#he wanted to play with the other kids so bad

[windyremedy]

title: stressful shenanigans 💥

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: your husband’s reaction when your child tells you to “shut up” wasn’t what you expected.

Keitaro Bakugou had always been a troublesome child but not in the way that others might assume. Yes appearance wise he’s practically a carbon copy of his father and yes he’s loud and confident as well but he’s also very much like his mother, mischievous. So when you brought up the idea of pranking his father he was all in.

While you two were plotting, your dear husband was with your youngest and oldest boys. All sat around the living room enjoying each others presence with him reading a book (yes with glasses) and your children playing a co-op video game.

The plan you two came up with was that he would tell you shut up when you nagged him about his chores or something. It was actually your idea to do this one in particular since you saw it circling around TikTok awhile ago. So he shouldn’t know about the trend but then again he wouldn’t have known anyways since he doesn’t really use the app. Kei was a lot more hesitant in executing this plan not necessarily worried about his dad’s reaction but more so on how you’d feel. But after you explained to him that you know it’s not malicious in any way he agreed.

So to set the scene he stormed out the door, putting more pressure in his steps basically stomping downstairs.

“I SAID I’LL DO IT LATER!!!” he yelled out loud immediately capturing the attention of his brothers and father.

The oldest, Ryuu, looked at him with pure judgement as Kei glared or tried to at your crossed arms figure. Takeshi the youngest had a confused expression, and Katsuki although was astonished at the audacity of Kei’s attitude (as if he wouldn’t have gotten it from him if it’s the case) was mostly wondering why he was shouting at you when out of the three brats he was the most mama’s boy there was.

“Kei I’m telling you to clean your room now.” you said with finality in your tone.

“So what? It’s my room I’ll clean it when I want to.” he groaned turning around.

At that Katsuki had already closed his book and stood up ready to intervene.

“You need to listen to me Kei—“

“Can you just shut up already!” he shouts raising his voice in a manner he doesn’t ever typically reach if at all.

Then a deafening silence echoes throughout the usually loud household with Ryuu gripping onto his controller looking like he wanted to knock some sense into his brother and Takeshi’s eyes widening as his mouth hung slightly open at the disrespect being displayed. On the other hand Katsuki seemed to shift to his pro hero mode, serious and unwavering purpose to set things right.

“Keitaro Bakugou I know you did not just shout at your mother like that.” he spoke firmly, devoided of its usual warmth.

He stalked closer to the unmoving boy. “—that’s your room right? well this is our house and if you want to keep living here I suggest you apologize to your mother right now—“

Before he could scold Kei any further you stepped in placing a hand around his abdomen.

“Wait! wait— Kats he’s just joking, we’re just joking.” you intervened now fully hugging his side as your accomplice gives him a nervous grin.

Ever so clever Katsuki immediately connected the dots, just exasperated at both your antics.

“You two are gonna be the death of me.” returning your hug and affectionally grabbing Kei around the neck to join.

“I should’ve known, Kei’s bad at acting.” Ryuu mentions from behind as Takeshi nods in agreement.

“Yeah, he’s also bad at Minecraft.”

Having heard that Kei threw his head up from his parents arms, trying to defend himself while recoinciling with his father.

“The creeper crept up on me!”

“Oh really? I wouldn’t have guessed.” Ryuu sarcastically answered.

As the three kids continued to argue or well— two oldest as the youngest one encourages the feud. Bakugou broke off from the hug and put Kei with the other two on the couch. Noticing their father’s disapproval at their little quarrel they quieted down.

“You three should know better than to argue with us infront of you. As punishment you’re gonna go to your grandparents tonight.”

The trio blinked up at him in confusion. They’d always argue at times even when you two were around and never got this so called penalty.

“How is that a punishment?” Kei asked in genuine perplexity.

“Well it ain’t really so much for you, m’ just gonna have a long talk with your mother tonight. Can’t have her encouraging this kinda behavior.” he fauxed a grave appearance as he glanced at you with a different intention unknown to the boys.

Oh you were in for it now.

You are so fucked.

©windyremedy

[enwoso]

how convenient | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

grumpy masterlist | if you haven’t already i would recommend reading first heartbreak to get up to speed

the sidelines of the pitch buzzed with the usual saturday morning chaos — parent's chatting, children chasing stray footballs as whistles blowed too often and not enough. but leah had stood still, arms folded across her chest. her eyes locked on the man across the field.

harrison.

it was almost poetic, convenient if you will, even if it didn't make her stomach twist that the next time she saw him would be here.

at your football game. the one he was meant to show up for last time. the one he'd promised. the one he then conveniently forgot.

leah could still hear alessia's voice over the phone, quiet and tired as she'd spent the entire evening calming you down as the tried her best to stay calm over the phone as she retold the story to leah. 'she asked me if he even loved her, le.'

and that was it. that was the line.

you deserved a hell of a lot better than a broken promise with whiskey on its breath.

so leah waited, watching your entire game. you playing with that familiar fierce focus which had been missing the previous week as your blonde curls bounced as you ran for the ball. but something in your movement lacked the usual sparkle — it hadn't properly returned since that weekend.

when harrison finally wandered to the edge of the field, the game now finished. he’d been there since the 14th minute — leah had been watching.

a coffee cup in one of his hands, phone in the other, looking more like he'd stumbled out of bed then just stepped into fatherhood afterwards.

leah didn't hesitate after making sure that both alessia and you were occupied and distracted. you running circles with your teammates as alessia spoke to some of their parents, engrossed in a deep conversation. so you both wouldn't see what leah was up to.

"didn't think you had it in you to show up this time," she said, quiet but cutting sharp.

harrison blinked, startled, then smirked faintly, "leah. thought i might run into you today."

"lucky me."

he sipped his coffee looking out to the field, avoiding eye contact with leah. "so i take it less has sent you over here to lecture me then?"

"no, she doesn't even know i'm over here talking to you. i'm just here to watch the kid, who actually showed up."

his jaw twitched slightly, "look, i know i messed up. i didn't mean to forget - i had a lot going on that day."

leah raising an eyebrow humming slightly at his well, pathetic words, "enough going on that you forget your own daughters name?"

he flinched, taking another sip from his coffee. a beat of silence falling over the two as they both looked over the field, arms leaning against the barrier.

"i said i was hungover. i didn't mean it. i was half asleep, and—"

"—and yet you still found time to answer a phone you didn't remember promising her on."

there was another beat of silence, for a second too long, and then his face hardened.

"you don't know what it's like," he muttered, jaw clenched. "you don't know me, you don't know what i've got going on. what we had, how hard it was. you think because you're playing happy families with my ex and my kid, you know everything?"

leah took one step closer, her voice dropping into steel. "i know enough."

he just scoffed, amused almost as a smirk appeared on his face. "no, mate you know alessia's version. that's it."

"no, mate. i know a hell of a lot more than you." that stopped him in his tracks.

"i know how before she goes to bed she has to say goodnight to all of her teddy’s so that they don’t go to sleep sad. i know how she still draws you in every picture she makes cause she doesn't want to hurt your feelings. i know how hard alessia fights not to to bad-mouth you in front of her - no matter how angry she is with you. i know what it looks like when a little girl asks if her dad really loves her—and means it."

harrison looked away. he didn't say anything. he didn't have anything to defend him self with.

"you think this is about you and alessia? this isn't about who's in her bed now." leah added her voice quieter now, but somehow more dangerous. "it's not. it's about that little girl you keep letting down. and if you're not going to be a dad and a proper one at that then don't expect the world to wait while you try and figure out how."

for a moment, the only sound was the distant sound of children giggling and parents chatting as the field started to get less busier of people, the morning of football starting to slow down.

then—

"she's my daughter" harrison said, but it didn't sound as strong as convincing as he wanted it to.

"your right she is, so start fucking acting like it" leah replied, snappy and sharp as if she had a response to every thing he said. "because she deserves better and she not going to keep giving you pieces of herself for you to just drop every time it's convenient for you."

leah turned without waiting for a reply, she didn't want to listen to his pathetic voice any longer. she'd heard enough and said what she wanted to say.

watching as the group of parents surrounding alessia's was getting smaller, as she jogged to catch up with you two. alessia looked over her shoulder, sensing leah's presence. "you all good?"

leah reached for alessia's hand, slipping her fingers effortlessly between hers with ease, "yeah, just had something to take care of."

alessia raised an eyebrow, curious but also didn't push. instead making a mental note to ask later on. "that right?"

"yep, all sorted though. don't worry, love"

you rushed back to leah and alessia having said goodbye to your friends, as you were already mid-sentence. "did you see when i almost scored mama? i kicked it so hard!"

leah grinned, the tension easing from her shoulders just at the sound of your voice as she ruffled your hair, "i saw, you were brilliant today, you little superstar!"

and as the three of them walked off the field, you chattering away, alessia leaning in close as leah anchored them to her side — harrison being left stood alone in his own thoughts by the sideline .

watching what it looked like when someone actually showed up.

[cranberrymoons]

does everyone remember that one scene where there's an argument about good cop/bad cop parenting and buck and eddie are just sort of standing off to the side. and when someone is like "can't you just both be the good cop" to the parents who were arguing, buck and eddie are (in unison) like Noooo and everyone literally stops saving some guy's life to turn and stare at them. and they don't appear to realize they've said anything strange. okay. so i am rotating that in my mind and i am thinking about how easy it is to assume that buck would be the Good Cop parent in chris's life because it would be easier for him to be the fun dad especially at first when he doesn't have as much of an established role yet. and this is largely true (ie that time eddie has to give buck the You'd Better Back Me Up look when chris is grounded from playing video games or whatever; and btw the implications of that in the sense of like....... eddie expecting buck to back him up. and the idea of buck being empowered to Not back him up if he wanted to. and chris instinctively knowing this enough to do the "one parent said no so i'm going to ask the other parent" thing that kids do. anyway.) Anyway. i think it is largely true that buck is the fun dad but i also think he is sometimes the serious dad. like he is the one who half the time has the Big Talks with chris when something is going on in their family. and also he is definitely the one who made chris eat his vegetables when he was a kid. because eddie is much quicker to say okay :) let's order pizza. when he doesn't feel like cooking. and buck gives him a Look and eddie is like UGH fine. we'll order a salad with the pizza and chris you'll eat some of it. or else. and then proceed to not actually make him eat it. idk. they're a family. yay.

[thatautisticlesbian]

one story comes to mind for me, my family moved for like the what would it be the 12th time when i was around 13 and this time it was because my super religious parents wanted to be missionaries(another story) but we went to this center with many other families for culture/language training, but this was one of the first times i had friends, being an undiagnosed but "good" autistic kid i didn't really fit in big surprise anywhere else but among the other fucked up kids of missionary parents i found a small group who i enjoyed the company of, but looking back at it is just sad and frankly heartbreaking how i was treated and acted. i was treated as there pet, playing a game i was always the monster, sub-human. i wanted their attention so badly, like there was a drink machine that had a bunch of soda fast food style, but i forget if it was a dare or an escalation of what someone else did, i think a dare but i mixed all the drinks including hot chocolate mix and coffee with all the sodas and drank it(wasnt bad just weird) but i really wanted to be accepted and not realizing how i was being used as a toy. there was one kid who looking back is very much adhd who i was closer to and seemed to enjoy my company more than then the others but he also joined in the other stuff. I was also incredibly sheltered which hurt my chances of socializing with other kids my age.

my story is much less structured than the others but i wanted to share my own heartbreak.

every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever

[100vern]

while he's gone | ksy & hvc

𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 // 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓.

★ pairing: vernon x f. reader; established hoshi x f. reader ★ genre: open relationship, fwb to lovers au; smut, fluff, lite angst ★ summary: your boyfriend's on tour, but vernon's still in town. ★ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ★ warnings: i am reiterating that this is an open relationship so there is NO CHEATING!! i don't wanna hear it!! soloist hoshi, producer vernon, i wax way too poetic about music and interior design, swearing, alcohol, use of pet names, one miscommunication, one tiny argument that gets resolved, discussions about polyamory. everyone being in love and down bad for one another. ★ smut warnings: mentions of threesomes, voyeurism (over the phone), dirty talk, oral sex, dry humping??, protected vaginal sex, marking/biting, multiple orgasms, sex toys, cuckolding, recording (photos/videos), masturbation, teasing, cum play/eating, lingerie. please tell me if i forgot anything! ★ wordcount: 12.6k ★ credits: cam (@highvern) for spreading the "hoshi holding vernon's head down" agenda far and wide. bee (@imnotshua) for telling me when my words don't make sense and fixing them. jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over. ★ author's note: more cursed thoughts thanks to a conversation about monsta x with @aeristudios. i've been wanting to write a fic based off "got my number" for ages, so here we are! a lil treat dedicated to @sailorsoons for girlbossing her ass off these last few weeks (and pulverizing her knee). i would also like to apologize to all the hansol truthers. i typed it out once and had a visceral reaction, much like i did using hoshi's government name, so he's just vernon.

Your boyfriend’s flight departed from Incheon just shy of four p.m., though he’d left the apartment long before that.

Needed time to make the hour and a half drive. Fix his hair and makeup before he hopped out and posed for Dispatch. Push his way through the horde of fans and to security, get his face scanned and passport checked. Needed time to make it to the privacy of his terminal lounge where he could catch his breath and lock himself in the bathroom. Needed time to send you a mirror selfie: hoodie unzipped to the middle of his bare sternum, hat pulled low to cover his eyes, tongue just barely peeking out from between his lips.

Made it 😘, it said.

Beneath that, even though the two of you have been through this exact scenario more times than you can count—even though it’s the same every time and he said all the same things as he was fucking you into the mattress last night and again this morning, as he was kissing you goodbye at the door hours ago:

Soonyoung: Love u babe. Gonna miss u sooo much~ I’ll text u every chance I can !! Soonyoung: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ㅋㅋㅋ just kidding don’t u dare behave Soonyoung: Send me pictures tho. What if I get lonely 😔

There was a thought: your boyfriend on tour, all alone between the cold, crisp sheets of his hotel bed, no one to occupy all that extra space. You’d snorted at that. Replied with the eye-roll emoji and wondered, privately, if he was going to meet up with the same old flames; if he was going to send you pictures with faces and bodies you recognized. Anticipation clawed its way up your spine and settled in your gut, left behind an insurmountable want.

Saying goodbye was always hard, but this part? It felt like Soonyoung held the forbidden fruit in his hand, sliced and fed to you on the point of a paring knife.

Delicious, in other words.

Whatever you and Vernon have fallen into can best be described as a foregone conclusion: Soonyoung leaves, Vernon arrives, and there’s no need for the discretion or the habit, but you can’t deny there’s a certain allure to it. It feels scandalous, dirty—something that only happens in a dark corner away from prying, garrulous eyes—even though it isn’t. Not really.

Soonyoung will be in Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand; he’ll be in Berlin, Paris and London; he’ll go across North and South America. In every one of those places, someone will keep him company until he comes home to you. And, after every single time, you’ll have something in your inbox to mark the occasion—a text, some pictures, a video—because your boyfriend is nothing if not a pervert.

So no, the discretion isn’t necessary. You and Soonyoung are free to do as you please, both separately and together, which is how all of this started, anyway: his album release party, prod. by VERNON in the credits, you safely sequestered on the other side of a velvet rope. Not a secret, just… not out in the open, either, which was both a little embarrassing and difficult to explain to Vernon over the deafening, teeth-shattering background noise as he unabashedly hit on you.

He’d known, of course, that Soonyoung had been writing love songs about someone, but he hadn’t known it was you he’d helped him write about.

Not that it mattered much in the end. Soonyoung had slunk over, drunk on the spotlight and the status it afforded him, the most important man in the room, and looked Vernon dead in the eye. Pushed his tongue into the fat of his cheek, looked like a real sleazy piece of shit, and said, “You wanna fuck my girl?”

He did, admittedly, and Soonyoung had rewarded him for his honesty. Took both of you home and held Vernon’s head down as he told him how to eat you out, wet and messy and filthy. You came in record time, and a man that made you come in record time was not one you were itching to get rid of.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions you don’t have answers to. Doesn’t mind your unconventional relationship and definitely doesn’t mind recording the way you suck his cock: the way spit pools in the corners of your mouth and glistens under the flash; the way you moan around him as he rasps out husky praise; the way he says shit—fuck, baby, just like that, cock’s so far down your fuckin’ throat, huh; how wet your eyelashes are and the tears tracking down your cheeks.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions and calls Soonyoung hyung even though they’re colleagues, but that’s the sort of relationship you naturally fall into after you have a threesome and fuck said colleague’s girlfriend, you suppose, and Soonyoung doesn’t mind it. Because he’ll go away for whatever it is he gets called away for and Vernon will come over and tell you to ride him as he pulls out his phone and says shit like, “God, hyung, she’s about to come all over my cock. I don’t think she’s thinking about you at all. You aren’t, are you, baby? You’re not thinking about Soonyoung-hyung at all, are you? Only me,” between gasping, fractured moans.

And Soonyoung knows how that feels, is the thing. Knows the feeling of being suffocated in your tight, wet heat and how it can drive a man nearly to madness, and all he feels is pride. That’s his girl, bringing another man to his knees.

Hence the routine.

Normally you’d go out—a swanky new rooftop bar, a nightclub owned by a friend of a friend. Your drinks would glow neon blue under the blacklights, skinny red straw stuck in a plastic cup that matched the cherry at the bottom. Your skin would glisten with sweat as one of your friends twirled you around, kaleidoscope shapes behind your eyelids, both of you laughing breezy and sweet.

At some point throughout the night, Vernon would text you. You’d send him your location. He’d show up in an outfit contradicting the exclusivity of wherever you were, shower-soft, Sauvage on his wrists and neck, and he’d lean in close, ask if you wanted to stay or get out of there. Discarded on your bedroom floor, pooling at his feet in the club bathroom—it no longer mattered what he was wearing, because it never stayed on very long.

So here you are. While Soonyoung’s 800 kilometers away, undoubtedly trying to charm someone into his bed, you’re at home biding your time until the inevitable, no urge to go out. Instead, you indulge in yourself, work yourself up. Soonyoung, Vernon, both of them together—regardless of who you think about, the results are the same: you pinpoint the anticipation in your stomach and press, let your body sink beneath the weight of it.

Your boyfriend has only been in Osaka a handful of hours when the inevitable happens.

Vernon’s name lights up your screen. Transforms the slow simmer of expectation into full-blown wildfire. Has you squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip tugged between your teeth, when you open the text thread. Before tonight, the last time he’d texted you was three months ago: two o’clock in the morning, a video with a completely innocent thumbnail belying its content, already sent this to hyung but figured u might want it too written underneath.

Vernon: heard soonyoung hyung’s out of town for a while Vernon: what are u doing tonite

You exhale a soft laugh. As if Vernon just happened to stumble upon this information. As if he doesn’t already know what you’ll be getting up to tonight. As if he also isn’t falling victim to the desire. As if his lowercase letters and disregard for his ego with a double-text aren’t feigned nonchalance.

But just because you both know exactly where this is heading doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

So you pull your shirt over your head and toss it aside. Open up your camera and angle your body the way you like: glossed lips parted, the bruise Soonyoung sucked into your skin this morning just beneath your collarbone, cleavage framed perfectly, curve of your ass center frame, both covered in cheeky forest green lace. You snap a photo and another one with a painted-on pout; snap a third as the tips of your fingers delve beneath the waistline of your panties.

You: [Attachment: 3 Images] You: Hopefully you?

At the receiving end, Vernon swears, drops his phone. Of course you’re bathed in his favorite color. Of course you’re wrapped in sheets he’s lucky enough to know the feel of. Dizzy, his breath catches in his throat; tries to stave off feeling like he’s in free-fall. He’s no stranger to this kind of insatiable hunger—becomes reacquainted with it every few months, in fact—but it always catches him unaware. Always comes back with such a vengeance, as if all the times before had simply been the prefix.

He grabs his jacket.

Vernon’s barely been at your place twenty minutes when your phone rings.

You groan as he rolls his cock against you, jeans undone but still sitting low on his hips, zipper biting into your skin every time he presses you further into the mattress. The next sound you make he swallows with his mouth. Moves his lips to the column of your throat, the underside of your jaw, the spot just beneath your ear. Takes your lobe between his teeth, asks, “Is it him?” and lets you feel the way he smirks.

Blindly, you reach toward the sound, that horrible scattering across your nightstand that makes your teeth ache. It must be Soonyoung because it’s relentless, another call just as the first one ends, and you’re trying, you really are, but Vernon’s relentless, too. Abandons your space, takes your common sense and all his heat with him as he sits back on his haunches and moves his hands beneath your ass; drags you closer until your cunt—still covered in that dark lace and growing darker the wetter you become—is back against his cock and ruts.

You’re speechless, head thrown back against the pillows, the synapses of your brain misfiring and coming up empty. Both of you are still clothed and Vernon’s still having his way with you; still smirking dirty and arrogant out of the side of his mouth. Almost looks like he’s sneering a little as he asks again, “What’s the matter, baby? Not gonna answer him?” At your continued silence, he amends, “Oh, or maybe you can’t?”

You want to roll your eyes, shut him up with some sharp retort, but he’s got you exactly where he wants you. It’s a place you don’t mind being, either, because whether it’s the way his thick cock feels rubbing against your clit or the result of months of waiting, it doesn’t matter, it all feels divine. Has your breathing labored and heavy, has sweat pricking at your skin, has Vernon staring down at you with a gaze so pointed it cuts through the haze.

So he makes the decision for you. Reaches over and grabs your phone, tucks it between his ear and his shoulder. Keeps his hands free so he can keep moving you against him and greets your boyfriend with a, “Sorry, hyung, she’s a little busy right now.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s bark of laughter from where you’re laying, and then more muted chattering. He must give Vernon instructions, because Vernon puts the phone on speaker and tosses it somewhere on the bed. “Hello, princess. Are you having fun?” All you can manage is an uh-huh that’s fractured in the middle, punctuated with another roll of Vernon’s hips. “Mm, you sound so good, baby. Miss hearing you like that already. Can I see you, too?”

Vernon catches your eye as he reaches for your phone again. Waits for your nod before he points the camera at you and switches it to FaceTime. You hear Soonyoung suck in a breath. Wonder what he looks like. If the low light of his hotel room casts amber shadows across his face that intensify his stare, sharpen it to a point. If he’s got his arm tucked behind his head, laissez-faire in that way that drives you crazy, sensual without having to try. You almost ask Vernon to see, but then Soonyoung clicks his tongue and says, “That set is your favorite, isn’t it?”

The man he’s addressing looks down at you, eyes full of stars. “Yeah, hyung,” Vernon says, and it’s breathy, barely counts as separate words. Through the camera, Soonyoung watches as Vernon runs his fingertips over the hickey he’d left, over the swell of your breast and the space between each rib. Watches as Vernon grips at the meat of your thigh; as his hands flex before he grabs at you again.

“You want to touch her, don’t you? Properly.” He watches as Vernon nods, the camera wobbling with the intensity of it. “Put your mouth on her, Vernon-ah—she loves that so much.”

You can hear the shit-eating lilt to his tone and you know he’s enjoying this. That he loves watching you. Loves that Vernon’s always so fucked up over you and that he gets to direct these scenes. Loves what he gets to experience with you: something enduring and impenetrable, something that grants him freedom and indulgence. Loves you, most of all, but there will be time for that later.

Right now, he wants to watch Vernon make a mess of you. Wants to watch him pull those little lace panties to the side and eat you out, fervent and messy. Wants to hear it when he starts sucking at your clit and you keen high in your throat. Wants to watch the way you grab at his hair and force him closer as you roll your hips and seek out your own undoing.

Right now, Vernon hands the phone to you. “There’s my pretty girl,” Soonyoung says, and your face grows hot—as hot as the hands that skim over your skin and move to take off your panties. Soonyoung loves this part—loves watching someone unwrap you like a present; loves the tension even when isn’t there for it—so you flip the camera so he can see. “Leave them on,” your boyfriend instructs. Vernon’s brows pinch together. “You know she wore that set just for you, so leave it on when you fuck her. Make a mess of it. Cum all over it and ruin it, and then maybe I’ll let you take my card to buy her a new one.”

Vernon’s eyes flutter closed, long lashes fanning across his ruddy cheeks, so fucking pretty.

Anticipation sinks its claws into you again. Feels like an eternity passes before Vernon’s hands start moving again. Before he presses the pads of his thumbs into your hips and the contact makes both of you gasp. Before he leans in closer and kisses all the places he’d left fingerprints. Kisses your stomach, hips, the tops of your thighs and down, down, down until he’s where you want him—until you can feel his breath against your cunt, goosebumps rising from the warmth.

You only tear your eyes away from him to look at Soonyoung. Even through the screen you can tell he’s growing restless: pupils blown wide, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, breathing unsteady. You reach for Vernon, thread your fingers through his hair and tug, and at his resulting whine Soonyoung flips his own camera. What greets you is an expanse of familiar tan skin, his defined abs, legs spread wide, cock curved and hard.

There isn’t an ounce of shame to be found as he palms at himself. Just a ghost of a touch before he squeezes at the base and groans. All the times you’ve watched him do this… you can imagine the way his head rolls back, lips parted, muscles tensing.

“You look so good,” you murmur, and there’s no telling who it’s directed at—because Soonyoung looks good, just as he always does, but Vernon is a vision.

Especially when he’s between your legs.

There’s a glimpse of a half-cocked smile before he flattens his tongue and delves between your folds, stealing the breath from your lungs. One stripe and then another, all parallel lines as he works you over. Wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you closer to his mouth, doubles his efforts, doesn’t pay any mind to the mess he’s making, both of the sheets and of you.

You tug harder at Vernon’s hair. Roll your hips in time with his tongue, both of you endlessly noisy. Vernon groans as he sucks at your clit and you feel the sparks like lightning. Feels like he’s making a mockery of you. Feels like all he knows is your pleasure. Feels like an eternity has passed since he’s worked you over like this, and Soonyoung must agree because he almost sounds whiny as he says, “God, I missed this. Missed seeing you two together.”

You dare a look. Soonyoung jerks himself slowly with a loose fist, drags it out, savors every second and shiver that dances up his spine. Hisses through his teeth when he gathers the precum at the tip and spreads it along the length of his shaft. You want to see his face. Want to see the way his dark hair falls into his eyes when he shudders and curves into himself, the crease that forms between his brows, his eyes when they’re glassy and unfocused.

But then Vernon does something with his mouth that has you crying out—a strangled sound halfway between shock and gratification. Has you mirroring the exact image you expected to see on Soonyoung’s face. There’s poetry in that, you think, and that’s the last thought you have before Vernon drags your orgasm from you and your world tilts on its axis.

When you come to, vision still out of focus and fuzzy around the edges, you’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your phone is lost somewhere in the duvet, and Vernon’s still between your legs.

You choke. Feel around desperately for your phone and can barely hold onto it, weak and trembling, all your energy drained. Try to clamp your thighs around Vernon’s head for some reprieve but he knows you too well, knows you can take it, so he forces them back open.

Bliss spreads like wildfire. Starts in your toes and works its way into your bloodstream. Feels like you’ve been carved out of kerosene and matchsticks. It’ll be Vernon, you know—he’ll be the catalyst, light the spark that consumes and overwhelms you.

Especially when he’s like this.

When you’re the only thing that exists to him. When he’d forego pleasure for the rest of his life if it meant drowning in your pussy and getting you off. When he pays no mind to your boyfriend’s obscene goading—“Can you taste me, Vernon-ah? Did she tell you I filled her up this morning? That it was so much it was leaking out of her?”—and stays focused on you. When he runs two fingers through your mess and presses them inside, right against the spot that nearly folds you in half, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, pressure mounting.

“Oh my god. Vernon, please, it’s too much, I’m gonna—”

You feel him smile against your cunt. Pulls back only far enough to bite at the juncture of your thigh and say, “I know you can take it,” in his hoarse voice. With lips that are covered in you. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you, baby? And you’re gonna be a good girl and soak through these fucking sheets while your boyfriend has to jerk himself off.”

That’s exactly what happens.

The cord inside you snaps. Soonyoung swears as he watches you come again, body pulling taut, Vernon’s name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Vernon’s on you immediately, setting the phone on your nightstand and kissing you senseless. Lets you taste yourself and the way you claimed him. Slots his body between your legs, careful as he presses against you because he knows how oversensitive you get. Waits until the tremors subside and he can feel you tracing shapes against his back before he murmurs a quiet okay? into your ear.

It takes a second for you to nod, but you do.

Vernon looks to his right at your phone. “Still want her fully dressed, hyung? She’s made a pretty big mess already.”

Soonyoung laughs, breathy and a little disbelieving. He loves this part, too, when Vernon dishes back as good as he gets. Both of them know it’s not a competition and would never treat it as one, but Soonyoung can’t help himself sometimes. Loves to stir shit just because he can—because Vernon is younger and looks up to him, but also because you like Vernon and he enjoys teasing you just as much.

So Soonyoung laughs. Asks, “How are you feeling, pretty girl? You want him to fuck you?” and continues stroking himself, pace leisurely, cock glistening with spit and precum, balls tight.

He’s always affected.

And so are you. You nod. Readjust your body beneath Vernon’s so he can press in tighter, so you can wrap your legs around his waist and delight in the sounds he makes—first like the breath’s been punched out of him, then more intentional as the electricity ebbs away and settles into his bones. His fingers grip at your thigh, movements fluid as he rocks his hips, unconcerned with the stickiness seeping through the fabric of his briefs.

Vernon wants you every second of every single day, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

You move your hands to his face. Let your thumbs rest on the high points of his cheekbones and settle into the contours there. Press your lips to his and lick into his mouth, all teeth and tongue and no savoir-faire. Vernon responds in kind. Starts moving frenetic and mindless, vehemence making up for his lack of composure, swallowing everything you give him.

Fucks you up a little that he still tastes like you—that you’re not all that easy to rinse out.

“Shit,” he swears, slurring the word against your mouth, lips bitten red and swollen. “Need you so bad, baby, please.”

Your vision swims, the raw urgency in Vernon’s tone making everything look like television static. All you can do is nod, spread your legs wider, press your body into him and hope he knows what to do with it, but he needs you to say it. “Tell me,” he says, settling a hand around your throat. Not tight—just so he can feel your words, just so he knows they’re there. “Tell me you want me. Tell me how you want me to give it to you.”

“Want you. Wanna ride you,” you answer. “Wanna be able to look at you. So pretty, Nonie—you look so pretty when you cum, I wanna see it.”

Vernon swears again. Sits back and has his jeans and underwear pulled off before you can process what’s happening, rolls on a condom, and that’s where you meet him, in the center of the bed. You move into the space between his spread legs, drape your arms over his shoulders as your knees bracket his hips, spit into your hand and work it over his cock, thumbing at the head just to make him whine.

“Babe—”

And then you’re pulling your panties to the side and sinking down on it.

The stretch is overwhelming. Steals the air from your lungs. Has Vernon pressing his forehead to yours, sharing your breath, dimpling your hips with bruising fingerprints. “Slow,” he pleads, and you’d give him anything, so you kiss the spot just beneath his eye, say okay, okay, and turn your attention to Soonyoung.

Not far off from how you’d left him: touching himself with reverence, not an ounce of shame to be found; sounds spilling from his lips that sound like home. He doesn’t notice you watching, but it doesn’t matter, he’s a performer in every aspect of his life. Thrives when he’s under the spotlight, demanding everyone’s attention, all eyes on him. Sex is no different. Always goes into it with eyes wide open, so you’re not surprised when he feels yours on him. When he says, “What’s the matter, princess?”

Beneath you, Vernon’s starting to gather his bearings. Thrusts slow and shallow and groans. “Did you bring it?” you ask Soonyoung, trying to keep your voice steady as Vernon fucks into you.

“The—”

“Yes,” you interject, already knowing what he was going to ask. Shit, Vernon feels so good. “Get it out. Use it. Wanna see you cum that way.”

Soonyoung swears. Says, “Fuck—god, yeah, I’ll get it,” and disappears from the screen. Vernon’s lips move to your chest, your neck, your mouth. He’s moving in earnest, now—doesn’t care what he sounds like, that he’s devolved into staccato whines and half-syllables. Doesn’t care about the mess between your legs.

Doesn’t care that when Soonyoung comes back onto the screen, you’re wholly focused on him, grinning pleased and wicked. If you want him to work for it, he will. If you want him to give it to you so good you’re not even thinking about your boyfriend, that’s what he’s going to do. If you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t even speak, well, that’s the goal.

So he doubles his efforts. Plants his feet on the bed and uses the leverage to bury himself as deep in you as he can. He’s done this enough to know his angles, know how to have you dripping and shaking, but he wants to savor this. Wants to drag it out for you. Some sick, selfish part of him wants this to be the fuck you’re thinking about later as you’re about to drift to sleep even though you aren’t his to claim. Not like that, anyway. He can still paint you in bruises that match Soonyoung’s, undecipherable from one another. No telling what’s his work and what’s Vernon’s.

“Tell me what to do.”

Vernon glances sideways. Watches as his hyung dribbles lube all over his cock, slicks himself up. Glances at you and sees you watching. Sees the way your jaw ticks, your eyes darken. Can feel how endless your love is for Soonyoung and he wants to burn up.

But then you say, “Fuck yourself the way Vernonie’s fucking me,” and the words soothe over him like a balm. Even more so when Soonyoung listens; when he grabs the pocket pussy and works it slowly down his shaft, moaning long and drawn out the entire way.

“God, I’m about to fucking bust.” Soonyoung laughs. “Tell me how he’s fucking you, pretty girl. Bet it feels even better than this, huh? Bet he’s making you feel so good.”

Everyone’s about to make an early exit at this rate. Vernon tells (begs) him to shut up in so many words. Tries to focus on himself, thinks about every terrible thing in the world to stave it off, but the way you’re nodding along with Soonyoung’s words are hurtling him towards the end at record speed. The way you look at Vernon with constellations in your eyes. The way you’re reduced to mindless babbling, all your words slurring together as you say, “It’s so good. So good, Soonyoungie, he’s so deep, fucks me so good, god I’m gonna come again—”

Vernon panics, bites at your collar bone, knows he wouldn’t survive feeling you clench around his cock. Tells you, “Not yet,” even though he’s barely able to choke out the words; even though he can barely endure you now, cunt spasming, walls fluttering around him. The unbelievable white-hot heat, the vice grip. Fuck, he wants to do this every day. Wants to do this for the rest of his life.

And you must be able to tell. Must see how spaced out he looks, because you move your hands to the center of his chest and dig your nails in, urge him backwards until he’s propped up on one elbow. This is what Vernon sees when he closes his eyes, when it’s been months since he’s seen you and he’s cumming all over his fist: the lines of his own body, the coarse strip of hair that leads from his stomach to where your bodies connect; you on top of him, hips sinuous and sinful as you circle them.

You put on a show of your own. Move your hands to his knees and spread your legs wider. Vernon’s cock looks obscene inside of you, trapped beneath your lace panties, so he grabs your phone, makes sure Soonyoung can see what he’s seeing. Makes sure Soonyoung can see the sheen your wetness leaves on his skin as you grind back and forth on him. Makes sure Soonyoung can hear the slapping of your and Vernon’s skin, the way your pussy squelches, how lewd everything sounds in the still air of the bedroom the two of you share.

“Jesus—fuck,” Soonyoung says down the line, voice metallic and fucked out. “You two are so goddamn hot together. Make her come, Vernon-ah, and then I wanna see her covered in you. Wanna see you ruin my pretty girl.”

Vernon shudders and nearly folds in on himself. Grabs your hip to slow your movements, refusing to get off before you, but you’re determined. Your grin is devilish as you move his hand to your clit and tell him to get to work. As you lean forward briefly to kiss him before you’re moving in earnest again, more intentional than before, and it’s all Vernon can do to stay conscious. All of it’s too much: the way you look above him, head thrown back, the marks he’d left on your throat; the way you’re able to handle both of them at once, riding Vernon into the mattress while you talk Soonyoung over the edge, the most filthy words spilling out of your mouth.

The way you gasp as Vernon thumbs circles against your clit and reach for his hand, trying to ground yourself as your pussy clenches, as you barely have time to stammer out the words before you’re coming on his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Vernon pulls out, almost cries at no longer being enveloped in your heat, pulls off the condom and fists his cock once, twice, and then watches, entranced, as he does what his hyung said and covers you in cum.

Your tits, your stomach, the fabric of your panties.

For a moment, everything is quiet, everyone still coming down and trying to catch their breath. You’re spent, exhausted and satiated in ways you haven’t been in months. Every muscle in your body feels overworked. Your throat feels raw. Every inch of skin that’s bruised feels like a branding iron, and it is, you suppose.  Soonyoung’s, Vernon’s, it doesn’t matter—you wear them both.

“Don’t wash those,” comes Soonyoung’s voice.

It takes you a second to realize what he means. “My panties?” you ask, shock apparent. You’d known he was a freak, of course, but the depths of his perversion continue to surprise you. “Soonyoung…”

“Don’t kink shame me, princess, I’m covered in my own jizz and I need another shower. I came so hard I think I had religious visions. How’re you feeling, Vernon-ah?”

The man in question doesn’t answer. You’d think he was asleep with his eyes open if you knew he was capable of it, but that’s not what’s going on. Vernon’s fixated on you. Can’t tear his eyes off of you and the cum that’s drying into your skin, and you know you shouldn’t, that you should give him a break, but there’s no fun in that, so you trail your fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them into your mouth.

“Yeah, don’t need to ask after that. Goddamn. I’m gonna go shower before you get me hard again. Good luck with her.”

The call disconnects. In the aftermath, the silence is almost stifling, almost makes you feel a sense of guilt that’s entirely undeserved, but then Vernon’s sitting up and crowding your space, hands behind your back as he works at the knots he finds there. Pulls you in closer. Presses a spun-sugar kiss to your forehead that makes your heart skip a beat.

The thing is, though: he doesn’t stay.

It’s not a rule. It’s not something Soonyoung requested to keep some semblance of boundaries in your relationship. He doesn’t care, and neither do you, but Vernon does. Doesn’t want to overstep and muddy the lines. Doesn’t want to make it seem like more than it is, and you’ve always been fine with that, but something about this time feels different. Strikes you someplace deep, hidden away, tucked behind your ribs. Vernon runs you a bath and changes the sheets while you’re soaking your aching muscles and when you’re tucked into bed, he presses another kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Promises to text you later in the week.

And then he lets himself out.

You’re still awake an hour later when your phone lights up with a string of texts, and you force yourself not to think about what it means that you’re disappointed it isn’t Vernon.

Soonyoung: Going to sleep. The two of u wore me out ㅋㅋㅋ Soonyoung: I’ll text u in the morning. Got an early day tomorrow 😭 Soonyoung: Love u baby. Sleep tight ❤️

With Soonyoung in Paris, it’s hard to make the time difference work.

Seven hours usually isn’t a problem—it’s worse when he goes to the Americas, for example—but it’s been weeks since your technological ménage à trois and you aren’t feeling any less unsettled. All you want to do is talk to him. Ask him what the hell is going on with you, why you can’t seem to shake this, what it all means, but it just never works out.

Not the right time. Not enough time. Soonyoung often has his own plans that keep him occupied until the early hours of the morning wherever he is, and by then he’s too exhausted and you’ve been awake for hours, already well into the monotony of your day.

Still, it eats at you. Makes you feel guilty in ways you can’t rationalize. You know you haven’t done anything wrong. Haven’t done anything you haven’t done plenty of times before; haven’t done anything Soonyoung isn’t also doing when he’s not around to answer your calls. And that’s fine—even though it’s unconventional to most, you love the dynamic the two of you have. Wouldn’t change it for anything except Soonyoung himself, so you know he’s not the point of contention.

No, it’s you—you’re the problem here.

Something’s changed, but whatever it is isn’t all that keen to let you in on the secret yet.

So you do your best to push it down and swallow it. You go to work. You meet your friends for dinner and drinks. You suffer through your gym sessions just to give the anxiety and jitters someplace to go. You clean your and Soonyoung’s apartment top to bottom until there’s not a speck of dust to be found and all the countertops start to squeak. You go shopping and charge whatever you want to Soonyoung’s credit card because he’d want you to.

None of it works.

It’s no wonder, then, that you break by the time Soonyoung gets to Paris. That you’re sending up flares and paying little attention to the time difference. That you text him—

You: Can you make some time to call me today? You: I don’t care about the time. You: It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just need/want to talk to you.

—and expect something, anything, in return: the familiarity of his tone, his overuse of emojis, the way he always calls on FaceTime and always greets you barefaced and with a relieved smile, like you’re the only thing he wants to see at the end of a long day. You expect him to say anything for my girl—or, at the very least, can’t today baby 🙁 I’m so sorry, but I’ll have time tomorrow and I’ll call first thing, ok ??

You don’t get any of that.

What you get is silence.

Your texts go unanswered. He doesn’t call. You double-check your calendar just to confirm you hadn’t gotten the date confused, but he doesn’t have a show tonight. Rehearsal and a team dinner, maybe, but nothing that should make him so unavailable to you.

Well, except one very obvious thing.

There’s a flashbang of hurt you immediately try to tamper down. Soonyoung can’t read your mind. He’s never ignored you when you’ve needed him or given you reason to believe he’d do something like this intentionally and maliciously—not to mention that the arrangement the two of you have has never been an issue before, so it’s nothing to get upset over. You know it’s nothing to get upset over, but knowing doesn’t suck the poison out.

A temporary lapse in communication is all this is. You’ve survived worse.

It’s just—

This shapeless, undefinable thing that’s clawed its way inside of you isn’t going anywhere. And you can deal with the stopgap emotions until you’re able to put a name to it—the anger and confusion, the abstract betrayal—but it’s always easiest to carry burdens with two sets of hands, is all.

Hours tick by. What was two hours without a response turns into four; four turns into six turns into you readying yourself for bed and spending the night tossing and turning, checking your phone every time you awake in the middle of the night. When your alarm goes off at eight o’clock and there’s still nothing, all those ugly feelings come swimming back to the surface.

Your first call rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

So does the second.

Soonyoung answers the third out of breath, voice gravelly. A woman’s laughter greets you before he can, and for the first time ever, it makes you sick to your stomach. Makes you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. Has your hands trembling, all your words stuck in your throat, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Another twinkling laugh that your boyfriend responds to with a husky one of his own. “Hello? Hi, baby, I’m a little—”

Busy, he’s going to say. You’ve gathered as much. Busy is laughing in your ear, probably has her hands all over him, and it’s always been like this, the sharing and the nonexistence of possessiveness, but you come first. That’s the rule. Both of you come first to one another, so busy isn’t acceptable. Busy has resentment biting at your heels. Has your blood pressure spiking, your skin flushing hot.

Has you cutting him off, saying, “So busy you couldn’t answer my fucking texts?” with so much animosity all noise at the other end of the line immediately ceases.

You hear footsteps and the shutting of a door, the turn of a lock. “Okay, I’m alone,” he murmurs softly; you wish it did anything to comfort you. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

A laugh of your own, derisive and disbelieving. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

You’re not about to spill your guts when Busy is in the next room over touching herself so she’s primed and ready to go when your boyfriend ends the call, goes back into the bedroom and says, sorry about that, and climbs back on top of her. You’re not about to spill your guts and feel like an inconvenience.

So you scoff and shake your head, say, “You know what, Soonyoung? Don’t even worry about it. Go back to fucking whoever the fuck she is and forget I even called.”

“Baby, come on, wait—”

You’re not about to spill your guts, so you rewrite the script.

You end the call. You ignore the texts that follow.

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

Vernon gets done work a little after ten.

You get off the train a few stops early and decide to walk the rest of the way. It’s been so long since you’ve done this. Since you’ve breathed in the smell of the samgyaetang and dakgalbi restaurants, the tteokbokki and bungeoppang from the street food vendors. Since you’ve thought the neon lights of Hongdae Street were going to blind you and shielded your eyes. Since you’ve walked by groups of friends posing for selfies in the middle of the sidewalk, apple cheeks from wide smiles pressed together; couples doubled over in laughter as they try to jump on one another’s backs. Since you’ve watched patrons stumble out of bars and clubs with queues to get in, faces flushed from the alcohol they’ve already consumed.

Vernon lives in Mapo, in an artsy high-rise in Seogyo-dong. New construction that’s meant to look much older, meant to resemble the industrial loft apartments found in older American cities, warehouses made irrelevant as the 21st century moved in and took hold. They’re all exposed brick, twenty-pane windows, concrete floors, neo-expressionist paintings hung in the lobby.

A block away, a bingsu restaurant is closed until the next afternoon, but it’s what lies beneath that piques your interest: a basement rock bar, show flyers plastered all over the door, live music pounding the pavement and spilling onto the sidewalk.

You’re in the lungs of the city, and it’s every bit as alive as you expected—and hoped—it would be.

You feel at home here, surrounded by people and nightlife and unrelenting noise. Where you and Soonyoung live isn’t dissimilar, just different—more refined and inhibited, more concerned with appearances than letting loose. You’ve gotten good at rubbing elbows with those types of people, as necessary and inevitable as it is, but sometimes you just miss the unpolished grime of ordinary people.

Vernon’s outside waiting for you when you reach his building.

Hat pulled low over his eyes. An oversized black hoodie that drowns his lithe frame, makes him look smaller than he is. Face lit up by the glow from his phone. A lollipop stuck in his mouth that he presses into the fat of his cheek when he looks up, sees you, and smiles.

“Hi,” he greets you, arms twitching at his sides, unsure of what to do—what’s okay, what isn’t. If he’s allowed to be affectionate with you in public. If anyone can know, even though you’re no one to these people and he’s as out of the spotlight as you are.

So you make the decision for him. Place a hand on his waist, lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. When you pull back, his cheeks are the same shade of cherry red as his lips and tongue. He ducks his head, tries to hide it, but there might as well be a flashing sign above his head to signal his embarrassment. “Oh,” he says quietly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him.

You swallow. The Vernon standing in front of you is a stark contrast to the one you fall into bed with. This one is all soft, rounded edges: shy, chivalrous, almost self-conscious—the kind that wouldn’t bruise if you bumped into him. You try to ignore the way your heart is hammering away in your chest, but the duality is making your head spin.

“Do you want to grab a drink first, or should we just…” He trails off, coughing to cover himself when all you do is quirk an eyebrow just to see if you can get him to blush again. “There’s a pretty cool LP bar down that way, if you’d be into that sorta thing? But I also have vinyl at my place, so I guess it doesn’t—”

You know laughing will only mortify him more, but you can’t help it. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” comes his automatic response.

“Are you sure?” you tease, watching as his fingers—covered to the second knuckle by his sleeves—worry insistently at the fabric of his hoodie. He flushes again, mouth opening and closing around words that don’t materialize, and it’s almost painful how endeared you are by him. “Come on, then,” you say, deciding to put him out of his misery, “show me this pretty cool bar.”

It’s a short walk, only a few blocks, but Vernon sets a slow pace and holds your hand anyway. Neither of you acknowledge that his is sweat-slick, and you can tell he’s thankful for this bit of reprieve. Must help him settle, because it isn’t long before he starts yapping away, animated and buoyant. He talks about work, about the album he’s mastering and how he hasn’t yet gotten the sidechain compression on the bass where he wants it. Tells you about a group the company recently put together that he’s excited about and thinks could be really successful.

“I don’t see them much since they’re always at practice,” he explains, slowing further as you approach a convenience store, “but when they have free time some of ‘em like to sit in the studio and watch me work. This GS25 gave me a black eye once.”

“What?”

He sounds straight out of a nature documentary as he tells you the story. How he’d wanted convenience store ramen because they had a 1+1, and on the way decided he needed a Yonsei bread, too, except he was piss drunk and didn’t realize the doors weren’t automatic, so yeah—hence the black eye. And it’s not particularly funny, but you laugh until your stomach hurts anyway; laugh until both of you are off-kilter from it, shoulders knocking into one another, tears blurring your vision and making the city look crystalline.

You laugh all the way to the bar, and Vernon only lets go of you to open the door and help you inside, hand reassuring and warm when it moves to the small of your back.

A two-seater table is open in the far corner. You sit with your back to the wall and a Blondie poster above your head, content to take in the view. Vernon’s content to let you. Asks what you’d like to drink and doesn’t bat an eye when you request a midori sour. You throw him an exaggerated wink as you say, “If you ask them to put a cherry in it, I’ll show you a magic trick.”

Vernon nearly cums on the spot.

But he does as you say. Returns to the table with two drinks and a pencil and paper. “For your song requests,” he explains when he sees you eyeing it.

“Thank you,” you say, taking your midori sour from him. “What are you gonna request? And what are you drinking?”

“It’s a Coke and something,” he answers, “but I’m not telling you what.” You roll your lips to keep from laughing. As if you couldn’t smell the coconut from across the bar. As if you can’t smell it on him now, when all you can think about is if you’ll be able to taste it on him later when he’s licking into your mouth. “I think you promised me a magic trick.”

A group of American girls taught you this in university, back when you were a starry-eyed freshman completely out of your comfort zone, friendless, more wallflower than functioning human. You just need a party trick, one of them had said, something to break the ice, and that’s how you learned to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

Just like all those impressionable, hormone-riddled college boys, Vernon is stunned when you stick out your tongue to present it to him. Gets that dazed, faraway look in his eyes; has to clear his throat to get his lungs working again. Turns the tables on you when he reaches out and grabs it, putting it in his pocket for safekeeping, and then it’s you who feels like they’ve been punched in the chest.

It’s maddening, how oblivious he is to the effect he has on you.

“Did I ever tell you I was born in New York?” He drums the pencil against the table. Looks around the bar that’s grown steadily busier. “I moved here when I was five so I don’t really remember much, but it’s always felt like this huge part of me, so I went through this phase a few years ago—read a ton of books on the history of the music scene there, listened to all the albums they said were influential.”

You jot down some songs. “And? What was your verdict?”

He takes a sip of his drink. Laughs a little as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I got really into Tom Tom Club,” he answers. “You know Talking Heads, right? Tom Tom Club was the side project of the drummer and the bassist of that band. Husband and wife.”

Over the speakers, a bluesy folk song starts playing, soft and melodic. You’re not as musically inclined as your boyfriend or the man across from you, but you’re still able to be moved by it. Still able to appreciate in others when they love something so much it becomes tangible. When a bluesy folk song starts playing in a bar and it brings a smile to Vernon’s face. When he talks about artists and albums he’s discovered and speaks with all the reverence of an archaeologist digging up ancient riches thought to be long-forgotten. When you glance at the songs you’ve written down and don’t have to worry that they won’t be cool enough, because everyone here just loves music, no matter what form it takes; are able to find something to appreciate everywhere they look.

“Talking Heads had already put out, like, four or five albums I think by the time Tom Tom Club formed,” Vernon continues. His drink is almost gone. “But David Byrne had released some solo stuff by then with Brian Eno, so they wanted to do something, too, and what they made was this really funky, kind of unexpected new wave album.

“They did some really weird stuff production-wise—103 bpm when everyone else was doing 120, deliberately tuning Tina Weymouth’s bass to 150 hertz, using a really crunchy synth. I find myself going back to it every time I get stuck, mostly because it’s the sort of thing you can listen to and feel how much they loved making music.” He pauses. Almost looks horrified when he sees there’s nothing left in his glass but half-melted ice. “I—oh my god, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I’ve been talking your ear off about this.”

Head tilted to the side, you smile. “We’re in a music bar,” you deadpan. “I’d go so far as to say we’re in the perfect place for you to talk my ear off about this.”

“Yeah, but—” You give him a look that has him holding his hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll go refill our drinks since it’s the least I can do. Do you have your…?”

That aforementioned smile morphs into something more mischievous when you hand him your slip of paper. You watch as he looks it over, nods at the picks he thinks were in good taste: “Dreams” by The Cranberries, “Don’t Push It Don’t Force It” by Leon Haywood, “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat, “When I Come Around” by Green Day just to take the piss out of Vernon, who seems to have an endless collection of faded, worn Green Day t-shirts with loose necklines. Then, you watch as he gets to the last song on your list and his brows furrow.

He looks up at you. Even against the dark backdrop of the bar, against the red green blue lights casting technicolor shapes across his forehead, his cheeks, you can tell Vernon is stunned. Can see how wide his pupils have blown.

There, at the bottom of your list, is “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey.

Arguably the most well-known song to sample “Genius of Love” by Tom Tom Club.

Vernon’s apartment has three bedrooms.

One is used as a home studio, with a massive L-shaped desk that nearly takes up the entire room. In the middle, a laptop hooked up to a massive curved monitor with immaculate resolution, flanked on each side by monitor speakers. Stereo receiver. Preamps and input patch bays. A midi controller and a drum machine.

The rest of the room is taken up by instruments. An upright piano against one wall, clearly purchased secondhand; beside it, a two-tiered stand containing a keyboard and analog synthesizer. Two electric guitars, one acoustic, one bass. More microphones and over-ear headphones than you’ve ever seen in a single room.

Another resembles the LP bar: two walls of floor-to-ceiling built-ins that house his extensive vinyl collection, sorted first by genre then alphabetically. More records sit in milk crates on the floor, waiting to be catalogued and put away. To the right, on the only remaining wall that isn’t fully windows, sits a vintage credenza, most likely Japanese mid-century. You don’t have to ask—just by looking at it, you can tell Vernon’s hi-fi setup is top of the line, each item carefully chosen after hours of research and trial and error. Two plush armchairs, angled toward one another. Colorful shag rug.

His actual bedroom contains none of those things, but there are still touches of him everywhere.

Framed prints from his favorite artists and films. A concerning number of plain white t-shirts hung on a chrome clothing rack. On his nightstand, a well-used Replica candle (Jazz Club; smells like him) sits atop a stack of books with neon spines: Virgil Abloh. Nike. ICONS, Sofia Coppola Archive, Yoshitomo Nara. There’s a lamp on his dresser meant to look like entrance beacons of the New York City subway. Above his bed hangs a neon sign of Basquiat’s Beat Bop album cover, and on the floor, a black and white checkered rug.

As for the rest—well, you hadn’t been given much time to admire it before Vernon was laying you in the middle of the bed and kissing you breathless.

(It does taste like coconut when he licks into your mouth.)

And it isn’t like you needed a reminder—you never do with Vernon—but it serves as one anyway. That the two of you spent the last few hours of a Friday night drinking together in a bar, laughing at one another’s song requests, laughing at Vernon’s drinks mixed with coconut rum, laughing in general. That it’d taken a few rounds, but after the laughter faded and he plucked up the courage, he asked about your and Soonyoung’s relationship: how you met, how it started, how it works. That you answered all his questions because there was only curiosity beneath them.

That he paid your tab and held your hand as you left, giddy and eager to get back to his place. That when the two of you reached an intersection, no walking sign lit up, he pressed his chest to your back and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

That when you passed the GS25, you cracked a joke and asked Vernon if he wanted to stop and get ramen and Yonsei bread.

That he’d clenched his jaw and sent you a look that was pure heat; grabbed you by the waist and leaned in close, whispered in your ear, “I’ve been ready to bust in my fucking pants since you decided to torture me with that cherry, so I’m not doing a fucking thing that isn’t taking you back to my place and making you come over and over.”

Now here you are.

Vernon’s pace is bruising. It’s frenzied and unpredictable, like he’s trying to prove a point. What it is, you don’t know, but you find it hard to care when he’s like this. When he sheds his shyness like a second skin and is brazen in the way he wants you. When you’ve crossed the threshold of his bedroom and he makes it clear selfishness doesn’t exist here—that all you have to do is lay claim to what he’s willing to give.

And maybe that’s the thing: you can’t put a name to what you want. “Everything” feels too heavy, too much. When it’s exactly what’s on offer, it feels like the weight of the world. I couldn’t possibly ask for that, you think, and Vernon is right behind you asking, Why can’t you?

So you’ll take it, for now. You’ll let Vernon’s deft fingers undress you with reverence and you’ll claw at his back and help him pull his hoodie over his head. You’ll revel in his proximity; how it never, ever feels like he’s close enough. You’ll steal the breath from his lungs and wrap your legs around his waist to keep him draped over you like chiffon. And the first time your phone vibrates you’ll ignore it. The second and third times, too.

When it doesn’t let up, Vernon pulls back. Asks, “Is that…? Should I grab it?”

You only have a split-second to decide how things are going to play out—not only this, right here, but everything that comes after. You and Soonyoung come first to one another, but you still feel scorned. A bit petty. Hi, baby, I’m a little busy, still feels like a bruise; has hurt coursing you like it came from a blood bag.

So you thread your fingers through his hair—impossibly soft; the color of molten chocolate—until they’re resting at the back of his neck. Bring his mouth back to yours and let the taste of him transport you someplace else. Vernon groans as he fits his hands to the curve of your waist.

Your phone is still ringing. Vernon opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No,” you answer, voice unwavering, “this one’s just for us.” He stares down at you. Everything he’s feeling shows clearly on his face, but it’s still undecipherable: the push and pull of the tide, always changing. “Kiss me.”

He does. Whatever fire had consumed him earlier has cooled off considerably, replaced only with the need for closeness. Every press of his mouth against your body is delicate. Every brush of his fingertips and knuckles against your skin is tender. When he kisses down your body and makes you come with his tongue, it isn’t booming fireworks but a quiet gasp into the crook of your elbow.

When he rolls on a condom and presses into you, he twines your fingers together again, and they aren’t sweaty. When he rests his forehead on your shoulder, the words he speaks against you are full of velvet praise. When he moves his hips, the sound of his skin against yours reminds you of a symphony: adagios bookended by scherzos, culminating in a shared finale that leaves you both glowing and euphoric.

Four a.m. looks different from Vernon’s apartment.

More down to earth, not as deep into the clouds. You’ve called Seoul home for the entirety of your adult life, but you’re still learning its secrets. Here, on Vernon’s side of the city, it’s more lively. Sleeps less. You watch as dot-sized people duck in and out of 24/7 shops; as groups of friends converge and separate like starling murmuration. You watch through bleary eyes as the city lights start to blur together.

This is where Vernon finds you, sitting on his living room floor, knees tucked against your chest.

Wordlessly, he sits beside you. Stretches his legs out, hands planted on the rug behind him. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth still stuck to his skin, see every breath he takes from the corner of your eye. And you think you should say something—maybe apologize if you woke him—but four a.m. is built for silence.

Minutes pass. The traffic signals go through their sequence, green yellow red green yellow. The stream of dot-sized people remains steady. The man beside you is steady, too, but he’s also perceptive, and usually it’s a perception that lets you initiate, come closer once you’re ready, doesn’t push. Not this time. This time, he turns to face you and studies your profile. Must notice something, because his eyes narrow, perfect brows pinching in the middle. “You okay?” You nod. Give him a smile you hope is convincing. Four a.m. is a lot of things, but it doesn’t feel like the time or place for this kind of revelation.

Because you like him.

Something of this magnitude should feel world-altering, you think, but it doesn’t. Even if it was subconscious, you’ve known this, so it feels the same as when you look at the sky and see it’s blue, when you look at the grass and it’s green—the universe as advertised and in perfect working order. The way things are meant to be.

But you aren’t sure where the lines are drawn anymore, or if there’s anything left of them at all. Both you and Soonyoung have been here before: feelings that came out of nowhere, hookups that left a more lasting impression than others, the occasional short-term fling. All of it was within the boundaries of your relationship, but something about this—about Vernon—feels different. Feels like something you don’t want to lose.

You suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” you confirm, “I just… there are things I need to talk to Soonyoung about, I think.”

Vernon nods. “I figured as much with all the phone calls.”

And because it feels like something you don’t want to lose, you need to be honest. “We got into an argument yesterday morning, before I texted you. It wasn’t—I don’t even know if I’d actually call it an argument, really, because I just got pissed and hung up, but.” You sigh. Place your chin on top of your knees. “I needed to tell you that, because I don’t want it to seem like I used you. It’s not like that for me with you, but I also can’t lie and say I’m not still stung about it.”

Vernon hums. Asks, “Did you want to hurt him?”

“No,” you answer immediately, because it’s true. You never want to hurt him. “I know the relationship me and him have doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Most people, probably. It works for us, though, and because it’s always worked, I’m not always sure what to do when it doesn’t.” A sigh. “I’m not jealous, you know? I love him, and I love that other people love him. I don’t want someone else’s normal.”

A half-smile ghosts across Vernon’s face. “I’m sensing a but coming.”

“No but.” You laugh. “Well, maybe a but—ever since you left a few weeks ago, I’ve just felt… off? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t shake this feeling I’d done something wrong, and I tried talking to Soonyoung about it but we couldn’t make the time difference work, so I texted him and asked him to make time, but he never responded, so I called him yesterday morning. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”

“Mm, yeah,” comes his simple reply.

“I overreacted, and I need to apologize for it, but I wasn’t ready to have the conversation until I figured out what was weighing on me.”

“And?” His fingers inch closer to yours. “Did you figure it out?”

You place yours over them. “Yeah, I did.”

Vernon had gotten called into the studio just after eleven.

Both of you had tried holding onto the last dregs of excitement of waking up together for the first time. Tried blinking the exhaustion out of your eyes and showing some semblance of life as you danced around one another, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. Vernon paid for your ride home and kissed you goodbye at the door, but not before promising it’d all get figured out.

The drive takes you down streets lined with cherry blossoms in full bloom, petals covering the asphalt, blowing in the breeze. Morning doesn’t often find you philosophical, but there’s something comforting about the changing of the seasons. Winter will always give way to spring in the same way everything will always work out, just like Vernon had promised, and it makes you feel light, finally unburdened, so you dig your phone from your bag.

You: I’ll be home soon You: I know it’s early where you are, but I’m around if you’re up and want to talk

Soonyoung doesn’t answer, but this doesn’t surprise you—the message just sits there, undelivered.

So you thank the driver when he drops you outside your apartment. Without much else to do, you stop into the grocery store to grab a few things, including a bundle of yellow and pink flowers, and the café next to your building after that, where you order something strong and not watered down. You soak up the sun on your skin, let it warm you from the inside out, and after half your coffee’s gone you start to feel human again.

This only lasts as long as it takes to get to your apartment and open the door.

Because there’s your boyfriend asleep on the couch. Soonyoung, whose mouth is hanging open and is snoring lightly. Soonyoung, who’s supposed to be in Europe. Soonyoung, whose phone is laying on the floor, halfway under the couch. Soonyoung, who startles awake when you call his name and punctuate it with a question mark.

Soonyoung, who realizes it’s you and crosses the living room in milliseconds. Who pulls you into his arms before you can breathe life into another question. Who peppers kisses all over your face and sighs when you thumb away the tears beneath his eyes simply because you’re touching him. Who presses his forehead to yours, content to hold you, and you, who fists your hand in the fabric of his shirt, content to let him.

Once the shock wears off, you realize you’re still holding the flowers. Say, “Let me just…” as you gesture at the bouquet. “Then we can talk?”

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he nods anyway. Doesn’t say a thing about the dozens of flowers already covering the kitchen island. When you spin around, his cheeks are dusted pink, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I ordered them to be delivered first thing this morning,” he explains. “Well, no—I ordered them yesterday, but they couldn’t deliver that many on such short notice. They also thought it was fake, since I was ordering them from France, so I had to call them, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, rubbing a rose petal between your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I panicked. I thought you were breaking up with me.” You don’t mean to laugh, but one tumbles out anyway. Soonyoung pouts around a smile he tries to tamper down, doesn’t take any offense because he, too, knows how absurd it sounds.

“Why would I ever do that?”

He nods his head in the direction of the couch—his favorite place to have these kinds of talks. Says having serious discussions standing up gives him heartburn. Really, you suspect it’s so he has pillows within grabbing distance for when he inevitably starts crying and needs to cover his face in embarrassment, but you’ll give him this. You’ll sit in your usual spot and wait as he sits in his, and then you’ll stretch out and place your feet in his lap like you always do. And he’ll try to apologize first like he always does because he can’t stand things being tense between you, even when it’s your fault.

Today, though, you don’t let him.

“I owe you an apology,” you say, and you want to laugh again at the shocked look on his face, that he can’t believe you beat him to the punch, but you don’t. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was out of line and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I did a little,” he snarks, all self-deprecation. “I am never, ever too busy for you, and I made you feel like I was.”

“I know.” He moves to protest; you hold up a hand to stop him. “Just let me try to explain this. After Vernon left a few weeks ago, everything felt really off. I had this overwhelming sense of guilt, like I’d done something horrible and I couldn’t figure out what it was, because it’s not like I’d crossed any boundaries, you know? Everything was above board. But I wanted to talk to you about it in case you knew something I didn’t, and then we couldn’t—”

“You like him.” Soonyoung says this as a declaration rather than a question. He says this with a shit-eating grin on his face. He says this as if he’s an old philosopher imparting ancient wisdom upon you, like he’s predicted historical events and has yet to be wrong. “You do, don’t you?”

“I—yeah, but how did you know that? How long have you known that?”

He laughs. “Baby, it’s been obvious to everyone except the two of you since that first night.” You sputter, ready to defend your own honor—Soonyoung’s album release party feels like ages ago now, so surely you would’ve been able to put two and two together before now if what he’s saying were true? “I know you,” he adds, tone far more serious and gentle. “I know what you’re like when you have feelings for someone, remember? I’ve watched you fall in and out of love; not only with me, but—”

You gasp and nudge him in the ribs with your foot. “First of all, I have never fallen out of love with you. Don’t even joke about that—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Soonyoung salutes you sarcastically. Captures your foot and acts like he’s going to tickle you just to get a rise.

“Soonyoung, don’t—you know how ticklish I am! I won’t be able to control my body and I’ll kick you in the ribs or the dick or whatever and hurt you and you’ll get all upset! Also, we are in the middle of a serious conversation here! Stop derailing!”

“I’m not even doing anything,” he lies. “Please continue.”

With a groan (and a very deadly stare), you convince him to stop fucking around. He doesn’t release you entirely, but he forgoes the threats of tickling to press his thumbs into the arch of your foot instead. It works. In an instant, you’re calm, half-melted into the fabric of the couch.

“I went out with him last night.” You swallow, feeling the guilt creep in again. Soonyoung digs in deeper. “I texted him after I hung up on you. I didn’t intend for it to be one, but it very much turned into a date. I slept there.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. Soonyoung pulls you closer, moves his hands to your calf and works at the muscle there. “I didn’t tell him.” You don’t know whose sake you’re saying this for—if it’s for Soonyoung or you or even Vernon—but it feels important to admit. To acknowledge that Soonyoung still comes first to you; that, as chaotic as things feel, one thing hasn’t changed. “Wanted to talk to you first.”

“Okay,” he replies breezily. “Let’s talk, then, pretty girl. Let’s figure it out.”

And you do.

The two of you talk for hours. Mostly apologies and promises to do better, but Soonyoung wants to hear all the perverse details of your night spent at Vernon’s apartment. Can’t help himself. Laughs when you scold him for getting hard, but you’re laughing, too. He asks if you want to date him—properly, not only when you’re feeling spiteful—and you ask if it’d be okay if you did. Briefly, you wonder if such a question is presumptuous. After all, you haven’t talked to Vernon, haven’t put your feelings into plaintext, but then you think back to the way he’d touched you last night and come to the conclusion it isn’t.

The two of you talk about the future. Soonyoung makes a point to revisit the original agreement; needs to make sure the two of you are on the same page. “It’s okay if you don’t want this anymore,” he assures you. “I just want you to be happy.”

There’s something in his tone that has you eyeing him. “Do you still want this? You’ve never floated the idea of closing the relationship before.”

“I had a near-death experience,” he jokes. “You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes right before you die? That’s all I could think about on the flight home—that it’d be my fault if you left and I’d deserve it because I was selfish; that no one I’ve been with could ever come close to you and none of it would’ve been worth it.”

Everything’s starting to sound waterlogged again. Soonyoung takes you into his arms when you crowd his end of the couch and fit yourself against his side. “If you just want it to be the three of us, that’s more than enough for me.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Or we can decide later when I feel less like a deer about to get destroyed by a car.”

You snort. Say, “You can decide. Whatever you want is okay with me. I know it’d be a big adjustment for you.”

“Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not,” you affirm. “I’m really, truly, one-hundred-percent okay with whatever you want to do, even if, like, fifty-five-percent of that is because I’m way less enthusiastic about butt stuff than you—”

“Hey!”

With another shared laugh, the air is cleared. Together, the two of you erase the existing lines and draw new ones. Talk about what it would look like for two to become three. Has another moment of self-doubt and apologizes that he is who he is, that he can’t love you in public the way he desperately wants to, the way you deserve to be loved out in the open. “You love me in the ways you can,” you tell him, “and they’re more than enough because they come from you.”

You talk until the sky begins to darken and the conversation devolves into nonsense. Until Soonyoung realizes he never plugged his phone into the charger and his team’s probably in a panic. Until his stomach rumbles and he suggests ordering a ton of food for delivery, except he really does mean a ton, and when you ask him who’s possibly going to eat it all his cheeks redden and he says, sheepish and a little nervous, “I thought we could invite Vernonie over?”

Another playful groan. “You’re back home for—what, barely 48 hours?—and your main concern is having another threesome?”

“And if I say yes?”

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[beevean]

I wonder if something could be said about Ashley's apparent penchant for drawing.

Leyley used to draw a lot. This, in itself, is nothing special: many kids draw as a hobby. The most noteworthy thing is that Leyley loved to draw so much, she'd do it on the walls, which Andy had to clean...

... and on Andy's notes, which made it difficult for him to study.

I don't need to say that this is just one of the many ways Leyley begged for attention and approval, which most surely had the opposite effect.

However, what made me pause a bit are three completely separate scenes.

This is in the very opening of the game:

We don't see Ashley drawing as an adult, but she doesn't seem to be very confident in herself. Then again, at this point in the game, it could be just goodhearted self-deprecation. It does say something, however, that she's still clinging onto that drawing, both because it's so old and not good-looking, and what it represents.

This is after Ashley, as a teen, has a meltdown over Andrew "seeing Julia":

Andrew is being mean, but to be fair to him, he's also angry and interprets the torn drawing as a way to make him feel bad, so I'll let it pass. The artstyle is so crude, I assume this is another old drawing: the lemon muffin is a reference to a way Andy celebrated Leyley's birthday when they were kids, so it's possible she drew it back then. And then kept it for years, before destroying it in a fit of heartbroken rage. It's how she conveyed her love for her brother, and it was that important to her, that apparently, she still had it in grabbing and tearing vicinity. Her hate for Nina is as important as her love for Andrew.

(the other option is, of course, that it's a much more recent drawing, and yes, this is a pretty abysmal way of drawing for a teen who apparently has been doing so for years. I still wouldn't call it garbage though, Andrew, she meant well :<)

Not much after that scene, Andrew also tells us this:

Whether Ashley still draws in her teen years or has stopped, at least we know it's more important to her than her homework, and enough for Andrew to comment on it.

And this is an offhand comment Renee makes to her mother while pretending she doesn't regret her life choices and children.

This is how Renee chooses to paint Ashley in a good light: by praising her art. Which is a lie, of course, because even back then she wasn't exactly Leonardo Da Vinci, but hey, grandma doesn't need to know about that. Worthy of note is that, despite doing everything in her power to interact with her daughter as little as possible, she did notice how much Leyley likes to draw (although afawk it could be because she once saw her drawing on the walls, so it's even more of a backhanded compliment).

So I suppose Leyley's cry for attention did work, in part.

It's a running gag that Ashley is a pretty bad artist. More than once, people point out she struggles to draw circles.

Speaking of attention seeking behavior, and how Renee keeps denying it.

So, what do I take from this?

That Ashley had a predisposition for drawing, clearly enjoying it regardless of her talent, and partially did so as a way to yell "look at me! I'm a person too! I have feelings, here they are!" at the world; but that predisposition was never nurtured, neglected as she was. Her art was ugly at best, a bother at worst. So she never developed her artistic skills, stagnated, and now she's a "bad" artist, which she resents. It's quite a shame, because of all the ways you could vent your feelings, art is by far the healthiest. Perhaps she would have been less destructive.

Naturally, this is part of one of the game's key themes: Ashley never grew up. She wasn't given the tools to, and now, she doesn't even want to. So she never developed past the "Leyley" phase of her life, still drawing in a childish way, still "playing" with her bunny plushies in her mind, still clinging onto her child self when Andrew wants nothing more than to grow up (or so he says). Much like her art, she too was seen mostly as an embarrassment, and so never improved. But every scrap of attention Andrew gives her? Means the world to her. And that's why she keeps going.

Lastly: every ending of the game comes with a crude crayon drawing.

It makes me believe that Ashley's art, ugly and childish as it is, is an important part of her, and her perception of the world.

[mothmanavenue]

Some Voltron Headcanons

(they don’t line up with canon timelines because they adhere to my universe, Voltron: Psychopomp)

Voltron all have altean earrings they wear on a daily basis. Come events and parties they swap them out with exact replicas which are actually earpieces and mics

Keith calls Pidge birdie

Keith has struggled with chronic insomnia and sleep issues since he was little and once he started to recover from that, and the stress of constantly being aware started to fade he started to sleep a lot to recover his sleep deficit so to speak. he’s typically found knocked out on the lounge couch or in Pidge’s lab really anywhere he wants he’s a tripping hazard

Keith can’t drive a car. He can figure out literally any vehicle except cars they stump him

Pidge never learned how to style her short hair since she made Lance style her hair the entire time they were in space. She’ll be 30 and banging on Lance’s door to fix her hair in the mornings

When Shiro is too tired or stressed to do his eyeliner Lance does it for him

bPidge grew up wealthy and therefore is completely out of touch. She does NOT know how much a banana is, she’s never shopped at a thrift store, she throws out shirts she stains or tears until Lance whacks her on the head

When Keith left the blade Hunk offered to teach him how to cook as an outlet for his restless energy and for something for him to do other than train and Keith took him up on it. He and Hunk trade off on cooking duties now

Keith is a Painter. His favourite subjects are of course Voltron’s Paladins (cough, especially Lance, cough) and Voltron take great pleasure in hanging them up around the castle, much to his embarrassment. His works form an important part of Voltron’s legacy.

Hunk is the sorest loser on the planet. They CANNOT play monopoly and uno is banned

Keith proposes first to Lance but when they get to earth Lance acquires his mothers engagement ring (that she always promised he could have) and gives it to Keith, who wears it around his neck because he’s scared of losing it

Pidge calls Keith marmalade after she forgot the name of the Blade one time and keith calls her birdie cause it makes them twitch

Voltron were gone for 8 years, missing presumed dead after their belongings were found in Keith’s shack. There are some rumblings that Keith was responsible for their deaths, but they were quashed by the families of Voltron who believed Adam’s desperate plea that Keith wouldn’t have done that. In the time Voltron was gone, the families grew really close and were largely discontent with the Garrison’s findings, but largely believed their kids to be dead. Needless to say, there was one hell of a press circuit when Voltron made contact with a completely unaware Earth

Hunk and Shiro have an unacknowledged alliance to bully Lance for being shorter than them (by 1 and 3 inches respectively) and they regularly pick him up like a sack of flour much to his fluster and irritation

Hunk and Shiro also watch drag race and bad space soap operas together

Pidge broke out really bad in space and eventually got so upset about it (after pretending it didn’t bother them) that she very hesitantly asked Lance for help and Lance HAPPILY. passed down all his skincare knowledge to them

Lance loves pretending to flirt with Shiro to the point where the press genuinely think they’re in some weird love affair. Shiro is entirely exasperated and vaguely offended people would think he’d get into a relationship with Lance (who was 17 when they met) but he does find it amusing to read the tabloids

On that note, Lance had a poster of Shiro in his room when he was younger and was absolutely humiliated when he let it slip during a round of truth and dare. When they got back to Earth Lance took the poster down, stole Veronica’s red lipstick, covered the poster in kisses and gave it to shiro for his birthday. Shiro laughed so hard he cried. He promptly forces Lance to sign the poster and gets it framed. It does not help the affair rumours.

[red-garden]

So I love near everything u write about Yqy, like it’s perfect, so in character, it makes me want fling him around lol

But do u have any kinda silly svsss hc’s that u haven’t gotten to write about??

THANKYOUUUUU I TRY MY BEST

Silly Scumcannons (modern AU and canon setting is blended up like a milkshake in this one, just roll with it)

- Liu Qingge would have a low tech flip phone, mostly because he’s as tech savvy as a fossil, but also because he would break anything that’s not a Nokia

-when he was little, Shen Jiu saved up and bought one of those shitty quality magnetic friendship necklaces for him and Yue Qi, and was heartbroken when YQ wasn’t wearing it at the IAC (it got kinda fused into his body during the xuan su nonsense) (SJ still keeps his in a little bow in the bamboo house)

-Shen Yuan fucking loves Pokémon, and contrary to popular belief most of his apartment’s decor was Pokémon merch. He has enough shame to keep all the PIDW merch he buys in a little box in his closet

-SY and his sister were both art kids. SY is unfortunately one of those traditional art snobs that paints only, and renders in a traditional style. His sister is an exclusively digital yaoi illustrator.

-LBH has two mutual interests with LQG: Shizun, and fishing. SY tries to set up fish bonding between them, but the malevolent aura they create together scares the fish

-LBH prefers the classic Saturday set up a poll and get wasted. LQG prefers boating out with a harpoon.

-SY/SJ is actually pretty isolated from the other peak lords. Most of them are very close friends

-QQQ likes to drink with WQW and she once got him to agree to entrust his future children to her in the event of his death

-not just MBJ but the entire northern desert court think of SQH as a like a hot, domineering, James Bond type. Did you hear he was a spy?! Did you know how many people he killed?!? They’re all doing the demon equivalent of twirling their hair and making goo-goo eyes at him

-less well known than Resentment of Chushan is wildly popular stallion fiction Lord of the Clear Cold Lake, about a badass half demon spy who was playing both the human and demon realm to amass an empire, seducing an ice queen and amassing a harem of hundreds (it was written by TLJ. He wants airplane to fuck him so bad)

-MBJ would be an active enjoyer of fan fiction and has even written some (about the same literary level as My Immortal)

-YQY had to train in the four arts to be a cultivator obviously, and he can draw pretty decent landscapes, but his skill at drawing people never progressed much further than

(He makes do)

-SJ made it MF’s duty to keep disciples from fucking, and he has walked in on some truly awful things. Eventually he just stopped doing dorm walkthroughs.

-QQQ and MQF do sect-wide sex ed together, QQQ focusing on how to do sex and the etiquette therein, and MQF focusing on the health aspects, puberty, and what to do if you get pregnant/an STD/your period/figure out you’re trans. Every years they have a running bet on how many disciples will come in for related medical treatment in the following week.

-while Xian Shu is outwardly women only and Ku Xing is outwardly men only, both peaks allow disciples whose gender doesn’t fit clearly into one category or the other

-Ku Xing is dedicated to creating an environment for aesthetic cultivation, but that doesn’t mean disciples of other peaks can’t also practice it.

-the sect makes money from slaying beasts and protecting the cities in it’s territory, every peak also ha some product production sold to the wider world (other than Qiong Ding). Disciples are encouraged to build their skills to join production. Depending on the quality and quantity of their work, they will make money from sale- convenient for disciples not yet in a paid position within the sect.

-like 20% of the beasts are obvious Pokémon ripoffs

[urspiritualnurse]

•Pick a pile reading. (Left to right)

"What does intimacy mean to you?"

Pile 1.

In this pile, I got cards that insinuated some sort of distortion in lust.

In every being, there is the engraved need of balance and neutrality, for that to come alive, there is in all of us, a container.

For whatever topic and traits we hold within, it is all carefully poured into that thing's specific container.

And here I see the container of lust being full of cracks...

I see in the past even more so than today, you could have been very indulgent in the matters of pleasure.

It's as though a dam had been opened, and that spill of river danced all across your once drought filled lands.

You know I sense a sort of previous lack, maybe in the past you couldn't have access to consented adult intimacy, like relationships, or people who confessed to you or people who accepted your confessions....

Being a late bloomer myself I often had this intense urges to go overboard.....as to make up for all the lost years....noone truly expressing their desire for me made me feel like I was a gremlin living on a hill.

And I think, you and I are kinda similar on that aspects.

But hey.....I just want you to become more eased......you are tiring yourself out.

Is intimacy something that is only to prove your credibility as a desirable person?

Is intimacy only a form of indulgence that amounts to no honorable thoughtfulness ?

We are not teenagers anymore.....if you are still...then you are not a little kid anymore..... people not courting you or you lacking options before doesn't mean overworking your genitals later.

I'm all free and open to empowering sexuality.

And all of its expressions, it's not about shaming sex or worshipping purity.

There is a time and place for everything.....and you know it yourself when you are crossing your own boundaries.......

I see many risky encounters, reckless indulgence that led to either the other party coming for your throat or you ending up.....tied to them through a conceived child.

The more...more...more whispers coming from you....it's not malicious or pathetic.

It is....an unsatisfied youth.. who deserved just like all the others.....experiences full of youthful reciprocation, fun and romance, and many more.

I see an example coming to my mind.

A man who finally forged the key to a door that was closed his entire youth.

The door leading to a sea full of women, and that once rejected man, recklessly pursuing what he once couldn't.

To be in an energy of a player is fun and games, comical even if it was coming from an immature, childish, and pure flaw in character, but yours....came from lack....rejection and feelings of unwantedness.

I relate to this too.

I can't tell you enough...how pointlessly I went on dates because when I was a teenager, I lived my life like a caveman.

So as to make up for it, I went here and there and that and this....

And in all of it....I felt miserable......

Desperation in me that my awareness brought to light.....made me feel so ashamed, pathetic even.

But.....I can't blame myself for that.

Everybody wants to be loved.

And that is proved to us through many subcategories of interactions, being liked by your friends, being wanted by your opposite sex, and when these two don't get fullfiled the first time, it grows into a more extreme form like, wanting to be popular, graduating from your virgin years, harvesting body counts etc.

And I also see another huge aspect that played a major role in all of the distorted acts of lust.

Touch starvation...lack of physical touch.

And I'm really sorry if this message triggers out a bad memory....but I have to write what comes to me...

Being someone who grew up in an environment where physical beating was normalized I can understand your troubles....

I even joked about my upbringing until I turned 20.....I couldn't grasp how wrong it was.....

I think....you lacked gentle touches and all physical contacts you had ever gotten were violent, painful......bitter....

So intimacy became to you a thrilling change of senses.....

Your body that was used to feeling pain through another's hand, when for the first time got pleasure instead......you were hooked......

It's like a man so used to salt had a taste of sugar.

You are enamored by the newness, hooked by your curiosity and dragged by your need for more of it.....

It's not malicious....it really isn't.....

This shows how much you need kindness and gentleness in your life.

You are no longer in drought, your time had come and you have transformed to someone who can get through that closed door.

But when you get in through it, please be mindful.

When you read this...I want you to grow some self empathy and self discipline.

Don't go into another extreme by belittling yourself or sulking.

Be gentle, and approach pleasure as not the cure to your once striken wound but a delight being alive brings.

And I firmly believe we shape our emotions and desires.

This lust of yours, think of it as a child capable of so much, deservable of good and kind, raise it well. Don't give up on it and let it ruin itself...

Pushing someone to do bad and not stopping someone from doing bad both are......choices.

Make sure you teach your little lust well.

Pile 2.

In this pile, I got the message "quest."

The game of push and pull, pursuing and preying, obtaining, chewing and then spitting it back out.

When in this world, there is nothing that can reach your numb flesh except the naked rubbing of another, when there is no form of flattery that can ease up your swollen heart, except the sweet whispers from a lust-dazed companion.

When no form of grain quenches your hunger, except....except....

This is what happens.

A mindless habit of indulging in the one thrill you allow yourself to drown in.

Let me be straight up with you, it is not that this world lacks what you yearn for,

It is just that you have grasped only a handful of what this world can provide and have stuck your head and heart in it, on a loop.

There is more than crashing your flesh against someone for 2 or 3 times and then going cold on them after.

There is more than being ignited by mighty passion when you land your eyes on the next thing you desire.....until you find it....boring your senses again.

How many times has it been, count it...that you have silenced your conscience when the previous desire of yours, that you so eagerly pursued before, starts pursuing you.......bringing out a side of you that they didn't see in the first meeting....

They probably had said, "you......who are you?.....bring back the you from before...." "what happened to you, did something possessed you? Are you sick?"

Or maybe even gone and called you a fraud.......

It's the same old, same old right?

I feel like this pile is very intelligent and prideful.

But that's what makes them more susceptible to a parasitic self loathe lurking behind that open pride, and from there ruin their image and self.

And when any bystander ever approaches them with concerns, their blatant pride blinds them from ever catching the parasite of self loathe in them.

"What do you mean I'm sad? What do you mean I'm lonely? What do you mean I'm insecure? Have you heard my internal monologs it is full of indulgence and grandiose speeches that would easily be diagnosed as narcissistic. "

Sometimes we are not as easy to perceive.....we think we know how and why....we do what we do.

It's like there is something lurking in between your flesh and bones......indulging in your ruins, being so sneaky and swift, hiding behind your blatant self pride.....

Just once, when you see your pride standing infront of you, walk past it and look behind it's back........there is a damn loathing latching onto it.

I hear, "onto the next, onto the next."

I think you are a naturally adventurous person who likes the thrills and chills of life but it's like the open expression of that side has been blocked so now it has find its way to flow through your sexual side, in not so good ways.

I see an image of multiple open mouthed pipes, with one having it's head blocked.

And that restrained water that couldn't pass through the closed pipe, found it's way to flow through another.

People are not islands for you to venture on, their genitals are not treasure boxes you can gather as a souvenirs.

Each time you meet someone I see you subconsciously counting, people usually count money, you count people.

I see you being very dedicated for few weeks.....or months.....in the beginning...truly....and being so affectionate and charming.......with an intention to acquire their affection not just want or desire, no.....being liked by them was not enough, you wanted them to love you.

And just when they do, you subconsciously say, "gotcha!"

And then take their affection and throw it in your love collection box, where you keep count of how many had fallen for you.

I...get the feeling you grew up very lonely.

Affection isn't something we can count or collect but you do, as if in the past people gave affection to you through things you could count and gather, dolls, toys, clothes, trains, books, foods, sweets....

And now......you do the same.

You want affection, you do.

Surprised ? You too are not invincible enough to ever deny the need of love and companionship.

Hey......I was a bit harsh, I'm sorry.

But I truly want you to settle down, I know not everyone has this in their mind or heart, but I truly feel at ease when I picture you, finally with something or someone with whom you don't mind being the one collected or kept.....

I know life has taken a toll on you, and in every chapters of your life you have showcased great strength and determination.

But......you know, what your biggest form of courage in this life will be?

When you allow yourself to be the one kept........when that day comes.......all heaven will know that you......finally have done the brave thing......

Don't make yourself so lonely, you are not a product and people are not profits.

I could be so angry with you and spout out morale topics.

But you yourself think of yourself as a "thing" I can't get upset at you for thinking that of another.

You are a person, not a immortal sculpture.

You are a human, not a one click, picture pasted on a wall.

It will take more than one shutter of a lens to ever grasp your dimensions that's how deep you are.

Such complex individual you are, you have no idea how many people will adore your nature, just take a chance, bet your life on it.

Think of it as the one stock, when invested in, will bring forth such intense benefits that will blow your morbid self isolating cage away.

You are so beautiful, and a dear child of someone.

And so are other people.....

Be careful, please.

Don't break another's heart because you can only bring forth a sensation in yours, through their shattered self.

There are many ways to bring life into yourself, if you just.......try to look the other direction for once.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

The new welcome home update makes my head go burr. Here, have this set of headcanons I wrote while possessed by a tiny wizard. (The tiny wizard that makes me write)

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Julie, Frank, Howdy, Poppy, Sally, Barnaby and Wally & Reader who asked them what they think about death

Julie

★ When you first bring up the topic, her grin widens, clearly unfamiliar with the word. "Death?" she repeats. "Thats a funny word! What kind of game is that?" Her eyes wide and curious. Assuming you wanted to share some new game with her.

★ As you explain its meaning, her grin softens. “So… things just stop? They don’t play anymore? Not ever? That sounds so sad.” For a moment, Julie's playful demeanor faulters. Attempting to wrap her head around such a thing. "Are you sure that's right?" You nod, feeling some guilt for breaking the news to her.

★ But Julie, being Julie, tries to bounce back. She reaches out and places her hands on yours. “Well, maybe it’s not really the end! Maybe it’s like when the flowers take a nap in the winter, and then they wake up all bright and happy in the spring!” She says, trying to comfort both herself and you.

Frank

★ He understands death more than the other neighbors. Life cycles and food chains are critical for any ecosystem to function. That he knows well. Frank even has several books about the topic! But that's different. Animals are not people. When you bring up death, he gives you an impromptu lesson about how life cycles work.

★ Frank begins by saying "death isn’t merely an end” in that factual tone he so often uses. "It's an integral part of the natural cycle!" You already know that, but let him have his fun. Educating you on a topic you're more than familiar with.

★ However, he assumed that human lives were different. You weren't an animal, bug or plant. So why would someone like you die? The thought never crossed his mind. You'll need to break the news to him as gently as possible. Good luck.

Howdy

★ When you ask him, Howdy tilts his head and looks at you for a moment. Trying to figure out if you're being serious. "Well now, usually a question like that would cost a pretty penny." You nod. "But this time" he says, pulling out a chair for you "it's on the house." With a nervous smile, He gestures for you to sit.

★ He explains it to you in the simplest way possible, like you're a child. "Death's kinda like when the store closes for the night. The lights go out, the shelves are empty, and everything goes real quiet." While speaking, he keeps his tone soft. Again, treating you like a child.

Poppy

★ "Oh! What an... Interesting question" she says. Honestly, the topic makes her a bit nervous. Nevertheless she answers you "That's what happens if you aren't careful, and... break." As she speaks, she fidgets with her wings. Showing her discomfort.

★ Her nervousness is understandable, given her tendency to avoid risks and stay in her home. Where its safe. “But, um,” she adds quickly, attempting to lighten the mood. "We just have to take good care of ourselves, and each other. So nothing bad happens to us."

Sally

★ She knows it as a plot device. "Ghosts, ghouls and other terrible monsters come from death!" Sally explains. Waiving her arms around dramatically to emphasize the point. "Why, it's simply perfect for a spooky performance, dear friend!"

★ To her, it’s less of a sad reality and more an opportunity for storytelling. It's a tool for drama. Not something to be feared or mourned. As she goes on, it's clear that Sally doesn’t fully grasp the weight of death.

Barnaby

★ Barnaby doesn't like thinking about death. When you ask him about it, he treats it like a joke. “Death, eh? Well, that’s what they call it when somebody goes to live on a farm.” His tone is light, steering the conversation away from anything too serious. “You don’t need to worry about stuff like that, kid.”

Wally

★ When you ask him what he thinks about death, he tilts his head. Trying to recall where he's heard that word. “Death?” he repeats. "it's when someone goes away, isn’t it?" If you had to guess, Barnaby told him that.

★ He never really dwelled on death before. To Wally, life in Home had always been a continuous loop of joy and games. Death was a word he’d heard in passing, but it never stuck out as something important or relevant to his little world.

★ The more he learns, the more curios he becomes. “Does it happen to everyone?” he asks with a morbid fascination. “Do they know when it’s going to happen? Or is it... a surprise?” Despite how unsettling his questions are, it’s clear he’s genuinely trying to learn.

[mikeandabbyau]

THE MISSING KIDS!!!

The playful Fritz (Foxy)! The polite Susie (Chica)! The sweet but also a troublemakerJemmy (Bonnie)! And the talented young actor Gabe (Freddy)!

Here they are! The kids are here! Now lets talk some things about them:

-Fritz: Frizt is no longer related to the Afton family, this is one of the changes I said I was making. But she still might be connected to the Aftons like being Elizabeth friend! So yeah shes no longer Mike's step-sister.

-Susie: Susie is still the same in the canon FNAF lore. Like she has and lost her dog for example. But I had an idea she likes cooking, not doing it cuz shes a kid she doesnt know how to, be she loves seeing and helping her parents cook!

-Gabriel/Gabe: Gabe is a theater kid! He wanted to be an actor so bad. People loved his acting in school plays, he was like a star!

-Jeremias/Jemmy: Jemmy is the youngest of the group, and he was a big troublemaker. Getting into fight with other kids in the daycare...but he has a good heart, always giving flowers to his mom for example.

So...do you all like them? I'll show more of them soon in the future!

ALSO HERES THE GHOST FORMS!!! BLOOD WARNING!!!

poor kids........

[merethessc]

i am here to ask you about larry butz. you said to and by god i’m here to

YESSSS!! I can finally talk about my blorbo!

honestly i mourn his pre lobotomized/predatory self, but anyways.

I think it’s important to remember that Larry and Phoenix stayed friends since middle school, which kinda had  to make them close/more comfortable around each other, even if they’re not outwardly “close”. Like they’re not the type of friends to go around  talking about their feelings or about something serious, unless it’s REALLY needed.

Also, please, Feenie and Larry were equally down bad, like those two were the same, Phoenix was just able to outgrow that with Mia’s dutiful help. 

During the seven year gap, especially in the very beginning of it, Larry actually was one of the first ones to practically push Phoenix to move on and showed his support in the most blatant way possible. I think most of his friends just took for granted the fact he usually seems to bounce right back up and gave him space to do so. While Larry did what Larry does best - be stubborn, annoying prick, with somewhat best intentions. Genuinely think it was him who found the job for Wright, before disappearing himself. 

I think it’s also funny, in a very morbid way, how all three “chose death” in their own way. Killing the old self out of shame.

Wright was PISSED after learning Larry also worked as an actor, solely because “must you tarnished all my passions??”. While mister Deauxnim was busy ghosting everyone, I’m sure Phoenix kept joking about how Larry is probably off to a law school to fully absorb all of his interests ((much to Edgeworth dismay. Although they’d agree he’d made an okay Judge… at least on par with the current one)). Larry genuinely respects Phoenix (and Edgeworth), and inspires to be at least somewhat like them. At least he wants to be someone who people can look to for support.  

And, I'm going to be honest, do you REALLY believe an amature children's author and illustrator would just stop talking to his friend, who he knows has a kid??? 

Considering he made the both Thinkers, do you think he also lended his voice to the statues? Now that’s a scary thought. 

He’s actually crazy talented, his friends are just too used to look down at him (and have him around to feel better about themselves) to admit it. 

He might be the world's worst wingman, but by God he tries. The second he clocks Edgeworth's and Wright's bullshit they're done for. He's like a ferret. Equally as annoying, sly and stinky.

some random dialogs from my notes app: 

"I'm still your friend, Nick, whether you like it or not!"

"- You don't have the luxury to mop around anymore, you got that whole ball and chain situation going down, you've settled down, Nick!!! Your daughter I mean!!!

-She's not-  I'm just looking after her until her father returns.

- Nick!!! The old guy just milk and cigaretted you!!! Like you don't remember when fathers say that!!! Where's your daddy after he promised to come back-

 -okay OKAY I GOT THAT"

"Oooh I'm going to fill out a bunch of job applications!! For your sake!!!"

" - WE just renamed our samurai dog stand to "Olde Tokyo delights" so it would be appropriate to any show that studio is running! We just rename the dogs

-(Huh... That's surprisingly smart and resourceful coming from you..)

-HEY!!! What's with that "it's surprisingly smart and resourceful" look?!?! "

"- Yeah!!! I'm finishing up on my Franzy's Whippity-Whip Trip last chapters!!! I've sent the first chapter to the publisher and they seem excited for what Laurice Deauxnim has in store!

-(Really...?)

-Hey!!!! Quit with that all telling look on your face!"

"-Larry went door to door, sometimes pretending to be me, sometimes just advertising me around different establishments. Eventually he landed me this pianist job at Borsch club.

-But Wright, you can't play piano, can you?

-Neither does Larry, but he was able to convince them that I can. So I'm not wasting his efforts.

-You should’ve told me, I’d… I’d found you something more fitting

-Edgeworth."

"I can't believe it. Even Larry seems to have his life under control and I am..." - Genuinely think it would mess Wright up to know that now HE’S the one left behind by his friends.

[hellokittykookies]

cruel secrets - J.JK - epilogue (bad ending) (M)

pairings : J.JK x fem! reader

sypnosis : "Marrying one of the twins, especially if they're identical, can be fun. but what if one starts pretending to be the other? especially murder involved, but what you don't know won't hurt you.. right?"

contents/warnings : murder, identity fraud/theft?, doctor! jk, twin! jk, fraud, divorce, escaping/moving away, illegal organ trading bussiness, cheating, document forging?, family favouritism, death, murder implied, obsessed! jk i think that's all..? tell me if i missed more!

genre : yandere, angst, smut, fluff (if u squint)... etc?

CS universe : cruel secrets one shot + good ending ver + bad ending ver + drabble 1

The papers were done. Filed. Forged. Erased.

The name “Jeon Jun-ho” no longer stained your life. Only Jeon Jungkook remained.

The two of you fled to the States, just like you planned.

A new home, A new name, A new life growing inside of you.

No one from Korea dared ask. No one was supposed to know.

Except Namjoon. He always knew.

Namjoon visited often. Too often.

Sometimes with heavy bags under his eyes. Sometimes empty-handed. Always distracted. Always watching Jungkook like he didn’t trust him.

You just watched it unravel.

Namjoon had his own mess. A pregnant fiancée back in Korea. Another family here in the States.

He was living in a constant cycle of lies.

You weren’t surprised when he finally got caught. His partner in Korea found out about the wire transfers. About the other woman. About the kids.

She left.

And suddenly Namjoon was staying longer.

Too long.

It was only a matter of time before it blew up.

You were curled up on the couch when it happened. eight months pregnant, hand resting on your bump, feeling your daughter kick when the voices raised.

You heard it all from the hallway.

"You wouldn’t even be with Y/N right now if it wasn’t for me!" Namjoon’s voice cracked with rage.

"Excuse me?" Jungkook growled.

"Don’t fucking play dumb. I lied to Jun-ho. I diagnosed him with that tumor. I made that whole thing real for you!"

Your blood ran cold.

"I want my full share. I’ve kept my mouth shut long enough."

Then your voice cut in.

"Wait… what?"

Both men froze.

You stepped in, slow, cautious, hand bracing your belly.

"I don't get it-Jungkook, are you saying this is all dirty money?" you asked, voice low, almost amused.

Jungkook flinched. Namjoon scoffed.

"Are you stupid?" Namjoon spat. "He killed Jun-ho. You really still think he’s clean? You think that nice car, the private jet, this fucking house is all from his job?"

He looked at you like he was disgusted.

"Well, no, Y/N- "

Jungkook’s fist collided with Namjoon’s face before he could finish.

"Don’t you fucking dare call my wife that!" Jungkook snapped. "Just because your little fairytale back in Korea burned down doesn’t mean you get to come here and fuck with mine."

"Oh, but you can?" Namjoon spat blood. "You took your twin brother’s life. For her. You’re the one who’s sick, Jungkook."

He turned to you.

"And you- god, you’re even worse. No wonder you two get along so much. You’re both insane."

Your stomach cramped. Sharp. Tight.

You winced. "Jungkook…"

Jungkook’s breathing was heavy. His hands trembled, but his voice stayed eerily calm.

"You better get the fuck out of this house, hyung."

Namjoon glared at him, then at you.

Then he walked. Slammed the door.

Gone.

----

You sat by the window, late evening light bleeding orange into the room. Your hand rested on your belly, soft and slow, calming the quiet thuds of your daughter kicking inside you.

Jungkook stood across from you, his hands deep in his pockets, jaw tight.

You’d heard the fight with Namjoon. Every word. Every blow.

And now you needed to hear it from him.

"I already knew your family was rich," you said finally, voice quiet, steady. "I dated Jun-ho, remember?"

He nodded. His eyes were unreadable.

"I knew the house, the cars, the name. But... I didn’t know you that much..."

Jungkook let out a breath and leaned against the wall, eyes still on you.

"They made sure you didn’t."

You stayed silent. Letting him speak.

"I was the spare. The angry one. The problem child with a perfect older brother who always made things look easy."

He paused.

"They dressed me up in the same clothes. Sent me to the same schools. But they never looked at me the same way."

You could hear it in his voice. that buried resentment, the way it bled through every word.

"Jun-ho was the heir. Even when I was smarter. Faster. Better. It didn’t matter. They saw what they wanted to see. Obedience. Kindness. Clean hands."

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile, almost a snarl.

"I gave up trying to prove myself. So I made something of my own."

You didn’t speak. Just waited.

"While they shaped Jun-ho to take over the company, I was in med school. And I found something better. Something that let me be in control for once."

He took a slow step forward.

"It started small. A private operation. A patient desperate for a kidney who couldn't wait. The hospital had rules, protocols, waiting lists. But if you paid the right people- if you had me- you didn’t have to wait."

You raised a brow slightly, but said nothing.

"That first operation? It was under the table. No records. The man paid in cash. The donor?" He hesitated. Then shrugged. "Didn’t ask. Didn’t want to."

He sat down across from you, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"And that’s how it grew. The more I saw how much power I had.. the more I liked it. People would give me anything for another day to live. And when Jun-ho got sick…"

You stiffened.

"You knew he wasn’t sick," you said.

"I did. But Namjoon helped make the lie real. He owed me."

You looked away, jaw clenched. The weight of the past sat thick in your chest.

"And the money?"

Jungkook nodded.

"All dirty. But all mine. Not a cent of it came from my parents. Everything I have now was bought with blood and silence."

"And Jun-ho?"

He looked at you.

"He wasn’t supposed to die."

You swallowed.

"But he did."

"Yeah." His voice dropped. "Because I wanted you."

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

"I don’t regret it, Y/N." "I didn’t want him gone at first. But the longer it went on, the easier it became. And when he was on that table... I didn’t stop."

Silence.

"Because I wanted you. I wanted this life. I wanted to be the one you looked at the way you used to look at him."

Your eyes didn’t leave his.

"And now?"

"Now you do."

Your hand tightened on your belly.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You didn’t walk away.

You stood up slowly, walked to him, and cupped his face.

"I do love you, Jungkook."

His eyes searched yours, desperate for a sign of fear. Of hate. But there was none.

"And I always will."

Because you weren’t scared of monsters.

You’d become one too.

You weren’t scared.

Because you were just as far gone as him.

You loved him. Even the blood on his hands felt like it belonged to you.

It unraveled slowly.

Namjoon disappeared, But whispers began.

A hospital board member came asking questions.

Then another.

Then the police.

Jungkook tried to clean up the mess. But it was too late.

One by one, the dominoes fell.

You went into early labor during a police knock at your door.

Jungkook held your hand the whole way, whispering lies and promises.

"We’ll disappear again if we have to."

But you both knew… this time you couldn’t.

You gave birth in handcuffs. Two officers stood at the door while you screamed for your daughter.

"Jungkook!! N-no!!" you sob hard as the police take you both away.

Jungkook was taken the next morning. No bail. No goodbye.

You still wear the ring. Still sign your name as Jeon Y/N. You sit in a cold apartment in a smaller city now, far from your dream home.

And your daughter? She’s the only piece of Jungkook you still have left.

You tell her bedtime stories about a man who loved too much. A woman who would’ve burned the world for him.

At night you'd look up at the ceiling, hoping and wishing that maybe in another universe you and jungkook had made it together..

[azonewithu]

Thats everyone beat senseless. Oooo are you have a baby? Big desl like thats sn accomplishment or something. Its not snykne csn fo thst look at this shitty world. Yesh its a dhittybworkd now dveryobe knows that youre just lucky. Becauss its the ebd not beginning. Theres sn end and behmginning to everything. Good ouck snyway hopefully it doesnt turn out to be a spoiledxass bitch like most rich peoples kids. Theyvsint in charge for that thats ehat that gets.im the boss of earth Taylor i qualify because im not a spoiled lil rich kids bitch. No a lol dpoiled is ok they csnt help it. Dtes a dpoiled fucon ding bst but she tries. Shes not innocuous with it. No thsts not you eithervuou made your own way maybe thatsxwhy youre a lil more down to earth. No offense but yiu know as well as anyone rlse me and my girks romsnce is the mist epuc one going on earth. No kne in russia knows love so its not from there thats fir sure. Ive killed do kany of them i have no orobkem shooyti g yhise people dead. A lot im a russian killer yhats almost my designation. I had to straighten yiur president yo reality sbout that. But i hsve ine ir teo rusdian friends none of them oass for romantuc. Im sad for them more than snything theyre nsturslly just born like thst i think. Its not snythi g rlse thetes always dometging uppbwith dome russian. Yheres a fre exceptions but ehen do many if yiu are evil no one notices the good snymore. I dont. Nir dldo discriminate ill kill them all. They ei t be snywhere but russia if they keep it up. Im biss of nato not dome idipt otesifent of sny nation. Thst guys terrified to his core hes obsessed over us it majes hom look bad. We are slready lartnof tge states. These glorified provinces are states to ne. I go yo the states its all the same different accents and laws slightly. Advantages to both sides. Its stupid to change street signs snd flags plus technically thetes a few things we font want to catch from you. Bit essentially economically these ate states. They evrn look that way in a map. Thet guy is just obsessed with signs. Plus these are spoiled ding bats snd we re not into mass murder as much. But we do that too. I want a gun i hope the change trudeaus bullshit law back. Well a legsl gun i guess technically i hsve 25 of yhose or so too. Some ate jyst murder wespis ill thriw thrm away when im dine. Chesp crsp ones one dhit fron behind. Because im a champ i catch everyone unawares its why im boss sweetie. And my romance with her thats the most epic one going on earth right now no offense agsib. Take some if you want i am offensive im nature. Cause i dont like polite its phony so i dont like phony dhot either. Fuck polite satans polite im not and im better snd tougher om Azriel. I know you trued yo get your bsck up but i set uou down i fefeated your childish shit easy. With a few sentences youre a kid to me. But youre gryn s lil old to play princess thats for sure. Yiure not skways the sharpest knife in the drawer but youre no fool. Nobodies sharp compared to ke you know that. And her romance and mine is yhe mist epic of sll time. We ve never met making it ever rarer. I dont jnow i hope so. But i font hint people unless im gonna kill them. Inlove saying tgst sbd it moght be true Taylor. If we met we may never part long and then never agsin after that. Its a rare energy i create if ivtry i csn seduce any woman be you see i dont try. Because im not a slut. I like good chemistry snd its rare. I dont jnow aboit soul mstes msybe but thetes not yoo nsny people out there for snyone. So what im nsrried that means yiur romantic lifes done nope not je. Maybe wed just be buddies msybe dhes git a bf gf or both. Lots of people do these dats. Dhe sint fuckn married i know that. Snd even if shecwas thst wouldnt stop me ir her. Thetes an energy between us now like no other teo people slive. Yhat is romsntic thats like soilmate dhit in motion not a movie.me n her are the besr and you know it. Uoure not do bad rither byt her snd i sre the best. Of vourse youre not gonna say thst to your bf.

TAYLOR SWIFT The Eras Tour in Munich, Germany N1 (July 27th, 2024)

[deangirlsstuff67]

Desire and Danger

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: That attitude is going to be the death of him in the best possible way.

Warnings: Oral, language, dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, 🍑 play, creampie, squirting, dom Jensen, pet names

Authors Note: I love Jensen and his family. This is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

—————————————————————————

“Jensen fucking Ackles do I look like your god damn maid?” Your husband has been home for less than 24 hours and he’s clothes have already been thrown around the room as he unpacked his suitcase look for a pair of sweats. You miss the man when he’s gone and can’t wait to have him home with you and the kids, though some days you swear you could kill him.

Oversized man child.

Marching down the hallway you hear him and the twins playing. A booming laugh increases in volume as you draw closer to the bedroom they are playing in together.

Arms crossed over your chest as you lean against the door frame. Your daughter has a crown on your husbands head, little tea cup in his large hands as they cheers before pretending to sip tea, while your son is screaming as he does tricks for his dad to watch. A small smile graces your lips as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. Any other day walking in on Jensen with the kids would melt the anger away, today however…

Cramps.

Headaches.

Mood swings.

Kids climbing all over you while you’re trying to get stuff done.

It’s all added to the fact that your period showed up a couple days ago. Not only are you in pain, but it’s another month of you not being pregnant.

Trying for a baby is hard when your husband is away more than he’s home. It’s frustrating as fuck and only adding to your bad mood.

Green eyes lock on yours when Jensen realizes you’re standing there watching them. Heartwarming smile creeps on his face as he watches you watch them together. He knows you’re bitchy, even though you’ve been working hard on hiding it from him and enjoying having him back home.

What you don’t know is Jensen absolutely loves it when you’re feisty and ready to fight. It’s a side he doesn’t see often but it’s a side he loves to play with. Purposely doing something to rile you up so he can watch the blaze dance in your beautiful y/e/c eyes.

“Did I do something to upset you baby?” Fake innocent smile dancing on his face as he watches you bite back whatever you want to say because the kids are there in the room.

Glaring at him you turn on your heels and march back to the bedroom to clean up the tornado he left in his wake.

—————————————————————————

Later that evening after the kids are tucked in for the night, you’re in the kitchen tidying up when your husband comes up behind you wrapping you in his embrace.

Such a loving move.

Would have been perfect if you weren’t fuming with the man. All day he was purposely doing little things to get under your skin. Worst part was you knew it was planned due to the smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

He was enjoying the sassy comments and daggers you were sending his way.

Asshole.

“Want me to finish up babe?”

Scoffing you continue wiping down the table, “oh now you want to help out.”

Grabbing the cloth from your hands he tosses it back into the sink. Standing tall in front of him, he leans his ass on your freshly washed table, he grabs your hands and pulls you in between his legs.

“You going to continue with this attitude all night y/n?”

“Oh don’t you even start with me Ackles. You know exactly what you have been doing.”

“And what’s that Mrs. Ackles?” That filthy smirk screams loud and proud on his face.

Fuck he enjoys this shit way too much.

“Does your husband need to work that attitude out of you?”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh please do baby. Been dying to sink my cock into your warm welcoming pussy.”

Eyes rolls into the back of your head as you go to walk away, Jensen isn’t done with you yet though. Pulling you back into his chest so hard you stubble forward, caught off guard.

“What the hell Jen…” the words die on your tongue as you lock gazes with your husband, desire and danger over power every other emotion in those emerald eyes.

Swallowing the lump that has formed in your throat, excitement lights your body on fire, you know that look all to well.

“I’ll say it again y/n, do I need to fuck that attitude of yours out of ya?” His voice has dropped a few octaves, thick with lust as he waits for your answer.

“Baby we can’t. My period showed up.”

“Fuck that y/n, we can and will.” There’s no arguing, his mind is made up. If it wasn’t for the kids I’m sure he would take you right on the table he’s still leaning against.

Yes, this is Jensen’s favorite version of you. The feisty, stubborn, foul mouthed woman who isn’t afraid to put him in his place, but who is the same woman who will submit to him and his desires. The woman who makes every fantasy a reality and blows his damn mind every time.

—————————————————————————

“That’s is baby,” you mouth is wrapped around his leaking cock bobbing up and down rapidly. Jensens on his back on your bed, head thrown back, one hand in your hair the other tangled in the blankets, “knew that mouth was good at more than mouthing me off.”

Jensen thrusts up into your throat, making you choke on his thick length. He’ll never not love the feel of your tight throat and wet mouth suck the souls from his body. Best part of it all is he feels how wet it makes your pussy as he’s lazily playing with it while enjoying the blowjob he’s receiving.

“Alright darling…” pulling you off of him with a ‘pop’ he drags you up his body to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. Getting lost in the feel of Jensen you let out a small gasp as he flips you onto your stomach underneath him. Large hands grab your hips, dragging your ass into the air.

As he slowly enters your pussy, making you feel every inch of his thick, long cock stretching you open, you can’t stop the whimpers and moans from falling out of your mouth.

Fuck your man feels good.

“What got nothing to say now y/n?” Bottoming out inside you Jensen leans his whole body over yours to nipple on your ear as he speaks. “Thought you were mad at me baby, look at you now my little cock drunk slut.”

“Yeah that’s right take daddy’s cock.”

He has you hanging on the edge by a thread. Pistoling his hips fast and hard into yours. The cocky bastard knows it too because just as you think you can’t take anymore you feel his finger enter your asshole going in deep and thrusting as fast as his dick.

“Ahhh….”

You’re cumming in an instant. Soaking his cock. Body going limp. Jensen works you through your first orgasm but he’s far from done.

“Such a good girl for daddy.”

“Going to fuck this tight little ass next.”

“Did my little slut just need a good fuck from her husband, miss me that much darling.”

You wish you could tell him off, tell him to go fuck himself. You hear the smirk on his face as he takes you in. Instead all you can do is moan as he builds you up for a second orgasm. Dick hitting straight into your g spot. Three fingers now fucking your asshole at the same time. You’re so full and you love it.

Three more hard hits to that magically spot inside your velvet walls and you’re clamping down around him again. Cum squirting from your well used pussy onto the bed.

“Fuck baby look at you, drenching daddy good.”

“Y/n that’s fucking hot.”

One, two, three more thrusts and you feel him paint your walls white with his seed. Grunts leaving his dirty mouth as he drapes his body over yours catching his breath.

When your both calmed from your highs he took you too, Jensen gently removes his fingers from your ass and without removing his cock, that’s still twitching inside you, he moves you both to lay side by side.

Small kisses cover your shoulder and neck, “feeling better Mrs. Ackles?”

“Fuck you Ackles, I’m still mad at you.”

A dark chuckle comes from behind you, “well it’s a good thing I’m far from done with you and this dripping pussy then baby girl.”

“I love you y/n.”

His soften cock slips from your walls, cum and blooding dripping onto your sheets. Neither one of you could care at the moment. Spinning in his arms you come face to face with your husband.

“I love you too Jay, missed you.”

A gentle smile looks down at you, “there’s my good girl. Told you I could fuck that attitude outta ya.”

Your hand trails down his chiseled chest to his cock, Jensen groans as you stroke the sensitive head, “oh baby, you’re nowhere near fucking this attitude out, but it’s a good start…”

Growling he rolls on top of you again, “good thing I have all night.”

Round two it is.

—————————————————————————

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @spnaquakindgdom @yvonneeeee @syrma-sensei @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @deansimpalababy @nancymcl @tspmoff

[riwoops]

ㅤ✶ㅤ WELTiTA .ᐟ l.hs

𝓢tarring — ﹙이희승﹚bf ! lee 𝒽eeseung x 𝑔𝓃 ! reader 𝒾𝓃... a hot summer day at the beach! wc. 670 𒀭 fluff est. physical touch

( SUMARIO ✦ ) it all started when heeseung invited you to spend the rest of your summer vacations in a house he insisted renting near the beach — now you were wrapped around his arms, admiring the sunset as you counted the last days you had left of your holidays.

·₊̣̇. ⊱ ℳind you . . . hihi !! omg, first post ever im kinda scared lmao😭 english isn't my first language, corrections are appreciated although i've proofread it! reblogs are very much appreciated too!! 💞

𓂃 ৻ 🥨🌴🗯 ⊹ ⭒ now playing weltita by bad bunny ᪤ ! ꒷

the shoreline was beautiful that day, birds could be seen flying everywhere and there were still some people playing volleyball as well as kids running ashore, althought the sun was already setting and it was getting quite late.

a soft breeze loomed for a split second, hitting you tenderly in the face and grounding you once again to your current position — your body wrapped around heeseung's arms, sitting comfortably in the sand as both of you waited for your bodies to dry after a long and refreshing swim in the ocean. some of your hair strands were still damp, stuck in your forehead and your swimsuit was filled with sand it had collected throughout the whole evening.

this is it, everything you ever wanted. you wouldn't want to be anywhere else than here, spending your last days of summer with the boy you loved and cared for the most.

"you look pretty when you smile" heeseung suddenly confessed in a soft whisper, his hot breath pressing against your ear as you detached your eyes ever so lightly from the scenery to focus on what your boyfriend was saying. "i want to fill your face with kisses so that i can see that smile" and that was the last thing you heard him saying before you found yourself giggling and smiling in his embrace.

you looked like an idiot. in fact, both of you looked like idiots — rolling in the sand as he kept peppering your face so affectionately, so carefully.

some passersby saw the moment — some found it cute, others grimaced at the view but, in the end, who really cares? it's just you and heeseung, this is your moment.

once he stopped marking your face, you propped up on your elbows, gazing once again at the sunset while he sat down beside you.

there was a comfortable silence in the air; as you were admiring the sun, heeseung was admiring you.

he cherished you, longed to be close to you. his eyes and the soft smirk pressed against in his lips spoke for themselves — he was so deeply in love with you.

you couldn't be luckier, having heeseung as a boyfriend was probably the best thing the universe had ever given to you. he's such a doting person, with a heart bigger than his body; so careful and bold at times, stealing pecks and caresses whenever you least expected it.

a slightly hesitant hand fell on your bare thigh, making you take a quick glance at where it was before gazing at heeseung.

"we should go" he whispered, his tone lacking any authority, rather carrying sadness in the statement.

the intimate yet fleeting touch he gave you before finally getting up was everything you needed from heeseung to feel even more grateful for dating him; you were everything heeseung needed to be grateful for every single moment he spent with you.

oh, to be spending your summer vacations at his side!

© riwoops | 2025