beside him to keep him company while he ate.

He sighed, a touch of guilt crossing his features. “Not as much, but I really need to cut down on my drinking.” A rueful smile followed. “I still don’t get how you don’t drink at all—not even a beer.”

You smiled, amused by his amazement. “The last time I drank was before I got pregnant with Wontae,” you reminded him. Seungcheol’s eyes widened as the memory came rushing back—it had been at Joshua’s birthday party.

“Right!” he said, letting out a soft chuckle at the recollection.

Before he could say more, Wontae’s voice rang out, echoing through the hallway. “Eomma! Come here!” He came running into the dining room, eyes sparkling with excitement as he tugged at your hand, eager for you to join him in his room.

“How about we stay here and keep Appa company while he finishes eating?” you suggested gently, but Wontae shook his head, determination written all over his little face.

“No! I want to show you my drawing!” he insisted, practically bouncing on his feet. “Uncle Chan gave me crayons, and there are so many colors! Even five different blues!”

You exchanged a knowing look with Seungcheol, your heart swelling at Wontae’s joy. “Alright, let’s see your masterpiece,” you said, getting up and giving Seungcheol a reassuring smile before following your son.

Five minutes later, you returned to the dining room, barely suppressing your laughter. Seungcheol had just finished eating and looked up, curiosity piqued by your expression.

“You should see what he’s done in there,” you said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did he do this time?”

“You need to see it for yourself,” you urged, playfully nudging him in the direction of Wontae’s room. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”

With a grin, Seungcheol pushed back his chair, eager to see what kind of adventure awaited him in his son’s room.

Seungcheol opened Wontae's room and was greeted by the sight of his son enthusiastically coloring in his new book, using the crayons Chan had gifted him. The vibrant hues danced across the pages, a mix of scribbles and childlike shapes. Wontae’s eyes lit up when he noticed his father standing at the door. He bounded over, grabbing Seungcheol’s hand and pulling him toward his little art corner.

“Look, Appa! I drew a rock!” Wontae exclaimed, pride beaming from his small face.

Seungcheol’s eyes followed Wontae’s pointing finger until they landed on the wall. Oh my god. There, on the freshly painted surface, was a child’s drawing—a colorful depiction of what was presumably a rock, sketched in bold crayon strokes.

He froze, processing the situation. So this was why you had insisted he see it for himself. He could practically hear the smile in your voice when you said it.

“You drew on the wall?” he asked, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

Wontae nodded innocently. “But Eomma said it’s better to draw on the coloring book, so now I draw here. But sometimes it gets boring, Appa!”

Seungcheol felt a wave of relief wash over him. So you caught him and told him to stop. Thank god.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to quell the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Remember, Seungcheol, they don’t know better. They don’t understand how much work it is to paint a wall.

“Yes, your eomma is right. Drawing on your coloring book is best.” He sat down on the floor beside Wontae, the urge to scold replaced by the desire to guide. “Show me more of your drawings here.”

Wontae beamed at the invitation, plopping down next to his father and eagerly flipping through the pages of his coloring book. Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile as he watched his son’s eyes sparkle with excitement, oblivious to any worry or consequence.

Every time Seungcheol’s eyes strayed to the drawing on the wall, a chuckle escaped his lips. It was ridiculous! He wanted to be mad, really mad, but he just couldn’t muster it. “You know you shouldn’t draw on the wall, right?” he asked his son, carefully suppressing the instinct to say, “I just painted that! Why did you draw on it?!” in a booming voice that would only frighten the boy. He took a deep breath, holding back the frustration that threatened to spill out.

Wontae looked up at his father’s face, his eyes wide with curiosity as he noticed something unusual. “Why is your face red, Appa?” he asked, putting down his crayon and reaching up with his tiny hands to cup Seungcheol’s flushed cheeks. Seungcheol let out another soft chuckle, his anger melting further.

“You know Appa loves this house, right?” Seungcheol said, his tone remaining gentle and warm.

Wontae nodded, his little head bobbing earnestly.

“No one in this house draws on the walls because Appa worked hard to keep them nice and clean,” Seungcheol explained, still smiling softly despite the chaos inside him.

Wontae bit his lip, his eyes beginning to glisten with tears. “Are you mad at me for drawing on the wall?” His voice trembled as he spoke, and Seungcheol’s heart lurched. Panic surged through him—he was the one who felt like crying, not his son!

“I didn’t say I’m mad at you,” Seungcheol said quickly.

“But your face says it…” Wontae mumbled, the quiver in his voice growing more pronounced.

Oh no. Shit.

“Eommaaaa!” Wontae suddenly burst out, tears streaming down his cheeks as he ran toward you. Seungcheol’s eyes darted to the doorway where you were standing, suppressing a smile as you scooped up your tearful son into your arms.

“Why? What happened?” you asked Wontae in a whisper, stroking his back to soothe him.

“Your father wasn’t mad at you, was he?” you asked softly, glancing over at Seungcheol with a knowing smile. “Did he shout at you?” Wontae shook his head, hiccupping as he clung to your shoulder.

“No,” Wontae admitted, his sobs quieting as you continued to comfort him.

“He was just talking to you,” you reassured him, casting Seungcheol a gentle, supportive look.

Seungcheol groaned internally, a mix of confusion and self-reproach. He thought he’d nailed it—the gentle parenting that you both had worked so hard to practice. Yet here was his son, still able to sense the tension in his expression, and hurt by it despite the lack of yelling or scolding.

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “We’re on this stage now,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “What stage?”

“The threenager stage,” Seungcheol said, his tone carrying both exasperation and amusement. “I read about it somewhere. It’s when kids start acting like teenagers—rebelling, pushing boundaries, testing their parents’ patience. Wontae’s only three, but he already knows how to push all my buttons.”

You laughed softly, shifting Wontae in your arms as his sniffles subsided. “It’s not rebellion, Seungcheol. It’s curiosity. He’s learning, exploring his emotions, and figuring out how far he can go.”

“Exploring his emotions by drawing on my freshly painted wall?” Seungcheol deadpanned, though a small smile tugged at his lips. He wasn’t truly upset anymore—not when Wontae was looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Exactly,” you teased, setting Wontae back down on the floor. “It’s frustrating, but it’s normal. And you handled it really well, by the way.”

Seungcheol tilted his head, raising a skeptical brow. “I did?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, giving him an encouraging smile. “You didn’t yell or scare him. You explained things calmly. That’s the kind of parenting that sticks with them, Seungcheol. He’ll remember this.”

Seungcheol glanced at Wontae, who had returned to his coloring book but kept sneaking shy glances at his father. He felt a wave of warmth wash over him, mingled with pride and relief. I can do this, he thought. Even when it’s tough, I can do this.

“Okay, buddy,” Seungcheol said, crouching down to Wontae’s level. “Let’s make a deal. No more drawing on the walls, okay? If you want to draw something big, we’ll find some paper or maybe a special board just for you. How does that sound?”

Wontae’s face lit up at the idea. “A special board? Really?”

“Really,” Seungcheol promised, ruffling his son’s hair. “But only if you promise no more wall art.”

“I promise, Appa!” Wontae beamed, holding up his pinky. Seungcheol chuckled and locked his pinky with his son’s, sealing the deal.

You watched the exchange with a fond smile, stepping closer to place a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “See? You’re doing great.”

Seungcheol exhaled deeply, his smile widening. “Thanks, love. I guess I just need to remember to breathe. And to hide all the crayons.”

You both laughed softly, and for a moment, the chaos felt a little more manageable.

*

"One… Two… Three…" Seungcheol’s voice was steady as he counted while Chan, drenched in sweat, gritted his teeth to finish his push-up set. His arms trembled, and his face was etched with exhaustion, but he pushed through, determined to complete the punishment.

The door to the practice room swung open, and the rest of the group filed in, their faces a mix of confusion and amusement as they took in the scene. Seungcheol stood towering over Chan, arms crossed, while the youngest member struggled through the exercise. It was a far cry from what anyone had expected when they read Seungcheol's early-morning text asking Chan to come to the practice room an hour ahead of schedule.

"What’s going on here?" Joshua asked, barely hiding his amusement as he watched Chan squirm on the floor.

"Ten!" Seungcheol finished his count, clapping his hands in exaggerated applause. He smirked as Chan collapsed onto the floor, utterly spent. "That’s ten sets done—one hundred push-ups. Congratulations, Chan. That’s what you get for giving my son those crayons."

Chan’s pout was instant. "It’s not fair! It’s your son who drew on the wall. Why am I the one getting punished?" His voice was full of indignation, though it lacked the energy to be truly effective.

Mingyu burst into laughter, doubling over as realization dawned. "Wait, wait—Wontae drew all over the wall with the crayons Chan gave him? That’s hilarious!" He clutched his sides, nearly toppling over from laughing so hard.

Jeonghan, leaning casually against the doorframe, nodded in mock agreement. "Honestly, it makes sense. Seungcheol’s a gentle appa with Wontae—there’s no way he’d punish his precious son for something like this." He shot Chan a teasing grin. "But you? Yeah, I’d do the same if I were Seungcheol."

Chan groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. "This is so unfair!" he whined, his voice muffled. "I’m the innocent one here! Gentle appa is a fraud—he’s evil!"

Seungcheol couldn’t hold back his chuckle as he crouched down to look at Chan. "Gentle appa does exist," he said with a smirk, "but only for Wontae. You and your crayons? You’re a different story."

"See?" Jeonghan said, straightening up. "I told you. Seungcheol’s priorities are clear."

Chan sat up, still sulking. "Unfair. So unfair." He shot a glance at the others, hoping for sympathy, but all he got were amused grins and stifled laughter.

"Hey," Joshua added, chuckling softly, "at least now you know not to mess with Wontae’s creative genius—or his dad’s freshly painted walls."

Mingyu clapped Chan on the back, nearly knocking him over again. "Think of it as a lesson in self-sacrifice. You helped foster Wontae’s artistic side. That’s a win, right?"

Chan groaned louder, flopping onto the floor in defeat, while Seungcheol leaned against the wall with a triumphant grin. "Alright, everyone. Lesson’s over. Let’s get to practice before he starts crying for real."

"So unfair!"

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

The Erasing of Ed’s Personhood (again).

Some interpretations of Stede and Izzy during the Rhys and Con Q&A at SFROP didn’t sit well with me.

There’s sexual frisson between Stede and Izzy in the candle scene

What canon shows: That Stede flatters Izzy into mentoring him in a similar way Ed uses flattery in 104 when telling Izzy he could be the Captain of the Revenge. It’s knowing your audience and what motivates them. But this isn’t flirting on Stede’s part. It’s emotionally intelligent leadership.

This alleged sexual frisson takes place immediately after Stede has found Ed, the love of his life, whom he has been desperately trying to find for months. For whom he has willingly given everything up. Stede cannot see another man for Ed. Stede’s whole love and sexual awakening is built around Ed. He’s Ed-emotional, Ed-sexual.

And we’re meant to believe the moment Stede is out of Ed’s presence - Ed, who has massive trust issues - that there’s a mutual homoerotic moment between Stede and Izzy, because Izzy has his shirt off and Stede says some dubiously flattering things? It’s reductive towards Ed and mocking of his character. It’s actually an incredibly cruel interpretation. It isn’t the show. It. just. isn’t. the. show.

Izzy is a good mentor to Stede

What canon shows: Stede ‘being the captain’ by asking Izzy to mentor him. Stede is putting into practice ‘keep your friends close and enemies closer’ by trying to give Izzy a role. The devil makes work for idle Izzy Hands, so keep him busy. But punching someone in the stomach, yelling at them, and telling them they have such a total lack of skills you don’t know how they’re still alive… when they rescued your sorry ass two nights previous!…does not a mentor make. And Stede doesn’t learn anything useful really. I mean at least he learned something that saved his life with Ed even if it was through flirting. The fact Stede also seems to enjoy some of Izzy’s approval doesn’t make Izzy a good mentor either. It makes Stede someone who is still wrestling with his identity, and reconciling differing aspects of his masculinity. Stede’s parental trauma causes him to attach too much significance to it.

That Stede and Izzy caused Ed’s decline and have equal responsibility for fixing the man they both love (this one boiled my piss).

What canon shows: Ed is devastated by Stede not turning up at the dock. Ed then processes some of this in a reasonably healthy way — curling up under blankets, eating marmalade, writing doggerel, talking to a friend, crying, showing pain publicly, exploring shared feelings, making a plan to feel better through art (singing), and tidying up his room. Ed is attempting to put into practice Stede’s philosophy: beauty, aestheticism, art as therapy, open emotions, talking it through.

We can’t know what would’ve happened next because the narrative doesn’t bend that way, but without Izzy’s intervention, what Ed doesn’t do is fall into the Kraken spiral. Ed is pretty much forced to a shuddering emotional halt, mid-catharsis - that in itself causes further trauma. Many therapists will tell you that stopping emotional work suddenly can be worse than never beginning at all. On top of that suppression, Ed now fears harm might be done to him should he appear weak. To say Stede and Izzy are equally responsible for Ed’s Kraken spiral is just not true.

Second, Ed isn’t an object to be fixed. Ed isn’t something to be moulded or unfolded. Ed isn’t the exotic plaything of two white men. Ed isn’t a toy or cipher or prize to be won between a bourgeois hero and some proletariat antagonist. Ed really just needs to be left the fuck alone so he can develop some self-actualisation. Let him try his innkeeper dream and fail. Let him see the world doesn’t end when he does. I truly believe Stede is the only individual who can give Ed the room and psychological safety to explore a range of human emotion and identities, as well as providing that soft place to fall when Ed inevitably needs it. And it isn’t even that Ed needs to fix himself. He just needs to be allowed to breathe and be and exist in all his human messiness, judgment-free, fear-free.

That Stede’s crying as Izzy dies shows how much he has grown to care about Izzy, that there is mutual respect, and Stede is left devastated.

What canon shows: That Stede CRIES! He cries all of the time. And I have championed this over and over. He cries in 13/18 episodes. He makes it safe for others to cry. Crying is Stede’s superpower. It helps him process emotions healthily. Stede, I believe, is crying when Izzy dies for the following reasons:

Because he’s Stede

Because he’s the Captain and he didn’t get everyone out alive (doesn’t matter the great Israel Hands can’t check a pocket for weapons).

Because Ed is devastated, and Stede loves Ed

Because Stede isn’t a colossal prick. He says ‘poor bugger’ towards Chauncey moments after escaping execution. Stede’s an empath. Stede understands the pity of it all. Stede can see the intrinsic value in most people, even Izzy. That doesn’t tell me anything about Izzy, but everything about Stede. And it doesn’t make Izzy special to Stede. It makes humans special to Stede.

Why these misinterpretations upset me so much is what it does to the validity of Ed’s characterisation. The idea there’s a sexual ‘knowing’ behind Ed’s back between the two white guys which they choose not to act upon because they decide to work together to objectify and ‘fix Ed’ instead. The idea that Izzy is a better mentor and influence than Ed. The objectification of Ed as a thing to be fixed then won. The appropriation of Ed’s emotional confusion over Izzy’s death being overlaid onto Stede also. Because Ed can’t have his own unique character arc in anything it seems. I just want Ed’s characterisation and personhood to stop being erased.

I’m still sleep-deprived so I hope this makes sense. It’s taken me a while to process.

[chicagofires]

hopefully tonight we get to add a scene to the collection of stellaride anywhere but a bed

[kitten4sannie]

sleepover

pairing: perverted bsf! wooyoung x fem! reader feat. a comatose mingi (he’s asleep on the bed lmao…or is he…)

summary: wooyoung is more than willing to hold you when you’re afraid during your horror movie marathon, and even more willing to help distract you like a good friend does.

wc: 1.4k

warnings: perverted dom! wooyoung, subby innocent! reader, bro is convincing and manipulative okay, cnc/dubcon-ish vibes (if that’s not your thing feel free to skip!!), coercion/corruption, exhibitionism (all of the following is done right next to mingi), brief kissing, groping, fingering, initial orgasm denial,, tit play + spit, rough unprotected sex, creampie, this is a wild one idkidkkkkk

a/n: wooyo has been haunting my brain lately so i had no choice but to write this >~< i hope you enjoy <33 alsoo i’ll be posting one more corruption themed fic very soon that feats frat boy san and minyunhwa~

song rec: if you think i’m pretty - artemas

“I told you not to put this movie on, Woo. It’s way too scary,” you complained whinily into your best friend’s shoulder, shielding your eyes from the suspenseful scene playing out on the laptop sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Mingi was the one who wanted to watch it, you know,” Wooyoung chided, causally wrapping his arm around your shoulders, rubbing your bare arm up and down in a comforting manner.

“Well, Mingi’s passed out.” Pouting, you pointed to your other friend that was curled up underneath the comforter beside you, his eyes shut. “He’s not even watching, so what’s the point?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t be a pussy.” His cold fingers made their way down to your waist to squeeze at it, making you jump from the sudden contact. “Oh, I see….Do you think the monster’s gonna get ya?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung!” you whisper-shouted, as to not wake up Mingi. You pushed on his chest, feeling his heart beat quickly against your hand. Was it racing like yours was? And, when did he get so close to you? His hand was already running up and down the bare skin of your thigh, causing your thin shorts to ride up more and more, but you didn’t have the nerve to confront him about it. Your pout grew. “I’m really scared, okay?”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Wooyoung cooed softly into your ear, his words laced with faux pity, his sharpened gaze focused solely on your blushing face. “Do you want me to help you, Y/N? Distract you from the scary movie?”

“Y-yes, please…”

You didn’t know what you were getting into, but you trusted that Wooyoung had your best interest in mind. It was then that he gently coaxed you further into his arms, lying comfortably against him as you faced the laptop screen once again. Goosebumps began to spread across your limbs from underneath the warm comforter, but it wasn’t from the frightening movie — it was from Wooyoung’s hand slipping underneath your shorts, his slender fingers rubbing at your pulsing cunt through your panties.

“W-Wooyoung…” you croaked weakly, your face and body growing so hot, you could pass out. Friends didn’t do this sort of thing, did they?

“Shhhh, baby, just look at the screen…yeah, just like that…” he sighed softly, his warm breath fanning over your neck, now concentrating on the way your tank top clung to your softness of your tits, how your nipples grew hard enough to poke through the thin material, groaning when he found your clit through your panties, rubbing at it in slow, small circles.

“B-but we’re friends, Woo…” You made a sad attempt at pushing his hand away, the moral debate you were having internally slowly fizzling away the longer Wooyoung touched you.

“Isn’t this what friends are for?” Wooyoung persisted, pulling your panties to the side just in time for his fingers to dip in between your soaked folds. “And, fuck, you’re so wet right now, Y/N. It feels good, doesn’t it? What’s so wrong with that, baby?”

“But, nnngh…Mingi’s right next to us…” You began to melt into Wooyoung’s arms and the soft mattress below you, unable to resist spreading your legs out for him, your thigh even resting against Mingi’s, not noticing when it shifted just as two of Wooyoung’s digits slipped inside you.

Licking at his lips, Wooyoung then pressed them onto your cheek, egging you on in a low voice, “Then, tell me to stop, baby.” He began to fuck his fingers into you at a fast pace, your walls clenching around them. “Right now. Say it.” Now, he was relentlessly rubbing his thumb into your clit with his free hand, still working your cunt, hooking his digits against the spot that made you spasm, your body growing warmer and heavier. When you pouted up at him and whined, he simply mirrored your helpless expression. “What’s the matter, baby? Hm?”

“Oh– fuck, right there…” you moaned out, not even attempting to look at the laptop screen in front of you, instead solely focused on your best friend beside you, so desperate to cum, you began to roll your hips down every time his fingers plunged into you.

“Yeah? You’re feeling really good now, aren’t you, Y/N? Now that you’re nice and full? Just look at you, baby…You can’t help but fuck yourself dumb on my fingers, huh?” Wooyoung looked like the monster from the movie now, eyes full of hunger, like he was ready to eat you up.

“Uh-huh, uh-huhhh…” Just as your sounds of pleasure began to crescendo, your mind growing cloudier by the second, pulling at the sheets below you because you were right there, Wooyoung ceased his movement completely, leaving you high and dry. “No, please, don’t stop, please…!”

Wooyoung gave you a look of indifference, much like a cat that suddenly wasn’t interested in playtime anymore. “Show me your tits. Maybe then I’ll make you cum.”

Desperate for your best friend’s attention and touch, you slowly rolled your tank top up until your tits spilled out, tears pricking at your eyes. How did you get here? Why did Wooyoung’s deliciously dark gaze successfully distract you from the paralyzing shame you felt? Or is that what made you wet? The way you were slutting yourself out for your best friend while the other was sleeping right next to you? “Please make me cum, Y-Youngie…”

“Fuck, you’re so cute, come here.” Now, Wooyoung was on top of you, leaving as much of his saliva on your tits as possible, squeezing one when he was noisily sucking on the other, his dilated eyes never leaving your teary ones. “Can I fuck you, Y/N? I’ll make you cum, I promise…I need to be inside you, baby, please, you’re so fucking hot…” Desperate for release, Wooyoung lowered his sweatpants until his heavy cock dropped onto your bare cunt, rubbing himself along it, making your mind grow that much more empty. “Just the tip, okay? That’s okay, yeah?”

Before you knew it, you were nodding, and just like that, he was inside you, your best friend, using you like a cocksleeve. Wooyoung was ramming his cock into your cunt like he was trying to knock you up. “That’s a good slut, fuckkk, taking me so well…” You tried to moan, to speak, to say anything, but you couldn’t, not with the way his tongue suddenly went down your throat.

All you could do was cling onto Wooyoung, your nails digging into his skin when it felt like the tip of his cock was pounding into your cervix, almost growing dizzy. When you heard your best friend groaning about how he was getting ready to fuck you full of his cum, you gasped, unable to talk, short, broken moans being punched out of you each time Wooyoung slammed himself into you, your thighs hooking around his waist once his hot load began to pour into you. It was then that you turned your head just in time to realize Mingi was watching you intently, his plush lips parted just enough to let drool slip past, catching onto the way that something was moving rapidly underneath the comforter somewhere near his abdomen.

“Told you she would put out, didn’t I, Min?” Wooyoung mused smugly, fucking you through the orgasm that tore through your used body, using your bruised hips like handlebars as he did so.

“You were so right, Woo, so, so right,” Mingi sighed out, tossing his head back into the pillow behind him, leaving a few watery cumshots on the inside of your comforter and his hand.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or to cum again, instead just trying to catch your breath, hiding your face underneath one of your wrists, at least until Wooyoung pulled it down and made you look at the both of them.

“You’ll let Mingi have a turn, won’t you, Y/N? It’s only fair, right?”

Mingi nodded in agreement, before leaning in, licking across his teeth. “Having my cock inside your little used cunt next will make another good ‘distraction’, don’t you think?”

Even though the credits were rolling on the laptop behind them, the monsters hadn’t left. They were right there in front of you, waiting for your permission to ravage you. You couldn’t help but nod. They were your best friends, after all.

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[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, buddy, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[txt-trash]

⋅˚₊‧ secretly dating TXT ‧₊˚ ⋅

3.2k words. headcannon. boyfriend!txt x fem!reader, nondescriptive smut scenes. light jealousy. friends to lovers. mentions of phone sex, mutual masturbation, oral sex, riding

ᯓ★ YEONJUN

He’s real cheeky about it, always has a little smirk on his face when you step into the room and he’s so sure no one knows what’s going on but he’s also so obvious about it. Even if they don’t think you’re dating, they definitely think there’s feelings there.

Yeonjun is always the type to try and impress you too, has to show off how good he is at things and makes sure you’re watching when he does.

Anytime you go out with them, he’s going to make sure you’re by him or if you split off into groups he’s going to be with you. Every now and then he tries to hold your hand and has to remind himself to chill out until he sees Beomgyu or someone take your attention then suddenly he’s snatching you away with some excuse.

“We’re gonna go get drinks,” Yeonjun says as he practically drags you away from Kai who had been trying to take a selfie with you, “Who wants something?”

“I’ll come wi—“

“We don’t need everyone, the line’s already long,” he argues, making sure to pull you behind him, “We’ll be quick.”

“Could you make it any more obvious?” You ask him once the two of you are far enough from the others. He smirked, interlacing your fingers together, “I can if you want me too.”

If it isn’t obvious yet, Yeonjun is not good at keeping it a secret. He is confident in his ability to keep it on the low until he gets in too good of a mood, then all he wants to do is put his hands on you.

Especially when you go out for drinks and you’re wearing one of his favorite outfits dancing to some song you like and swaying your hips with just the right amount of rhythm that he feels hypnotized.

Usually, he’ll have to distract himself talking with the others but after one too many drinks, he’ll make his way toward you and push away whoever you’re dancing with so you can focus on him and him alone, hands playfully tracing the curve of your hips, sliding under the hem of your shirt and smirking when you push his hand away.

By the time you call it a night, it’s hard to keep your boyfriend off you and you end up barely making it past the door of your apartment when he’s already pushing you up against the wall with his mouth on yours.

He likes taking his time with you, he swears, but something he gets a little too eager. It’s difficult ‘keeping it a secret’ and sometimes all he wants to do is get down on his knees and show you how much he appreciates you.

He has one of your legs thrown over his shoulders, teasing your inner thighs with soft bites that make your breath hitch.

“Don’t be a tease,” you tried to sound playful but it was hard when you felt breathless from the way he pinched your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

“Oh, like how you weren’t being a tease in front of everyone?” He asked, kissing your clit softly, earning a light moan to fall from your lips.

“Not on purpose,” you sighed, head back against the wall as you closed your eyes to soak in the feeling of his tongue between your wet folds. Yeonjun knew exactly what to do with your body. Maybe it’s because you started off as friends, learned everything it was about each other that when it came to getting intimate, it didn’t take long for him to know what to do to make you moan his name.

And he loved the sound of your voice when you moaned for him so lovingly. His tongue does wonders between your legs and when paired with his long fingers, you can’t help but let yourself fall for him harder every time.

ᯓ★ SOOBIN

Nervous boyf to the core. We know he likes to joke around with TXT and technically speaking you are their friend but when you start dating Soobin…

Oh it’s like a schoolboy crush he’s got to hide. He used to be just as playful with you as before but now he’s scared to get too close because what if he kisses you? Oh my goodness, how would he hold himself back if he gets too close?

Sometimes when you’re around everyone he’ll sit down next to you and spread his legs a little further so that nobody else can squeeze in between you and he’ll make sure that his leg touches yours. If he’s feeling extra bold he might put his hand on your thigh, squeeze it a little and try to cover up his teasing by doing the same to Taehyun or Kai under pretense of joking around.

But let’s not forget about jealous boyfriend Soobin.

“No, Y/n, this is a serious question,” Yeonjun reached for your hand and gave it a tight squeeze, “Who do you think is hotter? Me or Soobin.”

You made the mistake of jokingly saying, ‘You’ thinking Soobin would obviously know you’re only saying it to make Yeonjun feel better but boy were you wrong.

He was upset, visibly upset to the point that when you looked over at him, he would give you a side eye and look away. Everyone noticed it too and found it damn near comical that he was so bothered by it but of course they didn’t know why. He didn’t even talk to you about it till later that night.

“I was joking, Binnie,” you clung to him from behind, “Of course I think you’re so much better looking than anyone but if I said you, everyone would think somethings up. They already think I favorite yo—“

“As you should! I’m your boyfriend, you should favorite me,” He would argue with a cute pout.

He's never an angry type of jealous, usually he gets pouty and thinks about it for days which in turn leaves you wanting to prove to him how much you prefer him over anyone else.

“Jagi,” Soobin had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep his voice down but it was getting hard—well, he was, “Everyone is w-waiting for us.”

“So?” You asked, kissing down his chest as you pushed his shirt up and without being told to, he held it up with the hem between his teeth. He even lifted his hips to help you pull his jeans down, “I’ve missed you.”

Your hand teased his growing bulge, palming his erection over his briefs as you got more comfortable in the backseat of his car. The parking garage was dark and almost empty but he still looked out the windows nervously.

You were supposed to be meeting your friends for a game night and he had told them all he was going to pick you up since you were ‘on the way’ to the dorms, but in reality he needed a little more time with you alone. He just didn’t think that meant you’d ask him to meet you in the backseat so you could show him how much you missed him with your lips around his cock.

And what was he supposed to do when they texted him asking where you were? Was he supposed to tell them that he was moaning your name while hiding down in the parking garage? His hands in your hair, head thrown back with pleasure and abs tightening every time he took a deep breath.

“So good,” he sighed blissfully, eyes threatening to fall shut when your tongue traced the vein that traveled down his length, “Don’t wanna go see them anymore.”

“We have to,” you released him from your mouth, stroking him teasingly, “Or else they’ll get suspicious.”

And by the time you made it upstairs, Soobin couldn’t bother to care about the complaints from everyone about your tardiness. Not when it was taking everything in him not to just pull you into his lap and kiss you for everyone to see.

ᯓ★ BEOMGYU

He’s probably the only member who’s actually good at hiding the fact that he’s dating you.

He jokes with you the same way he jokes with everyone else so no one would ever know that when he touches you under the table, he likes to tease too.

They don’t know that when he says he’s going to play an arcade and sneaks away from the dorm, he’s actually going over to your place when no one’s around and hanging out with you.

In all honesty, he’s probably the best ‘friends to lovers’ of them all. You’re his best friend and have been for a while so when the two of you started dating, it just became like an added perk.

Not only does he get to game with you and crack jokes but now he gets to kiss you and make you feel good too.

It’s great, seriously, and the only downside to it is how serious he comes off to you. Sometimes you struggle to remember he's more than just a friend and sometimes he forgets to remember he doesn’t like it when the others get too close to you.

It’s only okay when he gets close to you, not Soobin, Beomgyu, Taehyun or even Kai. He’s made it clear he’s your ‘best friend’ so yes, he does feel like he has a right to get jealous sometimes.

“What does it matter, Gyu? You got up so I took your seat,” Kai laughed, making himself comfortable next to you on the couch, “The movies about to start just sit next to Jun.”

“But I was sitting there first,” Beomgyu practically stomped his foot in a tantrum, “I went to make Y/n and I popcorn, how are we supposed to share if you took my seat?”

Meaning: how am I supposed to cuddle with Y/n under the blanket if you’re in the way?

“Kai, don’t be mean, he was sitting there first,” you laughed, glancing over at Beomgyu who was pouting now, “Maybe you guys should ‘Paper, Rock, Scissors’ this and the winner gets to sit next to me.”

You gave them both a cheeky smile which made Kai roll his eyes and cringe, “Ew, I don’t want to sit next to you anymore.”

“Then move,” Beomgyu said, already forcing himself down next to you and pushing Kai out the way.

Even when the two of you are all alone and you get too touchy, it’s always playful. There’s always giggles here and there and jokes that make you both stop and laugh.

And after a while he gets lazy with his excuses. He stays out later and when he doesn’t make it home some nights, everyone knows by this time that he’s probably just hanging out with you.

“I’m going to the arcade.”

“With Y/n?”

“No, by myself.”

“Right, I thought you’d be with your best friend tonight.”

It’s only when neither of you answer the phone that the rumors start circulating.

“Oh my god, just ignore it,” Beomgyu groaned as your phone rang for the third time. Soobin and Kai were blowing up your phone after you promised to play them online tonight. Meanwhile you’re naked in bed with your boyfriend who just looks so pretty under you.

He even knew you were supposed to be gaming and that’s why he came over to keep your attention from drifting to anyone but him.

“So greedy, all the time,” you moaned softly, raising your hips against his member and sinking back down to feel the way he stretched your walls for you, “Always want my attention. I thought you wanted to keep it a secret.”

“I do,” he nearly whimpered, fingers digging into your thighs with pleasure, “But it’s hard.”

ᯓ★ TAEHYUN

He’s even worse at hiding it than Yeonjun. He’s just too clingy and he can’t really hide that even around the other members. He’s already touchy with the others but when it comes to his girlfriend? Boy, oh boy.

He likes to touch your thigh under the table or trace your spine whenever you stand in front of him and no one’s looking. When you run your fingers through his hair while watching a movie, he tends to get a little lost in the feeling and starts to doze off with his head practically on your lap.

The others ignore it for the most part but every now and then Kai will try to make a comment about his touchiness toward you and suddenly Taehyun has to act out.

One time the two of you almost got caught getting a little too close while at the bar and he literally pushed you off him before Yeonjun could see you try and kiss him. He ended up paying for that in the end.

“Jagi, just one kiss,” Taehyun begged later that night when you rejected his second attempt since you got back to your place. You weren’t actually mad at him but he liked messing with you so what was wrong with it’s you doing it back?

“Well I tried to give you a kiss earlier and you pushed me away, remember?” You asked, hiding your smirk and turning your back to him. Taehyun didn’t like that at all, and practically pounced on your bed to hold you.

“But I want it now.”

Hes a jealous guy too, a quiet, introverted jealous guy. He won’t say anything but there’ll be signs. He’ll keep his eyes on you and whoever you’re with and have no shame about it.

One time you asked Soobin to help you reach something instead of Taehyun and he couldn’t hide how annoyed he was by it. He even went as far as mocking you for it later that night.

Whenever you’re more distracted by your phone than him, he’s always gotta try and get your attention back on him.

Usually, if you’re alone, it’s with little touches here and there.

He likes playfully pulling at your shirt to bring you closer to him, smile on his face when you whine at being exposed.

You’ll try and escape his affection but you always end up giving in and you end up making out on your couch when you’re finally alone.

He’s handsy too, he loves the way you feel under his fingertips especially when your skirts rolled up and he’s gotten your panties off.

“So soft,” he always reminds you when he traces a finger along your clit, massaging into it with some of your slick. He’s always gentle when he touches you, always kisses down your sides and aims to please you first.

“Mhm,” you moan lightly, hand brushing his soft hair back so you could see his big boba eyes look up at you while he kisses your navel. They distract you from his hand until you feel his middle finger tease your entrance.

“It’s so hard to keep my hands off you,” he always makes sure to remind you when he’s making you feel good with those hands. He’s never shy when it comes to touching you either, always knows just when to curl his fingers or rub your clit while he does it. When he can tell you’re close, he likes to kiss you, swallow your moans and feel your tighten around his fingers.

ᯓ★ KAI

He thought it would be easy at first but he quickly realized how wrong he was.

In the beginning, he did his best to treat you like a friend and nothing else. He would talk to you like he talks to the other members and he wouldn’t make a scene whenever you talked too long to someone else.

He would only get nervous when you would look at him for too long, or wink at him, talk about how he’s your favorite or sit close to him.

And you loved to get him riled up when no one’s looking.

You’re the one to usually initiate something, like when you casually trace your fingers through his hair.

How is he supposed to act unbothered by it?

When you’re out with them all and someone tries hitting on you, and you have to quietly explain that you’re kind of seeing someone which leads the others to ask who, how is Kai not supposed to shout out that it’s him?

How’s he supposed to just join in with the interrogation and act like he doesn’t know anything either?

“Wait, have we met him?” Yeonjun asks you and none of them seem to notice how you look over at Kai and smile so innocently while he’s sweating billets.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” you always say, half laughing at how annoyed they all look and Kai has to pretend to be just as annoyed when in reality he wants to smile too.

“I don’t think we’ll ever know,” he’ll try and pipe in, trying not to smirk and when they’re not looking at him, he winks at you and enjoys the little secret you share.

To be honest, you’re the one who fell for him first.

For some reason his cringey jokes and over the top laugh really pulled you in and when you made the move on him, he hadn’t known what to think.

For the longest he thought of you as a friend so the night you were on video call playing a game together and you were laying on your bed, barely covered by the blanket… he kept getting distracted.

Then you would say something flirty while shifting around and showing the little shorts you wore to sleep and how they barely covered anything, along with your tank top. He would remind himself that you’re just a friend and he’s probably reading too into it

So everything was on the low to begin with. None of the others knew how the two of you would spend almost every night on the phone together and Kai could tell them but why would he? So that they could think they could call you too and take your attention away?

Plus, did he really want them to know about how you looked fresh out the shower on the phone with him? Or how you sounded when you whispered softly with your hand down your panties asking if he’s touching himself too?

And it was known Kai had such a nice voice that you couldn’t help but encourage him to let you hear it when he stroked his stiff member in his bedroom late at night.

“I can’t hear you,” you would remind him, hand touching down your body and showing the camera what he can’t see in person.

“They’re going to hear me,” he whispers, letting out a small moan when you pull down your top and tease him with a view of your bare chest.

“Everyone’s asleep,” you say, “Please? It’s not fair, I don’t ever get to see you alone.”

Your words always got to him, and he would stroke himself just a little faster and whisper, “I want to see you too.”

::.

I’ve been gone for months and I needed something kind of quick and easy to write so hope you guys liked it 😭should I do more of these?

[simpjaes]

serial-sweetheart (s.jy & p.sh)

Dating the strict, well-liked, and loving Sunghoon came with its hurdles. Normally, the two of you could communicate and work through the downsides, but what if the newest downside of the relationship is learning that his little brother, Jake, has a bit of a thing for you? 

MDNI!!

WORDCOUNT― 23.6k

PAIRING― shy jake x afab reader | sunghoon x  afab reader

CONTENT― sunghoon and reader are 24, jake is 21. boyfriend sunghoon, perverted/shy college boy jake, panty stealing, hidden intimacy, needy jake, dom-ish sunghoon in smaller/less detailed smut scenes, reader is definitely a switch depending on who she is looking at, uh, brief mention of heeseung raging at jake through a headset while he gets pleasured lmao

WARNINGS― infidelity that doesn’t get exposed, foot job but only bc i can’t figure out how to write a scene like this if it’s not your foot lmao, there are intimate things happening between reader and jake in like, almost every fuckin scene.

NOTE― if you’ve read this before, it’s because i wrote it for a different band on my other blog(@/ncteez). this is a revamp of that fic, freshly edited and updated. 

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― infidelity,  rough sunghoon, jake listens through the walls, tons of masturbation, he also steals panties and gets caught and embarrassed by reader, mentions of double penetration, lil under the table moment with jake, foot job but i swear im not into feet just hear me out ok? It’s brief i swear, sexting and phone sex, reach-around hand job, jake isn’t entirely subby when he finally gets his dick wet, penetration, pet names, sexting, g-spot stimulation, cream pie, unprotected sex, 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The two years you’ve spent so far with Sunghoon can arguably be considered the best of your life. He’s accommodating, listens to all of your problems, touches you in all of the right ways, and he’s even well-liked by your parents. You love your boyfriend enough to spend countless nights at his place just to get away from your own. It’s comfortable there, and feels like home, whereas your own apartment just feels empty without him. 

The relationship felt very adult. He was the first boyfriend to stay with you longer than a couple of months, the first one to have his own house, job, money, and car. The two of you were equal, comfortable, and happily in love. Anyone could trust that both of you were running towards the path of marriage, and you’d agree with them if it weren’t for the fact that your eye is dangerously close to landing on someone else lately.

In your defense, your eyes didn’t linger before Jake, Sunghoon’s younger brother, moved in. You had no interest in anyone aside from Sunghoon but, Jake is really something else. Cute, loud, obnoxious, and even charming at times. Still, you’ve caught him countless times staring for too long at your legs when you wear shorts around the house, lingering in the room when Sunghoon has his lips on yours, and even stuttering through conversations with you after a wild night in the bedroom with his older brother. 

It was cute at first, but as the months went on, you started staring at Jake a little more. You’d note that he gets flustered easily but can’t bring himself to leave any given situation that causes such a reaction. He gets hard sometimes too, you can see it, and occasionally you can hear him take care of it too. 

The first night you heard it, Sunghoon was sound asleep next to you after a long, drawn-out session of putting you in your place (sexually). You were comfortable beside him, listening to his soft snores and finally settling yourself in to close your eyes and sleep too.

It was so silent, the entire house seemed as empty as it always had been outside of you and your boyfriend, except for the fact that Jake was in this house now too. You shot an eye open at the sound of a muffled moan through the wall. You could tell he tried to prevent it, noticing that it appeared to be choked back almost as quickly as he let it fall from his lips.

You laid there, first attempting to sleep but ultimately falling victim to the thoughts of what Jake must have been doing just a wall over. You felt guilty about the images, imagining how cute he must look tugging at himself and whimpering, frustrated at how he can’t make a sound. Jake knows how thin the walls are, you’re sure of it. Even you and Sunghoon have tried to be quieter so Jake doesn’t have to hear it and feel uncomfortable. 

The choked-back sounds he was letting out every few minutes only furthered your thoughts into the danger zone that night. You realized you wanted to watch him. You wanted to help him. And when Jake hit his high, you heard his bed frame hit the wall one time, hard. The image of him lying on his back and fucking against his fist was long gone and replaced with images of what position he could have been in for the bed to hit to wall like that. What was he doing? 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Good morning, sunshine!” You sing out obnoxiously to your boyfriend when he rounds the corner in a sleepy show of how much he doesn’t want to go to work today. He’s already dressed but you can see the darkened bags under his drooping, half-open eyes. 

You don’t often make breakfast for him, not that he minds at all, you just felt guilty about listening in on Jake doing his thing again last night and it’s not something you’re proud of. So yeah, maybe Sunghoon gets breakfast every time his little brother jerks off, what of it? 

“Thanks, babe,” Sunghoon smiles at you weakly, looking at the warm breakfast you place in front of him. “What if I just call in today?” He asks almost immediately after, tearing his eyes from the food and up to you, who had begun to fix a part of his hair that he seemed to have missed. 

“Up to you, I’ve gotta head back to my place soon though.” You look at him, hands on your hips now as you give him another once-over. “You look tired, maybe you should call out.” 

Sunghoon takes a moment to think. What would his excuse be to miss work on a Monday morning after already having two days off? He’s sick? That wouldn’t work, he ran into one of his bosses just the night before picking up some groceries. Car trouble? Also wouldn’t work, he used that excuse last time and he swore he took his car to the shop that very day to make sure it was in tip-top shape. Death in the family? That’s just asking for bad karma. 

“Ugh,” Sunghoon sighs, picking up his fork and picking around the plate. It looks delicious, honestly, but work is the last place he wants to go right now. “How are you so awake? We stayed up so late, are your legs even tired?”

You stop mid-step towards the fridge to grab some juice and turn to look at him. 

“Sunghoon, my legs are killing me, and it’s your fault.” 

He lets out a small laugh, giving himself a gold star for making you cum just as hard as he always did. “Yeah, guess it is my fault, isn’t it?” He prods for more compliments.

“That aside, are you going to call out or?” 

He shakes his head, taking a bite and trying his best to enjoy this last hour of freedom before a nine-hour workday. 

“No, I don’t think I’d have a good excuse today. You’re going home anyway too, I’d just be bored.”

“Umm–” Jake’s voice chimes in as he scuffs into the kitchen with socked feet. He yawns wide and side-eyes you only for a moment before flopping down on the chair next to Sunghoon with his legs spread wide. He looks like such a college boy. Looking equally as tired as your boyfriend and hair far messier, you note his side eye. “Are you saying I’m too boring to hang out with?”

You let out a small chuckle at Jake’s words, and Sunghoon just groans about it. 

“You’re still just as annoying as you’ve always been. I’d rather be wasting away at a desk than sitting here listening to you talk about the exam you’re not studying for.”

“I don’t have exams yet?” Jake protests, looking over Sunghoon's food and swiping a piece from his plate. “The semester hasn’t even started.”

“I’m preparing for what’s to come–” Sunghoon drones on in a defeated voice. 

“Fair,” Jake smiles and looks at you. “So, um, you’re going home today?”

“Yep, gotta go to work too.” You sigh, pointing towards the stove. “Want some food?” 

Jake shuffles to his feet to make himself a plate with a small “thank you”, and you can’t help but notice how disappointed he sounds that you’re going home today. 

“You’re coming over on Wednesday though, right?” Sunghoon asks, sipping the mug of coffee in front of him and finally allowing himself to enjoy the food you’ve graciously made this morning. If he’s gonna have to go to work, the least he can do is feel lucky that he’s not going in on an empty stomach. 

“What’s on Wednesday again?” You smile towards your boyfriend’s now narrowing eyes. 

“You know what Wednesday is.”

“Hm, no, don’t think I do–” Smiling wider at the way his eyes narrow even further.

“What’s Wednesday?” Jake asks, setting down his plate and taking a bite. 

“Yeah, tell him what Wednesday is.” Sunghoon says in an annoyed tone, one that you can tell is a joke. He always plays along with your antics.

“I think it’s like, national fork day or something.”

Sunghoon brings a hand to his forehead with a laugh. “Fork day? That’s all you can come up with?” 

Jake is just confused, clearly. 

“I’m joking. It’s our two-year anniversary.”

You hear a spoon clatter to the table and a small cough. 

“Ugh-” Jake groans, picking the cutlery up off the table and wiping the crumbs clean. “That’s cool.”

Jake can see the way Sunghoon looks at him with his reaction, but it genuinely wasn’t intentional. He just happened to drop his spoon at the wrong time and choke on his food. It wasn’t meant to be as dramatic as it sounded. Also, maybe he’s a little shocked that Sunghoon managed to have a girlfriend for this long with how much of a bore he can be at times. 

Especially someone like you. 

Jake feels shy at the very idea of you, not just because he’s heard what you sound like when his brother touches you, but also because you’re just, like, really pretty and it makes his thoughts go in every direction when you speak to him. 

Even now, just over a small breakfast, he’s disappointed that you have a job too. He’s sad that he can’t spend time in this house with you alone even though he knows well enough that he probably wouldn’t have it in him to approach you. 

Or does he? Knowing that from time to time, like when he first moved in, there had been some days where you stayed over and did your work-from-home stuff. He wasn’t well acquainted with you back then enough to come out and sit with you, and he’s likely not acquainted enough now either, but that doesn’t change the fact that he kind of wants to be around you without his brother taking note of the small crush he kind of maybe developed by being around you.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Today is expected to be more exciting than your last anniversary. Mostly because it’s marking a second year with Sunghoon and solidifying the fact that the two of you have made it this far without any glaring issues that could threaten the relationship. At least, no issues that Sunghoon is aware of. 

You think that these thoughts and images of Jake swimming in your head are a phase. In fact, you hope they are. There’s no way you’d ever actually go through with anything involving your boyfriend’s little brother. He’s just kind of cute to see all flustered, even cuter when he tries to hide how he’s feeling regarding you. 

Jake isn’t there when you walk through your boyfriend’s door. Unfortunately, neither is Sunghoon. 

Grabbing your phone and checking the time you’re distracted by the glaring text message from your boyfriend that seemed to have been sent some ten minutes ago as you got in your car for the drive over. A little wave of disappointment hits you as you stand alone in the darkened kitchen. 

Sunghoon: hey i’m gonna be a little late. Boss got a last minute client today, like an hour before closing time so i’m gonna be here at least until 8:30

Sunghoon: is that okay?

The disappointment fades away with how good he is at communicating with you. Your last boyfriend who you only dated for like two months always bailed without notice on dates, ghosting you for a full day or two before explaining himself with one of the same excuses Sunghoon probably uses to get out of work. You know his job is important to him, and you know the anniversary is important to him. His priority doesn’t always have to be you.

You: Yeah that’s fine. What am i supposed to do for three hours though? I’m already at your place (sparkly eye emoji)

Sunghoon is  great at texting you back too.

Sunghoon: you could get yourself ready for me to come home ;) 

You: for 3 hours?

Sunghoon: yes???? or you can just go bug Jake lol

The silence in the house tells you that Jake isn’t home.

You: he’s not here, i figured he went out to give us some privacy?

Sunghoon doesn’t respond for a few minutes, probably because he’s doing something important with his work. By the time you’ve slipped off your shoes and laid against the couch, you get the little ping on your phone..

Sunghoon: Oh, right, he was gonna go meet with some girl he was talking to. I figured he’d chicken out and not go lol, maybe we really will have the house to ourselves tonight ;)

Something inside of you twists at his message. On one hand, you’re happy that you might get the entire house with your beloved boyfriend tonight, on the other hand, you kind of don’t like the thought of Jake losing the ability to get all flustered around you if he’s got someone else doing it for him. 

Are you jealous? No, but you’re a little selfish. You always liked when men chased you even if you knew it would lead nowhere, even if they knew it would lead to nowhere. It was harmless fun, but now all of your fun is gonna be ruined. The last thing you want to be hearing is Jake railing some girl in his room while you’re trying to sleep. 

You: oh yeah? lets hope we don’t have to be quiet tonight then, i have //plans//

Sunghoon: plans? 

You: better get done with work soon so can come home and see <3

With that, you set your phone down and reach for the remote. 

Jake is out with a girl right now? Part of you wonders how he’s navigating it, or if the girl is actually into him. The images in your head are amusing until you realize that you’re not imagining him stumbling over himself with some faceless girl. You’re imagining yourself as the girl he’s out with.

Even on your anniversary, you’re bored and you’ve got some hours to kill anyway. You sort through all sorts of images in your head. From what Jake would do if you were to reject him to what he would do if you didn’t reject him. How he would act if you were leaning in to kiss him, or how he would react if you kissed his neck, started touching his stomach, trailing your hands down– straight until you’re assuming that Jake must be getting a hand job somewhere right now. A little disappointed that it’s not you, you laugh at yourself. 

Silly thoughts like these are normal and you’re sure Sunghoon has them too. Despite the fact that you’d be weirded out if it were about your little sister if you had one. You’re not hurting anyone passing the time and thinking about how things would go with Jake. Surely not. It’s just a fantasy and nothing more. 

It will never be anything more.

Besides, Sunghoon was never shy toward you. Always shooting his shot in charming and convincing ways that have managed to lead to a two-year relationship that’s still going strong. He didn’t leave as much to the imagination at the beginning of your relationship, nor does he now. You can’t even imagine Sunghoon being insecure or lacking confidence in anything he does, but then there’s Jake. The little brother appears to live in the shadow of Sunghoon. From Jake attending college for the same thing to wanting the same woman that Sunghoon is in love with.

Are you too full of yourself for chuckling about that? Laughing at the fact that he’s so entirely different from your boyfriend but that’s the exact reason you find yourself fantasizing about the ‘what if’s’ with him? 

Now the thought of what Jake would do if he knew you were thinking about him this way infiltrates your mind. Would he panic? Surely. Would he blush? Oh yeah, for sure. Would he try to play it off as a joke until realizing you’re serious, visibly shivering as you watch him imagine? Oh– would he tell Sunghoon? Would he get cocky? So many thoughts that are both scary, cute, and…hot. 

You look at the clock on your phone again and realize how slowly the time is passing. Jake’s out getting tugged at by some girl, Sunghoon is at work being an obedient employee, and what are you doing? Sitting on the couch in a daze.

Glancing around a bit, you shake your head at a specific thought. 

Jake’s room.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Against your better judgment and several hours on hand to spend, you find yourself in Jake’s room. Because of course you do. 

 You don’t know why your legs carry you here, but then again you kind of do. Curiosity. You don’t really plan on snooping or anything, you just kind of want to see how he lives when he’s by himself. You want to see if he made his bed or folded his clothes. When you note that the loser definitely does not do either of those things, a flash of pastel blue is catching your attention.

In the mess of Jake’s room, monochrome colors of black and gray come through the most. From sweatpants to band t-shirts, you weren’t expecting to see a glimmer of pastel silk peeking from under one of his pillows. 

It wouldn’t have caught your attention if it wasn’t for the fact that you recognize the color and even remember the day you purchased them. Those are your panties stuffed under Jake’s pillow. 

You find yourself smirking in an evil kind of way as you make your way toward the dainty fabric and pull it from the pillow. You can confirm it now, they’re yours, and you remember wearing them just the past weekend you were over. It was normal for you to leave some of your laundry at Sunghoon’s place after staying the weekend, it’s not like you aren’t here multiple times a week or anything. 

Jake must have taken them from the laundry basket in the bathroom. The thought of him that morning when you made breakfast, acting as casual and normal as ever. The harsher thought of how you listened to him again after Sunghoon had fallen asleep the night before, furiously reaching his climax. 

You spread the fabric against your fingers and laugh at the stain on them. This must have been what he was using that night, thinking of you, surely, right? God, Sunghoon would kill him if he found out.

And just as you go to look around to see if he’s stolen more of your intimate wares, you hear the front door open and you panic, shoving the panties into your back pocket and rushing out of his room to the bathroom just across the hallway.

In your slight panic, you manage to stand by the bathroom door and listen to the footsteps coming down the hallway. It’s definitely Jake because Sunghoon would have called you to let you know he was coming home. 

Checking the clock again, it’s barely six and you’ve now got two or so hours pretending that you didn’t just find your panties in Jake’s room. Or, maybe, you don’t have to pretend. Maybe you can just fluster and embarrass him more now. 

You reach over and flush the toilet and then step to the sink to actually wash your hands because you definitely were just handling cum-stained panties, and then you step out of the bathroom acting surprised that he’s here.

“Oh!” You exclaim, stepping out of the bathroom and looking directly at Jake through his bedroom door as he’s in the middle of throwing himself against the bed in frustration. “Didn’t think you’d be here today?”

Jake nearly jumps out of his skin despite knowing someone was in the bathroom. He wasn’t expecting to be addressed by you or Sunghoon today.

“Yeah, me either.” He groans, throwing his hand over his face. “You scared the fuck outta me–”

“Ah, you seem frustrated. Why?” You ask, taking a step forward and leaning against the doorframe to his room, crossing your arms. “Sunghoon said you were on a date or something?”

Jake groans again, lifting his back from the mattress to sit up and starts shaking his head in defeat. The fact that you’re talking to him right now only makes him feel worse. He’s embarrassed enough by the happenings of the past hour or so, now he has to sit here and answer your questions about it?

“Yeah, I was supposed to be but she ended up just using me as a ploy.” 

You only chuckle because of course that’s the type of shit that’ll happen to him, but also like, you’re kind of glad the date wasn’t a date, even if he didn’t know it.

“A ploy?”

“Turns out, she was just trying to make some guy jealous. He literally served us our drinks. ”

“Oh yeah? Then what happened?” You question, prying now. 

“When he was coming up to the table, she told me to kiss her so I did. Then as soon as he walked away, she was back on her phone and texting. She accidentally texted me I guess, saying that ‘the plan is working, he’s definitely jealous’.” Jake mocks the text message in a whiny voice.

You laugh a little louder this time, eyes darting to the pillow he had your panties tucked under.

“Why are you laughing? I’m miserable.” Jake is casual when he talks about it, but you note that he lets out a small chuckle too. “Why would someone even use me to make a guy jealous?”

You freeze for a second. Here’s your first opening.

“Because you’re cute?”

Jake freezes now too, glancing away from you with what you think is that shyness you’d seen so much before. It’s definitely shyness, if his quick-flushed cheeks are anything to go by.

 For Jake, out of everything that’s just happened to him, at least you think he’s cute, but it’s not like he can have you or actually use your compliment as an ego boost considering you’re dating his big brother.

“Anyway,” You offer an out, noting his avoidance a little more now that you know what he’s been doing in his free time with your personal items. “Sunghoon will be home later for our anniversary, sorry for what you’re gonna hear later–” 

Second opening.

“I know it’s weird to ask but I left a cute pair of panties last time I was here. They’re his favorite. I can’t find them.”

Jake stands to his feet quickly and casually throws his jacket over the pillow you had pulled them from earlier. Upon the very mention of your panties, he feels caught, like he’s got three shining spotlights directed at him to warn you of the panty thief. 

“I don’t know, what color were they?” He awkwardly asks, trying to avoid looking at you, not even questioning that you’re asking him when you’ve never so much as asked what he does in his free time. He can’t even tell that he’s telling on himself right now. 

“Light blue, silk.” You deadpan, looking at him.

“Oh, I might have seen them in the laundry. I’ll go look.”

Before you can even protest, Jake is shuffling past you and rushing towards the laundry room. You follow behind him casually, not in the slightest bit of a hurry with a cheeky smile hidden from his view.

“I already checked in here. The dirty laundry too.”

“Did you check Sunghoon’s drawers? He did laundry yesterday, they’re probably in there.” 

Jake is talking so fast that it’s almost sad. If you could pinch his flushed cheeks right now, you would.

“Smart boy.” You compliment with a finger in the air, walking towards Sunghoon’s room just to see what Jake will do next when you tell him they’re not there. 

You lazily look through all of your panties stuffed into Sunghoon’s drawers and head back out to Jake’s room after a few moments. Quietly, you peek around the door and only laugh at him when you see that his pillow is overturned and he’s digging through a clothes pile in the corner of his room. The fact that he didn’t even close his door is hilarious, but you imagine it was an afterthought considering time is against him.

“Did you find them?” You ask, watching him nervously stop searching and stay in place on the floor facing away from you. You can practically tell the cold sweat that hit him.

“N-no.” He says quickly. “Did you?” 

“Yep.” You say, pulling the panties out of your pocket.

Jake relaxes, choosing to believe that somehow, the panties he had tucked under his pillow managed to walk themselves to the laundry room, step into the washer, then the dryer, and then place themselves neatly into Sunghoon’s drawer. Never will he let himself think that you found them, or even worse, Sunghoon found them.

When his shoulders relax and he turns to look at you, you see him stiffen up just as much as before when you swing the panties around your finger, stopping to present them in a way that shows the massive cum stain. 

“Guess Sunghoon needs to find a new favorite, huh?” You joke, tossing them onto Jake’s bed and walking away. 

As you walk down the hallway with a smile on your face, you can hear Jake’s frantic footsteps rush up behind you. 

“Wait! It’s not–” He tries to explain the situation away. “It’s not what it looks like!”

“My panties under your pillow aren't what it looks like?” You turn to face him at the end of the hallway, and with the way he was quickly following you, he runs directly into you and has to stumble back from the close proximity of you in front of him. He’s never even touched you before. Never hugged you, prodded you, or even looked at you for too long when your eyes were already on him. 

“No–” He goes to say with a deep swallow of nervousness, but you interrupt him. 

“Jake, you’re lucky it was me who found them and not your brother.” 

“I know,” Jake stutters out, looking to the floor. “But really, I didn’t mean to-”

“If you didn’t mean for me to find them, you should have stuffed them further back. They were hanging out for anyone to see, Jake.”

He stops for a moment. You’re telling him how he should have hidden them?

“Wait–” 

Only now does Jake realize your comment of Sunghoon needing to find a new favorite pair of underwear before you tossed them back on his bed. He’s gotta be thinking too positively to imagine you’re giving him the panties and offering tips on how to keep them from Sunghoon, right? Like you only gave them back because you’re disgusted by him, right? 

“Really, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I took them.”

An admittance. You feel like you’ve won the game and you’re definitely in the position to ask more questions. 

“You don’t? Try and think of a reason then.” You ask, taking a step towards him.

You can see how that single step forward overwhelms him, so much so that he takes a step back, feeling frozen when his eyes glance up at yours. He can’t pull his eyes away this time with the way you’re looking at him. 

There’s a smirk against your lips and he can’t sense a single bit of anger. Cautiously, he tries to avoid your question. 

“I don’t know why.” He repeats, staring down at you as you look at him and take another step forward. 

“I think we both know why you stole them.” You smile wider, lifting slightly to where you’re just inches from his face. “Did you think of me?”

“Yeah,” He sighs out, somewhat lost in your gaze as if he has managed to become hypnotized by the way you’re speaking with him. Then he shakes himself out of it, taking a step back with a muttered out string of “I mean, no!” 

You close in against him just as you did before, not allowing him to escape the hold you have on him. You’re just as close as you were before he stepped back, and you continue. 

“You did? Do you listen in on what Sunghoon does to me too?”

Jake takes another step back, this time knowing full well that you’ll just follow him again. And you do, practically walking him back through the hallway and against the wall after passing his room. 

“I mean,” He admits. “Sometimes.” 

You smile as he tries to back himself up further against the wall. 

“Why not all the time?” You follow up, watching the way his lip quivers a bit from the nervousness within him. 

Unbearably cute is what Jake is at this moment, trapped and caught. 

“You guys get too quiet, I guess?” He answers as if it’s his own question, wondering if it’s what you want to hear. His belly is doing flips though, admitting these things to you and feeling as if you’ll make fun of him, mock him, tell on him. It’s a horrifying thought. 

“You’re too quiet sometimes too.” You smile before backing away and turning to walk back toward the end of the hallway. 

Jake hangs his head wondering what the fuck just happened and if you were actually implying certain things toward him. He can barely bring himself to care that you hear him masturbate. He tries to be quiet, honestly, he does. But it’s hard sometimes when he’s rubbing his cock against the silk of the panties you just gave back to him, even harder when he’s hearing you through the walls and he imagines if you’d make the same sounds for him. 

Pulled from his thoughts, he hears you turn the volume up on the tv before shouting at him.

“Jake?” You say, waiting for him to respond quietly from out of view.

“Yeah?” He responds as he makes his way back to his room. 

“I’ll be loud tonight.” 

Jake closes his bedroom door feeling like his body is on fire and like his mind is spiraling into a place where it shouldn’t be. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When Sunghoon got home, Jake made it his mission to not step foot out of his bedroom until the two of you were passed out. Thankfully, he had taken a quick bathroom break while also trying to avoid letting you hear that he left his room right before Sunghoon came back.

Jake almost feels like prey right now, additionally, he’s confused about the entire situation with you. 

He tried to be a good person and not fantasize about his brother’s girlfriend by making a profile on a dating app, but even now as he scrolls through all of the pretty faces, he knows that none of them would just let him steal their panties like you did. Not that it’s a hobby of his or anything, he saw your panties and he took the chance to give him a better orgasm next time around. Now he’s kind of obsessed with the idea though.

He had already placed the panties back under his pillow and stuffed them further back by now, and hearing you and Sunghoon in the living room doing couple-things doesn’t really help the confusion in his head. If you’re in there all lovey-dovey with his brother, why did you get up so close to him earlier? Why did you offer to be loud for him? Why did you do any of what you did?

It feels wrong that everything just makes him want you more. Before, he was just being a horny guy, but now he’s like, maybe only horny for you.

Maybe it’s just a phase, surely it’ll pass. He loves his brother. 

Then he finds himself questioning if that’s the truth as the night goes on. 

Jealousy is a hateful demon. When he hears the shuffling into Sunghoon’s room and the giggles coming from both of you, Jake almost wants to hit someone. Why can’t he have that? Why does Sunghoon always get to experience all the good things in life?

Not only was Jake used by some pretty girl today, he is now being shown yet again what he can’t have and will probably never have. The jealousy is only worse, as he faceplants into his pillow and considers moving back in with his parents so that way he can stop wanting what his brother has. 

The consideration is furthered when he grows frustrated at the sounds of you through the wall. He can even hear Sunghoon shush you a few times. 

Unfortunately, against Jake’s will, his cock starts to grow against the mattress and his thigh, fingers now tucking further under the pillow to find those silk panties that caused his ultimate demise today. It’s instinctual at this point, despite how shameful he feels. He seriously just can’t resist touching himself when he hears you, even through the frustration and annoyance. 

When he runs his fingers along the fabric, still tucked beneath the pillow, he whines to himself at how pathetic it is for him to keep doing this. Only when he realizes that you’re over there being fucked and being loud specifically for him to hear does he pull them out and roll over onto his back.

All confusion and worry is left behind now as he replaces those anxieties with the idea of you grinding against him while wearing these panties. He thinks about how you like it, how you move your body, what you’d do with your hands. 

His cock twitches to be free just a few moments later and he doesn’t think twice about lowering his sweatpants and staring down at himself. He sighs in defeat at the image, noting how much harder he is now compared to the nights before when he weakly worked himself up to the faint sounds of you

From across the wall, you’re enjoying yourself far too much. Jake kind of falls into the back of your guilty mind as your boyfriend loves on you. Sunghoon came home excited, a hand was on you the entire time from the moment he walked through the door until now. Both hands are on you now as he praises you and pries your legs open.

 Usually, Sunghoon is rougher. He’d do things that drive you insane, edge you, and deny you pleasure over and over again until he felt it was time to let you let go. The added attempts to be silent only made it more fun for your boyfriend, gagging you with his cock, fingers, or even your own panties. Tonight though, tonight is a little different considering it is the two-year anniversary of his relationship with you.

The plan you had for Sunghoon tonight was for him to use a new toy on you that you’d bought in secret. He always wanted to try double penetration with you but is never willing to share you, and you don’t mind that at all. Still, you wanted to fulfill one of his fantasies, and that’s what the intention is. 

To your surprise though, Sunghoon leaves the toy still in its package on the table and has been eating you out for a solid twenty minutes already.

He’s focusing on you entirely at this moment and it’s got your head spinning with the way his wet tongue flicks your clit while his lips envelop the entire bud. He’s so good at it, and usually only does this when you’ve been extra good for him, like if you willingly choke on his entire length or you let him overstimulate you to the point that getting head from him is painful. 

His head is between your legs lapping away and all you can do is groan out for him, enjoying the way he’s being gentle and pointed with his tongue. His hands go from your legs to keep them from crushing his head to reaching up to massage your tits. He doesn’t even try to silence you, and you’re thankful to keep your promise to Jake despite not actually trying to right now. 

And when Sunghoon pulls his head back for a breath, he looks up at you and whispers a small “happy anniversary, baby–” before smiling in such a genuine way that it has your heart crashing with the amount of love you have for him. 

He dips back in after the loving words, hugging both of your thighs with his arms and burying his face into you for another ten minutes before, well, he grows a bit bored. He wants to make you cum this way and make it last as long as possible, but now he’s feeling neglected and the image of you with that toy you got is burning images in his mind the more he hears you moan for him. 

“Changed my mind,” Sunghoon mutters as he pulls back for a breath and leaves your clit entirely abandoned.

 He hears you whimper at the loss of pressure and honestly, he’s always loved the way you sound when you do it. He finds himself reaching for the toy much quicker than he originally planned, soothing you through your disappointment with a fond voice.

“Play with yourself while I get this ready.” He smiles at you, giving you a quick kiss to the forehead before fumbling with the box. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The fact that Jake can hear his brother tell you to play with yourself makes him feel insane. Only because of the way you start moaning again and give him even more to think about while over here all alone. 

Fuck, the thought of walking in on you one day with your fingers inside of yourself, not quite reaching where you want them to, asking him to take over for you? 

Jake almost wants to put his ear to the wall. 

Wait, why shouldn’t he? He wants to hear you.

Cock still in hand and tangled against your panties, he shuffles to his feet and presses his ear against the wall. You sound much more clear now when he chokes back his own moan, knowing you’d probably hear it more clearly too considering how loud he is.

Knowing you can hear him though? That means Sunghoon can also hear him, so he tries his best to hold it back as he starts thrusting himself against the silk in his hand.

He does well until he hears a choked-out whimper, a slap, and some crude words coming from his brother’s lips. On any other day of listening in, his cock would instantly go soft hearing his brother but what he says to you through these thin as fuck walls has him biting his lip in an attempt to silence his own moan.

“You like being stuffed with two?” Jake hears at first, followed by another whimper from you. “So wet, it slid right in beside me–”

Jake can’t even imagine what’s being done to you right now but he can tell you’re loving it in the way your whimpers turn to full-fledged moans that he’s never heard before. 

“Oh, fuck–” Jake groans out towards himself, looking down at his painfully hard cock against your panties. Dripping, absolutely an utter fucking mess in his own palm over you. 

He starts to move his hand this time, faster than what his hips were doing. Only part of him is trying to match the sounds of skin slapping skin, moving his hand much faster than what he’s hearing happen to you. 

He’s sure you’d moan like that for him too. Wouldn’t even need two to make you be so loud, surely. 

And then he’s starting to shake, rolling his head a bit to where his forehead is against the wall. He’s shamelessly out of breath when he whispers his own words to you as his cock begins to fucking weep his cum against your panties. Words of, ‘yeah, you like that?’ and “Better than him, right?” 

And when Jake backs away from the wall, allowing the muffled sound of your loud moaning to be further and further from his ear, he collapses on his bed in a deep breath and then trails his eyes back over towards the wall. 

You’re right there. 

You know exactly what he’s doing in here but now he can’t tell if you’re actually being loud because you told him you would, or if it’s because Sunghoon really is that good. 

The jealousy hits again. It isn’t fair.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s been days since your anniversary and now that work is finished, you get to head back over for your regular weekend with Sunghoon. Except now you wonder how awkward it’s going to be. The soreness between your legs has gotten better but the guilt of how Jake avoided you the next morning got worse. 

You think you should leave it be, you should just let him have those panties and pretend it never happened, pretend you never flirted with him, and pretend you didn’t tell him that you listen to him get off too.

You went too far on your fucking anniversary then proceeded to fall even more in love with Sunghoon.

Thankfully, you didn’t go far enough to where it couldn’t be salvaged, so when you leave today, you have the promise in your head that you will leave it alone. You will leave Jake alone and go back to what you were with Sunghoon before you ever fantasized about his little brother.

Except that doesn’t happen because the moment you walk in and see Jake lounging by himself on the couch, shirtless, you find yourself avoiding him more than he’s avoiding you.

Though he immediately got up when you walked through the door with a small apology and rushed towards his room, you had to stop yourself from turning around and going straight back home. Sunghoon is here though, back turned towards you as he stirs something in a bowl. 

“Hey babe, can you come help me?” Your boyfriend calls out, glancing at you from over his shoulder and showing the smallest glimpse of something smeared against his cheek. 

Your heart warms at how domestic he looks right now, kicking your shoes off and heading towards him with your weekend bag. 

“I'll be back in a minute, let me put my bag in your room.” You say, coming up behind him and planting a kiss on his shoulder.

He lends you a short nod in response, turning his attention back to his mixing bowl with a smile plastered across his face. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t miss you, honestly. 

And as you make your way down the hallway to Sunghoon’s room, you note how Jake’s door is closed. You’re thankful for that, as the image of his stupidly attractive shirtless body still appears to be fucking burned into your brain.

 It’s stupid, honestly, you have a whole Sunghoon in the kitchen waiting for you, who will probably make you cum a minimum of three times tonight, and you’re panic-walking past his little brother’s bedroom because you’re incredibly fucking attracted to him. 

Ridiculous.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The self-control you once had is no longer present in your head. The plan to leave it be is less and less attractive in your brain the more you take in the image of Jake in front of you at the table texting away on his phone. 

You watch him shamelessly as Sunghoon goes back and forth in the kitchen. You’re almost completely skewed from his view, thanks to the wall separating the kitchen and dining room, as you sit here across from Jake. He’s wearing a shirt now, rude, and is only glancing at you from time to time.

He’s not saying a damn thing to you though, which is annoying.

What happened to you avoiding him? No, what happened to him avoiding you? 

From under the table, you gently kick against his leg to get his attention and his eyes snap up toward you. You look down instantly, pretending as if you weren’t kicking him to get his attention at all. All so you’re the one ignoring him instead. 

But your leg stays there, occasionally kicking against him just to see how long it takes for him to stop reacting to it. 

Scrolling through your own phone now, you’re swiping through videos, listening to Sunghoon clattering through the cupboards, and feeling incredibly warm sitting in front of Jake. You don’t know what’s gotten into you when it comes to him, honestly.

Finally, you slowly trail your eyes back up to his face and note that he does the same, at the exact same time. 

The two of you share a moment of silence looking at each other. You can almost feel his eyes pull you in without intent. It feels dangerous just to look at him, seeing him in a newer light than what you’d seen in him when it was just amusement on your end. You wonder if he can tell. Probably not.

He doesn’t look away from you, and you’re not sure why. He just stays still and silent, blinking back at you. 

Maybe he’s being pulled in too, like a silent agreement communicated just through eye contact. The electricity in the space between the two of you is nothing short of dangerous. Your body almost acts on its own when you raise your lips into a half smile at him and plant your foot on the chair between his legs.

Still keeping eye contact, you watch him jump at the action but he doesn’t move or push your foot away. Instead, he’s breaking eye contact and looking down, staring down, really, at how your socked foot is planted directly between his legs.

He doesn’t move, trailing his eyes back to you now with a curious look. You continue, pressing your foot forward just slightly. Jake jumps again at the feeling and shoots his eyes to the opening of the kitchen.

 Sunghoon is still facing away, stirring something in a pot on the stove. Thank fuck.

 He’s not strong enough to push your foot away. In fact, he can hardly comprehend the situation at all, or why he presses his hips forward out of need rather than want. He knows it’s wrong to have you touching him in any way whether it’s your foot or not, this is not okay to be doing. But god, he yearns for you so badly. He’ll take anything, everything he can get. 

You smile wider, watching the way his face tries to stay casual as he gently scoots forward and presses himself further against your foot. Only now, satisfied, do you look back down to your phone as if you didn’t just do that, and like you’re not keeping your foot in place for Jake to grind against. 

The fact that he’s actually doing this at all is enough for you to feel warm on the inside. All you were going to do was experimentally cross a line to see what would happen. This is a much better outcome compared to him rushing out of the room in a panic. 

It doesn’t take long before you start giving more pressure against his weak grinds. Each time you glance up just to get a look at his poker-face, you can tell he’s looking at you in disbelief and shifting his eyes to keep checking for Sunghoon. 

You can tell he grinds harder when Sunghoon isn’t at risk of seeing, and he moves more weakly when his alarm bells are ringing. If anything, the fact that Jake is falling apart in front of you and trying to pretend he isn’t is enough to have you pressing forward more.

You smirk as you scroll to watch another video, feeling his cock twitch against your foot, and god, he’s really that desperate? You hate how much you like it and hate even more that you’re so fucking attracted to him doing this right now. 

When you glance up again, this time because you really can’t help yourself at this point, you note that Jake is really trying to concentrate on looking normal despite his body obviously shifting back and forth under the table. 

He’s insanely obvious, and already it makes even you panic at the fact that he’s really losing his ability to remain calm. 

“Jake, have you seen this meme?” You fake laugh out loud, mostly to stop him from getting too into it and blowing the cover. 

He jerks his hips back with an annoyed groan, realizes where he is and what’s between his legs, and then jumps back into an act.

“No, I don’t think so–” He says nervously, leaning forward to see your phone. 

You grab the collar of his shirt and pull him closer over the table, lifting him from his seat and whispering as quickly as you can.

“You need to stop being obvious–” You warn before releasing him and turning your phone to show him the video.

Jake lets out a fake laugh at the video, shifting his eyes to you apologetically before seating himself back down and looking dead into your eyes. 

There, he feels you adjust your foot again, this time further into his chair where you can blatantly feel how desperately hard he’s gotten over this. 

Jake can’t just sit here and let this continue for too long, despite really, really fucking needing the touch. And it sucks, considering it’s the first time you’ve actually come onto him and it just has to be with Sunghoon barely even a room over? 

God, fuck. Fuck! 

Right here, right now, Jake decides he’s going to take what he can get, even if it makes you feel sorry for him. 

You’re shocked when you feel his hand grab your foot and hold it in place before very harshly  grinding against it. Watching him from across the table, he makes it very obvious as to what he’s doing but still, you find yourself falling apart at the way he parts his lips, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to hold back a moan. 

Then, just as quickly as he started, you feel him push your foot away and he’s scooting back in his chair. 

“I left something in my room. I’ll be back.” Jake says sheepishly, looking to the floor and rushing into the hallway.

You watch him rush out of the room confused, so you look behind you hoping Sunghoon didn’t like, make eye contact with him or something. It doesn’t appear he did though, because you see him waist-deep bent over in the fridge looking for something. 

Jake needed to like, not come in his pants from that. Not in front of you. Not in front of his own fucking brother.

  He doesn’t even fucking like feet! But, well, he likes you. 

You offered pressure and he fucking took it. He needed to finish himself off and not have to sit there in cum-soiled pants pretending like it didn’t just happen. So, naturally, he ran to his room to finish himself off out of frustration. Thankfully he’s close enough to reach climax within two to three strokes, right there leaning against his door. 

Embarrassed by the small sob he let out during his orgasm, he’s quick to rush to the bathroom and clean up before grabbing a hoodie from his room and throwing it on over the t-shirt, mostly so it does look like he actually came in here to grab something.

Not even five minutes pass before he’s sitting in front of you again. Jake feels helpless in the way he can no longer bring himself to avoid looking at you, all the way up until Sunghoon peeks into the room and announces that he thinks he’s perfected the soup recipe, and is ready for you guys to come try it. 

You, on the other hand, didn’t look at Jake after he came back. Not much, anyway. It’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s mostly just that you’re coming to terms with the fact that you just crossed a line and you’re not sorry about it. Even after Sunghoon places a spoon at your lips and the soup is definitely the most delicious he’s ever made. 

 Even after he’s got his arm around you at the table with that same loving smile plastered on his lips, sitting across from his little brother who just eye fucked you while grinding against your foot, you struggle to decide who you’d rather look at. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The events of yesterday stay fresh on your mind as Sunghoon lays next to you half-awake and scratching against his arm before cuddling in closer to you. He’s so warm and all you can do is wonder why you're risking this comfort to have fun with his little brother.

 You’ve already crossed a line and gone too far. You did exactly what you said you weren’t going to do and exactly what you never thought you could do. You’re probably not going to be able to stop even if you wanted to, so you opt to just–not think about when it’s gonna happen again or if it’s gonna happen again. 

Saturday almost flies by and before you know it, all three of you are lounging in the living room to watch a movie. Usually, Jake isn’t as present when you’re with Sunghoon but since everything started, he makes himself known much more. 

He includes himself in things and engages in more conversation. You wonder if it’s because he’s waiting for you to do something again. The worst part about all of it is that you can tell Sunghoon is enjoying the time he’s spending with you and Jake together. 

Even during this movie, Sunghoon doesn’t think twice when you lean against him and throw your legs over Jake’s lap to get comfortable. Alternatively, Jake thinks three to four times over when you do it, opting to keep his hands at his sides when he steals a glance at you and notes that you’re comfortable under his brother’s arm. 

The movie goes on like that and Jake can’t help but feel like it’s taking forever to be over with. Then again, he’s staring at your legs on his lap more than the movie on the screen. It gets worse when there's a jumpscare and your legs are tensing up and moving around against him. 

At least this time it’s not your fucking foot and he’s got a calf muscle to work with. 

You did it both intentionally and unintentionally. You weren’t exactly throwing your legs on him to get him to rub against them or anything, it was mostly just to fluster him, but Jake proves himself as someone with zero self-control once again.

 You feel him twitch under your legs and shamefully, you immediately feel arousal drip between your legs. The fact that he gets you so riled up so fast will always be a mystery to you, honestly. 

The good news? Being turned on isn’t so bad right now, considering you have Sunghoon right here to help you take care of it without much convincing.

Adjusting yourself, you pull your legs from Jake and take a second to focus on his lap. The tent in his pants is obvious, but Sunghoon pays no mind as his eyes stay on the screen. You watch the way Jake covers himself quickly and looks at you in confusion. 

As he looks at you, you move a bit to look at Sunghoon.

Without warning, your boyfriend is thrown off guard by you suddenly kissing his neck. If Jake doesn’t have self-control, neither do you. 

And in your defense, you’re not trying to dangle your relationship in front of him, really, you’re not. It’s not your fault that Jake got hard and that caused a chain reaction in getting you wet. 

Sunghoon pulls back to look at you. His face is somewhat concerned but still, he’s smiling as he makes attempts to dodge your kisses. 

“Hey, hey slow down–” He turns his face to whisper into your hair. “It’s weird with Jake here.”

You ignore his whispers and continue to kiss against him, moving your hand dangerously close to his upper thigh. 

In a way, Sunghoon can’t believe that you’re really acting like this in front of Jake. Sure, the two of you have kissed in front of him, and Jake has walked in on some steamy makeout sessions, but it was never intended to be in front of him. Then again, Sunghoon knows how needy you can get and how selfish you can be when you’re wanting something specific from him. 

“Okay, okay–” Sunghoon relents in another whisper, gently pulling himself from the couch and grabbing your hand. 

“Hey, I think she’s getting tired.” Sunghoon laughs with the obvious lie to his brother. “Can we finish the movie another time?” 

“Uh, sure.” Jake responds, knowing full fucking well that you’re turned on because of him and now you’re gonna go fuck his brother to take care of it. 

This is so annoying.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Come Sunday morning, you were just as turned on as you were the night before. You can feel your body heating the moment you even think of Jake, but Sunghoon satiates you well enough. Even there against the bathroom wall as the two of you take a shower. 

Sunghoon took note the night before that you enjoyed it when he humiliated you for doing those things in front of Jake. Asking you if you were really so desperate that you’d let just anyone see you acting the way you did. He plays off of that today too. 

Waking up hard wasn’t anything weird for Sunghoon, and usually the morning showers end up as morning sex sessions anyway. You seemed more willing and awake this morning than any other time, and he’s thankful for it. 

When he’s got you pressed against the wall as the warm water runs down your back, he doesn’t hesitate to plunge into you all the way with a comment of how much wetter you get when he degrades you. In a way, the punishment and degradation feels deserved, because you are embarrassed by how much you want to touch Jake.

“Getting off on the thought of other people seeing how wet you get for me?” 

You nod against the cold bathroom tiles, feeling his cock pressing deeply inside of you and making your legs feel weak. You do love when other people can see, but what you mean by that is you love when his little brother can see. 

Jake, from across the hall, once again hears it all because it wakes him up. Sunghoon hasn’t even attempted to keep his voice down while talking to you. Why? Because even he is far too turned on to pay attention to anything outside of this bathroom right now. 

“Going so far as letting Jake see? How desperate were you?” 

Jake’s ears perk up at the sound of his brother saying that, already stirring in his pants at the very idea of you getting off to that. 

How desperate were you?

 He wonders how you answer, or if you do. He wonders if you were desperate for him or if it was really for Sunghoon.

Without much more thought, Jake can’t go another day with you here right now. It’s becoming a bit too much, a bit too real, and honestly, he thinks he’s the desperate one right now. Wanting to barge into the bathroom, shove his brother away, and have his way with you. He could never. You’d never let him go that far surely. 

And by the time it’s all said and done, you leave the bathroom lightheaded and Jake appears to have left the house to do something else.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The week passes normally up until Thursday night. You’re rummaging through your cabinets for something to make for dinner when your phone goes off. Assuming it’s Sunghoon again, complaining that Friday never comes fast enough, you’re shocked to see that it’s Jake sending you something through instagram. 

And he’s drunk. 

SimJake_ sent a photo: 

SimJake_: guess who got drunk on a thursday night and is regretting the fact that i wanna talk to you? 

Never did you want a paper trail or some type of proof that you and Jake are involved in this weird….thing together. His message isn’t even sexual, it's just a bit intimate that your boyfriend’s brother is sending you selfies while drunk even though you came onto him first. 

He’s attractive, and entirely too cute right now trying to approach you via fucking Instagram because he won’t do it to your face. Then again, Sunghoon is always around, so maybe that’s why he hasn’t done anything about it. 

You: let me guess, you’re the one drunk on a thursday night and will probably say some shit that will make you not be able to look me in the eye tomorrow?

SimJake_ : ding ding ding! what’re you doing? 

You: texting you and trying to find food, im hungry. what about you?

SimJake_ : bout to make another drink and pretend i don’t have your panties under my pillow

SimJake_ : because i do

Wow, Jake is embarrassing and confident when he’s drunk. You find yourself smiling over it. You’d never guess or even assume he would try to make conversation with you about that of all things.

You: oh yeah, you’re definitely drunk

SimJake_ : am i being too weird? 

SimJake_: because you’re the one who started it

You: me? I started it? last time i checked, you’re the one who stole my panties?? you pervert????

SimJake_ : you’re the one who let me keep them

You: that’s……fair

SimJake_: so… 

Shy boy is no more at this moment and you almost feel caught off guard. Reminding yourself that he’s drunk, you try to set a boundary in your head and change the subject.

You: what are you drinking?

SimJake_ : found some of my brother’s expensive whiskey, gonna tell him you drank it, he wont be mad then

You: you’re gonna tell him that I drank his whiskey, when he knows I don’t even like whiskey?

SimJake_ : yep

You laugh at the audacity, finally finding a snack for yourself and settling on the couch with your phone in hand. 

You: and you’re drinking on a weeknight again, why?

SimJake_ : because i want you 

Oh.

SimJake_ : and i know im not allowed to, but it’s really hard to like, not, i guess

SimJake_ : i know im being weird and im sorry, just really drunk rn and wanna talk to you thats all

SimJake_ : or we can pretend i never messaged you and you can delete the messages

You: no, i think you’re being cute. You can calm down, it’s okay

It’s definitely not okay, but you want it to be. You’re about to do some not okay things too, and cross those boundaries you literally just now set.

You: so, they’re still under your pillow? 

SimJake_: yea

You: when was the last time you didn’t have them under there?

SimJake_ : yesterday

You: oh yeah? 

SimJake_: yea i washed them when Sunghoon was at work…um

SimJake_: can you maybe wear them again

God, he really is that desperate. 

SimJake_ : please? you can leave them in the laundry like last time and ill just grab them

You: i’ll think about it 

SimJake_ : okay…so…

SimJake_: um….did you like the selfie 

You: i like seeing you in person more, it’s fun when you’re all flustered and stuff, trying to pretend you don’t like it

Jake is giggling to himself like a schoolgirl, focusing on your messages and hoping to god he doesn’t forget the things you’re saying to him. He’s going to have to delete these messages as soon as it’s over though, for sure. At least he’s not drunk enough to forget the glaring issue at hand here.

SimJake_: i don’t like it because i always have a boner now lol i feel gross always having to go to my room and take care of it so things dont get weird

You: maybe ill take care of it for you someday, who knows?

SimJake_ : wait what

You’re cheating. As if you haven’t been already. This is blatantly against your moral code and you literally do not care. 

You: are you all flustered now?

SimJake_ : maybe,,,,

You: would you want me to? instead of you having to always run off to your room where I can’t see? 

SimJake_ : you’re doing this on purpose, you wouldn’t actually wanna

SimJake_ : would you?

You: guess you’ll just have to find out eventually

You: flustered now?

SimJake_ : yea, wanna see?

SimJake_ sent a photo: 

You:  jesus christ, you’re…

You: big…. I mean, I knew from feeling it last weekend but like, that was my foot lol

SimJake_ : yeah what even was that about? i felt so stupid doing that

You: you looked hot when you did it tho

SimJake_ : am i really that big? 

You: Jake,look at that thing. im shocked you don’t already have a girl to bury it into yet. 

SimJake_: could have one ;) 

You: ….yeah

SimJake_: yeah? 

SimJake_  sent a photo: 

Okay, it’s getting to be too much now. You can feel the warmth pooling into your panties already and you wonder if he would be just as eager to lick it up as he is to text you right now. You spread your legs wide, deciding on if you should do it. You’re already cheating, the guilt couldn’t get any worse anyway. 

You sent a photo: 

SimJake_ : oh fuck 

SimJake_: you’re wet?

SimJake_: sorry i wasnt expecting that

SimJake_: can i save it

You:  no 

You sent a photo: 

SimJake_: you should give me those panties instead

You: okay, ill put them in the basket tomorrow night 

SimJake_: will you still wear the other ones too?

You: you want //two// pairs?

SimJake_ : yeah :( 

You: ill think about it

Jake is blushing, flushing, and shaking all at once, one hand on his cock and the other texting you. He’s saved the photos anyway, boring holes into them with the thought of what must be behind that thin layer of sticky and wet fabric. He wants to put his face there, he wants to smell you and swallow you up. 

SimJake_ : can i call you?

A sharp feeling of fear but an even bigger feeling of arousal hits you. 

You: okay…

You didn’t have to wait long, watching the bubble of him typing something to you disappear and instead getting a phone call. You knew Jake had your number and you had his, mostly for communication purposes for Sunghoon. Never was this supposed to happen. 

When you answer the phone after taking a deep breath, your eyes are nearly popping out of your head. 

Jake is shameless. 

All those nights of hearing his mans muffled through the wall are now coming through crisp and clear on the speaker. If you close your eyes, it’s like you’re in his room with him. 

You don’t speak and instead, listen. You had expected him to answer the phone stuttering, trying to dirty talk but ultimately failing. It appears his drunken state offers him more than just liquid courage, but liquid lust as well.

 For a moment you stop and contemplate hanging up. Jake is drunk and you can’t help but feel as though you’re taking advantage of him. Then again, previously sober he basically fucked himself against your foot at the dinner table. 

“Feels good?” You ask with a chuckle.

 You can hear the movement of his body through the speaker and you’re aware that through the lack of slapping sounds, your panties are probably silencing what his hand is doing. 

Jake barely answers. A quick “mhm” rings through your ears alongside his deep breaths as a response instead. This isn’t typically how phone sex would go, considering dirty talking is what gets a person there. Perhaps Jake has never done this before, then again, maybe he gets off on just knowing you’re listening to him at all.

“Can you–talk?” Jake asks weakly, his hand stilling for a moment to focus solely on the image he has pulled up over your phone call. He can barely comprehend that you’re on the other line and he’s looking at your pussy pressing against slick panties.

“I like hearing you do this,” You say quickly, not very good at this type of thing yourself despite knowing how it should usually go. You slowly start to trace your fingers against your panties, wondering if Jake would be gentle like this too, nervous even. 

“Yeah?” He asks with a small choked moan as he begins to move his hand again. “You’re not weirded out?”

“If I was weirded out I wouldn’t have sent you photos.” You snap, frustrated suddenly with the whole situation that this is your boyfriend’s brother. “Stop calling it weird–” You trail off, listening intently to the shifting sounds you hear through the speaker. 

“Sunghoon isn’t home right now,” Jake suddenly admits, and you can feel the arousal disappear almost instantly as you hear his name. The reality hitting you, but still not caring enough to stop.

“Don’t talk about him right now, This isn’t right but–”

“But what?” Jake asks with a hopeful voice, this time pulling his hand away completely and feeling his heart double in speed.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” You let out, finally pressing your fingers beneath the lining of your panties. “I know it’s wrong.”

Like music to Jake’s ears, he feels the eagerness in his body swell to the point that it’s difficult to maintain. Sunghoon has everything that Jake wants. A good career, a nice house, needed life skills. All of those things could be obtained with hard work and effort for Jake, but you. You were the one thing he was never supposed to have. You were the one aspect of Sunghoon’s life that Jake wouldn’t have the ability to work his way towards, but he did. 

He has you right now, in this moment, and he feels like nothing could break him. He knows it’s wrong just like you do, but Jake is selfish too. 

He doesn’t think you meant to feel this way, because he always sees the good in people, and if you were doing this with any other man he would definitely snitch on you if he found out. But you’re doing it with him and he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt at this moment. So what if he he wants to fuck his big brother’s girlfriend? You reciprocate the fucking feeling. 

A small part of Jake’s brain is still anxious though. That little still-sober sliver of his moral code trying to fight its way to the front. Does he go with his heart or with his brain? Should he stop? Will he be able to look you in the eye tomorrow? Will he be able to ever look his brother in the eye? 

He isn’t sure. Both his heart and his brain tells him to go for you, the only thing telling him not to is the thought of his brother. The good news about that is, with you on the other end of this line, Sunghoon is pushed to the back of his mind. 

“You can have me, you know.” He almost whispers, staring down at his heavy cock resting against his belly, panties left dangling off the tip. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Those are dangerous words. Words you know you shouldn’t accept or be turned on by. 

“I bet you wouldn’t–” You cut yourself off in a deep breath, pressing against your clit and rubbing harshly. Jake isn’t even talking much, just offering himself on a fucking platter to you, and it’s driving your body to fucking yearn. 

“Oh, shit, are you–” Jake swallows hard, the reality that you might actually be touching yourself on the other line sending waves of heat down his body. He thought it was just him and only had the hopes that you wouldn’t start making fun of him for it. 

“Oh, fuck.” He says, quickly moving his hand to grip against his cock again and already feeling too sensitive from the short moments of neglect. “Where are your hands?” 

“In my panties.”

Jake groans, dropping his phone by his ear on the pillow and using his other hand to grip something, anything as he opts to imagine your fingers sliding beneath the panties you’d shown him in the photo.

You can tell he’s holding his breath, focusing on feeling good in the way he releases short, quick groans every now and then. You keep yourself silent though, trying to hear him, trying to imagine what he’s doing while thinking of you. 

The dripping mess between your legs is being spread by your fingers as you scissor your lips open easily, letting a small groan roll off your tongue for him to hear. Satisfied by his responsive deep breath and sigh, you finally plunge your fingers in. 

“Can you hear it, Jake?” You ask in a breath, lowering the phone a bit so that he can hear your fingers slide in and out of you with a wet sound. 

He chokes on his end at that, swiping the panties off of him to replace the feeling of fabric with the feeling of his closed fist. His precum smears beautifully, offering him the sensation that if he squeezes hard enough, he can imagine that he’s fucking into your warm and wet cunt. He can hear how wet you sound and it’s driving him up a fucking wall not being able to physically see you do it in front of him. 

“This is all I'm going to think about tomorrow–” He groans out, tightening his fist even more and bucking his hips into it. “You sound so,”

“Wet for you?”

That’s all it takes before Jake is gasping out a string of curses, the orgasm both sending him into a sobering world of pleasure and an even drunker state of wanting you to himself. Strings of white spurting all along his belly and going as far as his chin, he throws his other hand up and bites hard against the skin on his knuckle as he works through it.

 He doesn’t want to moan through this, he wants to hear just how fast your fingers are moving, how fast you’d want him to fuck you. He wants to think about how you must be imagining him right now, feeling good and breaking the rules for him. 

Finally, after an embarrassingly long orgasm from Jake, his room goes silent and his ears tune in to the speaker on his phone. You’re cooing, letting out pretty little breaths between the smacking sounds of your palms coming into contact with your clit as you fuck yourself. He can’t believe you’re doing this with him, and even after his own orgasm he’s still incredibly aroused despite his cock softening. 

“You still there?” You groan out. He can tell the phone is closer to what your hands are doing than it is to your face, but he doesn’t mind.

“I’m still here–” He swallows hard, catching his breath as he practically studies the audio you’re feeding to him. 

“I bet that felt good,” You compliment his orgasm that was glaringly obvious on your end. You imagine he doesn’t even recognize that his hand was audible against his cock, and the sheer speed you heard of what he was doing made your clenching walls ache with everything you shouldn’t be wanting.”Wish I could see you right now–” 

Jake did contemplate face timing you instead, but that was crossing more of a line in his head than just calling you. Plus, he would have probably hidden himself from view the entire time. It’s not like he expected to actually have you fucking yourself on the other end of the line, but here you are, and here he is, cum all over him. 

He snaps a quick photo for you, and in your head you whimper a small “yes” at the sound of the shutter from his camera. 

“Send it.” You demand softly, pulling your phone from your stomach and holding it in front of your face. 

He does as you ask and feels embarrassed by the pools of cum all over his stomach. The photo consists mostly of his chest down. You can see his plush and bitten lips at the top of the photo though, and his quite big softening cock lying spent against his stomach, smearing some of the cum across his belly. 

Jake listens to your reaction and hum of approval when you look at the photo, a small blush fanning his cheeks out of pure adoration for you rather than lust at this moment. He listens intently, unsure of if you’re going to work yourself to orgasm or hang up on him before he gets the chance to hear it. 

The point is, Jake is getting a part of you that only Sunghoon should have, and he will be damned to pretend he doesn’t like it. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up with an immense amount of guilt in your head, you almost bail at going to Sunghoon’s house this weekend. You’ve already called out of work simply because you find yourself thinking of Jake more than you should, and the guilt only wavers from you feeling like a piece of shit, to almost being a thought that you can push aside. 

Sunghoon would kill Jake if he found out, and you, what would he even do with you? Break up with you? Insult you? 

Still, the thought of him finding out is the only reason you feel guilty. Because you still don’t regret showing Jake, letting him hear you, or hearing and seeing him. In fact, you don’t intend to stop either. You want him too much at this point, and he seems to be in the same place as you when it comes to this situation. Jake wouldn’t tell on you because then, he would be telling on himself. 

After all, he only moved in with Sunghoon so he could taste freedom outside of his parent’s house. The strict curfews, the password protected websites despite him being a fucking adult, the supervision of his own money and belongings. Sunghoon knew the pain of living there, and that’s why he accepted Jake with open arms. 

Sunghoon was a good brother and an even better boyfriend. You and Jake on the other hand? Jake’s an awful brother and you’re an even worse girlfriend. Sunghoon doesn’t deserve any of this, and he doesn’t deserve any of what’s to come either. You’re in too deep with Jake now though, and the glaring attraction is too strong to ignore. 

Never in your life did you think you could find yourself being unfaithful, let alone with your own boyfriend’s sibling, yet here you are. Only guilty if you get caught. 

Jake had texted you at least three thousand times with apologies throughout the night and morning. Admitting that his head hurt too much this morning to be realizing what the two of you did. He said he wouldn’t approach you when you come over, apologized again, and then promised to never tell Sunghoon and to never hold it against you if you think he’s weird for doing all of that to you.

Reading over his string of messages, you realize that Jake is blaming himself. He feels like he’s taking advantage of you and wanting you to feel secure and safe in something you did without a second thought. 

On his end though, Jake is in his room staring at the two photos you sent to him the night before. Partially wondering if it was all just a dream at first, these pictures of you are the truth of how you feel towards him though. At least last night, that’s how it was. So, when you never text him back today? He doesn’t think too hard about why despite his heart feeling shattered by it. 

When you still show up at that day, he doesn’t question that you’re not eye fucking him the second you walk in through the door either. 

Jake was once again lounging on the couch when you walked in and Sunghoon was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t texted you either. Awkwardly, Jake speaks up before you can question it.

“He told me to let you know that he was gonna be late again. Said something about knowing you’d spam him with needy text messages while he’s in a last-minute work meeting.”

You look to the floor for a second, wondering if the real reason Sunghoon didn’t text you personally like he always did is because he found out somehow. 

“Oh.” You sigh, slipping off your shoes and feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. 

“He doesn’t know, don’t worry–” Jake assures you as he stands to his feet and heads towards his room. “Sorry about last night, I won't do that again.”

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’ve been slouched against Sunghoon’s couch for at least an hour by now and your mind is still doing a back and forth between taking advantage of this alone time with Jake, or worrying about how you shouldn’t be left alone with him at all.

The glaringly obvious issue in your head right now is the fact that you’re alone with Jake and you’re not upset about it. Jake assured you that Sunghoon didn’t find out, and the fact that Jake is the best source of finding out exactly what Sunghoon knows is more of a comfort than anything to you right now. 

Thinking back to the night before, you remember releasing your orgasm on the phone and hearing him compliment you through it. You have the photo of him saved within your gallery, hidden from your too-trusting boyfriend’s eyes. It was the first time you’ve ever seen Jake’s lower half bare. He really is huge, and it’s a shame, really, that you want it so badly.

It’s not even shocking to you at this point that you can feel guilty and anxious one moment and immediately switch into some sex-starved beast at the very thought of Jake. 

“maybe ill take care of it for you someday, who knows?” The text message you sent to him spreads across your thoughts, knowing full well that you’re probably going to get intimate with Sunghoon later, the least you can do is let Jake have some first if he wants it, right? 

You cautiously stand to your feet with a deep breath. The fact that you allow yourself to continuously dig the hole deeper for yourself? So deep that you’ll never be able to pull yourself from it? It’s laughable at how tiny of a worry that is in your mind when you know that Jake is seething in his bedroom right now.

 Maybe it's just what Jake does to your thoughts? The images of him are too good to be able to ignore, the guilt not nearly enough to make you stop wanting him. 

Sunghoon isn’t in your mind when you reach into your bag and grab the soiled panties you had soaked completely the night before, and Sunghoon barely exists at all in your thoughts when you make your way down the hall and lean against Jake’s closed door. 

“I wouldn’t say no.” was what Jake had messaged you before, guess now is the time to find out. 

Opening his door without so much as a knock, Jake doesn't appear to notice you at all as his back stays turned and he focuses on the screen in front of him. The large headset is sitting comfortably on his ears and you’re sure that the volume is up far too loud to be healthy. You can hear his friend’s yelling directions, where enemies are hiding and where they’re headed next. 

You smirk for a moment, noting how much of a typical college boy Jake is. Messy room, messy hair, messy relationship with his brother’s girlfriend. You can imagine he feels pride in what he was able to do with you, and that’s not even an ego boost on your end. 

You wonder if he’s told his friends anything at all. Not about who he likes or who he’s been getting intimate with even if not too-directly, but like, that he’s been getting fed sexual fantasies by someone in general. You wonder if he talks you up, then again, what if he hasn’t mentioned it at all? 

Why does that thought upset you?

“Where were you last night anyway?” You hear over the too-loud headset as you come up behind Jake with the panties in your hand. 

“Busy getting laid, unlike you losers.” Jake boasts, but you snicker at how he’s both lying and telling the truth.

“Bullshit–” You hear another insult coming through his headset before you finally are right behind him. 

Part of you wants to prove him right so his friends think he’s cool or something, but then again, what if they recognize your voice? Surely these are his friends from back home, some two to three hours from this city. Surely they don’t know you, right?

“No, really.” You lean down against Jake’s headset and speak in a tone that isn’t too common for you and he freezes. 

“Now, hold on–” A voice sounds through his headset and you can’t help but feel happy for him in the way they, for some reason, can’t believe Jake’s got some girl in this city interested in him. 

When Jake tries to turn his body to look at you, you hold the chair in place. Knowing yourself how headsets work, you lift his mic until it clicks, hoping to god the mute function works like it’s supposed to and start talking.

“Don’t move, keep playing if you want.” You say, dangling the panties over his head and lowering them in front of his face.

More arousing than gross, you watch Jake’s face fall forward against them. Part of him can’t believe you’re really doing this right now despite leaving his messages on read. But you are, and these are the panties that he thought about all last night and most of today. He really meant it when he said that would be the only thing he would be thinking about, and here you are, keeping the promise of giving them to him.

Reaching up and clutching the panties, Jake tries to turn towards you again. 

“Stay,” You say. “And hush.” You lower his mic back into place where he is no longer muted and listen as his friends go from talking shit to starting up another game. 

From behind his chair, you’re a little shocked at how good he is at following what you say. He doesn’t move, but you can hear his breathing and the way he struggles to balance it in order to remain some-what normal sounding to his friends when they address him. His fingers are shaking against his keyboard as the game starts, and you think he’s probably thought about this happening to him hundreds of times before. 

Maybe not with you, but still. 

Gamer boys always want this kind of thing. Some girl prodding and tugging at them, sucking them off under the table as they boast to their friends how they can be getting head and still getting gold damage by the time the match is over. 

All you can think about right now is being the person to fulfill the fantasies you assume he has. More turned on by the idea that Jake must want it so badly from you than admitting how badly you want it to be true. 

 When you reach around him, lying your hand against his lap, he’s already incredibly hard and stares down at it as the countdown screen on his game begins. 

From out of sight, you don’t want Jake to see you. In fact, you want to see how badly he plates this game through this, because it’s not only cute but will actually be fucking hilarious. Especially because it’s the first time you’re moving on him rather than him grinding against whatever you have to offer.

Ignoring the call outs of enemies in game, both of you spiral into a world of your own again when you grab his length from over his sweatpants and just–you just hold him for a moment. The weight of it grows much heavier as he somehow manages to get more hard at the fact that you’re in the room with him. Plus, for Jake at least, your used panties sitting right there only drives his cock further to pulse and beg for your hand. 

“Jesus–” Jake groans when you grab him.

“Jesus is right, you haven’t moved from that fucking building you cuck-” Some guy shouts from his head set.

“Shut the fuck up Heeseung, you’re literally in bronze.” Another man shouts.

Jake is silent save for a sharp inhale when you squeeze your palm around him. He knows if he even tries to talk shit right now all of his friends would just fucking know how desperate and embarrassing he is around you. That’s the last thing he needs.

Finally, after a few moments of palming him through his pants, you dip right in. He doesn’t shy away from it either, spreading his legs from under his desk and lifting his ass up slightly so you can pull the pants down to let his cock spring free. 

You silently gasp noting how Jake is even bigger than the photos gave him credit for, thicker than you genuinely imagined now that you see it from over his shoulder. Jake tries to turn his head this time to look at you, but you’re quick to catch his cheek and turn it back to the screen with a chuckle. 

Gripping him again, Jake sighs into his mic and his friend’s screaming goes silent. You’re quick to lift his mic into the muted position just to offer some sort of escape from embarrassment now seeing that he’s incredibly willing to let you do this while his ego is on the line.

“You want them to hear?” You ask, feeling his hips slightly buck into your grip. That sends shivers down your spine, finally feeling it for the first time.

“I don’t care–” He sighs desperately, thrusting his hips up harder. “Please, just don’t stop.”

The way he says it, for some reason, sounds so fucking broken that you could honestly swirl this chair around and impale yourself on him without so much as a second thought. But you contain yourself, now moving your grip up his length and thumbing over the head to feel the sheer amount of pre-cum spilling out of him

“Alright, Jakey.” You soothe, lowering his mic for the last time and wondering just how much he’s going to let his shithead friends hear.

For a few moments, you gently jerk him off just to see his hips chase your fist. He’s needy in the way he moves his body but very fucking good at acting as you start to count each kill he manages to get through this. 

By the time you hear his friends praise him, you feel a little competitive yourself. Shy, needy, desperate little Jake thinks he can get through a game the very first time you actually touch him? Perhaps he thinks he is giving you what you want, but what you want is to see him fall apart. 

You move your hand faster, watching him from behind as he chokes up and slams his head against the headrest of his chair, nearly knocking the headphones off of him. 

“God,” Jake moans, knowing full well that his friends wouldn’t suspect anything if he says such a thing. 

You know that was for you though, so you continue. The rhythm of your hand moving from a slow drag to something painfully fast and unfathomably good. Jake’s head is spinning, thrusting his hips up and gripping his computer mouse so tightly that he thinks he could crush it in his grip. 

When his pre-cum is essentially drenching your palm, the slide of your hand keeps a fast pace, pulling groans out of him every few seconds. 

Jake can’t hold himself back anymore, slamming his head against the headrest of his seat yet again, this time his headset sliding off of his head and falls into the floor. He lols his head from side to side as he finally lets out a full-throated moan, shooting a hand to your wrist and holding it in place so that he can fuck up into it. 

You gasp at that, his grip harsh and far less gentle than you’d expect. The muffled screams of his friends are blatantly obvious and you can’t bring yourself to care if the mic muted itself during its descent to the floor or not. 

He’s choking each moan that threatens to be too loud, and honestly, you can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He goes from releasing your hand just to stare down at the way you grip him, to grabbing it again and fucking into it harder. 

It’s way too endearing seeing him like this. 

He tries to turn to see you again shortly after, so desperate to kiss you, so desperate just to fucking see what you like like when you’re doing this to him, but you do your best to remain behind him as you grab the base of his cock and cause him to groan in pain.

“Let me see you–” He nearly sobs in a frustrated way, and for a moment you contemplate letting him. 

“Let me hear you.” You respond, keeping that same, painfully tight, grip against him and dragging it up to his head, enveloping it and sending sensitive shocks throughout his body. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Jake writhes under the painful grasp, but his hips still chase when you drag your hand back down. 

He’s no longer being quiet, no longer pretending to care about his dead character on the screen, re-spawning and dying every few seconds. He’s a free kill for any enemy player right now and you can tell his friend’s are pissed in the way the screaming from the headset gets louder despite the distance. 

The chat box on screen is being spammed just as aggressively, and Jake can barely even open his eyes to process it. 

“You were playing so well,” You coo out, shifting forward a bit and placing your chin on his shoulder. “What happened, Jakey?” 

He softly moans at the nickname you’ve now used more than once, eyes half open as he glances down at how fast your hand is moving compared to your soft, balanced voice against his ear. He turns his head quickly, trying to catch you off guard, but you pull away.

“Wanna see me so bad, huh?” You chuckle, working him up and knowing that he’s got to be close with the way he shamelessly moans in the most annoyed, frustrated way. 

“Let me kiss you.” He grunts, bucking his hips aggressively, now chasing in full that painful grip you’re keeping against him so well. “I’ll keep my eyes closed, please.”

You contemplate again giving him what he wants, but you figure he’s already getting more than enough. 

“Oh? You’ll keep your eyes closed? Don’t you want to look at me?” 

Jake is desperate now, hands moving to the armrests of his chair as he grips them hard, hips wildly stuttering in your grasp. 

“Fuck, yes.” He lets out, dropping his head with a deep breath and then throwing his head back with an even longer moan. 

You can’t tell if that was him answering you, or simply reacting to what his body is feeling, and you don’t really care. He’s already there, walking on the thin line of orgasm and willing to take whatever it is you give him. He no longer wants anything, he’s just experiencing. 

You watch him from behind very closely, the shiver running from his toes straight to his ears was obvious enough.

“That’s it,” You whisper from behind. “Give it to me.”

Jake’s entire body tenses against the chair, you can feel it stress from the way his legs spread wider and his hips go from quick thrusts to short, drawn-out drags against your palm. The image of him doing that between your legs washes over every single one of your thoughts. He would do that. Burying himself so deeply as he spills out inside of you, thrusting in and slowly dragging his hips out, just to thrust in again to push his seed impossibly deeper.

“That’s so hot,” Jake comments with a deep breath, and only then do you realize the small moan you’d let out during that intense thought of him. Especially as you watch his cum is spill out in loads, leaving a mess all over himself and your hands.

Finally, after making a mess of him, you smile to yourself and do your best to appear not as flustered as you actually are.

Either way, a job well done. 

You opt to make a grand exit, saying nothing after releasing his cock and sauntering out of the room in silence to leave him to his thoughts. You could still hear his friends screaming through the microphone, and he doesn’t even call out after you. Jake must feel on top of the world right now, because you know that you do.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon comes home later than he did last time, tired and droopy. He finds himself drawn to you more than usual, noting that your eyes are sparkling a little brighter upon walking through his door. 

You put Jake in the back of your head much like you always tried to do when Sunghoon is around you these days. Your love for your boyfriend is still blatant and honest when you’re next to him, not at all feeling pity for Jake having to see it. Jake should know who it is you love, despite the fact that you jerked him off mere hours ago.

When Sunghoon is next to you, when his arm is around you and his eyes are on you, you don’t question for a second that everything you’ve been doing behind his back will come back on you, and it’ll be well-deserved pain. But there’s still a part of you that hopes you can keep Sunghoon forever and always be happy beside him. You’re actively betraying him, his own flesh and blood is helping you dig this hole deeper and deeper. So deep that Sunghoon can’t even see the bottom where Jake’s got his hands on you. 

Fully intending to keep them both, you find yourself feeling more fulfilled despite the awful moral. Sunghoon isn’t willing to share, but Jake is. 

And you, you don’t have to share.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Saturday was as normal as always. Jake pops in and out of his room, not even once acting as if something suspicious is going on. If anything, Sunghoon is a little more happy to see you spend time with Jake when he’s not in his room.

 It was awkward at first. Jake’s always been shy but it seems like he’s loosened up after realizing you’re a permanent part of the picture for as long as you’re with Sunghoon. He’s endeared by the way you bully his brother the same way he does. 

Even that little crush Jake had on you when he first met you appears to have fallen into more of a sibling-like relationship to Sunghoon. He thought it was cute that Jake had a crush, after all, it’s you. Sunghoon fucking fell head over heels when you gave him attention and wouldn’t be caught dead releasing his grip on you once he asked you to be his girlfriend. The point is, Sunghoon knew Jake had a small crush but was pleased to see it turn into something more casual and comfortable.

 He likes his life, loves his girlfriend, and loves his brother. Nothing could get better than spending time with the two of you, even if Jake jumps up to go be a recluse in his room from time to time.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Jake,” Heeseung grits through the mic. 

“What?” Jake sighs nonchalantly, throwing his arms behind his head as he smiles to himself through the webcam.

“You should be embarrassed.” Heeseung argues. “We didn’t wanna hear that shit.”

“I muted him.” Jay says with a shrug through his own camera.. 

“Yeah, me too.” Jungwon follows up, all eyes now falling to Heeseung, who is avoiding the camera and scratching the back of his neck with a shrug.

“I was in a tight situation! I couldn’t tab out.” Heeseung defends himself easily, still a darker shade than usual.

“I think she wanted you guys to hear.” Jake laughs quietly, whispering. 

“Why are you whispering?” Jay asks, leaning forward towards his camera as if Jake was about to whisper out again, this time with a deeper secret. 

Instead, Jake shifts his eyes and changes the subject. As much as he would love to tell his friends that he’s managed to get a handjob (not the foot thing) from his brother’s girlfriend, he’s sure they’d have a little more respect for him. But it feels like a betrayal to say it out loud, regardless of how hot the idea is in his head.

“Because my brother is with his girlfriend and it’s weird if they know what happens when they’re not here.” Jake explains, receiving a nod from everyone.

“She left her panties,” Jake now adds in a cheeky voice, removing his hands from behind his head and sitting up from his relaxed position. “Wanna see?”

Heeseung was, obviously, the first to nod his head and Jake didn’t really need the others to agree anyway, because they’re a group of college guys who are always either talking about getting laid or how to raise their rank when playing competitive games.

“Damn,” Jay laughs as he sees the thin fabric come into view. “Are they dirty?” 

“Oh yeah,” Jake boasts, spreading out the fabric and bringing them close to the camera. 

“That’s so gross.” Heeseung waves them off, averting his eyes and trying to pretend he’s not interested.

“Jake’s full of shit.” Jungwon chimes in quickly, only to be shut down by Heeseung’s weird need to defend.

“You heard her talk to him through the mic, there’s no way he’s lying.” 

“Uh, no I didn’t. I had him muted the second I saw his hero standing in the middle of the map without moving.” Jay argues back.

“Well, I lied, I didn’t mute him.” Jungwon finally admits. “Still, though. There’s no way she gave you those.”

Jake can’t stop smiling. The fact that he can barely believe what happened himself is enough not to argue. They’re your panties, that’s your scent in them, and that was your hand wrapped around him yesterday. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up on Sunday felt, again, normal. You hadn’t heard Jake through the walls the night before but Sunghoon sure did. He mostly drowned out the sounds by putting in his headphones though, unlike what you would have done. Sunghoon did, however, wake up hard considering the two of you passed out the night before without so much as a lingering hand.

To his dismay, you groan at his roaming hands as he wakes you up. Sunghoon knows you love being woken up this way, but he also knows to stop if you’re making a sound like this over it. 

“What’s wrong?” He says, pulling his hand back and instead, placing it on your waist so that he can pull you closer and into a cuddle. 

You don’t respond, cracking an eye open and immediately feeling your head pound at the sunlight shining through the windows. You feel bad that since thursday, the only intimacy you’ve had has been with Jake despite being in love with the man against you. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that you immediately, physically, feel like shit this morning, you’d be jumping Sunghoon’s bones. 

“Head is pounding.” 

“Ah,” Sunghoon smiles, hugging you against him and rubbing circles against your skin with his thumb. “It’s okay, you can sleep in. I’m gonna go make some breakfast.”

Your boyfriend’s good mood doesn’t go unnoticed, nor does your headache. You take him up on that offer and immediately fall back to sleep.

Later, you wake to Sunghoon gently patting your cheek. 

“You want some food? Might help?” 

You nod, squinting your eyes and sitting up a little too quickly. You glance around as he turns away and heads back towards the kitchen, and then you stretch your arms out. Things feel too fucking normal for you to be doing what you’ve been doing. This headache is well fucking deserved, surely. 

Making your way into the kitchen, you note that Jake’s bedroom door is open but he isn’t anywhere to be found.

“Where’s Jake?” You ask casually, sitting down at the table and rubbing your temples.

“Said something about one of his friends coming to a city nearby and wanting to go hang out with him. Probably Heeseung.” 

Your heart starts beating in your ears at the thought that you really thought Sunghoon wouldn’t know any of Jake’s friends. Sure, you thought that maybe they were just online friends, or maybe people Jake met after Sunghoon moved out of his parent’s house, but you recognize that fucking name. 

Thankfully, you had changed your voice just slightly as you spoke to Jake the other day. Surely this isn’t what would ruin the entire arrangement.

“Ah,” You groan. “Finally we have the house to ourselves and I have to wake up with a migraine? What lousy luck.” 

“It’s okay, really.” Sunghoon smiles, sitting a plate of food down in front of you. “Besides, we both know you like the thrill of needing to be quiet.” 

He’s joking, you know he is, but it was the truth before this whole thing with Jake started. 

“If we really wanted to be alone, I'd be at your apartment every weekend.”Your boyfriend adds, planting a kiss to the top of your head and heading towards the medicine cabinet. “Little weird that it has to be my brother that we are keeping quiet from, but whatever.”

“Didn’t know i’d be this into it, honestly.” You admit, feeling open enough to at least tell him that you’re very into the idea of someone hearing you. You just won't admit that you want it to be Jake.

“I mean, I personally am not into this type of thing. It’s a little uncomfortable for me.” Sunghoon sits down and hands you two painkillers. “But I doubt he’s actually listening. I apologized after the first time and he said he usually just puts in headphones and goes to sleep.”

You hold back the smile of Jake’s blatant lies towards Sunghoon. 

“So, I guess I don’t entirely mind feeding into your little fantasies of being heard, or caught, or whatever.”

Your boyfriend waves off the conversation with a smile, ultimately willing the fact that it is weird to him out of his head. If that was a new thing you realized you liked, the only way you would have found out is by having someone else in the house when the two of you do those things. Unfortunately, Jake’s the reason. 

 In Sunghoon’s head, he’s mature enough to discuss it like an adult with his brother. Guidelines and rules, moving Jake in wasn’t going to change his sex life with you, if anything, he had already told Jake to invest in some decent headphones or earplugs because he’s gonna hear some shit otherwise.

You allow the conversation to die as you work up an appetite. Thankfully Sunghoon is an amazing cook, though he only did it one or two nights a week considering how spent his job makes him feel. You’re thankful he cooked this morning, and even more thankful for these two little pills that will hopefully knock your headache out within the hour.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Come Monday, you’re thankful you get to work from home. You sleep in and try your best not to think about the fact that Sunghoon knows the friends that heard you be intimate with Jake. You’re even more thankful for this week away from your boyfriend’s house because, even though you’ve processed everything, you feel like you should probably be alone for a while and really think about what you’re doing.

When Jake is around or texting you, it’s hard to think straight because you genuinely want him so fucking bad. And when Sunghoon is beside you, or texting you, all you can do is imagine a future with him.

The once bright, clear future of Sunghoon in a tuxedo standing in front of you at some extravagant altar becomes a little more foggy at the thought of where Jake would fit into it. Would he be behind Sunghoon, watching him marry you to start a real life together? Would he be somewhere in the crowd, waiting to object and expose you for the awful girlfriend you are? Or even worse, would he not be there at all? Running away and disappearing never to insert himself into your life or his brother’s life ever again?

You don’t want to think about the future right now. Everything you’ve been doing has been so selfish and so fucking fulfilling that you can’t bring yourself to feel any amount of pity for Sunghoon and the way he trusts you fully. You never once gave him a reason to not trust you, and you think maybe Jake hasn’t given him a reason either. 

But god, he shouldn’t trust either of you at all. He’s at work, making money, living his life with a supposed loving girlfriend all while offering his little brother an ounce of freedom. What does he get in response to his hard work and kindness? His brother wanting to tongue fuck his girlfriend? And worse yet, his girlfriend wants it even more than his brother does? 

Your mind is burning through scenarios all day if you have it in you to feel bad. Another scenario involves you, married to Sunghoon and sneaking Jake out of your bed when Sunghoon returns from work. Even more scenarios of Sunghoon finding out and hating you forever, leaving you and meeting someone better. How could you have them both and keep it going? Is something like that even possible?

Then you get a text.The glaring reality blows right past your head when you’re expecting it to be Jake but you see Sunghoon’s name on the screen. You still feel just as excited though. 

Sunghoon: good news and great news

You: oh? 

Sunghoon: Good news: a co-worker has family issues and had to drop out of the business trip coming up.

You were about to question why that’s good news, but then Sunghoon quickly texts again.

Sunghoon: great news: i am now being asked to attend the event and it could get me a pretty big promotion. 

You: You’re gonna go right?? When is it?

Honestly, the way your heart swells at your boyfriend moving up in the world could knock anyone on their feet. No one would ever guess what you do behind his back, because again, you haven’t lost an ounce of love for this man and you probably never will.

Sunghoon: I leave tomorrow if I accept.

You: how long is it? do you need help packing since it’s such short notice?

Sunghoon: only three days, so i’d be back on friday and still get to see you this weekend

You: it’s a win/win! i can come over tonight since i’m working from home today.

Sunghoon: you good to sleep over and drop me off in the morning at the airport? i can give them an answer now so they can work out the transport and get the tickets transferred to me. 

You: you didn’t need to even ask!! you should have immediately said yes! I’ll be over tonight, i’m proud of you babe! 

Sunghoon: love you :) 

And so there it is. The glaring issue about to become a blatant, full blown affair. And like, you don’t want to get it twisted. You are so fucking proud of Sunghoon and so fucking glad that everything in his life appears to be rushing him straight to major success, but also, he’s going to be gone for three days and that’s three days to try and get over this whole Jake phase. By using Jake. By fucking him, specifically.

It doesn’t help that just a few moments later, presumably after Sunghoon lets Jake know the plan, Jake is texting you.

Jake: Sunghoon’s leaving for 3 days

You: yep 

Jake: ….do i even need to say it

You: nope

Jake: gonna clean my room

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Dropping Sunghoon off is weirdly bitter sweet. His confidence is clearly through the roof as he kisses you goodbye. Even after he walks away, he quickly rushes back to you and asks for a second kiss, citing it’s for good luck. You knew he’d do amazing for this event, even with it so last minute. Everything Sunghoon did was with effort and thought put into it. You’re not the only person who sees it either. 

That was the sweet part anyway. The bitter part is the guilt finally coming to you like it should have weeks ago. The fact that Sunghoon is walking off to get on an airplane and Jake is at home cleaning his room to fuck you in it? It’s obvious that you don’t deserve either of them. 

Still, the guilt hitting you now is unnerving. It took so long to come, and only consumes you when Sunghoon isn’t around to nearly witness the infidelity? Shaking yourself of disgust, you head out of the airport and still find yourself pulling into Sunghoon’s driveway against your better judgement. 

You sit in your car for a moment, thinking back on all of those small moments with Jake, wondering now if you still want him or if those moments were enough to satisfy the curiosity of what could be. 

As expected, with a huff, you accept the fact that even through the guilt, you still want him.

Stepping out of your car and walking up to the door felt too unfamiliar and nerve wracking, especially with the fact that you can hear your heart skip beats and your body melt away into the hole you fucking dug for yourself. However, the moment Jake opens the door and looks at you, before you can even unlock it yourself, every single guilt ridden thought disappears. 

You don’t know what it is about him, and surely you’ve never felt this way before, because goddamn is it a blinding kind of feeling. Thinking back as you look at him, he seems different now despite having the same face and body language.

 Before, Jake was cute with his little crush. Weird even, with the way he lingered for too long to see you kiss his brother. Now, when you look at him, he looks like he isn’t at all the cute, shy little brother. He’s Jake, a man with wants and needs that have your name written all over them. You can’t fucking help yourself, and now being able to indulge yourself fully along side him, Sunghoon is drowned out in the back of your mind, as usual when you find yourself alone with Jake. 

Jake is still shy and timid in the way he moves but he knows just as well as you do what’s about to happen and isn’t at all shying away from the fact that he’s about to fulfill every dirty little thought he’s had about you since he met you. Hell, since he saw photos of you that Sunghoon sent before he ever met you.

On cloud nine, Jake is timid when he, for the first time, makes a move on you himself. It’s shocking that he does it at all if you’re being honest, but you lean into him on instinct. All he does is grab your hand, a touch that wouldn’t raise suspicions at all in Sunghoon if he were to see it, but to you it’s the most intimate thing he could do at this moment. Because he’s leading you, and his eyes are hungry and unable to pull from you. 

Not a single word is said, everything already spoken and understood with nothing more than the look when he opened that fucking door. Jake leads you to his room, and the energy in the air is so electrifying that it scares you. Never has a touch to your hand, or a leading pull to a bedroom made you feel so weightless. 

You think back to when you held his length in your hand, you had all of the power that day. Now, you don’t think Jake realizes what he could get away with. You’re falling into the same mindset you have with Sunghoon, one where you want, need, and could beg to be touched, but you still yourself from falling too far into it. 

Jake is even more gentle when he lets your hand go and turns towards you with a deep sigh, as if he’s preparing his entire being for what’s coming. Both of you like a deer in headlights, as if this wasn’t intentional or planned, you smile at him. 

Jake lets out a nervous laugh at your smile, shaking his head and looking down. He’s already stiff beneath his pants, which are conveniently unbuttoned and unzipped already. Even you, shamelessly wearing a dress with no panties. Sunghoon thought it was for him, and he damn well did fuck you this morning while on a confident-high before you took him to the airport.

You knew Jake could hear it, and he didn’t appear to care because in all fairness, Jake did not give a damn. He knew you weren’t his at that moment, but you fucking would be before the night is up. The next three days, you’re his. Even if he never has you again.

That deer-in-the-headlights look from Jake fades as his eyes take you in without hiding it for the first time. You imagine he will fall apart if he were to trace his hands under your dress and find that you are completely bare, you imagine you would fall apart much faster if he touched you at all.

It happens so fast. Too fast, almost, with the way he steps up to you confidently. You just now realize that he’s taller than you when he skews his head and looks down at your lips. Well, you knew he was taller than you, but at this moment he seems so much bigger than usual. 

 His breathing is uneven as he stares at your lips and you can tell he’s doing his best to be confident because you haven’t made a move towards him at all like you usually would. 

Looking up at him, you want to reach up and grip his hair. His lips are so plush, clearly freshly coated with chapstick. His skin is practically glowing save for the few blemishes that the fringe on his forehead covers, you find yourself wondering if he’s taking this moment to study you too.

“I’m having a really hard time holding back,” Jake whispers out, inches from your face. “This is going to be embarrassing for me.”

“Don’t hold back.” You encourage him without doubt, hoping that he can break past that last little boundary the two of you haven’t crossed yet. The one where he can kiss you, touch you, have you. Only because you can’t bring yourself to do it at this moment, for some reason.

The feeling of his lips touching yours is more bruising than you think he intended them to be, but the desperate feeling was all the same as your own, you think. Never have you actually stopped to think of kissing him or how he would go about it. Like running in blind, you’re learning that Jake knows what to do with his tongue, how to pace himself despite not wanting to, and how to reach up and hold your face in such a way that you feel like this could very well be a dream.

A perfect dream. 

His hands are cupping your face though, you can feel the way his fingertips press into your cheeks as he makes his attempts to deepen the kiss. And fuck, he’s kissing you like you’re his girlfriend. He still moves his lips in a hungry and desperate way though, in a way that has you struggling to breathe by the force of it alone. 

When his hands drop from your face and fall to your waist, every new place he touches feels like it’s set ablaze. You press forward against his chest, walking him back as you lick into to kiss, all the way until he falls back on his bed with a happy and dazed ‘oof’ sound. 

Still, his face is slack as he stares up at you, eyes struggling to stay trained on your face for too long as you begin to take off your jacket and reach over to pull at his shirt. So badly do you want to see him shirtless again, and he doesn’t argue, eagerly lifting it off of his body and lying back again. 

Now that the initial intimacy has been established, you finally come back to yourself, thinking more clearly and finding a small list in your head of things you want and need to do for him. Starting with letting him really look at you.

“I know how much you like my panties–” You smile, standing in front of him and trying to keep your eyes averted from his length threatening to break through his pants. 

“Yes, god, let me see it.” Jake urges you, tilting his head with a swallow and training his eyes on your thighs. 

He thinks you must be wearing the prettiest pair today, for him, not for his brother. But when you lift your leg and straddle him, his face contorts to confusion and then to pleasure when you sit against his cock. Of course, with the fabric covering his length, he still can’t tell that you’re not actually wearing any panties at all.

“You wanna see?” You ask for his clarification, bunching your dress up in your hands and preparing to lift it so he can see your bare folds sitting against him. 

Jake blinks at you, nodding his head and nibbling on his bottom lip. He’s doing everything in his power not to reach up and grab your waist just to guide you on him. He’s afraid to move too fast, he’s afraid to embarrass himself with how fucking desperate he is for you right now.

“Look.” You say, nodding between your legs and lifting your dress.

“Oh god,” Jake gasps as his eyes focus on the fact that you’re leaving a small wet spot against his pants. 

That’s your pussy on him. 

Without a second thought his hands are on your waist, pushing and pulling you forward and backwards on his lap. You blink hard at the sensation of the fabric rubbing against your lips harshly, and then open your eyes to look at him again.

He is still staring between your legs, almost losing himself to this alone. Then again, it’s the first time he’s ever seen you bare and he cannot get past the fact that Sunghoon gets to see it whenever he fucking wants to. 

“I can feel it–” Jake chokes back in a happy groan, referring to your slick seeping through his pants and onto him. 

You smile at him, now moving your hips on your own as you pull his hands away and push them to lay above his head. If he thinks this is good, you want to see how fast he reaches for you again.

It’s so easy when you lift yourself up, and incredibly cute in the way his eyes follow your pussy when you lift. He doesn’t even realize that you shove his sweats down and sit right back down, this time coating him in full with your slippery folds. 

“God, fuck,” He moans in disbelief, and just as expected his hands shoot to your waist and hold you down against him. You’re not sure if it’s intentional or not, but he’s incredibly sexy in the way he moves without thinking. 

“Fuck?” You question cutely, forcing your hips to slide up his length despite him trying to hold you there. 

“How are you already so wet?” He questions in a groan, still trying to process the fact that this is actually happening. His grip on you loosens, letting you move and instead grabbing the hem of your dress himself and holding it up so he can watch you slide against him better. 

“How are you so big?” You try to compliment back, feeling him between your folds and wondering just how deep he could fuck you if he so wanted to. “So, so big.” You groan out this time, feeling the head of his cock bumping against your clit every few seconds.

Jake obviously doesn’t answer, his fingers are gripping your dress so tightly and his eyes are burning the image of you doing this into his head. He never wants to forget this moment of feeling you against him for probably the first and last time, because in all realness, this can’t happen again if he thinks too hard about it. 

“I want to fuck you so bad,” He admits suddenly, out of breath. “Just this once, please.” 

You nod cutely, swiping his hands away from your dress and lifting it off of you in full. His eyes are now glued to your tits and whatever it was he was saying is long forgotten as he watches them jiggle when you slide up against him again.

The way he shuts up is entirely too arousing. You can see him thinking about you, practically able to see him process every part of your body on top of him. 

“Take your pants off, Jakey.” You finally say, frustrated that clothing always gets in the way of things. 

He does as he’s told when you stand to your feet in wait, and instantly he’s lifting himself and grabbing you, pulling you right back on him. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Jake whines, pushing your hips against him and keeping himself upright so that your tits are pressed right up against his own, careful not to fall back against the mattress so he can plant his lips against your neck. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

You feel a bite and pull back from him, hips stilling in short panic.

“Don’t–” You scold him, and he simply nods and goes back to kissing against your neck and shoulder, because if that’s the only thing he can’t do in this situation, he’d be a damn idiot to argue with you about it.

“Right, wouldn’t want him knowing that I got you this wet, right?” Jake mocks the situation as a whole as his confidence blooms, using reality as a form of ego boost, hoping to god that you lean into it rather than run from it. “He’d know I do it better.”

It makes you a little angry, but you get it. Jake’s confidence must be through the roof because never would you have imagined him speaking to you like this, or mentioning his brother at all at a time like this. 

“Prove it and maybe I’ll play along.” You try to challenge him, but you know that he might actually be right. 

His size rivals his brother’s, but can he work it the same way? Can the shy, timid little brother actually satisfy you the way your boyfriend does?

Jake pulls back from kissing your neck only for a moment, moving to your lips and wincing at the feeling of your folds sliding against him still, maybe he did get a little too cocky there. 

“Prove it?” He breathes against your lips, gripping your waist tighter and guiding you up. 

You already know what he’s doing and don’t shy away from it. Usually there’s foreplay, and you’re sure he wanted to do more than just fuck you, but too little too late. You’re hungry for it and so is he, if the sounds between you are enough to go by. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lift yourself and allow his hand to disappear between the two of you. You can feel him position himself right at your entrance and all you need to do is sink down. 

You lend a pause, staring at him for a moment. Looking straight into his eyes and recognizing that for the first time in over two years now, you’re about to fuck someone that isn’t Sunghoon. 

He stares back at you with anticipation, and when you sink down just a tiny bit, he’s lunging his lips forward and kissing you again so desperately that any doubt in your mind withers away with all that guilt you know you shouldn’t be ignoring. 

Continuously as you sink down inch by inch, feeling him stretch you out in a searing type of pleasure, Jake just groans into your mouth with wet kisses. You can feel his chest heave against you as he feels your walls start to envelop him and when you’re finally seated, he pulls you down with him as he falls against the mattress.

There, in a hug, his mindless kissing becomes even more vacant as he holds you in place, fucking his hips up and into you in an aggressive pace without giving you any time to adjust. His lips release from yours and his moans come out strangled, breathless, and entirely desperate for you.

He’s deeper inside of you than any man has ever been able to reach without the aid of a toy, and the head and thickness of it is far better than any plastic could ever be. You imagine you sound just as desperate as he does right now. Unable to wiggle in his grasp, you just take it. You were well versed in that, at least.

Jake holds you there for at least a full minute, feeling you clenching and drenching his cock in a way that makes the slide easy and pleasurable for him. His hips can move much faster this way, but the fear of cumming too quickly forces him to slow his movements and open his eyes in a breathy moan.

Your legs are spread out over his own, his cock is buried into you completely, and you fucking just take it? God, No wonder Sunghoon is in love with you. 

Jake looks at you lovingly, wishing so badly that his brother wasn’t in the way of having this all the time. And then? his arms release you and he’s lifting your face with one of his hands, thumb and pointer finger pinching your chin. 

Jake’s arms release you from the hug and he uses one hand to lift your face.

“Sorry, I just–” He says before getting a look at your face. Glancing between both of your empty eyes, he ends up losing any thought in his head when he notes how blown your pupils are, face still contorted in a silent moan as you start to grind yourself against him. Chasing the pressure he was just slamming into you. 

What he was gonna say was that he was sorry he lost control for a second, but what he ends up saying now is “Fuck, I want this so bad.” 

Despite that Jake is getting everything he wants at this moment, all he can do is look at you and watch you grind your clit against his pelvic bone, chasing a pleasure that he knows you’re feeling intensely right now. He thinks of himself in pity, all those nights of wanting exactly this and never knowing that he actually fucking gets to do it.

Without thinking, Jake doesn’t even know why he does it, but he keeps his cock buried deeply into you and knocks you over. He follows your body, adjusting himself behind you into the big spoon position and pulling your leg up to drape over his hip. 

There, he slips out of you only slightly to hear you whine at the loss. You’ve gone so silent save for moaning and he thinks he’s in love with you. So fucking in love.

He makes quick work to stuff you again and smiles at the way you throw your head back, opening your pretty and glistening eyes just for a split second to look at him. 

One hand now reaches around you and cradles one of your tits, the other snaking between your legs and experimentally tapping against your clit. 

“That’s right,” He boasts, trying his best not to drool as your droopy eyes struggle to stay on him for too long. “Look at me.” 

“Damn, Jake,” You manage to say in an aroused laugh, realizing that he’s really fucking you in the spooning position now? Of course he fucking would. It’s such an intimate position, and the angle, you could argue, is one of the best you think you’ve ever felt. 

Paired with his words? Goddamn.

“Hm?” He hums against your shoulder once he lays his head there, feeling your body jerk as he fucks his length into you repeatedly. “Feels good?” He asks, moaning himself this time at the way you close your legs around his hand and grind back against him.

He’s quick to abandon your clit to push your legs open again, draping it right back in the same spot over his own hip. He can imagine how spread out you look, despite not being able to see it in this position. He’s heard time and time that women like this angle, and if your sounds are anything to go by? He can say that it’s absolutely fucking true.

This time, when you reach back and pull his face to yours, now kissing him with more force than you have before, he loses composure again. Any chance of his focus being on you and you alone is now long fucking gone, baby. 

Even as he tries to put his fingers against your clit again, the movements are messy, messy, messy. Thankfully, his hips are fucking you with full intent now. He’s trying his best to control how good he feels so that way he can at least try to focus on your pleasure more, but god, fuck.

After one particularly deep thrust, you shiver and he fucking loses it.

“Oh my god, I found it?” He asks, experimentally pressing his hips up the same way. “Right here? Baby, yeah?” He continues, repeatedly slamming you with the head of his cock bumping just where you need it.

“Fuck-” You choke out, your body jolting without intent again and feeling shockwaves of what you can only describe as mini orgasms shooting throughout your muscles. “Ahh- Jake, don’t stop!” You frantically encourage him, mouth falling slack against his lips now, giving in to the pleasure and now losing all ability to speak at all. 

He does, pressing his hips harder this time, a grunt spilling from his bitten lips with every forceful thrust. Repeatedly hitting the soft spot inside of you, over and over again, ultimately sending you into a world of something you’ve, strangely, never felt before in terms of sex. 

Jake watches you roll your head back, moaning out with a slack and somewhat pained face as he does it. He cannot fucking believe he found your g-spot on the first try and he will be damned to stop now. 

He focuses now, grunting at the way your walls clench him so tightly each time he hits your spot. He’s determined to make you cum, make you babble out strings of his name and how good he feels. He needs you to feel so good that you’ll never think twice about letting him do this again, and again, and again, no matter how close you could be to getting caught. 

His hips are going at a pace faster now than he thought possible, and with his fingers messily working your clit, paired with his cock driving into the single most pleasurable spot inside of you, you find your body tensing up and your mind erasing every thought and memory. 

It’s so much to feel at once but you feel too weak to stop him for event the smallest moment of collecting yourself. 

“Ah, you’re squeezing me–” He breathes out, words broken with his own moans as he does his best to keep pace to work you through it. “So tight–” He manages to breathe out again, not yet realizing that you’re quite literally about to cum all over him.

And you want to. So you fucking do. You cum hard around him, clenching him so tightly that Jake stills his hips in disbelief at the way your body moves when you release. He can barely get the words out when he speaks, feeling you drench him with liquid fire. “Are you–?” He chokes out, jerking his hips back and trying to pull out of you for his own release.

“Do not pull out,” You groan as your orgasm continues to choke you of your breath. “Feels so good, just–” You cry out, pressing yourself back and enveloping the inches of him that he had pulled from you. “I wanna feel it.” 

“Fuck. fuck.” He moans out louder this time, hands gripping your waist and holding you against him as he shakes behind you. You can feel him twitch inside of you as he shoots those thick, white ropes of cum into you. 

For a brief moment you remembered when he released from your hand, pressing himself slowly and roughly into your first. 

You were right. 

Jake buries himself as deep as he can go, only grinding back a few centimeters before pressing himself flush against you as another spurt paints the flesh inside of you. You feel so full, and he’s packed so tightly in you that you genuinely think this is the first time you’ve ever actually felt a man cum inside of you. Like really feel it. Every fucking pulse of it. 

Unfortunately, just like that, you feel empty with how fast he pulls out of you. You’re in shock, actually. 

“Where are you going?” You ask in a cracked and panicked voice, looking behind you as he backs away from you momentarily. 

“I–” He pauses, looking at you and the way your eyes look back at him in a different type of panic. “Don’t know.” He says, getting back onto the bed and reluctantly putting his arms around you in a hug.

“I don’t know how to like, end this.” He admits against your shoulder, still trying to steady his breath from the orgasm he had ten seconds ago. 

Instantly, Jake found himself in a post-nut state of guilt and kind of scared of how much he adored fucking you. 

“End it?” You ask, pulling away from him. “You want to stop?”

“You don’t?” He asks, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. 

“I mean, we both know what we are doing…” You trail off, sitting yourself up and fully aware that the guilt will always hit you at random times, but still, you want Jake. “And we still kept doing it.”

“Yeah, but–” 

“But?” You ask, turning your body to face him as he sits himself up now. The nakedness of your bodies is not at all embarrassing at this moment. 

“Jake, I don’t think I can like, not want you if you still want me.”

He nods his head reluctantly, wondering if this is you offering the fact that you’re willing to straight up, blatantly, and shamelessly cheat on Sunghoon with him.

“Ugh,” Jake puts his face in his hands and then runs his fingers through his hair. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah, it is.” You admit, leaning towards him. “But If we never talk about it…,”

“No, no! I wouldn’t.” Jake throws his hands up defensively. “I only feel bad when you’re not here.” He says, now questioning himself. “I don’t think I’d be able to like, not ever do this again.”

“So we are both in this same little fucked up boat?” You ask. 

“I guess so.” He laughs at himself, and then at you. “If he ever finds out, you know i’ll be found in a ditch somewhere, right?”

You laugh, despite it being the worse fucking joke in the world. Running hand in hand with Jake into a fire that you both fucking searched for is kind of…scary? But also elating?

“Well, I’m not gonna fucking tell him.” You say, pressing the important matter at hand. “The point is, Jake, I need you to understand that I’ve never cheated on anyone.”

Somehow, he lightens the mood.

“Damn, I must be special.”

You guess he is.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[ghostfacd]

I’D BE THE MAN. | TOM BLYTH

pairing. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

summary. in which yn receives an unbelievable amount of hate, but she knows that if it were the other way around and she was a guy, they would praise her for being “the man”

installment of this au | read it for context!

ynuser tsitp behind the scenes!! 💌 sean and chris thought it was soooo funny to carry me at random times (thanks guys! very steven and conrad of you) 🤨🤨

tagged @/sean.kauf, @/chrisbriney_, @/thesummeriturnedpretty

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user1 anyone lwk think she’s a slut lol

➥ user2 no bae you’re so right cus why is she letting 2 different guys carry her when she’s literally dating tom

➥ user1 LMAOO real shes so ungrateful, if tom was my bf, i wouldn’t be around other guys

➥ user3 it’s literally?? for?? her?? work?? are you guys deluded, hating on successful women is crazy

➥ user 4 last time I checked, working does not = to whoring yourself with other guys

sean.kauf not our fault you’re easy to carry miss ella fisher

chrisbriney_ fave part of working on set is carrying u and hearing u scream

➥ user5 EVILLL

user6 the way she isn’t even replying to her cast mates are crazy, wake up! you’re not that famous

➥ user7 tbosas being #1 for movies says otherwise but ok!

tomblyth YN!!! My sweet, funny, and incredibly talented girl, congratulations for all you have accomplished. It’s been so much fun with you on the set of TBOSAS, and it’s been absolutely even more endearing to sit behind the scenes and watch you act for TSITP!! Ella Fisher is my favorite Fisher anyways :’)

tagged @/ynuser

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ynuser TOM!! I love you.

➥ user8 only 4 words? oh she hates him 😭

➥ user9 when you would die for tom blyth to post you but y/n avocot doesn’t gaf when he posts her

➥ user10 literally not true? i’m sure she just doesn’t wanna put everything online, we can all tell that she loves him

rachelzegler you guys are the cutest!

➥ user11 is yn holding you hostage??

sean.kauf always love having you on set man

➥ user12 yn’s bf vs yn’s side guy LOL

➥ user13 knock it off, i bet tom wouldn’t like his “fans” disrespecting his gf and her cast members

user14 she never posts him istg this is so one sided

user15 she’s lucky she’s pretty cause she can’t act or sing for the life of her

➥ user16 not even pretty LOLLL

ynuser since everyone thinks i’m so ungrateful, TOM!!! Thank you for always being there for me and comforting me when i’m sad. You’re my best friend and the best boyfriend I could ask for. I love you my love.

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user17 LMAOO yn called y’all out!

tomblyth i love you in every universe, the haters are LAMEEE!!

➥ user18 YOU TELL THEM TOM

VOGUE New Interview And Photo Shoot With New Star Y/N Avocot OUT NOW! The New Actress And Rising Music Star Shares Her Recent Favorite Song — “The Man” By Taylor Swift!

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user19 the man by taylor oml she’s going through it

user20 idk how anyone could hate her, she’s so sweet and gorgeous

user21 miserable ppl on the internet after hating on a girl for no reason other than that she’s close to her cast members

ynuser thank you for having me Vogue!

ynuser if i was a man, then’d i’d be the man!

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iloveyn PURRR YN I LOVE UUUU

tomblyth hell ya u would

sean.kauf queen i miss u, come back to film szn 2

➥ bellyconklinsgf WAIT SZN 2???

➥ sean.kauf oh shit..

➥ ynuser HAHA SEAN THE DIRECTOR AND JENNY HAN ARE GONBA KILL U

user22 so she replies to sean but not tom?? 🤡

➥ user23 LET IT GOOOOOO

user24 i love to see successful women not letting haters tear them down

user25 we love you yn!!!

rachelzegler ID BE THE MAAAAANNNN

[atyourmerci]

Vengeance (500 followers celebration!!)

The boat scene we deserved ;)

♡ ♡

Summary: Abby finds you drunk, hiding away on a boat. Will you leave your girlfriend and run off with your childhood love?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, dom!abby, sub!reader, hate sex, abby being possessive, cheating (tsk tsk don’t do this), fingering, slapping, slight overstimulation, dubcon since reader is drunk but consenting

A/N: so this is the overall winning poll for the celebration so I hope you all enjoy! I don’t think I’ve ever read boat scene for queer abby so I’m like lowkey scared if this is uncharted territory lmao. Also this like loosely?? Follows what happens in g2 but I just made it gay as fuck also unrealistic for the relationship dynamic but I! Don’t! Care! Okay bye!

♡ ♡

“Thought I’d find you here,” she looks disappointed, but knowingly. Of course she would find you here, where the fuck else would you have gone, home? There was no home.

“Ya’no he’ll kill you too for just coming to find me,” slurs out your mouth, you’d be drinking since dawn perhaps. Drinking every bit you have left, not like you’d have a rainy day in store for you come sunlight.

“I’ll take my chances…” she situates herself up on the bench with her forearms lazily cast over her thighs, “how much have you had to drink,” it’s not accusatory, more of a redundant question she knew the answer to before she’d ever taken off to find you.

You take another hefty swig straight from the dirty bottle, letting the lip knock against your teeth. “Fuck off,” you throw out at her, eyes cast on the doorway she had walked through, both dead men walking now.

“So you want to tell me what happened,” now she begins to pry, all the rumors she had heard, maybe they were true, but she thought she knew you better. Once she did, when she was yours, if you could even call it that. Perhaps unspoken puppy love, a trauma bond of sorts. Whatever it was, was over, not that you ever had the decency to tell her. You were with someone else now, whether it was right or not, it was your newfound reality.

“I’m not like you…” your gaze meets hers at last, the words trail off, she knew what she had heard was true. “I couldn’t fucking do it, she was pregnant, begged for me to spare her…the kid. You don’t understand what it’s like, my morals are fucked from those people. This isn’t us. This isn’t you.”

“You don’t think I’ve been put in fucked situations?”

“That’s my point abby, this is all fucked…” you throw your hands hazardously in the air that springs droplets of the honey liquor flying out. Your feet move on their own, bringing you into an upright position as you begin closing in on her, “we are all just chess pieces in their game, when will you understand that.”

She rises out of her seat to meet your stance, she was much stronger, much more intimidating than you could ever surmount to, but the honey liquid encouragement was working overtime. “So you’re just going to run off? you can’t escape this,” her words reek of venom now.

“Come with me,” it comes out as a plea, but confident in meaning. She lets out a scoff at your attempt, shaking her head at your scheme. “What you’re just going to leave her?” She didn’t need to give a name, a further explanation, you both knew the predicament well enough.

Would you leave her?

“Yes.”

“You’re a fucking ass you know that-“ she begins to walk past you but you take grip at her muscled bicep, you feel as it twitches under your grasp.

“Abby-“ you begin to plead. She gives you one last look of adoration before ripping you to pieces.

She begins backing you into the nearest wall, pushing her hands into your chest to get you to her desired location, “no- fuck you- you don’t get to do that anymore.” She continues to dig her palms into your chest, you try to pull them off of you to no avail, on any day you’d be no match for her strength, but today the liquor only worsened your case.

“You know you’re different,” you bite at her, deepening your gaze, letting your eyes speak louder than your words could. She takes a moment to stare at you, truly wondering if you’d even meant it, if she knew the truth. “Don’t fucking do that-“ her palm grips at your throat now with no real threat as her other palm continues to dig into the flesh of your chest.

“You know it’s true abby.”

“God I fucking hate you,” she says through gritted teeth. She can barely get out the sentence before clashing her mouth against yours. She ravenous, eating you alive, digging her fingers into your soft flesh. She wasn’t allowed to have you for so long, but now, for however long she could, she’d reclaim what was hers.

Shes sloppy, mouth messy against yours as you both fight for dominance, dueling for the right over one another. While her teeth begin to bite down at your lip she brings her wavering fingers to the button of your jeans, attempting to break you out of any confines that are in her way. She rips them down off of you with no generosity as she whips you around so that your chest and palms are pressed into the wall.

You can’t see her, she wanted it that way. This was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. In the end you were always hers anyways.

You’re left panting into the cold wood of the walls, awaiting her punishment. Her large hands grip into your bare hips, jutting them out so they meet her completely clothed pelvis.

“Always were so pliable huh?” She taunts into the shell of your ear, making you shutter under her breath.

“I hate that you made it happen like this,” her hand swings down and lays a stinging smack into the meat of your ass, you breathe out hoarsely. “I hate what you do to me,” another smack is laid into you, this time eliciting a whine to escape your throat. “I fucking hate what you make me feel,” this time the infliction came harder than the rest, the slick now beginning to run down your thighs, aching so badly to be touched.

“Abby- please.”

Her knee comes between your own, opening them up wider for her, your slick stringing a sticky web between your thighs. Her hand snakes around your waist, without warning leaving a gentle smack onto the mound. You let out an eager whimper at the decadent pain. She rubs the wound quickly after, feeling your built up arousal in her fingertips that elicits a smug groan in your ear.

She continues to rub down your slick slit with no true target in mind, coaxing as many pathetic moans she could get at her indirection for your pleasure.

“Does she touch you like this?”

You don’t respond, brain too fuzzy to play into her antics. Another smack is laid into the soft pink flesh, hitting your swollen clit perfectly.

“Do you let her?” She says with more aggression this time, rubbing harsh circles around your clit now. You can’t help the guttural moan that comes out, “y-YES.” You should lie, but you didn’t want to know what she would do if she found out you were lying.

Her pace doesn’t falter, continuously circling the swollen bud, “does she feel better.” You pause for a moment, knowing the answer but forced with the moral dilemma of speaking it- “no.”

“I know.” Her fingers come off your clit causing a pathetic whine out of you. Her hand comes to the back of you now, her fingertips prodding at your fluttering hole, teasing the impending doom of her cruelty.

“Deep breath,” she commands of you. You pace your rapid breathing to suck in deep- when she hears the air hit your lungs she plunges her pointer and middle finger deep inside. There’s no grace, no sympathy as she beats into you. Her fingers already coated in your slick haphazardly plunging into your sweet spot.

Your screams don’t stop now, so completely full from her fingers, lust coating your eyes over white. You bite into her forearm placed next to your head to stabilize herself, teeth cutting close to the bulging veins. Her own breath beginning to falter, you can hear the faint moans trailing out her own mouth, almost completely covered by your moans.

Your walls start closing in on her fingers, she rips her free hand out of the tight enclosure of your mouth, in seconds working tight circles on your enlarged clit. The sensation of both stimulants drawing you to the edge of your climax “abby- I’m going t-“

“Tell me you don’t love her.”

She wasn’t going to make this easy, of course she wasn’t. But you’d do anything for release now. “I don’t- I- don’t!”

Her fingertips on your clit stop circling as she pinches onto it, and thrusts even harder into your hole, “say her fucking name.”

You’re screaming out, breathless, mind numb, you’d kill to finish at this point.

“I don’t love Ellie! Please!”

“Good girl now cum on my fingers,” and like that she continued, fucking into you relentlessly, fingers barely stable coated in slick at your clit.

Your ears began to ring as your orgasm took full autonomy over you, sending waves of pleasure down your pathetic structure and out through your needy throat. All you could muster out was incoherent spells of curses and the name of your capture. She took everything she could from you, never letting up till you begin to shake from the overstimulation.

Her fingers trailed from your clit to your hip, she dug her nails into the flesh there. The fingers wedged in your hole remained, gently thrusting when she felt it pulse, eliciting strained whimpers from you.

“I hate that I love you,” as she pulled her fingers out of you, leaving you there limp.

What happened before this?

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Walk The Line.

Carmen gets a little jealous. You don’t mind in the slightest.

roommate!carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. semi public antics.

word count - 2.5k

authors note - ask and you shall receive 😌. i’ll never get enough of roommate!carmy. i’ll be writing him forever. <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

He’s a little out of his depth, admittedly.

The invitation had been slid under your front door, pretty handwriting on creamy paper.

“A… party?”

“Does it say party, Carmen?”

“No, it says ‘mixer.’ What the fuck is a mixer?”

You laugh, scrubbing a mark off the final dish in the sink before placing it down in the drying rack. Carmy is sat on the counter across the kitchen, reading the invite over and over.

“Seriously, babe. The fuck does mixer mean? So it isn’t a party?”

You dry your hands and make your way over to take the paper from him, eyes scanning over it carefully.

“A mixer is like… a get to know each other thing. It’s sort of like a party, I guess, but not really. Just a casual gathering type situation.”

“Sounds fucking stupid,” he grumbles.

You smack his shoulder, rolling your eyes.

“Lighten up, asshole. It could be fun.”

“Fun? You think having a mixer with all the neighbours from our building on a Friday night is gonna be fun?”

“I think it sounds like an incredible time. My ideal evening. I can’t wait.”

You can’t even pretend not to laugh, grabbing onto his thigh to keep yourself balanced. He puts his hands on your shoulders, trying to look serious, but the grin fighting its way up his cheeks gives him away.

“You really wanna go?”

“Carm, if it’s terrible, we’ll just lie and say we’ve got plans elsewhere. We’ll run away screaming if we need to. It might be good for us though, to meet our neighbours properly. It’s good to get to know them, just in case we ever need anything.”

“What, like a cup of sugar? What is this, the thirties?”

“When you’re testing recipes and fucking them all up, you might be grateful to be able to nip next door and borrow a cup of sugar.”

“I don’t fuck recipes up.”

“No? Then why were you yelling at a lavender and oat crème brûlée last week?”

“It was mocking me,” he grumbles under his breath, hanging his head.

You can’t help but laugh, moving closer to stand between his manspread legs where he still sits on the counter. You brush a piece of hair back from his forehead, tracing your index finger in a featherlight touch down the bridge of his nose. He looks down at you, eyes glued to yours.

“I know for a fact you don’t have anything else planned on Friday,” you whisper.

He rolls his eyes but leans into your touch anyway, where you’re still tracing along the features of his face.

“You promise we can leave if it’s terrible?”

“We literally live in this building. We can just walk up the stairs and be home.”

He huffs, but relents.

“Fine. But please don’t leave me alone with all of the middle aged moms. They love me.”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” you giggle, leaning in to rest your head on his chest. His arms encircle you, pulling you as close as he can.

Is this scene too intimate for roommates? Without a doubt.

Do either of you care? Not in the slightest.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s not as bad as he thought it’d be.

The middle aged moms have pulled through, actually. The lobby is decorated with fairy lights, tables covered in alcohol set up against the walls. Everyone has a drink in their hand, chatting and mingling amongst themselves.

You and Carmen walk downstairs a little late. He’d finished his shift and run home to shower and make himself look semi presentable before facing the neighbours.

“We need a signal,” he says suddenly, right as you reach the staircase. “In case of emergencies.”

“Pat your head.”

“Real subtle.”

“It doesn’t need to be subtle, it needs to be noticeable for me.”

“Fine,” he mutters, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Don’t leave me alone with that Erica lady. She scares me.”

“Yes sir,” you mock salute, slipping your hand into his momentarily. “You’ll be fine, Carmen. Like I said, we’ll just leave if it’s awful.”

It’s not awful, actually. It’s quite fun.

It’s nice to get to know the people in your building, seeing as you have lived there for a couple of years now. Carmen has been there even longer.

“Excuse me, sweetheart?”

You turn around to be met with an old lady, leaning carefully on her cane.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m Dorothy. I live in 2B, and I just had to tell you that you look beautiful in your dress.”

You smile, pulling out a chair for her, which she takes gladly. You sit down next to her, spotting Carmy chatting with a couple of guys across the room.

“Thank you so much!”

You introduce yourself, telling her your name and apartment number.

“Ah yes,” she hums in recognition. “You live with your boyfriend who has all the tattoos.”

You almost choke on your drink.

“We’re just roommates,” you say eventually. “But yes, that’s him.”

“Oh, my apologies. I just assumed.”

You’re curious, suddenly. You know you shouldn’t be, but you can’t help yourself.

“Can I ask? Why you… thought we were dating?”

She chuckles knowingly before placing a hand on your knee.

“Honey, he’s got a hand on you at all times. He looks at you like you are the sun. Every time you walk past my window, you’re both laughing. Sounds like love to me.”

Her bluntness is refreshing, if not a little intimidating. No one will say it how it is more than a little old lady who can’t mind her business.

“We, uh… we’re close. He’s a good roommate. A good friend.”

She doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, chuckling as she pats your leg.

“Uh huh. That’s what I said about my husband - real good friend. We’ve been married 58 years.”

You smile, shaking your head.

“Is he here with you?”

“He’s upstairs. He can’t really leave the apartment, these days.”

“You know, if you ever need anything, me and Carmen would be happy to help.”

“No, sweetheart, I couldn’t ask you to-”

“-you’re not asking me, I’m offering. Carmen is an award winning chef at one of the best restaurants in this city. He’d be more than happy to make a meal or two when needed. And I can pick you guys up stuff from the grocery store when I go, too.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, grabbing your hand in her frail one. “You’re good kids, you two.”

You grin at her, squeezing her hand gently.

“You know where I am, if you need me.”

She nods, standing up carefully.

“I’m going to go see if that handsome Jeremy will come and fix my shower for me. He did promise.”

You laugh, watching as she makes a beeline for one of the dads stood in a huddle. You catch eyes with Carmy, who’s still chatting away with a few of the younger guys. He winks at you, all cheeky and carefree, and you can’t help but flush, heat prickling across your skin. You shake your head, smiling, winking back.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your bicep. You spin sideways, to be met with the sight of a very handsome man. Dark hair, big brown eyes, tall - he looks slightly like a movie star you can’t quite remember the name of. You crane your neck to meet his gaze, smiling softly.

He holds out his hand to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m Daniel.”

You tell him your name, trying to ignore how his hand engulfs yours.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Have you lived here long? Think I’d remember a face like yours.”

Now he shakes his head.

“A month, maybe. I live in 6C. I’ve been working a lot, so haven’t had any time for introductions.”

“Ah. What do you do?”

“I’m a model.”

Of course he is.

“What do you do?”

As you start to tell him, his eyes fix on yours, not leaving for a moment. He listens carefully, both of you blocking out the noise and focusing on each other.

Turns out, Daniel is good company. The two of you find a spot in the corner, away from the noise and the wine drunk moms. The two of you laugh, joke, and talk about Chicago as if you’re old friends. Time slips away from you easily, conversation flowing with minimal effort.

“I don’t want to leave, trust me… but I have a super early call time tomorrow. If you wanted, we could grab a drink sometime, somewhere that’s not our buildings lobby?”

You laugh, nodding.

“Yeah, I’d like that. It was nice to meet you, Daniel.”

“You too. Here,” he says, handing you a small business card with his number on, “text me.”

“I might do just that,” you tease as he walks away grinning.

You’re on your way to grab another drink when a hand slinks around your wrist.

“Hi, Carmen.”

You don’t even have to turn to know who it is, recognising the feeling of his calloused hand against your soft skin.

“Where’s your friend gone?” he all but grumbles.

“He’s gone home, got to be up early for work.”

“Haven’t we all.”

“Ooo, okay Mr Attitude. You’re not having a good night? You didn’t give me the signal.”

“Would you have noticed if I did?”

You spin around to face him properly now.

“Yes, I would have. Because we’re in a tiny fucking lobby and not a football stadium, Carmen.”

He huffs.

“Didn’t think you’d notice if the building fell down, the way you were lost in his eyes.”

“I know it’s a foreign concept to you, Carmen, but eye contact is actually a very important part of conversation. Try it some time.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, grip on your wrist tightening.

“Come on,” he mumbles. “Wanna show you something.”

He practically drags you up the stairs, and up some more, and up some more. Eventually, you reach the roof.

The sun is just setting, casting the city in a warm orange glow. Everything is so calm, so peaceful, so serene. It’s beautiful.

You’re admiring the view when suddenly your feet are no longer on the ground. Carmy has you over his shoulder, carrying you across the rooftop to the brick wall.

“The fuck are you doing?” you cry as he finally puts you down.

He smashes his lips to yours, choosing to shut you up rather than answer you. You kiss back eagerly, confused but not disappointed at the turn in events. Slipping your hands into his hair, you tug him into you, groaning as he grabs at your ass.

“Carmen,” you breathe, “why don’t we just go home?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he mumbles against your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. When he bites down, you smack his shoulder.

“No marks, asshole. The fuck is up with you?”

Again, he says nothing, just slips his hand under your dress to run his fingers over your underwear. You part your legs instantly, leaning back into the wall to steady yourself.

“Carmen, someone’s gonna see if they come up here.”

“Well then you better come quickly.”

He slips your panties to the side, running his fingers through your wet heat. You keen, knees buckling already.

“Oh baby,” he chuckles. “This all for Daniel?”

It all clicks for you suddenly.

“That’s what-” you choke as he slides a finger into you. “That’s what - fuck - has you so riled up? Daniel?”

“Don’t say his name when I’m knuckle deep, baby. It’s rude.”

You attempt to scoff, but it comes out as more of a moan when he presses his thumb to your clit, circling carefully.

“Am I not giving you what you need, honey? Is that it? Greedy girl just wants more, so she looks elsewhere to get it?”

“No,” you justify quickly. “You know that’s not true.”

“If you can still form sentences, I’m clearly doing something wrong.”

He slips a second finger in, curling them exactly the way he knows you like.

“Carm.”

“He couldn’t make you feel like this, babe. You and I both know it.”

You’re nodding, fingers gripping his shirt tightly as if you’re scared he’s going to walk away. His lips press into your neck again, nipping along the expanse of skin.

“Say it.”

“Hmm?”

You’re dazed, mind hazy with Carmen Carmen Carmen Carmen Carmen.

“Say. It.”

He punctuates his words by curling his fingers harshly. You’re seeing stars, legs giving out.

“He - he… fuck, Carmen, please.”

“So close, honey. Try again.”

You know he won’t relent. He never does, when he’s in a mood. You have to just give him what he wants.

“He couldn’t make me feel this good, Carm. It’s all for you, only you.”

“Good girl. Knew you could do it.”

With that, he speeds up his fingers, his other arm snaking around your back to keep you standing upright.

“Give it to me, baby. Know you want to. That’s it, atta girl.”

“Come for me, there we go. Can feel you.”

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl. So pretty like this.”

You fall over the edge, clenching like a vice around his fingers as you throw your head back. There’s a sheen of sweat coating your skin, chest heaving with every breath you take. Your vision goes white for a second, gripping onto Carmy’s biceps for dear life.

You rest your forehead against his chest, panting as you try to recover.

“Jealous Carmen is kinda mean,” you mumble into his shirt.

He laughs, wrapping his arms around you.

“You know I didn’t mean it, right? You’re free to date whoever you want. You could do a lot worse than Daniel the hot supermodel.”

You pull back, looking at him carefully.

“I know. I just… I don’t know if I’ll go. Seems a bit unfair to date him when my mind is on someone else.”

You both know exactly who you mean. You both also know that tipsy on a rooftop is not the place to have that conversation.

“Did you ever master the lavender crème brûlée?”

He chuckles, not expecting the sudden change in subject.

“Yes, I did.”

“Do we have any left?”

“We don’t. But I did make chocolate soufflé this afternoon, if that’ll satisfy your sweet tooth.”

“Fuck, yes,” you grin, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.

“I’ll make you a crème brûlée in work tomorrow. Promise.”

“Will you make two extras?”

He quirks a brow in confusion, so you continue.

“We’ve got two elderly neighbours. They’re not very mobile, so I said we’d drop stuff off every now and again.”

He smiles at you, all soft and melted.

“Of course. That heart of yours is too big for your chest, you know.”

You take hold of his hand, placing it there.

“Only sometimes.”

He kisses you again before throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“Let’s go eat chocolate soufflés and drink the rest of that wine you bought.”

“You’re a mind reader,” you laugh, making your way downstairs.

Maybe he is, you think later. You don’t mind in the slightest.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

i am living for some angst 👀

especially some satoru angst

Hold me. Console me.

Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, depictions of poor mental health, depiction of a panic attack, Satoru’s a little bit of an asshole here.

An: Same… same. Before you read this and blame me for how fucked this story is, know that one of my moots (cough. cough. @theuniversesnepobaby cough.) was sending me sad angsty edits last night. this is partially her fault too.

Satoru was normally a very doting and attentive boyfriend. He’s the type to beg to be in your presence. He’d kill to feel your touch against his skin. “Casual” isn’t a word in his dictionary. When he loves, he loves loudly.

So when he got quiet with his love, your body started to fill with a sense of dread. Cold and bitter feelings crawled their way between you two. No longer did you two laugh until you were out of breath and red in the face. No longer did he surprise you with gifts or try to scare you when you’re unaware of his presence.

His strong arms hadn’t wrapped around you in so long. The ruthless chill of being utterly alone plagued you, while Satoru seemed fine. He was even taking on extra hours at his job. So many nights he didn’t come back until nearly midnight.

How could he not see what’s happening? How could he not notice how much you’re drowning?

“I’m going out.” His words are flat with no care put into them. He’s telling you because he feels as if it’s obligatory — not because he doesn’t want you to worry.

“Where are you going?” So many times have you tried to reach out. It was as if you two were passing back and forth a candle of your relationship. You had ignited the flame and passed it to him so many times, but each time, he snuffs it out without a second thought — leaving you in the dark. Maybe one more time, you metaphorically light the candle in hopes to kinder your relationship…

“Out.” Flame snuffed.

“Oh.” He’s done it so many times, but it hurts just as bad each and every time. Being single wouldn’t hurt this bad. At least you wouldn’t be getting rejected by your own boyfriend on a daily basis.

“See ya.” He doesn’t even give you a second glance as he grabs his coat and saunters out the door. Another night spent alone. Another night filled with a barely eaten tv dinner and a shitty reality tv show droning on in the back while you doomscroll on your phone.

You two use to watch these reality tv shows together and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Satoru would hold you so close to his body, and he’d whine anytime you tried to adjust. When was the last time that happened? You never suspected the end of affectionate gestures would come while you two were still in a relationship.

You check Geto’s story on instagram. Sometimes, you’d catch small glimpses of Satoru in the back. Sometimes they were at a cafe or an arcade together. Tonight, it seemed as though Suguru was at very packed party scene.

You hold your breath in your lungs as you rewatch the story again and again — searching for a white head of hair. Your boyfriend makes it too easy for you to stalk him. Though, it feels like a fitting punishment for the turmoil he’s put you through.

No Satoru in sight. You sigh quietly before you check Shoko’s story. It was less likely that Satoru would be captured there, but he has made his appearances in the past. It seemed like tonight Shoko wasn’t present at whatever rager Suguru was at. She posted a picture of her beautifully written notes. She must be studying.

Nanami never posts on his story, so you don’t even bother going to check his barren profile. Haibara never features Satoru in his stories, so you skip his as well. This leaves you with one last option.

Your hand is a little shaky as you click on Utahime’s story. You don’t know when it started, but your cheeks and ears were wet with tears already. Your body had some sort of sick sixth sense for knowing when something was wrong, and something was terribly wrong.

You had always had your little insecurities about Utahime ever since Satoru indulged that he had a small crush on her back in high school. Of course, these were just fleeting thoughts. Up until recently, you knew with full confidence that you had Satoru’s heart. He wouldn’t stray from you. 

You didn’t have that same confidence anymore. Satoru had withdrawn, and it seemed as if he took his heart with him.

You hate being right. You wish you were wrong sometimes. On Utahime’s story, she’s seemingly at the same party that Suguru’s at. Her story is littered with pictures of her with other girls that you don’t recognize, videos of the loud music and people dancing in a crowd, and there’s just one last video on her story that makes your heart sink to your stomach.

Your boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes illuminated by the flash from her back camera. He smiled and laughed as Utahime filmed him. His face was littered with wine red lipstick kiss marks. Utahime had a grab on your boyfriend’s collar, obviously trying to hold his drunk self still while she filmed his crime.

It felt like a punch straight to your gut. You couldn’t even think straight, but you knew you needed to keep this evidence in case she deletes it. Your fingers shakily screenshot the story, logging the picture of Satoru covered in someone else’s affections.

He was out there feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness, receiving kisses from another, dancing to his heart’s content, and enjoying his life while you were sat at home weeping over the loss of your boyfriend.

The tv dinner, now cold and stale, was thrown into the garbage, and whatever little bit you had eaten came up soon after.

The picture was seared into your memory. You didn’t have to look at it to know every minor detail. The way his white hair was messy. His glasses were pulled down ever so slightly to reveal his devastatingly beautiful eyes. His coat hung on his shoulders while his muscular neck peaked out from his shirt.

Every time you closed your eyes, you thought about how many kiss marks he had on his face. How many times had he allowed himself to cheat on you? Was this the first time? Had it gone farther than this? Was it Utahime or some other girl?

You cried yourself to sleep, knowing that Satoru wouldn’t even come home to try to console you.

The next morning, you were disappointed as soon as you woke up. You wished sleep would’ve taken your body and whisked it away far, far from here. Instead, you’re still in your bed, sleeping on a pillow that was stained from your mascara.

If you could, you’d rot in bed all day and try to forget the godforsaken video you saw last night, but you had to make a trip to the restroom.

Forcing your weak body out of bed, you let out a small pained moan. You haven’t eaten a proper meal in so long, and you threw up whatever you did eat yesterday. Your appetite was completely diminished. Satoru use to say that food tasted better when it was shared. He always shared his meals with you, unbeknownst to him, helping you maintain a good schedule for eating.

Your apartment was too bright when you stepped out of the bathroom, and it smelled too much of food. The sizzling on the stove finally caught your drowsy attention.

The man of the hour, Satoru, was at your stove, shirtless and cooking something. Sleeping pants casually hung around his hips, and the dimples at the bottom of his back were so graciously being shown off. Did someone else know about those two little dimples? Even though back was facing you, you could already picture his face, littered with those stupid kiss marks.

Making a b-line for the bathroom, Satoru doesn’t even get the chance to greet you. Your hands were cold and clammy as your body uncontrollably heaved over the toilet. You had nothing left to give, but Satoru was taking everything from you.

Hot tears burned your cheeks as they slipped down your face. You didn’t want to do this. You wished you would’ve never saw that fucking video last night. You should’ve given yourself plausible deniability, but now, you had to face the music.

You slowly returned back to the kitchen after trying your best to clean yourself up. Your eyes focused on Satoru. He was finishing up cooking bacon when his eyes finally met yours and drove daggers through your heart.

“Good morning, sweetness. Something wrong?” He asks with so much care in his tone. You fantasize about hitting him — just once. How dare he suddenly care when you have to check out?

You don’t even know what to say to him. Like, yes, something is clearly fucking wrong, Satoru. I’m dating an unfaithful jerk.

“What are you doing here?” You ask bluntly, wiping your face of the remnants of tears and makeup that had stained your skin. He shouldn’t be allowed to see how badly he hurt you.

“I… live here?” He responds in a questioning tone, furrowing his white eyebrows as he studies your face. “Are you okay?” If only he had asked that question weeks ago, then maybe you two wouldn’t be in this mess today.

“No, and you don’t live here anymore.” You snap, causing him to slightly flinch back — not out of fear but out of surprise. He’s never seen you like this before.

“What do you mean, sweetness? I-“

“Cut the shit, Gojo. Don’t act stupid with me. It’s unbecoming.” You interrupt him completely, not wanting to hear him try to act innocent when you have all the proof you need on your phone.

“Woah. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I don’t really appreciate the insult and the use of my government name. I genuinely have no idea of what you’re talking about.” His voice is firm, laced with sternness, so you can see that he’s not playing around with you.

You take a deep breath until your lungs burn. You want to scream at him, chase him out of the house, and light his shit on fire. Instead, you silently go to retrieve your phone. Pulling up the picture of him with kiss marks all over his face, you shove the screen in his direction.

Gojo takes a few seconds to take in the photo, and he lets his shoulders drop. “This is what you’re mad over, sweetness?” He asks in a much more calm tone, looking up at you with almost puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap while swiping your phone back from his hands. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, but we’re fucking done.”

“You seriously believe that I would cheat on you?” He asks in that stupid arrogant tone of his, completely ignoring your blunt rejection.

“Why else would your high school crush post a picture of you with kiss marks all over your face!? You look so fucking dumb and in love. I fucking-“ Your throat chokes up as if your body was trying to stop you from saying something you didn’t mean. The words “I fucking hate you” die right there on your lips. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you place your palms over your eyes to hide yourself from his impregnable gaze.

“This, again?” He asks in a frustrated tone before letting out an exasperated sigh, He turns the stove off - abandoning his food before walking over to you. He bends his knees a bit to get on your level. “Look at me.” He demands before his hands go to pull yours away from your eyes.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You cry out, jerking back away from his presence. Your breath speeds up. The oxygen isn’t having enough time to enter your bloodstream. Your body is vibrating, forcing the air quickly from your lungs. Everything is moving so fast and why the fuck is he so close to you-? He’s suffocating. Fuck, catch your breath. Whyhim?Whyyou?Why?Why?Whatdidyoudotodeservethis???

A gush of air is blown harshly onto your face, and you can feel the bitter cold feeling of something touching your skin. Your eyes see Satoru’s hand holding an ice cube, guiding it along your warm skin on your arm. Your body is so hot that it’s melting faster than he’s moving it.

“Breathe. Match my movements.” Satoru guides in a calm yet steady tone. Your eyes find the way his chest is slowly rising and falling with each breath. You want to tell him to go play in traffic. You don’t need him to ground you. You don’t need him to do anything for you. You don’t need him.

Still, your body matches his slowly. Your breath becomes more stable, and you can feel your heart starting to settle into a more natural rhythm. Your bleary eyes meet his empathetic ones. It’s been so long since your last panic attack, but he remembers just how to calm you down.

It only makes it all hurt so much worse.

“It’s almost over. You’re doing a good job.” He takes his chances at encouraging you. It feels so sickening, more tears flee your eyes. Where had your boyfriend been, and why is he only just now back after he did the unthinkable?

“Sing with me.” It’s an odd request, but it’s something he found that grounds you better than most grounding techniques. Saying repeatable phrases in melodic tone is comforting for your mind.

“No.”

“Come on… Just one time. Your favorite.” He tries again. Metaphorically, lighting the candle and passing it back to you.

You shake your head in response. Flame snuffed. How can you sing with him after what he did to you?

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe” He starts with such a soft angelic voice. You fold in on yourself unable to keep the sob from escaping your throat. What method of torture is this??

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” He continues, lighting that same candle. It’s so small, barely there anymore from how many times you two have tried to relight it.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.” The ice cube has completely melted, and his hand is resting on your arm. He slowly guides you to his chest, and you indulge in his warm embrace for just one last time.

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe.” His chin rests on top of your head. You’ve always fit so well in his arms. He’d always tell you that whatever higher power is out there made you specifically with him in mind.

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” His skin is so warm against yours, and your tears are sticking to your chest.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.” You finally indulge him, softly joining in on his singing. His body slowly starts to guide you two into a soft subtle sway.

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe.” It’s not that easy. This fucking hurts so bad. Why would your soulmate do this to you?

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” You feel so pathetic — seeking out comfort from the one who hurt you this bad. If your friend could see you right now, she’d slap some sense into you.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.”

You’re sniffling softly into his chest, and his hand carefully pets your hair. “Those kiss marks weren’t from Utahime.” He explains in a soft tone. “We were filming a TikTok. The punchline of the joke was that Suguru and Haibara were the ones who kissed all over my face.”

You look up at him with an unsure look on your face, not understanding what he meant. Satoru carefully picks your phone up, and he clicks on Haibara’s Instagram story from last night.

Sure enough, Haibara posted a TikTok of him, Suguru, Satoru, and Utahime. The camera points at Satoru, showing the kiss marks on his face, and the sound plays. “Bro, what happened to your face? Did you do that?” The camera then pans to Utahime to which she mouths the words, “I did not do that.” The camera then pans to Haibara with smeared wine red lipstick on his lips who says, “Then, who did?” The camera is then panned towards Suguru. He also had wine red lipstick smeared on his lips. “Yeah, who?” The two boys start laughing along with Satoru, and the video cuts.

It only comforts your weary heart slightly.

“It was just a stupid TikTok… I should’ve consulted you or warned you… done anything to respect you.”

“This doesn’t take back how awfully cold you’ve been over the last few weeks…” You sniffle out quietly, and Satoru nods his head knowingly.

“I know, sweetness.. I know. I’ve been terrible.” His arms squeeze you a bit tighter — frightened that he was so close to loosing you, still scared of losing you.

“That’s not an apology… or even a reason.” You try to squirm from his grip, but Satoru holds you tighter.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetness.” He breathes out a shaky breath, and you realize the shakiness in his voice. Glancing up at him, you feel yourself clam up with the sight of tears in his eyes. Christ, his eyes are somehow even more blue when he cries. “Shit got crazy at work then-“

“You still had time to party it up with your friends. You left me without even telling me you love me.” You finally break away from his grasp. The cheating accusation was only the surface of the main problem.

“You know I love you…” His voice is small, and he wipes his eyes of the tears that are threatening to spill.

“Do I know that?”

“Don’t… don’t say that.. I love you more than life itself.” His shaky hands go to reach for you again, but you move back away from him.

“You’re only doing this because I’m leaving you. If I hadn’t mentioned it, you’d probably still be half assed ignoring me.” You stare at him, and your eyes start to water for the nth time today.

“That’s not…” Satoru bites his tongue, and he runs a hand through his messy white hair. “I came home this morning… saw the uneaten tv dinner in the trash… Your reality tv show was still playing in the background, and I saw how you fell asleep with your makeup messed up… I realized then how much I neglected you… I planned a full day for us to enjoy each other’s presence… Please, don’t leave me for this. I can fix this.”

“How did it feel to look at me everyday when I tried so fucking hard to reach you?”

“It killed me.” He breathes out, and he tries to reach for you again. “Please, I missed you so much. Work was just so fucking much, and I don’t know why I took that out on you.”

You stare at him, and you shake your head silently. “You should go, Gojo..” Your voice cracked as it physically pained you to tell him to leave. Your body craves him more than anything else in the world right now.

“No, please, princess. Don’t do this… I can fix this. I’ll do whatever it takes… just don’t leave me…” Satoru’s on his knees, literally begging you not to leave him. Tears are falling down his cheeks as he bows his head to you.

It’s humiliating, but he’s so humiliatingly in love with you. He’s so dead serious. He’d do anything for you to stay with him.

“Toru..”

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I-I don’t know why I did it. I just pulled away from you, and I don’t know how it happened. You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened t-to me. Please. I can’t function without you.”

You stare at your boyfriend with concern as his head literally touches the floor beneath him. You don’t even know what to say to him. The thought of leaving him hurts so fucking bad. It steals the breath from your lungs.

“Please don’t leave me… puh…. please stay with me.” He’s groveling at your feet, unable to stop the tears that escape his eyes. The thought of living in a world where you aren’t his girlfriend… he wouldn’t. He’d be a shell of who he once was. He’s nothing without you.

You slowly sit on the floor in front of him, and your hands stroke his soft hair gently. Satoru’s breath slows as he finally gets a grip on his emotions. He realizes just how pathetic he looks. He slowly leans up, and he looks at you. Both of you looked like complete messes, and it was all his fault.

“I don’t deserve you,” He murmurs quietly. “but please, I can make this better… I love you so much, sweetness… I wouldn’t dream of ever cheating on you.”

“I don’t forgive you.” Your voice is barely a whisper. The metaphorical flame is so small and shaky, but if you two both shield it from the wind, it’ll be able to grow once more. “You have a lot to prove me, Toru.”

“I’ll spend every waking minute of my life fixing this. I promise you, sweets.”

and he did. Satoru went back to loving you loudly. He didn’t merely shield the flame from being blown out, he fanned it himself so it grew in intensity. He was back to doting on you constantly, and he did frequent check-ins to make sure you weren’t feeling neglected. He took frequent vacations from work with you. He usually took you two out on holidays to wherever your heart desired, but sometimes you two would use his vacation time to just lounge around the house and enjoy each other’s presence.

Your confidence slowly returned to you over time. It wasn’t easy by any means. It took many nights of Satoru’s consistent reassurance and overwhelming love and support for you to slowly start feeling comfortable in your relationship with him.

He put in the work, nourished your flame, and he never made you feel guilty for having a second thought because when he loves, he loves deeply. Casual is not his strong suit.

[usedpidemo]

Diplopia (Itzy Chaeryeong)

You don’t recognize these roads anymore. 

Uncertainty continues to cloud your mind as you closely follow the car in front. Most days, it’s the typical van housing the stars—down to the model, the wheels, the black paint job. In your time following them, the vehicle never changed, to the point where you have the plate number on speed dial.

Tonight is different. Instead of the usual activities, be it a fansign, festival or radio program, you’re following her home.

—————

The moment you step forward to have your album signed, the four girls’ eyes immediately light up. 

It isn’t the usual fan excitement idols have to put on in public. Instead, an excited energy coming from a place of recognizing something familiar—someone that they’re close with. 

Except you’re neither family nor friend. By all accounts, you’re just another fan completely indistinguishable from the rest. 

Even as they’re preoccupied with catering to the others’ requests, they’re exchanging glances, whispers among one another. 

You take a seat in front of Yeji, the first in line, curious.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?”

She brushes it off nonchalantly, only casually smiling, a professional in masking her facade. “Not much. Just happy to see you,” she says, before adding her signature on the page and sending you off.

Same question, same result when it comes to Lia. You could have sworn they were all eyeing you intently moments ago. 

Even the charismatic Yuna is playing coy with you.

To be fair on their end, this is the fourth time this promotional cycle that you’re doing this song and dance. And there’s some within that crowd who are basically seeing them every other day. You’re not the most egregious fan in that audience.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?” you ask Ryujin, confused by her humorous expression, a stark contrast. The others didn’t budge in the slightest when you tried questioning them, only telling you the same thing: that your presence makes them happy.

Fortunately, Ryujin is in the business of self-sabotage today.

“Ask Chaery—ow!” is her reply before getting cut off by a swift elbow to the rib from her seatmate, Yuna. She starts laughing along too. 

“Christ—will you shut up? You’re gonna ruin the surprise! Wait—ah shit.” 

Yuna realizes the mistake she’s made, and she can only grin and blush in embarrassment, falling face down on the table. To the untrained eye, it’s an amusing scene. None of the audience, not even the ones beside you understand what the commotion is about other than typical member to member playfulness and tomfoolery.

Finally, you come face to face with Chaeryeong, unbothered relative to the others. Her eyes light up upon recognizing you once again.

“Ryu can’t help herself, huh,” Chaeryeong remarks teasingly, her brows crinkling in playful annoyance at her senior as you slide forward the album. Shifting her quiet, unassuming frown into a subtle grin, she adds her respective signature, slipping a thin sticky note beneath the signed page. “Secret’s out. Check it once the fansign’s done. I’ll be waiting.”

Curiosity immediately gets the better of you as you try flipping the page, only to be stopped by Chaeryeong’s slap of your hand. 

Well aware of the cameras and her audience, she maintains character while whispering a warning to you, a secret only shared between two close acquaintances: “After the fansign, dum dum. Don’t make me regret this. The managers don’t know.”

“Can you at least give me a hint?” you ask, your nosiness growing bigger by the second. 

She leans forward, her eyes glinting with anticipation. Noticing the camera hanging from your neck, she points her finger forward, saying, “Make sure you hold on to that camera for me, will you?”

The managers and staff lead you back into the audience. Her eyes don’t linger as you’re dragged away, focusing on the next fan in line, acting like this conversation never happened.

—————

For the most part, the rest of the fansign proceeds as usual, with you taking your usual pictures of the members—especially Chaeryeong. Most of your gallery is dedicated to her. Apart from a few fleeting moments of shared eye contact with your camera, she pays no attention to you, posing primarily for everyone else. 

Finally, the members bid farewell and leave to the back. As you and the other fans are guided out of the auditorium, you open the newly signed album, peeling the sticky note wedged on the photobook.Two important instructions are written in cursive, strictly meant to be read by you and only you alone:

> Look out for a gray four door once the vans drive by. Follow me

> DON’T TELL ANYONE OR BRING ANYONE ELSE

Heading outside, you and the crowd watch several black vans driving off, presumably containing the members. Being that it’s already nightfall and with the cars having heavily tinted windows, no one can call their attention aimlessly trying to wave them goodbye.

For a good minute or two, you thought you were being played. As the crowd disperses, another vehicle stops at the red light, perfectly fitting the description given on the note. It passes by completely unnoticed and undetected—except by you. 

You anticipate the car to drive away too, and it does—until it pulls over to the side in the distance, far enough to be overlooked by everyone else.

And then you remember something else from that note, a third instruction:

> P.S. Only five minutes or else I’m leaving without you

Thankfully, you’ve parked your own car right in front of the theater, a walk across the street away. Getting out proves to take longer as several other vehicles are trying to leave at the same time as you. You’ve never been more tempted to blast that horn; this is more stressful than the usual late afternoon traffic jam. There’s a greater sense of urgency. Higher, more personal stakes. Every second wasted waiting in line is another second separating you from Chaeryeong.

Even after escaping the parking area, there’s the red lights. One after another, you’re forced to stop, slowing your already short sprints. More time being wasted. To make matters worse, the road you’re taking is glaringly quiet. You’re cursing these signs, cursing the government for stalling for time, as if their primary design and purpose is to fuck you up. 

You end up running past these lights, unable to take another second longer. No one’s stopping you, nor is there anyone in the vicinity who can. There are cameras catching you breaking the law, but you don’t care anymore.

Mercifully, the car is still there, sitting idle with the lights on. Pulling up beside the vehicle, you flash your blinkers, roll the windows down, hoping she recognizes you. You earn no reaction, instead the car merely drives off, leaving you to follow close behind.

The next hour and a half has been spent driving and driving. Passing through avenues then motorways, you’re leaving the city far behind in your rearview mirror, until you’re the only pair of cars traveling along a quiet suburban neighborhood. Considering they’re wrapping their latest promotional cycle today, logic would dictate that the group stay together a little more before dispersing, but you didn’t expect them to branch off right away.

No wonder the members were already sharing vacation plans and destinations earlier.

Cruising past one street after another, every townhouse looks the same, down to the layout, dimensions, everything. Based on all the utterly dark interiors, it’s safe to say barely anyone lives here. 

Even some of the apartments you’ve been in look nicer compared to how barren and lifeless this neighborhood is. 

It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of celebrity homes. 

Eventually, the car ahead pulls into a driveway of a distinctly nicer villa, one that has moderately rich written all over it. Anyone can tell that a celebrity, or at the very least, some wealthy person retreats here, but perhaps that’s the point: you’re in the heart of the suburbs, free from the fast-paced chaos of city living.

From the driver’s seat, someone emerges. You can recognize that familiar sharp glare. It’s none other than Chaeryeong herself.

She’s staring in your direction, at your car. Though you’ve been following her tail closely throughout the lengthy drive, you pulled back once she pulled into the driveway, leaving quite a considerable amount of space to maintain privacy. Then, she walks in. Lights open throughout her house, the only home brightly illuminated on this street.

Figuring that it’s an invitation, you pull up directly in front of her house. 

Rolling your window down, you take the camera resting on the passenger seat. Shaky fingers right on the trigger, her house in center view, you end up not taking a single picture. Not for lack of storage, but rather an unwillingness to have something personal in your collection. The girl who shows out in the public eye is one thing, but addresses and private homes are entirely separate matters. 

You feel it’s best to keep those two aspects apart.

You end up putting the camera away, curious about its purpose, about what she really meant about the need for it.

Staring up at her villa, you finally spot her again. Chaeryeong’s standing near the balcony, curtains open, giving you a clear view of her figure from the side, as well as her profile. Even from a distance, you recognize all the details about her. So incredibly pretty. She doesn’t seem to notice your presence outside nor does she bother to care. 

Still in her fansign wear, her last performance outfit, consisting only of jeans, a skimpy top, and a thick jacket. Going against your oath, you try reaching for the camera again, but you suddenly stop.

To your surprise, she slips the jacket off, revealing her bare shoulders. 

Your eyes widen, then your jaw slowly drops. She fiddles with her jeans before walking out of sight, much to your dismay. 

Now you realize the purpose. What a wasted opportunity. And yet, you’ve already taken dozens of mental pictures off that little show alone. This is meant to be for your eyes only.

Looking on, Chaeryeong reemerges into view, this time strutting around the living room. She’s hardly wearing clothes, only covered by skimpy black lace, matching colored suspenders holding up thigh high stockings. The windows are just as open, curtains similarly drawn back, granting you full access to her unbelievably tight, slender body.

She puts down a platter of snacks on the coffee table before taking one from the pile, holding it up for display. 

Your mouth is watering, craving not the delicacy in her hand—but for her.

The first snack she gives a slow, deliberate lick. A popsicle. Her tongue slowly glides up the frozen morsel, stimulating your mind, leaving nothing to the imagination. She repeats the motion a few more times before taking it into her mouth with an intentional hollowing of her cheeks, eventually sucking and munching down on the treat. All while flaunting her toned figure as if it were a photoshoot, which is probably what the camera was meant for. Your hands are nowhere close, instead pulling on the zipper of your pants, moving of their own accord.

Even though she doesn’t seem to pay attention to you, she clearly knows what she’s doing.

Next, she takes the second snack, one with a much more obvious connotation: a banana. She playfully wonders what to do, slapping it across her cheek before peeling the cover and eating from the exposed tip. She positions the fruit in a way that it's tilted up, mirroring the growing tent in your pants. Her fingers coil around the sides, her eyes fluttering close as she slowly indulges on the snack, slowly driving the length into her mouth till it’s completely consumed.

It may have only been a minute, maybe less, but you can imagine how the sensation would linger. Maybe hours.

Finally she grabs the last snack: a hotdog. She lays back on the couch, crossing her leg as she casually nibbles away, foregoing her natural seductiveness for a quick bite before wiping all the crumbs off her finger before getting up and leaving. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the whole time just watching her in awe, utterly speechless.You don’t regret not taking a single photo, knowing this little private scene is permanently seared into your memories. 

You can never look at Chaeryeong the same way ever again.

Moments later, the front door swings wide open, with Chaeryeong standing there in all her glory. She stares you down, her gaze sharp and hypnotic, before walking away without uttering a word.

You fell under her spell a long time ago. Now you’re following her like a moth to a flame.

Without care for guest etiquette, you enter the house, losing sight of Chaeryeong as you continue to struggle with your trousers. Looking left and right, you try to find her to no avail, when suddenly you’re dragged into one of the rooms, feeling a tugging, inescapable tug on your arms. 

“Did you enjoy my little show?” she whispers, tone sultry, a leg naturally wrapping around yours. She’s breathing on your neck, softly nibbling your skin. 

Cornering you, you fall backwards and onto the couch. 

It’s a different couch, different room, with the curtains covered, hidden away from the outside world.

You merely glance up, still utterly speechless. Her sexy glow is on full display, feeling herself like she always has, perhaps even more so in private than in front of the flashing cameras. Based on her subdued reaction, this isn’t the first time she’s seen this exact reaction.

“Where’s your camera?” Chaeryeong quickly changes conversation right as you’re about to hit your tipping point, her hands gripped to your knees, leaning forward and closing the gap between you two, her sharp glare freezing you in place. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you holding it just now. What did I tell you earlier?”

“Shit, I—I didn’t think this would happen,” you sputter, swallowing your throat. Even blinking proves to be impossible under her suffocating control. 

Chaeryeong narrows her eyes. Stares right into your soul. Her usually soft, little smile on her lips disappears in real time. You can feel her nails dig sharply through the fabric of your trousers, scratching you. Deathly silence permeates longer than you can imagine. It’s a terrifying position to be in. 

She bites on her lower lip, thinking of what to do. 

Then, the idea hits her like lightning. 

“I’m normally a lot more ruthless towards people like you. I mean, simple instructions. Hold onto that camera. Easy! A kid could do it without a second thought. Why can’t you?”

If you could open your mouth right now, you would justify that it was under extraordinary circumstances—such as this one—but you recognize the wrong answer could send you to an early demise.

“I would ask you to leave and tell you to forget this ever happened. But since I’m in a good mood today, I will let it slide tonight.”

You still can’t breathe a sigh of relief; her ironclad grip has spread to your crotch.

As soon as your lips quirk ever so slightly, her nails burrow deeper into your skin, almost forcing you out from your seat and yielding out a cry of pain that could have been ear shattering, if not for your self-restraint. “However—I can’t let you go completely unpunished. You must face the consequences for disobeying me. Got it?”

“Got it,” you spit, frantically nodding along, begging through your eyes for her to loosen the grip as the pain becomes unbearable. She acquiesces, drawing her hands back. 

Now you can actually breathe.

But the freedom lasts for merely a moment. Chaeryeong struts around the room, putting on music through some speakers, her hips swaying in a natural yet hypnotic rhythm. From behind, you get a close-up view of her plump ass peeking through an incredibly thin thong. She then returns to you, shoves you back against the couch before squatting down on your lap in an abrupt manner, leaving you gasping for air.

“Just because I let you watch doesn’t mean you have to be a sitting duck,” she says, grinding her hips slowly against your helpless erection, aching and throbbing beneath your pants. Sultry as it sounds, it’s a serious matter, one with so much on the line. “You didn’t seem all that lazy when you were taking pictures of me earlier. What happened? Do I look too sexy for you now?”

Chaeryeong lifts herself off you again, her waist and flat tummy presenting themselves in your face. You try to grab, but she quickly sideswipes you, teasing and playful. She spins around, her plump cheeks raised up in your direction—and then she smothers you on the couch. 

Pulling back, she looks over her shoulder, completely by surprise, gyrating her hips, giving you exactly what you want. “Well? Are you just gonna sit there or what?”

Truthfully, yeah. You can sit back and admire her in this position all night long. 

As you try to dive headfirst into her plump cheeks, she lunges forward, leaving you sucking on air. She then grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up. There’s a contemptuous, disgusted air on her face, judging your patheticness. The contrast between you couldn’t be any more clear. She’s so well refined, even in her most risque appearance. Meanwhile, you look hungry, down horrendous, foaming at the mouth—literally.

“Maybe I really should take a girl home one of these days,” she mutters to herself, thinking of other ways to drag you down. “But since you’re tired, I’ll spare you the extra effort, sleepy head.”

Chaeryeong shoves you down on the couch, lifting your legs off the ground and onto the sofa’s arm. The control she has on you cannot be any more overstated. Crouching on her fours, arching her back, she hovers atop you with a coy smile. Sexiness looks natural on her, but behind that fatal sultry attitude, her idol sensibility rears its familiar head, perfectly balancing the line between entertaining an imaginary audience and one person.

It’s a lovely, surprisingly sweet view before the lights completely go out.

Climbing over your defenseless body, her thighs close in between your face. Slamming down without care, pressure builds—and builds—until you’re kicking and squirming. She hears your muffled cries, your helpless groans, and mocks back, not letting up.

“What’s that? Can’t hear you over the sound of your tongue shoved up my pussy.”

At first, everything proves to be a struggle. You have no control over your movement, hands included. She’s forcing you to bear the weight of the world: countless hours of practice, interviews, and fanservice, including now. If she wanted, she could crush you with her thighs alone, and she wishes she could; she’s not going to outright tell you. Mercifully, upon closer inspection, she’s wearing the thinnest line of panties imaginable, it barely qualifies as underwear.

With the meager space you’re graciously provided, you slip your tongue between the narrow line between fabric and skin–and Chaeryeong keens. 

Even her little cries are as pretty as her too.

The edges of her nails dig into the fabric of the couch, barely scraping your arms. She hisses sharply as you gradually acclimate to the tension she’s forcing on you, burying your tongue into her aching core. Her nectar tastes incredible, like water in the desert. You’d tell her that if you weren’t so preoccupied taking all this glistening sheen generously into your hungry, greedy mouth. The way her body trembles, quivers with every little touch, every swipe at her throbbing cunt, setting off one fire after another, it’s enough to drag her down with you.

“Oh—fucking shit—fuck—”

Her thighs hunker down, reinforcing the already airtight lock you’re imprisoned in between her legs. She’s one wrong move away from snapping your neck by sheer force alone if you weren’t dying from asphyxiation already. It proves to be nothing but a mild inconvenience. You’re hungrily eating out her intoxicating cunt, drinking away at her alarming flow of juices, maintaining a pace that feels just right. 

Desperately trying to find some semblance of stability, she rolls her hips, but that only worsens her state—and better for you. 

Gripped to the sofa’s headrest and on the cushions, the friction makes it easier to make a grander mess of her. You match her frantic pace, lapping away at her folds without a care, a retaliation of sorts. Her cunt is an addicting vice you can't get enough of, regardless of her juices spilling relentlessly past your mouth.

Overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensation coursing throughout her lithe body, Chaeryeong twists and contorts into a stretched out figure of limbs and cries. Furniture is easily replaceable. The position you’re in happens once in a lifetime. This idol, whom you’ve dedicated your personality and entire life around, meeting her dozens of times and taken countless photos of for the world to see, is now reduced into a helpless, melting pile of flesh and moans, keening in ecstasy, her echoes bouncing endlessly in the comfort of her personal home, and it’s all thanks to you. 

Very few can say they’ve made Lee Chaeryeong cum.

“Fuck!” 

A single word is all she manages, and it’s perfect. 

Letting out this thunderous cry, her body goes rigid and tense, as if something has snapped within her. Right then and there, a fresh wave of arousal gushes over your face, falling all at once. 

The throbbing never ends. You lap it all up. Every last drop. 

Despite the endless amount of slick you’ve consumed and time drinking from her well, it’s not enough. You’re left wanting more.

“Jesus—” she mutters, heaving between deep breaths, slowly peeling herself off you then collapsing to the floor. “I didn’t think you’d be this good.”

Despite her orgasm ripping through her body to shreds, Chaeryeong is the first to recover. She surveys the damage. Slick all over your pressurized face, so much more on the couch, your tongue actively licking up whatever mess it can clean, which doesn’t go far. 

There’s no shame on your lips when she looks at you. Contentment is etched on your lips. You could die happily right then and there. 

Her cheeks are completely flush, taken completely aback by your effort. Her panties are in tatters, utterly soaked, more valuable being thrown away than as actual clothing. “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought.”

Satisfied as you are, her gentle, sincere compliment makes your heart race faster than the pressure being crushed beneath her ass.

But the sweetness lasts only for a moment. She can’t settle down. There’s so much you have left to give—and she’s going to force everything out till you’re an empty husk. You’re only getting started.

“Get up,” she says, less of a command and more a call to action, lifting you off the sticky couch with her resounding strength, leaving you behind to stand on your two wobbly feet. “Now strip.”

Her words seemingly fly through deaf ears. You stare aimlessly back, stuck in a neverending daze, unable to come to your senses. Chaeryeong is not having any of that, glaring you down with piercing daggers. The night is fleeting; time is of the essence.

She pulls you by the hand and drags you to the bar counter across the room, facing you to remove your shirt in a few swift motions. The pants come off faster, already unbuttoned and unzipped, leaving only your boxers. 

“Fucking slow fuck,” she spits, nearly ripping your undergarment while pulling down, giving your now freed cock a punishing, ironclad squeeze, forcing an agonizing groan from your lips. “Just because you did one thing right, you think you can have it your way now? Pathetic.”

Chaeryeong drops to her knees, pressing her tongue against the tip of your throbbing cock. The brief, feathery contact is enough to send mind numbing chills down your spine. It’s no surprise that when she takes you into her mouth, you almost crumble immediately. The feeling is too overwhelming, you don’t even get a glimpse of the filthy sight. 

It shouldn’t be this dangerous.

The pull on her long, raven hair happens impulsively, as if you had some control—which you desperately need. 

A flick of her tongue here, a swirl there—Chaeryeong is a meticulous worker, slowly picking you apart in calculated, intricately designed moves. Every little thing she does is performed like there’s so much weight behind them, no different from dancing and singing on stage. It’s all in the little details: the tilt of her head, the satisfactory hum from her lips, the cold, unforgiving glare she gives when she’s sucking you dry, seeking your approval, refusing any answer other than ‘fuck yes.’

If you could function as normal, you would reason to her that you’re relishing the moment, savoring every second—but she seems to have your mind read like a book.

“Thank your lucky stars you seem to have everything I need.” She slides her tongue up your length, kissing the tip again. You’ve been off the ground ever since with no way back down. “Good ass mouth, big fucking cock—”

She suddenly stops when you tug on her hair again; it’s a harsh pull. Momentum grinds to a complete halt. Your heart drops at the realization. You anticipate her to retaliate appropriately, especially when she rises from her knees. 

Instead, she mostly relents, but not without gripping your balls tightly, yielding another heavy groan out of you. A warning. 

“You wanna pull on this hair? Fine. I’ll give you this one then.”

Spinning away from you, Chaeryeong unhooks her bra, tossing it aside to be forgotten. Leaning forward, she bends over the counter, back arched, ass up, her swollen lips in clear view. Her favorite position.

She doesn’t need to say a word to tell you what to do.

The invitation leaves you more hesitant than excited. You’ve realized just how frightening Chaeryeong can be. That is why you’ve been relatively silent and are quietly following along since entering her house.

Looking over her shoulder, knowing she isn’t railed at this point, her eyes glare at you with a raging fury, one borne of annoyance, as if you were testing her patience—and you are, to some degree. “Where’s that fucking bravado, huh? I’m letting you hit this pussy from behind, and now you don’t wanna do it?”

“Well—”

“Zip it. Now you want to talk?” She snaps, facing you again to grab your cock. Pressing your shaft up and down the entrance of her folds, she grits her teeth, gasping and sighing. Staring daggers into your soul, she continues between deep breaths, “Look at this,” she says, pertaining to your cock, slick with her saliva, slowly entering her dripping cunt with her guidance. “It’s not rocket science. Does this look challenging to you? Never had sex with anyone before?”

You can only shake your head, as much as you want to refute. Her house, her rules.

Chaeryeong slams her eyes shut as your cock impales her to the hilt. She’s leaning back on the counter, screaming out loud to prove her point. “See? Not—that—difficult.” she whines, her aching cunt stretching against your cock, engulfing you in suffocating heat. Slowly pulling you back like a sword plunged to your abdomen, you watch helplessly as your shaft reappears, lathered in slick and saliva, with time moving at a dangerously slow pace.

She hurls you forward that you’re leaning together on the counter, your naked bodies creating irresistible friction. It’s not as romantic as the movies or shows make it out to be.

“Stop staring at me like that.” Chaeryeong pushes you away before turning around, irate from perceiving you, having to guide you through your first sex session. “Just—fuck me already, dip shit.”

Grabbing her by the waist, you take your sweet time to admire her delicately crafted curves and her supple ass, bright red from crushing your face. Still, it only serves to upset her; she can’t stop herself from making snarky remarks about you. “Pretending like you want to appreciate me now when you’ve been jerking to all those photos you’ve taken of me. As if I don’t know—”

She suddenly yelps, her body dragged forward on the counter as you enter her from behind like she wanted it: hard and fast. 

“Never thought you’d be such a mouthful Chaery,” you comment, hooking an arm around her shoulder, the invigorating warmth of her pussy making you shudder. “And I always saw you as the quiet one.”

“Just because—you’re fucking me—doesn’t mean—” Chaeryeong struggles to get her point across as you get into a steady rhythm, your hips crashing into hers, her ass creating this wet, audible wave as you pound her. “Ah—oh fuck—”

“Doesn’t mean what, Chaery?” you hiss against her ear, giving her ass a rightful slap.

She lifts her head, her hands gripped on the table’s surface, keening—and moaning. 

“I—ah—this feels so fucking big inside me—”

You lean forward, whispering in her ear, before giving her ass cheek a well-deserved slap that ripples through the room. “This is nowhere near my first. Didn’t you hear me and Yuna backstage that one time? I should have known something was up the second she was blushing at me.”

“One time? Shit—I guess I forgot—o-oh fuck—dammit Yuna—”

“It’s on me for not figuring out everything right away,” you remark, holding her tight as your personal lifeboat, pushing yourself deep into her, foregoing any sort of foreplay or pleasantry for hard, relentless pounding. “Not the first time I’ve been inside an idol’s house and left with their panties, either.”

Chaeryeong is unable to respond, mostly due to your cock rendering her speechless, reducing her to a pliable mess of moans and screams. Her fingers drag across the wooden surface of the counter as you take her body to use at your leisure. You have absolute control, a stark contrast to where you were only mere minutes ago, and you’re going to reinforce your authority.

To think you were scared of her. The real Chaeryeong is right in front of you. Ass up, face down, bent over, screaming all sorts of profanities and lewdities that would have burned at the stake.

You’ve got her raven locks wrapped around one hand, the other on her ass. It’s a difficult balancing act. One minute you’re pulling on her hair between thrusts, making her cry out in pain and pleasure, the next you’re slapping her ass in retaliation for her attitude, having seen just how easily she folds at the slightest touch, whether it be your mouth or your cock. Either action leaves you so addicted, you have to remind yourself to slow down and focus on the important matter at hand: fucking her.

It shouldn’t be said, but here it is: her pussy is so intoxicatingly tight. Even with how copiously wet you are, gliding in and out of her feels like an impossible challenge. To make matters worse, she meets your every thrust with the crash of her hips, sending you further down a dizzying spiral. Chaeryeong loves it—loves the feeling of both dishing out punishment and receiving it. You pull on her hair again, another reminder of who’s currently in command, but you both know that’s not gonna last long.

Especially when you feel so close—your own undoing happening a lot sooner than you hoped. 

Still, she feels so good that it’s not any bit worth stopping—not that she’d ever want that, anyway. You’re resorting to other measures to keep some semblance of control alive: you’re squeezing her chest, feeling her taut nipples,lifting her leg off the ground, biting on her nape—anything to stave your mind off the very thought of cumming, because any sign of weakness is her opportunity to ruin you. 

“Are you gonna cum yet?” Chaeryeong asks—innocent in sound, but in your heart, a taunt. A challenge. 

You respond by slamming into her cunt like you always have: rough and merciless. She’s your toy, after all. 

Her echoes remain louder than your grunts and moans. It’s a good thing her neighbors are completely nonexistent. The houses around might as well not be there. 

So much runway to fuck, to cry out in pleasure.

“Almost,” you shamefully admit, against your own wishes—and to her delight. “This fucking pussy—Chaery—oh my God—”

You seize her by throat and face her down on the counter, your thrusts unceasing, unrelenting. You’re winding down; the end is in sight. She smells of sweat, sex, and active perfume from earlier, and it’s a perfect concoction. Slapping away at her ass, watching it ripple with each hit and thrust, her back arching in new, twisting angles, your cock perfectly sandwiched between her slick folds, you’re taking all the mental pictures you can get before this lovely view disappears for good. It really is a damn shame, but here’s your silver lining: no camera can truly capture how glorious this scene looks, especially from your eyes.

“Gonna cum,” you sputter, pouring on the vicious strikes on Chaeryeong’s supple cheeks, desperate to cling on. You can’t deny it any longer; your body is in absolute rapture, begging for release.

“That’s it. Use my fucking pussy,” she snaps, her voice airy and hoarse from all the moaning and screaming. “Fuck all your cum into me. Don’t waste a single drop.”

You have no intention to, especially with a cunt that’s so tight, so hot, it’s practically inviting you to unload everything. 

And so with a handful of strokes, you finally fold. Burying deep inside her wanton cunt, your cock throbs violently, blasting thick shot after shot of sticky, white cum just as she wanted. Chaeryeong’s name burns through your lips like a permanent mark as you climax. The release feels more like a consequence than relief. She’s something you can’t clean yourself of—and probably never will. A stain that will follow you for the rest of your life. 

Still, she welcomes you with open arms. Her pussy milks you worth of every little drop, squeezing and quivering in your wake. You end up letting go of everything: her hair, her waist, your entire load. The only thing willing to stay is your cock impaled deep inside her soaked cunt, but even that thin connection snaps.  Even though she’s bent over, having taken all the pounding, pulling, and punishing, she’s the one that ends up on top. 

Pervading silence fills the house, in place of the unrelenting noise. Slumping forward, you lay on top of Chaeryeong, meeting her in the middle: your bodies intertwined, filled and satisfied.

Brushing her hair aside for a better look at her sweaty, flushed profile, you both look into each other’s glazed eyes with a warm smile. You prepare to give her a kiss, when suddenly, little footsteps can be heard.

Someone’s standing in the hallway.

Her voice echoes throughout the house. “You left the front door open again, sis. You should really close them before going down on your guests.”

A woman stops directly in front of your room, her appearance cut close in Chaeryeong’s image. The girl beneath you waves at her with an innocent smile. The pornographic position you’re in is anything but. 

She doesn’t look too surprised. 

“Fucking me wasn’t enough, huh? You just had to fuck my sister too.”

Climbing up the stairs, Chaeyeon sighs wistfully, exhausted from her own busy activities. Chaeryeong slips away from underneath, following her sister closely. She can’t help but shoot a playful grin at you upon realizing your secret. 

“I’ll fire up the showers. You can join us if you want.”

—————

The shower wasn’t meant to provide some form of reprieve. In reality, it’s an excuse to keep the fire burning, especially down in your loins.

The faintest contact leaves you weak, nearly crumbling to your knees as you join the two women in the shower, leaving you open for their enjoyment. Even with the hot water pouring over you, you remain frozen in place, trapped beyond saving. The Lee sisters take you in as a guest should be: with all the touching, kissing, and teasing you so desperately crave. Running water fills in background noise as the two siblings drop to their knees, taking one side for themselves, each with a stake in your cock. 

You get hard again. Impossible not to be when they seem to have a gauge of what makes you tick. Two girls who have firsthand experience handling your cock in their mouth: one who can effortlessly go through the motions, the other still fresh and eager to find new ways to break you in half. Both tilting up with a pair of lust-filled eyes, eager to get your approval. They don’t really need it; you had already given them your soul the moment you walked into their house.

“Fucking hell,” you manage to groan out—your eyes and head rolling all the way back as far as they can—as the two sisters take turns filling their hungry mouths with cock deep down their throats. The girls each let out a satisfactory hum of their own, pumping and squeezing you for a share of your load, certain you’ve still got plenty for two. To think you were insatiable when it came to eating out Chaeryeong’s pussy and ass. It was only scratching the surface of how rapacious they can be. 

Even with all the space the showers provided, you still feel small before Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong. More importantly, it was clear that, in their eyes, you were mainly an outlet of release and nothing else.

“Was he always like this?” Chaeryeong watches her elder sibling busy pumping your shaft away with her deft fingers, drawing more cum out of you, making up for lost time. Watching you this vulnerable—this whipped—makes you all the more intriguing in her eyes.

“Sure enough, yeah.” Chaeyeon laughs. It wasn’t that long ago you were held in a position like this: same girl, same scenario, but in a bathroom stall of all places. Now in the comfort of their home, you were clear to let out all that pent-up desire with cries of pleasure. You moan her name like it’s a prayer, and both girls chuckle at your wanton cry.

“How long?”

“Since I debuted solo. He’s always present in my fansigns. Didn’t he tell you?” Chaeyeon gives this cheeky look to her younger sister, an approving nod. “One time he told me he was now following this girl group, and I asked him who it was. Didn’t specify anything. I should have known right from the start.”

“Wasn’t only me he was fucking, I just found out,” Chaeryeong remarks, tone degrading. You’d be so red with shame right now, if it already weren’t the case. Whether it’s because of the steam or their unpredictable touch is up for interpretation. “And no, he’s never brought it up. I’m just finding out right now. But if so, he gets around—and he gets around good.”

“If there’s anyone you should trust, it’s me. He thinks he’s clever hiding this from you. I can hear that moan of his a mile away.” Chaeyeon smiles as she turns off the water, your bodies barely touching soap and shampoo, focused on leaving kisses and scratch marks instead. The soap in your eyes forced them shut to tell what’s happening, other than their near-indistinguishable voices and the blurriest of movements. All you know is their presence creeping up when you least expect it. “Come along, dear.”

Before you know it, you find yourself shoved onto a flat yet bouncy surface. A bed. It rumbles for a few moments before you feel your body tearing apart. In the midst of this uncertain commotion, their combined laughs and whispers fill the air. 

“Open your eyes, baby.”

Even when you can hardly tell who’s giving the command, you comply. Lo and behold, your arms are stretched and tied on opposite ends of the headboard. Your legs are spread wide, your cock glistening with spit and sheen, hard for the second time. The Lee sisters are kneeling on parallel sides of their own, around the edges, laughing at your precarious, defenseless position. 

It’s in your instincts to try and break loose. Of course, it fails miserably. Their laugh grows more uncontrollable and hearty.

“Not a chance. We’ve covered all bases so that even if you escape, you’re not making it far.” Chaeryeong speaks with a heightened air of arrogance. 

You furl your brows. “What? What do you mean—escape?”

“Don’t even try to run,” says Chaeyeon. “You—you’re not going to run?”

As if that was ever part of your plan.

“Why would I ever? I like you both!”

You’re speaking the truth, and it might just end up saving your life.

“I don’t think he’s buying it. You know, maybe he just really wants us.” Chaeryeong tries to whisper in her sister’s ear, but you can still hear it all.

Chaeyeon nods. “You might be right.” 

The older sibling crawls up the bed, tracing a path to your neck with her nails, leaving a lengthy trail on your skin. It’s as every bit sexy and seductive as the first time, even more when she’s completely bare. Chaeryeong mimics her, her arch more eye-popping. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to their bloodline. “Since you want to stay, I propose a little game. Are you with me?”

“Yes,” you nod, tense and nervous, sweating starting to pour down your face.

“Let’s play a game I’d like to call,  ‘Guess the Sibling.’ I’m gonna place a blindfold and you’re gonna have to guess who’s bouncing on this cock,” Chaeyeon continues, going down your chest and giving your erection a playful slap. A little more force and she could have ended you. Mercifully, it’s only one flick. “If you guess right, then you get the rest of the night with us. Use us any way you want. But if you don’t—”

“—Then we’re gonna have our way with you,” Chaeryeong interjects. “And trust me, you wouldn’t want us to have our way with you.”

“What did I get myself into?” you mutter, wondering if the situation you’re in is a consequence of your actions. You’re not a bad person, per say; even the two girls would admit this. You’re just like any other fan—mostly: enjoying their songs, spending alarming amounts of money into merch and events, buying your way into fansigns, and taking photographs of the idols you love. You’re so spoiled, you end up sharing that love with others. 

At best, this was stuff of urban legend, of myths, of over the top fantasies. None of this was meant to happen.

Yet here you are, tied up on a bed by your two favorite idols in the world, ready to be used like a toy for their personal use—and pleasure. In the little time you’ve personally known these two, you didn’t expect them to be this obscene and assertive. You won’t be able to look at them the same way after this—if you can even get out alive.

Chaeyeon wraps a thick cloth around your eyes, completely blocking your vision. The last thing you see is Chaeryeong kneeling before you, spreading them wide, rubbing her hands up and down your legs.

“I would say good luck, but I’d like to think you’re familiar with us that this should be easy for you,” Chaeyeon remarks before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Look at that. Your friend over here is a little too excited.”

You wince at the airy touch. Unsurprisingly, you can’t tell what’s going on, guided only by familiar sensations, patterns and recognizable sounds. Still, you can’t really tell their voices apart. It doesn’t help that they both have long flowing dark hair either.

Taking this deep breath, anxious about what’s about to happen, they still catch you off-guard. You scream a guttural cry, feeling the weight of the world crash on your hips. “Oh f-fuck!”

Right there, you hear a sharp, ear-piercing whine—a shout that rips through the bedroom. Your cock is bulging through something far tighter than normal. Not even your previous experiences with Chaeyeon ever went this far. “O-oh shit! S-so fucking—tight!”

“You heard her. Deeper, babe.”

Your hips move instinctively, as if activated by her voice. Either of them works. They live in your mind rent-free. It’s only natural to follow them like your life depends on it, and considering your situation, it’s quite literal.

Despite how slick and wet you are, it proves to be a struggle at first. It resists, pushing back as hard as it can, but you don’t relent. Feels good enough to be worth saving. An impossible challenge at first, you eventually feel it—your tip sinking deeper into her hole, inch by inch. As it penetrates the girl on top of you, her whine climbs a pitch higher, then higher, until she’s outright shrieking. 

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—so fucking big, so fucking big—”

She’s running her words fast, as if her mouth’s aimlessly mashing on a keyboard. The same harsh feeling stretches through her tight, smaller hole, until eventually you bury yourself to the hilt, and she keens. 

“Oh my God—o-oh God—fuck!”

She struggles to acclimate to the new presence deep in her ass. She can’t stop it, nor can she ever hope to contain it. There’s only person who’d want it this bad from behind.

“Feels good, right Chaeryeong?” you guess, gritting through your teeth as the suffocating sensation also overwhelms your senses. 

Right then and there, she begins to move. Lifting herself off you, dragging her plump cheeks along with brute force, threatening to tear your cock off too—until she squats down on your hips and creates much needed friction on your end. 

There’s no denial or direct admission, but you know in your heart of hearts that you’ve won. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to the Lee siblings. Both dangerously hot sisters with toned bodies worth admiring and worshiping. Such a shame that your hands are bed bound right now, otherwise you’d be all over them. Chaeyeon or Chaeryeong, it doesn’t matter—they’re equally deserving of every lick, every touch, every thrust out of you.

For now, you will have to settle with her ass.

“Harder—a little more—right there—” she manages to spit between hip thrusts and grinds. You happily oblige, relishing the sensation of her tight hole, vigorously flexing and pulsing against your cock. She moves frantically, as if desperate to shake you off. All the more reasons to be loose and free, so you can feel her slinky waist with your bare hands. Still, she’s compliant enough to keep bouncing on your lap, drowning in her own ecstasy to care about comfort, only more pleasure. 

“God, this ass feels so fucking amazing—Chaery—” you tell her, a statement so obvious, but worth saying regardless. The slick, satisfying sound of flesh slapping flesh bouncing off the four walls, the shockwaves of her skin rippling on your groin, and her elated, blissful moans more than makes up for the lack of sight. And perhaps if you can cum sooner, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel quicker.

But it’s not enough. Chaeryeong can—and will—drain you of all your worth, especially at the frantic pace she’s going. Her ass owns your cock with a vice grip; again, she feels incredible, and you’re bound to each other, down to your souls.

There’s only one way you’re getting out.

“Get on top of me, Chaen.” You call to her, knowing she’s lurking around the room. You can also tell that she’s eager to get her share of cock.

Chaeryeong continues to bounce relentlessly, , your pace leisured and measured for maximum longevity. She lingers for a few moments, till you feel that weight on your lap suddenly disappear without cause.

“My turn,” says Chaeyeon, landing her tight asshole straight onto your cock. No preamble, no preparation, just crashing out. This time, with a much smoother, more effortless entry compared to her sister’s. She lets out this whiny, feathery moan in response to being filled for the first time, with you only mildly groaning in response.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you remark.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes you are.”

The room goes silent for a moment—except for the heavy breaths of one collapsed Chaeryeong.

Light immediately pervades your newly freed eyes, having the blindfold taken away. On your right, Chaeryeong slumps on the bed face down ass up, her puckered hole glistening and freshly leaking. A bottle falls off the edge and onto the floor. Elsewhere, Chaeyeon’s body rests on your waist, your cock buried deep inside her tighter entrance, clearly demanding your attention. 

Except she’s completely facing away from you.

“Was she—”

“Yes.” Chaeyeon sounds annoyed—devastated even—that you’ve managed to outsmart her at her own game. “I can’t believe you really went after my sister. Was I not enough for you?”

“You are. It always meant to be you two from the start. You’re both hot.”

She sighs.

“Can you at least—at least—fill my ass up?” Chaeyeon looks over her shoulder, frowning. “Please let me have one over her.”

“What do you mean? I’ve given you everything,” you reply, recounting all your previous experiences with her. “Backstage, in your apartment, in your car—hell, even in a goddamn public bathroom stall. What else do you want from me?”

Just as Chaeyeon is about to open her mouth, her sister interrupts. Voice hoarse and cracking, she says, “Just go. You were his first. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, you heard her. I don’t mind. Besides, I’ve got the rest of the night to take her as I please, right? Like you said?”

There’s not much else to say. You can see the faintest smile on her lips as she looks away. 

Likewise, your smile fades when she lifts herself and slams into you, hard. Filling her needy, wanton hole with your cock. Just off this one swift motion alone, you recognize that Chaeyeon is much more desperate. 

Using all that pent-up need and desire as fuel to power every ram onto your cock. Her mark lingers on—far longer than Chaeryeong’s. It’s much more personal. You can feel how badly she wants you—needs you—beyond sexual pretense. The idea of you taken away by the one other person she loves the most—it sets her off, motivates her to prove that she’s worth more.

Unlike the playful and fun Chaeryeong, every thrust, every roll, every grind Chaeyeon does is intimate, passionate. Pounding into her tight ass, you can see pleasure course throughout her body, trembling in one violent aftershock after another. She’s uttering these little pleas, gentle desires while riding you hard. “More—like that—please—please—don’t stop—please—”

Chaeyeon knows you’re the one responsible for making her feel this way, make her feel all sorts of emotions. Love, hate, jealousy, anxiety—they’re only scratching the surface of just how much you mean to her. She’s unraveling, and fast. The only way she can find release is, as you expect, through you. An outlet for all her feelings. 

You’re quite literally stretching her out, both physically and emotionally.

As you watch your first love fall apart like this, you can’t help but feel remorse. Chaeyeon is pretty, and so is her sister. They’re the splitting image of each other, and you wouldn’t feel like a fool for mixing them apart, despite the repeated statements from them not being twins. It’s only because of your strange obsession with the two that you can tell them apart.

That, and your complicated relationship with Chaeyeon, as idol and fan.

Ultimately, she can take it. She’s been through a lot, way more than anyone else you know, and she’ll get back up again. Including now.

So it stands to reason that she can take your pounding better than anyone else.

Gripping her hands on your knees, she rides you vigorously, dictating the pace, without much care for comfort. The clench is asphyxiating, borderline inescapable, but you’re still gliding in and out effortlessly, watching your cock disappear and reappear in her ass. As the flesh ripples and slams down with each thrust, the lewd sight alone is enough to upend you prematurely, if not for your resolve keeping you fastened to the earth.

“God—you’re too good, Chaen—” you hiss, closing your eyes in a last-ditch effort to avert your thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but her ass and  the tension suffocating you—but it’s not enough. The sloppy, wet sound of your bodies colliding penetrates even the most fortified parts of your ears.

“So fucking good, right?” Chaeyeon tries to straighten her voice in an effort to assert herself, only to find it crack, much like her idol facade. “Say it—I’m better than Chaeryeong. Say it!”

Even though her sister is lying beside you, every word is spoken loud and clear. You’re terrified.

“Do I have to repeat myself, baby? Say it!”

You don’t really have a choice. She’s riding you hard and fast, threatening to pull the plug two different ways, one far more unsatisfying than the other.

“Say it!”

“You’re better! Better than Chaery!” you shout, matching her erratic pace, dangerously treading on the line of no return. 

It finally sets Chaeyeon off—and ultimately ends her. 

Everything rolls into one emphatic word. 

“Fuck!”

Her body goes rigid, fingers still gripped to your skin as she unravels on top of you. She’s screaming your name up to the sky—or in this case, the ceiling—and she cums. Hard. Freely flowing clear slick gushes around and past your cock, shredding through the last of your already broken defenses, urging you to let go. 

Through the madness, you’re still relentlessly pumping into her, until you’ve fallen back into darkness again. It’s what she would have wanted.

Impaled to the hilt, you let out the deepest groan from the depths of your stomach as you cum into Chaeyeon’s ass. Blast after blast, you shamelessly empty every last drop inside her tight, sensitive hole, partly relieved—but mostly frustrated because your hands aren’t gripped to her supple flesh right now, ensuring she receives it all.

Despite her orgasm shredding through her body till now, she lifts herself off you in a single swift motion, much to your agony and despair. Resting on the edge of the bed, she’s positively glistening from her ass, dripping and leaking with your cum. 

You helplessly watch your cock throb and throb till it withers again. 

“God,” is the only word Chaeyeon can muster after everything, still unwilling to face you directly. Chaeryeong lazily rolls out of bed to rejoin her, resting her head on her shoulder, their hands intertwining. 

Silence fills the room after a tense, lengthy period of sex. None of you are willing to break it. 

You can only wonder what’s on Chaeyeon’s mind.

After a while, the two sisters get up and try to leave the bedroom, presumably to clean up—but not before stopping and realizing the elephant in the room.

They’re a far cry from when you first gazed your eyes on them. As you watch Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong free you from their binds, there’s this tired expression in their eyes. Not the typical post-coital gaze you’re all too familiar with; there’s a sense that they’re just about done—with everything. 

Including you. 

Chaeyeon offers you the same invite she gave previously when she first saw you with her sister in the living room. “Join us if you want to clean up. I’ll fire up the showers.”

—————

You pretty much spend the next hour doing that.

Beneath the running water, your bodies are cuddled up together, hardly cleaning up as intended.

Chaeyeon’s softly embracing you from behind, while Chaeryeong’s right in front of you, her chest pressed against yours. Both women lazily rest their head on your shoulders, their fingers tracing lines all over your skin. Beneath all the soap and shampoo lie kiss marks, nail scratches, and everything else in between to make you theirs. 

They’re not asking for much, only for you to stay.

You first give Chaeyeon a kiss on her forehead, then Chaeryeong on her cheek.

Perhaps you’ll find a way to make room for both. 

You have the rest of the night to figure that out.

—————

(A/N: Fuck yeah hiding a threesome as a surprise tactic/for shock value. I had a version of this that I scrapped during my slump month but decided to revisit it. It's been a long while since I've done one of those fan x idol stories. Sometimes you just want to write shameless pwp, but even this ended up taking a rather unexpected and emotional turn. Yikes. And it's all because I forgot to add one kink. Glad Itzy are five again, title track kinda lukewarm on. Thank you for reading!)

[rememberwren]

Ghoap x reader but it’s just Simon refusing to let Johnny smash reader at all, punishes him by just tying him up and making him sit there and watch reader have a good time (I’m sorry)

ghoap/fem!reader: bondage, gags, PIV, fingering, squirting, mentions of safewording.

-

The worst part is the gag. 

Johnny could take any other part of this and count it as a reward—he loves the ropes against his skin, he loves watching you be pleasured, he loves watching Ghost be in control, even if Johnny himself gets to play no part in the scene. But the gag reminds him that this isn’t a reward; it’s a punishment. It has Johnny clenching the bell (the one he’s meant to drop in place of a safeword) tightly in his fist out of impotence. He considers dropping it just for fun. 

Or out of spite. 

“It’s so quiet in here,” Ghost sighs. He looks down at you at the edge of the bed where you are speared open on his cock, your legs folded up and back, ankles bound to your wrists. He locks his thumb and presses it just above where you are joined, rubbing against that knot of throbbing nerves, and giving a dry grin at the sound you make. “Except for you. Noisy little thing—I didn’t say stop, love.” 

You groan like a good girl. The sound goes right to Johnny’s cock which lays thick and useless against his thigh, leaking. Johnny loves dragging those noises out of you. His arms jerk against the ropes as instinct has him craving to reach out to you, to be the one to play with your clit while Ghost breaks you open. It’s a futile effort; Ghost did the knots himself.  

“I could fuck you all day,” Ghost mutters under his breath, ignoring Johnny altogether. Johnny makes a piteous sound behind the gag—his own pained agreement. His eyes are riveted to the place where the two of you are joined, watching as Ghost’s length disappears inside you and reappears, slick with your arousal. “You could’ve fucked her too, Johnny, if you’d listened to me.” 

Johnny glares. He knows this. From behind his back, he flips Simon off with both hands (Ghost’s eyes narrow, and Jesus, Johnny wouldn’t put it past him to know). But it isn’t fair when Ghost turns that tone of voice on him, the one usually reserved for recruits, laced with just enough condescension to have his cock aching. 

“Ghost, ‘m close,” you whisper, the fragile, desperate tenor of your voice making Johnny’s head light.

“You know it’s not up to me,” Ghost lies. His eyes, dark and glittering with mirth, cut to Johnny. Sweat beads at his temples, plastering blond hairs to his forehead. Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever found Ghost more beautiful. “Go on and beg him.” 

Your eyes turn to Johnny, tears in the corners. Your words are stuttered by the force of Ghost’s thrusts, like his cock presses the air out of your lungs a little each time. “Johnny—please, can I cum?” 

Yes, Johnny says, words nonsensical thanks to the gag. He nods his head fervently as a last resort.

“What was that? Speak up, Johnny, I can barely hear you,” says Ghost, mouth twisting into a grin. Johnny groans, head lolling against his own shoulder. Ghost clicks his tongue and looks down to you. “Sorry, love. He’s givin’ mixed signals. Maybe next time.”

You crack, like a fragile china doll. You’re not weeping necessarily, but a steady stream of tears drip from the corner of your eyes, wet tracks down toward your ears, disappearing into your hairline. Hands, which have been clenched into fists for the last twenty minutes, loosen into lax fingers brushing against your own ankles. You don’t even beg anymore. You know Ghost’s will is law. 

Johnny knows how soft you get when you break, the wet clench of your cunt and the quiet sounds from your mouth. You get fucked so sweetly like this, when your inhibitions are gone, when this moment is all you can think about until there’s no room for anything else in your head. You’re just thinking of the next thrust, the next touch, the next orgasm.

Ghost decides that’s the perfect time to pull out. He grips your thighs and turns you the last few inches to give Johnny the perfect view of your cunt and then he dips his fingers into you, gathering wetness and stroking it deeply through your folds, smearing it up over your clit as you shiver and cry. 

Johnny is close enough to smell you, but he still can’t have you, and it hurts. He grips the bell tight in his palm, feels it cutting into the calloused skin, but knows that dropping it when he hasn’t reached his limit is a cop out. Ghost would stop without question—but Johnny would always know he’d been too soft to take his punishment. 

No one can call Johnny soft. 

In front of him, Ghost slips his fingers back inside you with purpose now, crooking them to find that tender swollen spot inside you. 

“Ghost,” you gasp wetly. 

He just hushes you softly. 

“Ghost I’ll cum,” you say with greater urgency. 

He hums, huge palm resting just above your cunt and pressing gently on your belly, pinning you in place. 

You tense all over, sounds cutting off. Ghost pulls his fingers from you at the first dribble of squirt, fingers strumming softly over your clit to prolong your orgasm as wetness gushes from between your trembling thighs in tandem with the choked gasps from your throat. Drops of it almost reach Johnny in his chair. Almost. 

“Fuck, that never gets old. Perfect. Thank you,” Ghost says, smoothing a hand over your thighs. He takes his wet hand and reaches out—for a blissful moment Johnny thinks he plans to remove the gag—but instead he smears your cum over Johnny’s parted lips and cheeks. Johnny strains against the ropes, causing Ghost give a dry laugh. 

“Pussy is for good boys, Johnny,” he says, dropping down to his knees. He grips the meat of your thighs and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, ready to make you dessert. “Don’t forget that.”

[hischierhoney]

OFF LIMITS

nico hischier x hughes sister!reader

part 2: I Know available now!

It’s not the first time they’ve run into you on a night out, and Nico’s pretty sure it won’t be the last. You live in New York, close enough that your paths overlap quite often. It is, however, the first time he’s seen you this drunk. On top of that, it’s the first time Nico’s run into you without your brothers with him.

Jack may be younger than you, but what he lacks in age he makes up for in overprotectiveness. When they run into you at a bar, Nico rarely gets a chance to even say a word to you before Jack is questioning how much you’ve had to drink or why you’re even out in the first place.

But Jack is in Toronto, for the All Stars game, and Luke’s still too young to be out at a bar and is also out of town, and you’re there, standing under a neon sign, leaning up against the wall. You look hazy. Out of it. There’s a guy standing nearly over you, arm next to your head on the wall. Nico’s stomach twists.

“Isn’t that Hughes’ sister?” Someone asks.

Nico nods, juts his chin at the scene unfolding. “Does she look uncomfortable to you?”

His teammate lets out a snort. “Was wondering the same thing.”

Nico keeps a watchful eye on the situation for just a moment. He doesn’t want to overstep, but something feels off. When you put your hand on the guy’s shoulder and try to push him away, and he stays put, caging you in farther, the switch flips. He’s gone from concerned friend to overprotective captain within a second. He passes his beer off to someone and makes his way across the bar in a few short steps.

“Hey man. Back off.” He snaps.

The guy turns with a glare. Nico stands his ground. Your eyes meet his, and he watches relief wash over your face. He knows then that he’s made the right choice.

“I saw her first,” the guy sneers.

Nico really didn’t want to get in a fight tonight. He was supposed to have a chill night out with the guys, maybe talk to a couple girls, get his mind off of… things. But now he’s here.

“Nico,” you say, softly, and he watches the guy’s face drop as he realizes you know Nico.

“Hi,” he says, kindly and quietly to you. He juts his chin at the guy and shoves his shoulder firmly. “Get lost.”

The man melts away into the crowd. Nico watches him go. Then he turns back to you, to where you’re leaning against the wall, doe eyed and drunk as hell as you stare up at him. His breath gets caught in his throat for just a moment- if your brothers knew the things he thought about when you looked at him like that, they’d have his head. Jack and Luke are a bit oblivious, he thinks. He’s lucky he’s not around you and Quinn at the same time very often. There was that game last year, in Vancouver- you in your Devils jersey, elbowing him lightly, and Quinn’s glare trained on him, one raised brow, like he was just waiting for Nico to take a wrong step.

“My hero,” you say, reaching out to tug on his wrist.

Your words are extremely slurred, and when he gets a closer look he realizes you’re probably close to blacking out. The light is gone from your eyes. He winces.

“Okay, schatz,” he says. He ruffles your hair just to get you to stop staring up at him through your eyelashes, afraid of the way it makes his heart jump. “Can I call someone to come get you?”

You shrug. “Where’s Jacky? Or Lukey?”

Nico groans. “Toronto, and who knows. Not here, though.”

You purse your lips. “Right.” You dig in your pocket for your phone, find it, and Nico watches you try and turn the screen on with no luck- it’s dead. “Huh. That’s not good.”

And… Nico could call one of your brothers. Could ask for some sort of phone number- a roommate or a friend or anyone. But as you stare up at him, you lean away from the wall and fall into his chest, and he knows he needs to act quickly. Preferably before you pass out at the bar.

…..

You don’t remember the walk out of the bar, or the car ride, or the elevator up to the apartment that you’re sure you must’ve taken. Your world zaps back into focus on the entryway of Nico’s apartment. You’ve been here twice- both for parties. It’s different when it’s not full of people. Feels more like Nico.

You toe your shoes off in the doorway. Nico swipes them to the side with his foot and then reaches out to catch you when you stumble. You lean into his shoulder and laugh- he smells good, like honey and whiskey. You want to breathe him in. He laughs, too- you can tell by the way his broad shoulders shake.

He leads you out of the entryway and into the kitchen. He grabs you by your hips to maneuver you, and you nearly squeal at the feeling of his fingers splayed against your body. Instead, when he moves you to lean against the counter, you sigh. You brace yourself, elbows on the granite, and stare up at him as he moves through the room.

“Stop staring at me like that,” he says in a warning tone.

“Like what?” You ask, innocently.

If he’d look at you, you’d bat your eyelashes at him. But he’s not looking, and you’re not going to waste your energy. He has his head in the fridge, an empty glass in his hand. He returns with a pitcher of water and pours it into the glass before sliding it over to you.

He never clarifies what he means by staring like that. You want to circle back to it, but you’re getting really tired, and the water is cool and refreshing. You laugh when you spill a little bit, the water running down your chin and neck. Nico just groans and rolls his eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he states, like you both didn’t already know it.

You nod. “I had a lotta tequila.”

He gives you a look of exasperation mixed with affection. “Trying to forget?”

You shrug. “Something like that.”

Once you’ve finished the glass, he starts maneuvering you again, hands on your shoulders this time as he walks you down the hallway. You wonder what it would be like to have him do this all the time- maybe when you’re not drunk. Does he manhandle his girlfriends, his dates, like this? Maybe manhandle isn’t the right word. You don’t feel handled, you feel… taken care of. Like he’s making sure you’re exactly where you should be. It’s sweet. It makes you shiver just a little bit.

He mistakes the movement for a chill, and he rubs his hands up and down your shoulders. You sigh. The two of you step into the bathroom, and he digs through the drawer until he finds a new toothbrush and toothpaste, and he hands them both to you.

You stumble your way towards the bedroom five minutes later, his hands on your hips again. He pushes open the door to his bedroom and leads you to the bed, having you sit down on the edge while he heads for the dresser. You look around. You’ve been to his place, but never here. It’s… calm. Quiet. The sheets and duvet beneath you are soft, and the lamp next to the bed casts a warm glow over everything. He has trophies taking up space on his desk. The bed is unmade, blankets rumpled and messy.

“Always wondered what your room looked like,” you say.

His shoulders tense, though he shakes it out a few moments after. “Yeah?”

You nod, forgetting he isn’t looking at you, and then supplement with words. “Can learn a lot about a person from their bedroom.”

He laughs and looks over his shoulder at you. “What have you learned, then?”

You shrug and cast your eyes to the ceiling. He goes back to rifling through the drawers. You flop backwards onto the end, laughing lightly at the way it bounces beneath you.

Something lands on your stomach- a large t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You pick them up and hold them above your head.

“Get changed,” he says. When you lean up to look at him, the whole room spins. He sighs, like he can tell. “I’ll be back in a second, okay?”

…..

Nico nearly panics five minutes later, because he knocks on the door to ask if you’re decent and you don’t answer. He’s torn between worry about seeing something he shouldn’t, and worry about you dying- one of them trumps the other, so he shoves his way into the room frantically.

You’re laid out on the bed, swallowed up by his t-shirt, the drawstring of the shorts pulled tight around your waist. Your lips are just barely parted, soft sighs escaping with each rise and fall of your chest. You’re asleep. He could leave you, but right now you’re asleep on your back, and very drunk, and he’s worried you’re going to throw up and- they warned him about that, years ago, when he first started going to parties. Friends don’t let friends sleep on their backs.

He crawls up onto the bed and tucks you into the blankets. Then he rolls you onto your side, and sighs when you immediately try to roll back onto your back. He repeats the process, and this time you groan loudly in response. Without really thinking about it, he sits down on the bed behind you and props his leg against your back. That seems to keep you in place- you lean into the warmth but you don’t try to roll over again.

So. That’s great, except, now he’s stuck. Realistically, he was going to stay anyways. If he was the last person to see you and something awful happened, he’d never forgive himself, and neither would your brothers. So it’s fine, really, that you’re leaning against him, but… you’re warm, and breathing softly, and your hair is strewn all over the pillowcase, and god, he hates the way it all makes him blush.

He can’t do anything about it, especially not now, with the state you’re in. So he just sits and watches you sleep, the way he’s sort of always dreamed about.

Hours later, Nico’s woken from a half asleep state by a loud noise- it’s his cell phone, ringing on the nightstand. He scrambles to pick up, blinking blearily at the screen. 4:53 am, and Jack is calling him. He wouldn’t normally answer, but it’s Jack, and by now he’s probably heard about you, so he swipes to take the call.

“It’s not even 5am, Jack,” he says softly.

“Hischier.” A voice returns- it’s not Jack.

“Quinn.” He replies, carefully.

He keeps his voice low. His gaze flickers down to you. You’re asleep -on your side, thank god- one arm wrapped around his leg. He swallows tightly and carefully brushes a stray piece of hair from your face. You don’t stir.

“It’s not even 5am,” he repeats.

Quinn scoffs. “I know. Woke up to go do some early morning training, and imagine my surprise when I see about ten texts from various people telling me you took my baby sister home with you last night.”

Right. Everybody knows everybody in the NHL. Nico rolls his eyes. You’re older than both Jack and Luke- you’re not a baby. He refrains from saying that, though- knowing it’ll only upset Quinn more. He may sound relatively calm now, but Nico can sense the undercurrent of tension.

“It’s not like that,” Nico says.

“Right. And you’re just whispering for the fun of it, then? Not because you’re afraid to wake her?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “She was wasted. I brought her back here to keep an eye on her. Did they tell you about how I nearly punched a guy to get him to leave her alone?”

He hears Quinn falter whatever he was going to say next. Then he speaks up again. “Doesn’t explain why you’re close enough to her right now that you’d need to be whispering.”

“I was worried she was going to choke on her own vomit,” Nico says curtly. “So I stayed up most of the night making sure she stayed on her side.”

“Right, sure, by what- curling up with her?” Quinn sneers.

Nico slumps down against the headboard. “Jesus, Hughes. You trusted me to take care of your brothers. You said that yourself. You can’t trust me with this?”

“It’s a bit different and we both know it,” Quinn says.

Nico figures that’s fair. If it was his sister… he understands. He just wishes Quinn would give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Look, man. Nothing happened. I swear to you, I wouldn’t ever do anything to harm her, alright? We ran into her at a bar, she was wasted and by herself and trying to push some guy away and he wasn’t letting up. So I put a stop to it, and we couldn’t call any of her friends because her phone was dead. And not sure if you’ve noticed, but your brothers are out of town. I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

He hears Quinn sigh. “You just happened to be there to save the day?”

Nico groans, this time a bit too loudly. You shift next to him, and suddenly you’re awake, blinking up at him with soft eyes. His heart catches in his chest. You wrinkle your nose, likely in confusion at the sight of him on the phone at 5am. He mouths your brother’s name, and your confusion only grows. You gesture for the phone.

“Quinn,” you say, sleepily. “It’s 5am. Why the fuck are you calling?”

Nico can’t hear what your brother is saying anymore- a welcome reprieve, really. You roll your eyes and he holds back a laugh. When he meets your gaze, you’re fighting a laugh, too, he thinks.

“So you called because you were checking on me, right?” You ask, blinking up at Nico. “Not to harass my friend, right? Because that would be a rude thing to do at 5am, you know.”

You’re quiet for a few more moments. Then you yawn and roll your eyes again. “Okay. Well. I’m fine. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

You hang up on him. Nico’s torn between laughter and panic, wondering if Quinn’s going to call again. The phone stays silent in your hand, though. He takes it from you, sets it down on the nightstand carefully. Your arm wraps back around his leg, and he tries not to let it make him sigh in relief.

“Sorry about him,” you say, quietly. “He’s like a guard dog. But one of those little yappy ones.”

Nico laughs. “Ankle biter.”

You nod and laugh, too. “Why’d you even answer?”

Nico drags a hand down his face. “He called from Jack’s phone.”

“Sneaky little bitch,” you scoff.

He shrugs. “To be fair, I probably should’ve at least let someone know where you were. If I’d woken up to a message about my sister like the one Quinn probably got…” he scrubs at the hair on his jaw. “Not sure I’d have reacted differently.”

You huff- your warm breath washes over his leg. “You hockey players are a bunch of gossips, you know that?”

He grumbles at that, not even giving it a real response. He slumps down further against the headboard, eyes feeling heavy, head feeling even heavier. You pat your hand against his knee and sigh.

“You should lay down,” you mumble.

He sighs. “Yeah. If you’re feeling okay I can go to the couch. Didn’t want to leave you alone, I was scared you’d throw up.”

You stare up at him. He stares right back. Pretty eyes. God, your brothers would kill him.

“No, like, just- lay down,” you tell him, patting the bed next to you. “It’s your bed.”

His heart does a somersault. His stomach follows suit. He shouldn’t. Jack will punch him, Luke will deliver the final blow, and then Quinn will fly down from Canada to stomp on his grave. But he’s exhausted, and the bed is comfy, and you… you’re there, like he’s always dreamed. He won’t touch you. He’ll just lay down right next to you, barely under the blankets, plenty of space between the two of you in his big bed. It’ll be fine.

…..

You wake up hours later with a raging headache and your head against Nico’s chest. You nearly panic until you remember who he is. Then you worry he’ll think it’s weird, having you pressed against him like this, but you realize his arm is wrapped tightly around your waist. He’s strong. You know that, but it’s different to feel it for yourself, the way the thick muscle presses against your back. His cheek is resting on top of your head, too, and he’s just barely snoring, soft sounds through his lips.

You’d stay right there forever if your head didn’t hurt so bad.

When you try to wiggle free, he holds on tighter, groaning softly. You try to pry his arm off your waist and he grunts this time. When he finally wakes up enough to be somewhat coherent, he doesn’t let go.

“Whatimesit?” He asks groggily, lips brushing against your forehead.

“Dunno,” you admit. “Head hurts. S’there ibuprofen in your cupboard?”

He groans softly and then peels his arm away. Before you can make a move, he rolls out of bed and stumbles towards the bathroom. You watch him go and try to pretend you don’t shiver at the roll of his back muscles beneath his t-shirt. He comes back with a glass of water and pills in his hands.

You fight a laugh at the sight of him, sleep rumpled and groggy, brows furrowed tightly. You push yourself up to sit up, leaning on your left hand and rubbing your eyes sleepily with your right. He hands over the water and the pills. You take them eagerly.

You blink up at him after you down the whole glass and cock your head. “Did I dream that Quinn called?”

Nico snorts and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Nope. That was real life.”

You roll your eyes. “Overprotective asshole.”

Nico laughs at that, eyes slipping closed. “Like I said. If I were him, I’d have had the same reaction.”

You let yourself fall back down to the bed. “Right, like you’d ever…” you cut yourself off with a laugh. “I mean, he and Jack and Luke are always so worried about teammates being into me or something. It’s ridiculous.”

Nico laughs, but it sounds hollow. You lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling. You’re already planning how you’re going to chew Quinn out for this one.

“I don’t blame him,” Nico says, quieter this time. “Just wish he wouldn’t have called so early.”

You close your eyes. “He’s annoying. Why’s he worried? Like… none of you guys have ever shown any interest in me, so. ”

Your lack of dating hockey players is not for lack of trying. There’d been Quinn’s teammates in college, and Jack’s from the other teams, too. You’ve had crushes that you’ve eventually let fizzle out after getting nothing in return. Nico’s the only crush that’s stuck around this long. Because despite the fact that you can barely even call him your friend, sometimes he pulls shit like this- taking you back to his place and staying up late to take care of you, fielding phone calls from your protective older brother. Nico’s a giant human teddy bear. You think at this point it’s gone beyond a crush.

“Why d’you think that is?” Nico asks, breaking you from your train of thought.

“Why do I think what is?” You reply.

You swear you feel his hand brush against your wrist.

“That none of us ever show any interest?” He says.

He’s quiet. Quieter, at least. More tentative. Softer. You pry one eye open and look up at him, and you swear he’s blushing. Hm.

“Because…you’re not- nobody’s interested?” You say, softer than even him.

He tilts his head. Your mouth feels dry.

“You remember the first Devils game you came to?” He asks. You nod, and he continues. “Before the game, in the locker room, Jack mentioned his sister was going to be there, and, well, you know how hockey players are. Couple people made comments about wanting to meet you, asked if you’d be at the afterparty. Jack made it pretty clear you were off limits. And, you know. Guys do that shit all the time, get overprotective over their sisters, and it’s never been, you know, an issue. Half the time I don’t even meet the guys’ family, you know?”

He trails off and scrubs his hand through his hair. You watch him closely.

“But that night, after the game, I was leaving and I saw… this girl. This beautiful girl. And she was wearing a Hughes jersey, and I was…” he laughs and closes his eyes. “I was coming up with all these stupid pick up lines, about how I was better than him, and I was walking towards her, and I swear I looked away for a second and then Jack was there. Hugging you, and glaring at me over your shoulder. I got the message.”

You reach up and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I hate my brothers.”

Nico laughs. “In Luke’s defense…”

“Don’t defend any of them, Luke’s the worst of them, he’s just quiet about it,” you scoff. “He chased my college boyfriend out of my dorm with a hockey stick.”

Nico laughs. You laugh, too, but you shake your head. He nudges his knee against yours. When his thumb brushes against your wrist this time, you open your eyes. That blush is there, soft and rosy on his cheeks.

“So you get it, then,” he says, head tilted as he blinks down at you. His hair is falling over his forehead messily. “Why I’ve never made a move.”

You’re so busy trying to process all the information of the day that you almost miss it. Why I’ve never made a move. It could’ve been a fleeting moment, just a quick crush when he saw you the first time, but something about this tells you it’s not. He presses his thumb to your pulse point on your wrist, and the warmth of his hand on your skin makes you shiver slightly. You stare up at him and chew on your lower lip.

“I think you should ask me about my limits,” you say, quietly. “They’re a lot different than my brothers’, you know.”

The grin on Nico’s face grows wider. “S’that so?”

You nod eagerly. He lets out a low, slow breath, like he’s bracing for impact. Something in your chest aches. He plants a hand next to your head and leans towards you, and your heart leaps in your throat.

“What’re your limits on kissing hockey players?” He asks. His other hand comes up and cups the side of your face. He brushes his thumb against your Cupid’s bow. “Y’know. If the opportunity were to come up.”

You shrug. “Would depend on the player, I suppose.”

He nods in understanding, pursing his lips. “How about… hm. 6’1”, brown hair, brown eyes. Team captain. Nice guy, I guess. Would definitely make sure you got home safe from the bar.”

You reach up and draw a hesitant line on his jaw with your fingertip. “Team captain, huh? I do like a man in charge.”

He nods. You nod back. For a moment, the two of you sit in limbo.

In the end, you’re the one to wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself up to kiss him. When you do, though, he responds eagerly. He cages you in with both arms, and as you melt for him, he does the same for you. It’s a sweet kiss, one full of hope and excitement. You’re surrounded by him, by his arms and his touch and the smell of him on the sheets. You’ve never been more happy you ran into him at a bar than in that very moment.

…..

You’re back in that same bar from weeks ago, standing under the very same neon light. Except this time, there’s no guy hovering over you, and this time, you and Nico both know the other is going to be there. He’s at the bar, pretending he’s just noticed you, smiling and waving as he orders. You shake your empty cup at him, and he nods.

He wanders over a few minutes later, drinks in hand. He leans against the wall next to you and hands you the cup. The neon light glows bright on his dark hair. You sip your drink and smile up at him. Politely. Friendly. Nothing more. He’s a polite, friendly distance away. There’s space between the two of you.

“If we’re gonna make this believable, you’re going to have to come say hello to the rest of the team,” he says.

You nod. “In a minute.”

Across the bar, one of his teammates is yelling about a game on the screen. For now, you want just a minute with Nico. A moment for just the two of you. One where he’s not your brothers’ team captain, but your boyfriend instead.

The word feels new in your brain, would feel even newer on your lips if you said it. So far, you’ve only tried it out a couple times- when he asked the question, and then after that in the bathroom mirror, a wide grin on your face. You haven’t told anyone else. Nico’s worried about Jack and Luke’s reactions, and the season’s almost done- he wants to wait to tell them afterwards, when the results of a game won’t rest so heavily on how they take the news. It’s been a lot of staying in dates, movie nights at home on his couch, which both of you are partial to anyways. And lots of this, too- seemingly chance meetings at local bars, quick texts from him telling you where he’s headed with his friends and you showing up, purely coincidental to anyone other than him.

Eventually, you follow him through the crowd of people to a secluded corner full of hockey players. You spot your brothers, blissfully unaware, nursing matching beers. Just before everyone catches sight of the two of you, Nico sneaks a hand back and squeezes yours. You smile brightly.

“Look who I found!” Nico calls out.

He moves his grip on your hand to your wrist, raises your arm like you’ve won a fight. You laugh and shake your arm free of his hold. You’re met with cheers from the team, loudest of all from your brothers. You can wait to tell them. For now, the way he smiles at you is more than enough.

…..

“Should we just tell them we know they’re… a thing?” Luke asks.

Jack shakes his head, watching you and Nico. “Nah. Let ‘em sweat. She’ll slip up eventually, or he’ll start to freak out.” He sees Nico reach to grab your hip, then pull back at the last second like he’s been burned. A mix of disgust and amusement passes through him- you’re his sister, after all. “Jesus, dunno why they think they’re fooling anyone.”

Jack’s known since the day he got back and saw you at lunch. You’d been overly happy but basically refused to talk about your impromptu stay at Nico’s. Then, he’d seen Nico at practice, and he’d been much the same. By the time the team had gone out to a bar and you mysteriously happened to show up, he’d had his suspicions and had relayed them to Luke. They’d watched you and Nico leave the bar together one night when you thought nobody was looking.

Luke laughs. “Okay, but, when do we tell Quinn?”

Jack turns to him with wide eyes. “We don’t! D’you want our captain to die?”

Luke directs his gaze back towards you and the aforementioned captain. Jack follows suit and tries not to roll his eyes. The two of you aren’t touching, but the smiles on your faces say it all.

“I mean,” Luke starts quietly. “They’re kind of cute. And we want them to be happy, right?”

“Don’t even start,” Jack says firmly.

He’ll let it go for now, in the interest of finishing out the season on a good note. But after that, all bets are off. Definitely. Probably. Jack’s the one who set the rules, who declared you off limits, and he’ll stick to his word.

No matter how much the two of you together are starting to grow on him.

Part 2: I Know

if you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! i hope you’ve enjoyed

[lxmelle]

Those letters for his students was like Gojo’s way of showing consideration for them.

That’s what Geto Suguru, the “Gojo translator”, would say to them, if he was there.

I mean, there was a reason they were best friends - Geto understood him the best. He helped him learn how to (and the importance of) connecting to others - how to not be lonely.

It was the same in the scene with Kuroi. Right before he shouted for Gojo over the time, he just instinctively knew how to connect with Gojo and helped others with sympathising with Gojo.

I didn’t play the JJK game but I think the undercurrent dynamics is similar. Their bond. The exclusivity. Love. The whole breakup was about their friendship. The change the new generation got was also due to the path forged by them. As it stands, Gojo is shown to be largely misunderstood and nobody aside from Yuta has shown much affection for Gojo. Maybe Yuji ... to some degree. But I digress.

Maybe it’s an unpopular opinion, but considering how Geto-centred Gojo’s GIGA Character book was, he was likely influenced by Geto’s strong protective love for his “family”.

It makes sense to me that Gojo thought it would be important to put the students’ minds at ease with any thoughts/questions about their family. Hence the letters to help tie up loose ends.

Megumi was shown to be thinking about his father, whin he assumed was out there somewhere. Even if he didn’t want to know, there is a subconscious level of unfinished business from thinking this. And to know that Gojo killed him, may have helped him realise that his sensei had his back all this while. He was worth protecting all this while. That chapter of his life can truly close.

And just how bloody typical of his sensei, who has no “delicate-ness” about him!

As a sensei, and as a person, Gojo always protected others from his own personal concerns. He and Geto both stubbornly lived & fought “alone” because this was just their belief as the burden of the strongest = to protect others. The line was drawn and Gojo only ever wanted Geto to understand him, hence his conversation in 236. Only ever needed Geto by his side: hence his only complex was Geto leaving him behind.

We see this in how Shoko felt distant from them both. Stating in her inner monologue how she could never love either of them, but she was there - insinuating what they had between them was not something she could give (love) but her friendship was there if only Gojo let her in. And we see it in how, when she tried to connect with Gojo post-unsealing, by including Geto’s body as someone to be retrieved, he was a bit taken aback, starting his sentence with a long pause “……...” and keeping it simple / not elaborating (だな - it’s like the equivalent of a “yeah” but implies agreement).

Also, the fact the students and others can joke and call him an idiot, etc. means he really hid it well. Gojo protected them all. (As a teacher and adult should, I guess.)

I’m reminded of this scene.

Geto helped Gojo empathise & “not bully the weak”, but to also consider what else may be important... even if they may not think so themselves.

Until they receive what they thought they didn’t want, only to realise it was what they needed after all.

Cuz… y’kow: people (especially children) don’t always know what they want or need.

Sometimes what you want isn’t what you need. What you need isn’t necessarily what you want.

Gojo & Geto lived through that too... didn’t they? On so many levels… wanting, needing, denying, losing, yearning. Carrying their burdens they had nobody to share with. Making decisions on their own. Giving to the other a piece of their heart. Sacrificing themselves. Accepting each others loneliness as their own. Thinking they were better off loving the other by being apart.

The painful lessons that shaped the way for the new world. Children given the protection from The Strongest Sorcerer of the Modern Era. Granted a world with fewer curses for 10 years due to the Strongest Curse User.

Children who had adults to guide, protect, and care for them.

Children who do not have to be killed for the mistakes of others, who were forced to commit sins, or for being born a certain way.

I think every single sorcerer who were adults helped the kids in some way. The layers and layers of this story is just... overwhelmingly beautiful.

Much remains to be seen now. I’m worried that Yuta will have to live in Gojo’s body and that Kenjaku’s eerie words of Yuta being “the next Gojo Satoru” will extend beyond that battle.

People on X seem to be speculating whether a world without curses will exist (going back to jjk 0 and Geto’s ideals). What of the barriers without tengen? Some question reality as we are being shown - is it an elaborate dream? Hm.

I hope for the plant/flower trio at least... Megumi and Yuji can use their shared tragedy as vessels who committed sins to bond and support one another. Nobara is a great buffer and heroine in her own right. Their dynamics are really amazing. Independent, yet so bonded.

I’d love to see Gojo & Geto at peace. I guess whatever happens, chapter 236 is a bit like salvation. And doesn’t Megumi’s smiling pic (above) look similar? If these two smiled as if they had no regrets , we can assume Megumi smiled sincerely upon receiving the letter, too.

As long as Gege doesn’t do anything to change it.

Please please don’t. They deserve a reward for their hard work and sacrifice!