#literally no one thinking *anything* else about it like

[steddiealltheway]

1984 is not Steve Harrington’s year.

Not only does he find out that his girlfriend doesn’t actually love him, but somehow the creepy monster thing that united his now ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, came back in the form of some type of monster dog.

The highlight of his year might actually be befriending a nerdy middle schooler who introduced him to said monster dog - which he named Dart of all things... something to do with a candy bar.

He groans at the thought as the music from downstairs carries into his room. For some reason, Tommy Hagan decided to temporarily ignore the fact that he ditched Steve for the new keg king, Billy Hargrove, who managed to give Steve something else to worry about while literal Hell crawled its way into Hawkins, in favor of throwing a New Year's Eve party in the Harrington residence.

Typical for the year Steve's having. Why not end it horribly too?

He glances at the clock, relieved that it's already somewhat close to midnight. If it weren't for the noise, he would consider trying to sleep through this one. Instead, he lays back on his bed and hopes that no one tries to disturb him.

As if the universe can hear his thoughts, and then curse them, the door to his bedroom swings open.

Steve sits up with a huff and frowns at the person.

A guy with medium length curly hair and doe eyes stares back at him with a big smile that screams chaos.

"Sorry, dude," Steve says, "Bedroom is off limits. Go hookup, smoke, or whatever somewhere else."

Instead of leaving, the guy closes the door behind him and locks it.

Steve scoots back on the bed, hand reaching back to wrap around the nail bat he leaves behind his nightstand.

The dude raises his hands in mock surrender, silver rings glinting in the light streaming in from Steve's window - blinds open enough so he can make sure no one does anything weird in his pool. "Listen, man, I'm not here to hurt you or anything. Although you might hurt me when you hear why I'm here."

There's something about his voice that sounds familiar to Steve when it suddenly hits him - all the yelling and stomping around on tabletops. "You're Eddie Munson."

Eddie smiles and bows dramatically. "Guilty as charged."

Steve's frown deepens, and for a fleeting moment he thinks Dustin would really like the guy. "So, why would I hurt you if I hear you out?"

"Because, Steve," Eddie draws out his name as if it has a deeper meaning, "I was downstairs thinking about what a wonderful year I've had, and I decided that I might as well start the year with a little chaos."

Steve's grip tightens around the bat in case he's some sort of satanic serial killer or something, although his gut tells him that he shouldn't be scared of the man. "What do you mean by chaos?"

There's a strange glint in Eddie's eye when he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on the feet as if he wants to move closer to Steve but has decided to plant himself by his door. "I mean... I came to this party to sell my supply and after my whole lunchbox was cleaned out, I started thinking about who I should kiss at midnight. Or more precisely, who would be the worse option, or rather, the option that would bring the most-"

"Chaos. Yeah, I got that part," Steve cuts him off.

Eddie's smile changes to something genuine for a moment as he comments, "Wow, Steve Harrington is actually listening to me."

Steve rolls his eyes, grip loosening on the bat. "I'd rather you not stand on my desk to get my attention." To Steve's surprise, Eddie actually laughs in response and pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to hide his smile. And to Steve's much greater surprise, his heart starts beating a little faster and he finds it harder to not smile back at him. "So, chaos?" Steve prompts.

"Right," Eddie says, rocking on his feet again, "Chaos." He ducks his head for a moment as if hyping himself up for the next thing he's going to say, which is when Steve entirely releases his grip on the bat, realizing that Eddie is more scared of him. "So, I thought, to start the year off with the most chaos, I would choose someone to kiss that would bring the most chaos. And I thought, why not the host of this party?"

Steve frowns. "Tommy's downstairs."

Eddie mirrors his frown. "You're not hosting?"

"Why would I be in my room if I'm hosting?"

"Why would the party be in your house if you're not hosting?"

It suddenly hits Steve. "Wait, you want to kiss me?"

Eddie takes a step back, hovering even closer to the door than he was before. "Consensually, of course."

It takes a moment for Steve to fully process what is being asked. "You think I'm the worst option to kiss?"

"That's what you're asking?" Eddie asks, trailing off to mutter something like, "The fragile ego of athletes, I swear."

"I got dumped this year. Of course my ego is low."

Eddie smiles bashfully. "Sorry, my uncle always tells me I'm not as quiet as I think I am." And there's something about Eddie's cheeks that are slightly flushed, the strand of hair he starts tugging at again, and the way he can't stop bouncing as if he's buzzing with energy and nerves that makes him so...

"Yes," Steve blurts out suddenly. For a moment, he wonders if the mindf- mind fly? mind... whatever evil thing from a few weeks ago has possessed him.

"Yes what?" Eddie asks sounding genuinely confused. As Steve stands up to look out his blinds and shut them, Eddie rambles, "Yes, I'm not as quiet as I think I am? Or yes, you're about to punch me, and I'm going to finally figure out how it felt when you got your face bashed in a few weeks ago?"

Steve rolls his eyes before holding up both of his hands, mimicking Eddie's pose when he first came into the room. "Yes, I'll kiss you."

It's as if Eddie has forgotten he's asked the question the way his jaw drops, and he stares at Steve like he's said the most confusing thing he's ever heard. Which... to be fair... is highly likely.

"You want to kiss me?"

Steve takes a small step closer to Eddie. "I want to give you your chaos."' When Eddie doesn't look convinced, Steve takes a step closer to him, hand running through his hair as he continues, "Who knows, maybe it'll give me good luck or something for next year by cancelling out the chaos from this year."

Eddie nods. "Okay. You're giving me your chaos. Yeah. That makes sense."

"And you're taking my chaos away," Steve agrees, trying to tell himself that this is a rational decision. "This makes sense."

"You're not going to beat me up?" Eddie asks, risking a small step away from the door.

Steve shakes his head. "Seems like a bad way to start the year, don't you think?"

Eddie nods as Steve steps closer to him, slowly, as if not to startle him away. "You know, I thought just asking you would be chaotic enough as is and then I could run away and pretend you hallucinated or something when you tried to beat me up."

"Should've asked Hargrove then," Steve says, cocking his head to the side. "Does that mean you don't actually want to kiss me?"

Eddie swallows and shakes his head. "I didn't say that."

Just as Steve gets in front of Eddie, he hears people downstairs counting down from ten. "Good," Steve says, "Because there isn't enough time to find someone else."

Eddie scoffs, the countdown now at eight, "That's not true for you."

"Maybe, but I'm not really looking to find anyone else right now. Are you?" Five.

Eddie smiles and takes a step forward. "No." Three.

Steve reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind Eddie's ear. "Good." One.

Steve's not really sure who moves first or if they move together, but the yells of, "Happy New Year" are drowned out as Eddie's lips meet his in a kiss that feels more desperate than Steve expected. He's not sure why they're kissing as if the countdown was for the end of the world, but he really doesn't care.

It's only when Steve's gets a little carried away, Eddie's back slams against Steve's door with a thud that's loud enough to alert anyone that something's happening in Steve's room, that Steve breaks away with a gasp, seeking the air Eddie's stolen from him. He wonders if - hopes - it's the chaos he's taken.

"Happy New Year," Steve whispers, hands cupping Eddie's face while Eddie's are tangled in the mess he's made of Steve's hair. He's not sure when either of those things happened.

"Happy fucking New Year, Steve," Eddie mutters, hands slowly dropping from his hair.

Steve's hands hold onto Eddie's face a little tighter for a moment, and he sees the moment a bit of fear sparks in Eddie's eyes. Steve quickly shakes his head. "No, I'm not about to beat you up. It's just... I kind of slammed you against the door a little hard there, and if someone else is up here and they see you..."

"Chaos," Eddie fills in with a nod, "And not the good kind."

"Yeah," Steve sighs, "Not the good kind." He glances to his window where the blinds are firmly shut - thank you Jonathan for teaching him that lesson - and down at the locked doorknob before looking back at Eddie. He glances at his lips momentarily before blurting out, "Stay with me."

Eddie's jaw drops, mouth opening slightly in shock.

Steve steps back, hands reluctantly leaving Eddie's face. "Stay until everyone clears out at least. No ulterior motive."

Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets and moves back into Steve's space. "What if I want there to be an ulterior motive?" He tilts his head down and gives Steve a case of lethal puppy dog eyes. "Fully take your chaos away, remember?"

Steve is absolutely sure that this in no way will take away the chaos of his previous year and will likely only invite questions, confusion, and further chaos into 1985.

"Yeah, I remember," Steve says, pulling Eddie into another desperate kiss.

Maybe Eddie was onto something about starting the year with a little chaos. And maybe 1985 will be his year.

(i accidentally wrote a tiny epilogue later in the tags that i really like)

[shackleton2]

it's true and I say this as an avid binge-watcher who in the stone age had to look up transcripts of episodes because I couldn't wait THREE ENTIRE DAYS OF MY LIFE FOR NETFLIX TO MAIL ME THE NEXT DVD

Seasons of TV released as one fat drop of 8-12 1-1.5hr episodes, literally being told THIS IS FOR YOU TO BINGE IN ONE INSANE SITTING is the exact definition of my dreams and desires.

......why are they no good??

I can definitely think of exceptions, but "both of them have too much time and not enough time for the characters to struggle and grow and change," as it's well-put above, does seem to be the rule more and more. But what does that phrase really mean??

I saw something recently weighing in on this and saying series in particular seem to think every single thing depicted on screen has to move the story forward, possibly because everything is angled to encourage "binging". It's funny because that sounds like it should do the opposite of making the story feel ponderous and pointless!! So what's going on?

Maybe it's because Real Life™ isn't constantly moving towards one plot resolution, so the more you write a story where that's true, the more impossible true immersion for the viewer becomes?

But also I think actively designing a series to be compulsively watched in one or two massive sittings is hurting them as stories. Maybe it's because bingeing, especially as it's understood in other contexts, is not about enjoying something massively good, at least not after the initial part.

We all know this, right? You don't binge on something because it's just sooooo good. Are there people out there who have never done any kind of binge? Maybe so, so I'll tell you because I surely have: it's inertia. A really scary kind, to be honest, that feels, after a while of getting acclimated to nonstop-consuming the thing, like an absolute involuntary need. Because the second I stop eating the family sized bag of chips, stop taking another drink, stop lighting another smoke, reality will come rushing back in place of the comfort-stimulus. And in reality I am not experiencing joy or even pleasure, I am experiencing the kind of existential horror you get when you try to convince yourself you don't actually have to deal with your own mind. This 100% applies to letting the next episode autoplay after 5 hours of watching one story unfold.

Sorry I got kinda dark there, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think you NEED a GOOD PRODUCT in order to get people to binge. And, well, that shows more and more with this "content" streaming services are releasing.

True Blood was a hot mess in so many ways and my mental health sure as shit was too but holy shit watching that obsessively years back was so FUN. That show and other story-loves of mine feel different from stuff getting released in full-season streaming dumps right now, and I don't think it's quality of writing or acting or effects or anything else making the difference as much as whether a show seems to genuinely LIKE itself, or whether it's counting on you finding it preferable enough to reality to let the next episode play and thus get good stats.

we need 15-20 episode seasons again these limited series have the worst pacing in the world and none of the character decisions hold any weight

[covenofagatha]

hiiii <33

Could you write something about Agatha being a little insecure about being older than the reader?

Maybe they're at a party and someone the reader's age is going to talk to her and Agatha feels jealous and a little insecure, but pretend not to feel anything?

Then they go home and the reader shows Agatha that she loves her more than anything :)

If it's not too much to ask, the reader could have an obsession with Agatha's breasts and... really like eating her out? (like, a *really* big obsession) (sorry, Mrs Fletcher is on my mind a lot lately)

sorry for the details, lol, this came to me in the middle of the night

and by the way, I love your writing <33 you write very well

and I'm looking forward to the but you are my stepmother update :D

kisseess <3

I may have changed the setting a little bit (I've been watching Succession and was influenced lol) but hopefully you like! Also, Mrs. Fletcher literally changed my life so I completely understand

I combined this one with another request for being obsessed with Agatha’s breasts

Happy New Year to everyone!

Glitter on the floor

When Agatha gets jealous at the company New Year's Eve party, you remind her that she has nothing to worry about

Word count: 4300

Warnings: oral sex, oral fixation, breast fixation, marking

“Do you think anyone would notice if we just leave before the party even starts?” You ask, throwing a stress ball up in the air and catching it without even looking. 

You’re laying on your back on the couch in Agatha’s office and she snorts from her seat at her desk. 

Unlike you, when Agatha said she was going up to her office to quickly read over a contract before the company New Year’s Eve party, she meant it. You had just followed her up here to see if she was willing to get up to any funny business. 

“You don’t think they would notice that the CEO and General Counsel of the company aren’t at the company party?” Agatha asks amusedly, sarcasm dripping from her tone. 

Spellbound Network is a multi-billion dollar news conglomerate that Agatha Harkness is the Chief Executive Officer of. She’s absolutely ruthless and doesn’t hesitate before tearing anybody and everybody down. Nothing will stand in her way of world domination. 

As General Counsel, you’re a little less important, but you know that Agatha is right. The last thing you need is people speculating. 

The two of you have been involved in a more than professional relationship for seven months now. It all started when you offered to stay late to help her finish up with some end-of-quarterly reviews before the deadline and the two of you had ended up going out for drinks when you had finally finished. Agatha had let her hair down and told you just how stressed she was, and you had stupidly told her that you could help her relieve some of that stress. 

She had raised an eyebrow and you had taken it as a challenge. The next thing you knew, she was calling a car and the two of you were making out in the backseat on the way to her penthouse. 

It had grown into a relationship, a relationship that no one else in the office knew about. Things were getting pretty serious, and Agatha had even brought up you moving in with her. 

But you roll your eyes anyway. “It’ll be boring,” you drag out the last word slowly, sitting up to face her. “Wouldn’t you rather go back to your place, or even just stay up here?” You give her an impish grin and a wink. 

It’s a lost cause. Agatha has never let you touch her nor has she touched you in the office. 

She fixes you with a glare. “If you’re not going to behave, you can go downstairs and help set up for the party.” 

You hum in acquiescence and you’re about to resume your position on your back when Agatha leans forward and props herself up on her elbows, pushing her visible cleavage together. 

Your mouth runs dry. She’s wearing a long black dress with a low neckline that puts her breasts — that you may or may not be obsessed with — very much on display. You wouldn’t be surprised if she did it to tease you. 

“Agatha,” you whine, trying to sound pathetic so she’ll take pity on you. You can practically taste her skin with how badly you want her. 

She knows what you’re thinking, as always. “Stop,” she says without even looking up from her desk. “You aren’t going to goad me into touching you. Hasn’t worked any other time, isn’t going to work now.” 

You pout. “What are you talking about? I’ve never tried to.” It’s a bold-faced lie and you both know it. 

“Oh yeah?” She asks, at last looking up at you. “So when you got me that vibrator for the Secret Santa at the Christmas party, ‘not realizing that it was a public gift swap’; that wasn’t an attempt to work me up? Or when you just happen to come in here almost every day and knock over my pens so you have to bend down and shake your ass in my face?” 

You can’t help but chuckle at the reminders of your brazenness. To be fair, you had genuinely thought that the Secret Santa swap would be done in a group but then the gifts would be opened alone. And much to your surprise, you were wrong and when Rio Vidal, the head of Human Resources, had announced that it was time for everyone to open their gifts, you had quickly dragged Agatha upstairs, making some excuse about a phone call about a breaking news story. 

She had been furious at almost having to open your gift in front of the entire staff, and instead of having a very Merry Christmas Eve, courtesy of your generous gift and a well-placed bribe to the person who had actually drawn Agatha in the swap, she hadn’t touched you at all that night. 

But Christmas Day was much better, when she had put you on your knees for almost an hour and you made her cum four times with just your mouth. 

“You’re not letting those go anytime soon, are you?” You mutter. 

She throws a paper clip at you. “Go downstairs and stop bothering me,” she orders, fondness still in her voice. 

You huff a big sigh, one that tells her that just because you’re obeying doesn’t mean you’re happy about it, and walk over to place the paper clip and stress ball back on her desk. You straighten out your own dress, a long maroon one, and lean over to press a chaste kiss to her lips. 

To your surprise, she lets you do it and she even deepens it, flicking her tongue against the entrance to your mouth. When she pulls away, her eyes are dark and you’re about to ask her to reconsider, but she ushers you away with her hand and turns back to the contract. 

There’s not very many people in the lobby where the party is taking place, so you stand alone at a table and accept a glass of champagne from a waitress. It’s only ten pm and you know most of the staff won’t get here until closer to midnight, which would’ve been smart. 

If only Agatha hadn’t insisted that you and her come in for the entire day and get ahead of all the stuff that’s coming up in the new year. She didn’t even let you go back to your apartment once you both had finished, instead letting you shower in her private adjoining bathroom. 

And she wonders why you’re already so bored; you’ve been at the office for fourteen hours. 

Still at least two more to go. 

You take another glass of champagne and set it down next to your already half-empty glass. You’re going to need it once more people start showing up. 

It’s not that you don’t like them, it’s just that…if the building was on fire, you’d only really think or care about saving Agatha. 

“Hey there, General Counsel,” Rio says, slinking up to you. 

You smile. She’s an oddball, but her wry sense of humor sometimes is the only thing that gets you through business trips. Besides Agatha, of course. 

And it’s not exactly a secret that she has a bit of a crush on you. On paper, it would make more sense than you and Agatha. Rio is your age, and for all intents and purposes, doesn’t have any power over you, nor you her. 

But you’re in love with Agatha, and older women have always been more your type anyway. You’re perfectly happy with being friends with Rio, and it seems that Rio is content with your relationship now too. 

“Hey, Rio,” you greet, lifting your glass in a silent toast to her. She lifts up the other one and smoothly downs it in one gulp. 

And then the elevator dings and Agatha steps out and you forget all about Rio and everyone else. Your eyes follow her as she glides through the lobby, not even looking at you once, and she picks up a plate of caviar while the Chief Financial Officer, Jimmy, goes to talk to her. 

Rio taps her fingers to the rim of the empty glass. “So, I heard Harkness is thinking about acquiring Hex Industries for better tech.” 

“Water cooler gossip,” you say dismissively, not wanting to talk anymore business for the day. You’ve done enough with that with Agatha. And then you lower your voice conspiratorially. “But I did hear that Jimmy got divorced again?” 

It sends Rio into a fit of giggles and the two of you swap the details you’ve heard from various people and try to piece together what really happened. It does make the party go by faster and before you know it, there’s only about an hour before midnight. 

You cannot wait to go home with Agatha and forget all about work and this party and just focus on her. Ever since she changed into the dress she’s wearing tonight, you haven’t been able to focus with how delicious her breasts look in it. 

Some might call it an oral fixation, some might call it mommy issues, but there’s no denying how much you love to suck on her nipples. And to eat her out. 

Fuck. You can’t be thinking about that. Rio is saying something, something now about Tony, the Chief Operating Officer, and you’re shifting your weight thinking about the sounds Agatha makes when you get your mouth on her. 

You look around the room and you find her, standing alone, nursing her own glass of champagne. But what startles you is that she’s already watching you with a strange look on her face. You give her a small smile, your heart filling with adoration for the older woman, but she looks away. 

“Will you excuse me for a second?” You say to Rio, who nods. You walk over to Agatha and slide up next to her, your hand brushing against her lower back. “You okay?” You murmur into her ear. 

Agatha clears her throat and rolls her shoulders back and you have to make a pointed effort not to stare at her boobs that get pushed forward. “Just ready for this party to be over,” she says, voice clipped. 

“Oh yeah?” You whisper, cocking an eyebrow. “What do you have planned for when we get home?” 

She looks at you, finally looks at you, and you can see a guarded look in her eye. “We’ve had a long day, and this party won’t be done until after midnight. I’ll probably turn in.” 

“Oh, Mommy, your age is showing,” you tease mockingly in a hush, wearing a dramatic pout, another joke about how much older she is that she usually rolls her eyes at and then makes a comment about how much you like it.  

But she stiffens today. “Well, you’re more than welcome to go home with Rio if you want someone your own age.” The retort hits you like a punch in the gut and you’re left dumbfounded as she walks away, heels clacking on the floor. 

Is she…jealous? Surely Agatha can’t be, she knows how much you want her and love her. She knows how willing you are to show her. 

And maybe, just maybe, she’ll let you remind her right now. 

You check your watch. Forty-five minutes until midnight. You can feel her gaze from across the room, but when you try to make eye contact, she pretends like she isn’t looking at you, and you make the executive decision to try something that will probably backfire. 

Pulling out your phone, you pretend to take a call. You can feel her air shift; she knows that if someone’s calling you this late, it must be something urgent. You nod like you’re listening and then after a minute or two, you put your phone down. 

You meet her eyes and tilt your head toward the elevator, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. This could backfire. She could get so mad at you. 

But you have to try. 

Agatha excuses herself from the small group of people that have congregated around her table and she follows you into the elevator. 

“Who was that? What’s wrong?” She demands, and you almost feel bad for making her this panicked. 

You shake your head. “Just wait until we get to your office.” You think it should be a hint, but she doesn’t pick up on it. Instead, Agatha chews on her bottom lip and tosses her hair back over her shoulders. 

The doors ding open on the sixtieth floor and Agatha trails behind you, hot on your heels, as you take her to her office. You tell her to get on the couch while you draw the blinds to the glass windows facing the interior of the building, just in case anyone should happen to walk by. The television is on outside in the hallway and you can faintly hear the sounds of the New York Ball Drop show. A little over thirty minutes left. 

“What is going on?” Agatha asks again, clearly exasperated by you dragging this out. 

You turn around and almost moan at the sight of her sitting with her knees pulled up under her and her elbow propped up on the couch. This time, you really can’t help your gaze from darting down to her breasts and she snaps her fingers to get you to focus. “Rio’s just a friend,” you say bluntly, and Agatha scoffs. 

“What does this have to do with anything?” 

You slowly walk over and kneel down in front of her, pulling her legs out so that her feet are on the floor and you rest your chin on her knee and look up at her through your eyelashes. “There wasn’t a call,” you confess, already wincing on the inside at how she’s going to react. Her face remains stoic. “You were bothered by Rio and I talking.” It’s a statement, not a question. 

But Agatha jeers. “Is this your excellent counsel that I pay you so much for? That I’m bothered? Don’t think I don’t know about the little crush she has on you.” 

“So what if she has a crush? I don’t like her like that. You know I only have eyes for you,” you say, slowly inching the hem of her dress up her legs, waiting to be rejected. 

Her hand slides up your head and fastens into your hair, tilting you back so you can look straight at her. “Oh yeah?” She asks, daring, challenging you to go further. 

 You swallow hard. “Let me show you?” You offer timidly, praying it’s the right answer and you’re not reading this wrong. 

Agatha growls, a guttural noise deep in her throat, and she yanks you up and kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip. Her tongue forces its way into your mouth and you moan at the feeling, settling into her lap with your legs on either side of hers. She tugs at your hair and the sting makes you keen, only making you need her more. 

You can’t even wait, you’ve been on edge for too long, and you trail your lips down her neck, scrape your teeth against her collarbone, and then she helps you take the straps of her dress off. 

The second her breasts are free, you’re on them like you’re starving and they’re your salvation. You cup both of them with your hands, feeling the sturdy weight of them, and you knead softly, running your thumbs over both nipples. The dusky rose color stands out against her pale skin and you watch with fascination as her nipples harden under your gentle touch. Part of you still can’t believe she’s letting you touch her in the office. 

Not that you’re complaining. 

You swoop down and take one into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the little bud, and Agatha’s back arches off the couch as her fingers dig into your hair to keep you there. You’ve never felt more content in your life than like this, and you happily suck on her as the most delicious sounding noises fall out of her mouth. 

Her free hand finds your hip just as your fingers tug at her nipple that isn’t being occupied by your mouth and you can make out what she wants. Without moving away from her, you shift and place a leg in-between hers, able to feel the heat radiating from her pussy through her underwear and dress. 

“Fuck,” you mutter brokenly when she grinds up against your knee and you can feel just how wet she is. 

Agatha huffs out a chuckle. “You love sucking on Mommy’s tits so much, don’t you?” She asks and you switch sides and hum against her skin. “Mommy loves it, too.” 

You groan and take a break from directly stimulating her, instead, opting to lightly bite at the skin around her nipples, taking extra care to mark the curvature under them. She’s especially sensitive there, and her little gasps only spur you on. 

After you’ve left sufficient proof that you were there, you pull back and admire your work and you sharply inhale. Her breasts are absolutely painted with red marks that will surely fade into bruises by tomorrow and her chest heaves, a ragged look in her eyes. Agatha is still undulating against your leg and you can visibly tell how turned on she is. 

“Am I convincing you yet?” You ask, your voice coming out a little hoarse, and Agatha barks out a laugh. 

Her wicked grin has a thrill running inside you and she shifts underneath you until you figure out what she is trying to do. It’s a bit awkward, but she manages to turn her body so that her legs are on the couch horizontally but you’re still on top of her. 

She hums thoughtfully. “Think I might need a little more. If you’re willing, that is.” 

Only too willing. You can’t help yourself from leaning down and giving her a hard kiss, pulling away and sucking one nipple and then the other roughly until she moans, and then you move down her body and bunch up her dress at her hips. You put your hands on her shins and guide her legs up so they’re bent, her heels on the couch. 

And then you settle between her open legs and mouth at her sopping cunt through her underwear. A groan tears out of you before you can stop it at tasting the wet fabric, thick with her scent which you’ve become addicted to. You suck on her underwear, pulling the moisture out of it, and Agatha jerks underneath you. 

“We don’t have all day, pet,” she says tightly and you can hear the television outside saying there’s fifteen minutes left until New Year’s Day. 

You chuckle at her impatience and finally pull down her underwear. You wish your dress had pockets so you could store it for later, but you made do for just throwing it somewhere in her office. 

And then you drag your tongue up her slit and absolutely lose yourself in the taste. There’s something so indistinguishable and indescribable about it, and you lazily explore her pussy, getting as much of her wetness as you can into your mouth. You vaguely realize that she’s wrapped a leg over your shoulder and her heel is digging in, the sting only turning you on more. 

Small gasps are pulled out of Agatha’s mouth and her hips buck, trying to get more stimulation, but to no avail as you are completely focused on just licking her slowly. You moan into her and the vibrations make her whimper, but you almost don’t even hear it. This is your favorite place on earth, between her legs, and you don’t want to ever leave. She’s so warm and wet and responsive against your tongue and you fucking love it. Love getting her wetness all over your face, love feeling her clench around your tongue, love the taste and smell and how she reacts when you lap at her clit. 

You do that now, and her thighs tighten around your head and she sighs like she’s finally getting some of the relief that she needs. 

“I love your pussy,” you say, but the words are garbled. She lets out a muffled sound and you look up through hooded eyes to see her head strewn back in pleasure, dark hair fanned out beneath her, bottom lip between her teeth, and her fingers tweaking her raw nipples. The sight makes you moan against her again and her hips jump. 

She looks down to meet your gaze and you feel the fire inside you only being stoked more when you realize that almost all the blue in her eyes is gone, entirely swallowed up by dark desire. “Please,” she begs, sounding more needy than she ever has since you’ve started sleeping with her. “Mommy needs this so bad.” 

And the only thing you love more than tasting her with your mouth is making her cum with your mouth. 

So you oblige, thrusting your tongue inside her and almost losing all composure when her walls flutter around it. She lets out a loud whine when your nose brushes against her clit and you keep doing that, curling your tongue inside her and moving your head up and down so she can get some desperately needed stimulation to her clit. 

“Fuck, baby, your mouth is so good,” she practically sobs, and you can feel her throb. She never takes long, which is almost a shame because you’d stay between her legs forever if you could. Building her up, feeling her legs tremble around you, that’s half the fun right there. 

But she needs it, and you can hear that it’s getting closer to midnight. Only a few minutes left. 

You double the intensity, dragging your tongue over her clit again and again, feeling it pulse. You slip a hand between your own legs and groan at the wetness you find, fingers strumming at your own clit through your dress and soaked panties. Nothing gets you more turned on than Agatha’s pussy in your mouth, absolutely coating your face. 

She’s pinching her nipples now and you almost lose your rhythm from wishing you were the one doing that to her, but you don’t falter. Wetness is dripping out of her cunt onto the couch below and you almost smirk at the thought of seeing the stain tomorrow.  

Agatha better let you fuck her in her office more often. You clench at the thought of being under her desk, eating her out while she’s going through contracts or in a meeting or having lunch. Anytime you can. 

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” she chants and you can hear the minute countdown start. You lick and suck and nip and her hips are moving furiously, grinding on your face and you can’t breathe but you don’t even care because she tastes so fucking good. 

“Five…four…” You shove your tongue inside her and curl it up, stroking against the spongy spot that makes her gasp. “Three..two…” You scrape your teeth against her clit and she keens. “One…Happy New Year!” 

You suck her clit into your mouth hard and that does it. She goes flying over the edge, wetness gushing out onto your face, and you blissfully lick her through her orgasm, not even realizing that she’s too sensitive until she’s tugging at your hair, pulling you away from her. 

She brings you in for a kiss, a tradition when the clock strikes midnight on January First, but also something she always does when you eat her out, moaning at the taste of herself on your lips, and you don’t even care that you haven’t cum yet. You clasp her cheeks and your tongue sweeps into her mouth until you finally have to break apart to breathe. 

“What a way to start the new year,” you joke and she laughs and fluffs her hair. She looks like a thoroughly-fucked mess, but also the hottest you’ve ever seen. You soften and press a gentle kiss to her lips. “You know I love you, right? I don’t care about how old you are, you know I fucking love that. You don’t have to worry about Rio, or anyone else, no matter if they’re my age or not. I want you and only you.” 

Agatha smiles and kisses you again, and then kisses your nose. “I want all your midnight kisses, baby. I love you too.” It’s the most romantic thing she’s ever said. 

And of course you immediately have to ruin it with a joke. “Office sex isn’t that bad, hm?” She pokes your side and you giggle. 

“Let’s get back downstairs before anyone notices that we’ve been gone for so long,” she says. 

You whine but reluctantly get off her when she pats your hips and she finds her underwear that was thrown to the ground. You both fix your make-up in the mirror and then you’re back in the elevator, descending the sixty floors. If anyone asks, you’ll say it was an emergency with an acquisition. But you doubt anyone will. The champagne is flowing and it’s a party. 

Before the doors open, Agatha takes your hand, squeezes it three times as if to say I love you and then there’s a ding and it’s back to reality. 

But she gives you a wink meant only for you when she toasts to the company and all the good things yet to come and a warm feeling fills you. 

What a way to start the new year, indeed. 

[shurisneakers]

saw your requests were open and i figured i would humbly aid 🫡

everyone is always like “oh! bucky with a golden retriever reader this! bucky with a sunshine reader that!” what about bucky with a reader who’s just as moody as he is??

no one ever writes two grumps together and i think it would be an interesting dynamic

Summary: It's New Years Eve and this man simply refuses to do anything but be a pain in your ass.

Warnings: cursing, alcohol

A/N: Sid. did you know. did you know that you're literally a genius. you're so right about grumpy x grumpy. i do not know if I have done this justice but I wrote this out on my phone because I like this request so much thank you for sending one in 😭❤️

New Year’s Eve is a migraine wrapped in tinsel and cheap champagne. You’ve seen too many years roll over into nothing to care anymore.

Doesn’t matter. You’re here because the bar’s open, and when someone says “open bar,” you take it as a challenge to see how open it can really be.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.

“Whatever’s most expensive.”

He ducks under the counter, comes back with a bottle that looks more like a museum piece than alcohol. Fancy glasswork, gold lettering, the works.

He starts, “This one’s got notes of—”

“Let me see,” you interrupt.

The second the bottle’s in your hands, you turn and walk away.

He sputters behind you, but you wave him off. “Put it on the billionaire’s tab."

You snake through the crowd and confetti, nodding at a few familiar faces but not stopping for any. Emergency exit in sight, you take a seat where you can watch the chaos unfold while staying out of it.

"Pass the bottle."

You don't even bother looking at him as you respond, "Go steal your own."

"You took the most expensive one."

"Get another one."

"This is easier."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Real festive of you."

Still, despite your best efforts, he’s already taking a seat, uninvited.

You take another swig before passing the bottle to him without another word.

He glances at you. "Why are you here?"

"Well, it was quiet before someone showed up."

"Must'a really pissed you off," he says, tipping the bottle back.

God, Bucky was fucking annoying. But his cheeks are flushed pink and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbow.

"Why are you here?" you scowl.

"It's quiet," he replies, like just knows it'll make you mad. He's right.

"You’re in my space.”

“This isn’t your space.”

“I was here first.”

“Congrats. Want a medal?”

"Leave."

"No," he states, resolutely.

Bucky’s the human equivalent of a rock in your shoe—persistent, irritating, and impossible to ignore.

You feel face warm with irritation. "Where's your date gone?"

"Nat set me up, I've never met her before," he says, as though it’s the least surprising thing in the world. "Haven't seen her in thirty minutes."

"What, you couldn't brood your way into her pants?"

He gives you a dry, unimpressed look. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Doesn't look like you're doing any kissing at all," you scoff.

He tips the bottle back, takes a slow drink, then hands it to you. "You think about me kissing a lot?"

"I don't think about you."

He snorts, low and humorless, and you hate that it makes you want to laugh.

Bucky's fucking annoying. He's run his hand too many times through his hair, and there’s a smudge of something—lipstick, maybe—on his collar, and he's stretched out too damn much, like he's right at home.

He sends you a look. It makes you want to hide. You hate the way his eyes linger, like he’s waiting for you to flinch.

"Bottle," you demand.

He hands it over silently, crossing his arms over his chest, staring right ahead.

"How much longer?" he asks, checking his watch.

"You can leave."

"Sure can," he says, but doesn’t move.

"So leave."

"No."

You stare at him. "Find somewhere else to sit."

"No," he replies.

The minutes stretch. The bottle passes back and forth, your irritation simmering every time he exhales, every time he looks at you like he’s got something to say but doesn’t.

Bucky was fucking annoying. He smelt like expensive cologne and Tide detergent. His eyes are tired and his voice is scratchy. when he shifts beside you, it’s like he takes up more space than anyone has a right

He holds his hand out for the bottle. You give it to him.

"What are you gonna do at midnight?" he asks.

"Finish this bottle."

"What about after?"

"I'll get another one."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That all?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” You glare at him, but he doesn’t flinch. He never does.

“Good."

His jaw’s tense, his eyes dark and sharp, and for a second, you think maybe he’s as pissed at himself as you are.

Silence falls. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. It’s just there. Like him.

"What’re you gonna do at midnight? Cry into whiskey?” you ask pointedly.

“I could, but you drank it all." He rolls his eyes.

There's a lot left. You give him the bottle. He takes it without a word, fingers brushing against yours.

Bucky takes a swig. “No one waiting for you at midnight?"

"Loads," you scoff. "Got a line out the damn door waiting to kiss me."

"Uh huh," be says.

There's silence.

You look at him, only for find him eyeing you.

“No one waiting for you?”

You scoff. “Why, you volunteering?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just studies you with those sharp, unreadable eyes. “Maybe.”

"Sure, Barnes, I'll kiss you at midnight," you drag sarcastically.

His face doesn't shift. Your brows furrow.

"Christ, you're bein' serious," you mumble.

He shrugs non committedly. "I could think of worse things to do."

"Wow," you say dryly. "Charming."

"Just sayin'."

With two minutes to go, you find that it's harder to look him in the eye. Your heart stumbles over itself, and you take another drink to cover the sudden heat crawling up your neck.

Either the whiskey was really starting to take hold, or the damn spirit of the damn season was getting to you.

"Look, I wasn't plannin' on asking anyone else," he says.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Do with that what you will," he says, taking a swig.

"What about your date?" you test.

"Don't think she remembers I exist."

You observe him. His shirt is unbuttoned, and his coat jacket lay on his lap. His bowtie also hung precariously from his neck.

Bucky was really fucking annoying. His hair is toussled and his stubble is rough and you're fairly certain his nose is sunburnt. You know this because you've been staring at him every day from the second he stepped foot in the compound, withdrawn and scowling.

It's late and you're tired of a lot of things and you're careless, so you stare too long. He catches you.

"What?" he bites.

"I'm assessing," you say, then add grudgingly, “You're not... terrible."

Which is a lie. He's beautiful. He's acutely aware of this on some days. Those days are harder for you.

He stares at you. "I can see why there's a line out the door for you."

"Go join them," you say. "I'll finally get some fuckin' quiet."

He exhales a short laugh. "No."

You can hear the crowd shouting numbers, but it’s distant, unimportant. Bucky’s eyes are on you, steady.

The crowd cheers.

Bucky's really fucking annoying.

But he kisses you like he's liked you all his life. Like he's real tired of waiting. It lingers just long enough to make your stomach flip when you realise he still tastes like whiskey.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t look smug. He doesn’t say anything at all. Just hands you the bottle and leans back like nothing happened.

His cheeks are red. His lips are swollen. He's never looked prettier in his damn life.

“Happy New Year,” you mutter, staring at the bottle because you can’t look at him.

“Sure,” he says, voice low, almost hoarse.

[smartkookiee]

Vampire Boy || Teaser

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𓆩♱𓆪 pairing: vampire!Jungkook x human!Reader (afab, she/her)

𓆩♱𓆪 content: 18+ explicit content, established relationship au, vampire au

𓆩♱𓆪 series warning/tags: golden retriever boyfriend jk, “27” jk 26 reader, oh they are so in love, modern day, vampire activities, blood drinking, fluff, silly, some angst, smut, some gore and blood, blood kink?? (Squint), Jungkook really likes your blood, my own vampire rules?? But similar to traditional vampire rules??, Jungkook is so whipped, past trauma, comedy, y/n is so sweet but also is a little bit of a brat, they are soooo down bad for each other, vampire!Jimin, vampire!Jin, vampire!Hoseok, vampire!Yoongi, other vampire characters (the girlies), these two are little freaks, unprotected sex (Jungkook literally cannot get y/n pregnant), cream pie, fingering, dick riding, oral f and m receiving, discussion of feeding on animals and people, vampire turning trauma, Jungkook is severely afraid of garlic (lmao), vampire traditions and rituals, family trauma, family death

𓆩♱𓆪 description: So your boyfriend is a vampire…It’s actually not too different than having a human boyfriend. He is kind and caring and genuinely loves you. He’s just a touch afraid of garlic and he’s kind of cold. Other than that everything is the same and you couldn’t ask for anyone better. You cannot imagine spending your life with anyone else, except… it would be only your life going on.

which wasn’t a problem… right?

𓆩♱𓆪 teaser word count: 1.4k

Comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list!!

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Jungkook was extremely nervous. 

This was a conversation he had meant to have for a long time. A year, maybe longer. He always found reasons to delay it, to avoid it. It wasn’t going to be a problem telling you; he had gotten the go-ahead from everyone. Actually, he’d had it for over a year now, but their approval didn’t matter. What mattered was what came after he told you.

Were you going to freak out? Would you believe him? Would you be mad? 

A million different scenarios had run through his head all week about how this could go. The possibilities gnawed at him so deeply that he had unintentionally been avoiding you. Not responding to texts or calls as quickly. Avoiding hanging out or dates. It was entirely out of character. The longest the two of you had ever gone without seeing each other was five days, and that was only because of a vacation. Now, over a week had passed, and his silence was suffocating you.

You didn’t think anything was wrong but this sudden distraction and silence from Jungkook was freaking you out. Had you done something or said something to make Jungkook mad? Did you do something that was upsetting? Was he just not feeling it anymore? You had broached the topic of moving in together recently and you wondered if that had made Jungkook uneasy.  Everything seemed fine up until now. Almost perfect even, then suddenly Jungkook had completely distanced himself. 

You were jumping to the worst conclusions, the biggest one, a break up. Which is what you had been emotionally preparing for. Jungkook was going to dump you and you would just have to deal with that. Easily, you could already feel this would be the biggest break up of your life. The both of you had already shared and done so much together, you couldn’t imagine giving yourself to someone else the same way. 

That’s when Jungkook said he wanted to come over tonight to talk about something, you were doing everything in your power to keep yourself composed. You had been shaking and anxious since you got the text. 

Even worse when you get the knock on the door. 

With your hands still shaking and your heart pounding in your ears. You twist the knob and pull the door open, Jungkook standing with a soft smile on his face standing in front of you. The smile disarming you slightly. 

“Hi,” you said, forcing a smile back as you tried to hide the storm brewing inside you.

“Hi baby.” Jungkook hesitates a step forward, but can sense some unease coming from you. “Can I come in?” 

You hadn’t realized that you hadn’t opened the door enough that he could enter. You clear your throat, “Yes… obviously.” You open the door and step to the side so he can come in. The pet name was a good sign but you are still on edge. 

As he walked in, the silence in your studio apartment felt deafening. Every creak of the floorboards, every breath you took, seemed to echo. You closed the door, the sound reverberating through the small space, amplifying the tension. Jungkook paused in the middle of the room, uncharacteristically quiet, his steps heavy with unspoken words.

You moved around him, trying to read his face. He looked tired and conflicted, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. He avoided your gaze. With your anxiety spiking, you retreated to the bed, the only real place to sit in your tiny space. Perched on the edge, you gripped the blanket beneath you like a lifeline.

“You wanted to talk?” Your voice was a little hoarse. Feeling like your entire body was about to start shaking. 

Jungkook nodded, his fingers fidgeting as if searching for something to anchor him. “I… I don’t really know how to say this,” he began, pacing back and forth. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long, and now that I’m here, I… I don’t know how.”

The growing sense of dread in your chest felt unbearable. You couldn’t take it anymore. “If…” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. “If you’re just going to dump me, please don’t drag it out. Just say it.”

Jungkook's eyes widened for a moment, “What?” 

You look at him, seeing the visible confusion on his face. “That’s what this is right? You wanted to talk… and that typically means you want to end things.” 

“Y/N.” Jungkook starts but with a wave of your hand you cut him off. 

“No, it’s okay. If that’s what this is, it's fine, just please don’t make me wait to hear it.” You hadn’t realized but you were digging your fingers into your mattress now. So hard your knuckles had gone white.

Jungkook paused for a second before he laughed, tilting his head. Eyes sympathetic.  “Oh baby.” He comes over and kneels on the ground in front of you. 

“Don’t laugh at me.” You whine, his smile felt almost mocking now. 

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m not breaking up with you.” Jungkook sighs, he reaches and takes your hands in yours. Lacing your fingers together, “I love you, I don’t want to break up.” 

You stay silent, his face has returned to its familiar soft nature versus the stressed one a moment ago. He wasn’t lying. “What?” 

“We aren’t breaking up.” Jungkook kisses both of your hands, soothingly. Holding them close. Watching your face morph from concern to relaxation as his words settle in. “Why would you think that?”

You let out a heavy sigh you didn’t realize you were holding in, “Oh… We had talked about moving in. I thought I had freaked you out or something and you were going to bolt.” 

Jungkook laughed some more, just a quiet laugh under his breath. “You really think asking me to move in together freaked me out? We basically live together already.” 

Your mouth falls into a pout, “I don’t know! You were all quiet and weird! I didn’t see you this week and you were barely talking to me!” You lay back on your bed, covering your face with your hands. Maybe you did jump to too many conclusions, but all the behavior this week was weird. 

Jungkook gets to his feet but lays down next to you on your bed. “I do have something to tell you and it is serious. I just didn’t know how I wanted to tell you yet so I didn’t want to talk to you until I figured out how I wanted to do it.” He rested his hand on your stomach, wanting to pull you closer but letting you stay where you were. 

You peak between your fingers to look at him. Jungkook's eyes are full of love only for you and no malicious intent behind them. “Is it going to give me a heart attack? Like the one you almost just gave me?” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Might be confusing but hopefully no heart attack.” 

“Well tell me. I can handle basically any news you have for me now.” You both sit back up on your bed. You pull your legs under you so your legs are crossed together. 

Jungkook paused. Now he really had to face the music. You could tell whatever it was really was serious and probably wasn’t going to be easy. He just needed to do it. He just needed to rip the band aid off and say it. Get it off his chest. There was no easy way to say it, and he would spend a lifetime explaining if he needed to. 

“Okay.” He stayed quiet for a moment, “I-... shit this is hard.” 

You watched as he figured this out in his mind. You could tell he was really jumping through hoops. “You’re not pregnant right? I’m not ready to be a dad.”

You laugh at your own joke but Jungkook just rolls his eyes with a smile. Knowing you aren’t serious and just trying to break the tension. “This is serious!”

“Sorry. Take your time. You know you can say anything to me.” You say with sincerity, reaching a hand to rub his arm. 

“I know.” He nodded, “It just changes a lot.” 

“Okay now you are really making me nervous.” You shift uncomfortably on the bed, you really hoped something wasn’t seriously wrong. Like he was sick or something.

He looks between your eyes for a moment, the whole nature of the relationship you two had built will change. Everything that you knew would suddenly be different. That terrified him. He couldn’t predict what would happen next. He can say everything perfect and could be just right and still not know what you would do next. 

He just needed to say it. 

“I’m… I’m a vampire.” Jungkook whispers.

Your eyebrows knit together, “What?”

Jungkook takes in a long long deep breath, meeting your eyes. “I’m a vampire.”

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A/N: Happy New Year Everyone!!! This was one of the surprises I had for the new year! This is going to be a four part mini series that I have wanted to do for a couple of months!! I hope you all will enjoy it!! I'm not sure when the first part will be posted but I wanted to get the teaser out in the new year so you all could get a little sneak peak (I adore these two and I know you all will love them too, they are so silly).

I was really wanting to do an established relationship but didn't want to do a full story so this will fulfill that for me hehehe. Oh also every chapter is going to be very long so the updates may take some time but will be full of so much content.

[hvnlygrl]

JJ + spanking does sum to me… idk how that is for ideas but that concept always gets me started 🤭

love taps.

pairing — jj maybank x fem!reader

word count — 2.1k

warnings — spanking, sexual themes, drinking and driving but not drunk driving (don’t drink and drive at all guys please!!!!!!)

synopsis — you keep giving jj love taps, he can’t help but retaliate when you look that good on homecoming night.

notes — ugh i love jj soooo much he’s literally my man bye idc 😭 he’s too fine

he’s been thinking about you in that short little teal dress all night. he genuinely can’t get the image of you coming down the hallway, the dress hardly going to the middle of your thighs, it’s tightness hugging you in every single one of the right places.

the dance is a bust, all of you can admit, but it’s a rite of passage to go to homecoming at kildare high and you won’t be the one to miss out.

you were genuinely shocked when jj asked you to the outing, in fact, your exact words were, “when the hell did you start following the khs trends?”

to which jj promptly replied with a raised brow and the beginning of a smirk, “when the hell did you stop?”

he was referring to the fact that you didn’t want to go to this year’s dance due to the fact that you didn’t have a date and everyone else had someone to go with already. even pope had cleo and john b had sarah and you didn’t even think about including jj because never in a million years would he ever even think about going.

but here you both were, face to face in the middle of the chateau, your eyes wide and full of ambition as he asked you nervously, “y/n, will you do me the honor of going to hoco with me?”

after the moment of shock passed, you got excited. “hell yea i will.”

“right on,” he huffed out, scratching at the back of his neck nervously.

jj had never been to a school dance before, he didn’t have anything close to being nice enough to wear and he didn’t even know where to start with sizes and colors and what not.

when he told john b that he was going to the dance with you, the dark haired boy advised him to wait until you picked a dress because, “it’s a lot easier to match a tie to a dress then it is to match a dress to a tie.”

jj hated the fact that he was going to have to wear a tie and a suit and dress shoes and a belt. he knew he would stand out like a sore thumb and he hated being the oddball, especially while some of the kooks would be there in $100+ suits and he would be lucky to scavenge the articles he needed from the nearest goodwill and thrifts.

but it was for you, he kept reminding himself. he saw the way it broke your heart to be left out while everyone else had a date, he knew how much you hated third wheeling and always feeling like the backup option for everyone, even for your best friends.

he knew the feelings all too well.

he knew what it was like to have everyone be your best friend and your first choice and to never be anyone’s number one.

but you were his number one, from the moment you joined the group, he just clicked with you. like something in him locked in with something in you and he was whole for the first time in his life.

for the first time jj had something to fight for. and he would be damned if he didn’t fight for you.

the first time he laid eyes on you that night it was as if he was seeing you again for the first time. he’d never admit it to anyone, but he’d been in love with you since you started hanging around the group. the way you looked and talked and laughed, and your give-no-fucks attitude about everything made him fall deeper and deeper every time he saw you after that.

then, before he knew it, you were his best friend and he was yours and suddenly he would burn the world down around him if it would keep that pretty little smile on your face.

“wow,” he breathed out when you shuffled awkwardly into the living room in that gorgeous teal dress, your legs toned and smooth, feet adorned in an adorable pair of silver sparkly heels.

your cheeks flushed at his genuine reaction, heart beating out of your chest. you were just as in love with him as he was with you. and neither of you had any idea.

“shut up,” you rolled your eyes, suddenly feeling self conscious. “nice tie,” you huffed as you headed out the front door toward the van. you’re following behind him, and for some reason get the sudden urge to give him a nice smack on the backside.

“what the fuck?” he huffs out jokingly over his shoulder, practically jumping a foot in the air from the shock, “did you just smack my ass?”

“it was a love tap calm down,” you giggle before rushing past him.

he catches up to you, returning the favor as his hand flies across your ass. he can’t help but notice the way it jiggles in the tight dress, trying to push out the dirty thoughts from his mind.

his tie was teal, as close as he could get to the shade of your dress, with extremely thin silvery horizontal stripes down the length of it.

by the time the crowning rolled around, you both were so bored you could fall asleep in the bleachers. but jj was attempting to keep you (and himself) entertained as much as possible until the doors opened back up and you were allowed to leave.

“i can’t wait to get out of here,” you semi-shouted over the music so he could hear you better.

“where do you wanna go?” he shouts back, brows raised as if he’s already got a plan in mind.

“i dunno,” you shrug, “any good parties we can crash? i’m tryna get fucked up.”

“oh yea?” he leans back, eyes wide with a bit of shock. “thought you were done getting black-out after last time?”

jj’s referring to prom last year, when you got so drunk at a kook party on figure 8 that he had to carry you down the stairs and out to the van, with john b preventing him from going back in with his gun and killing one of those kooks for being on the verge of taking advantage of you in such a vulnerable state.

“i’ll have you,” you wink at him, “pleaseeee?”

he sighs, rolling his eyes as he gives in, “fine. but i can’t promise i won’t shoot anybody this time,” he jokes (mostly).

“yay! thank you babe,” you grin at him with a mischievous look before laying another hand across his rear.

he narrows his gaze at you, “can you stop,” he feigns anger.

“never in a million years, not when your ass is that juicy,” you cackle.

your laughter is quickly cut off by a reciprocal hand to your own ass, “yea, says you.” you can’t help the way the spank sends a shock to your pussy, feeling the wetness pool in your panties. two can play at that game.

“oh yea?” you spin around, looking over your shoulder at him, “like what you see?” it’s said jokingly, of course, but for some reason jj can’t help but blush at the comment.

“let’s just go,” he rolls his eyes in response, attempting to play it cool.

jj brought you back to the chateau to change into something more party-like and comfortable for what he can already imagine is gonna be a long night.

you chose a skin-tight pair of black pleather shorts that hug your ass and leave little room for the imagination, and an adorable lacy red crop tank that’s nearly as tight as the shorts. you opted to quickly re-curl your hair and swapped the silvery heels for a pair of black pumps.

jj’s in a classic maybank fit; a t-shirt and pair of board shorts, his hair unkempt from running his hands through it in stress.

his plan at the beginning of the night was to admit his feelings for you by the end of the night, but going to this party might change everything. especially if you end up going home with someone else. but he didn’t want to tell you anything before the party in case he fucked it all up. he wanted one last good night with you.

when you enter the party, several eyes flit to you, roving up and down your body as you practically elude the meaning of confidence.

girls want to be you and guys want to be with you and jj’s left feeling inadequate as ever as he trails behind you, a shadow in your perfection.

you convinced him to let you pregame in the back of the van on the way to figure 8, smoking a blunt with him and downing 3 shots of fruit punch flavored taaka.

you feel the buzz, and you’re craving more. jj’s got his eyes locked onto you for more than one reason, and he’s not gonna let you out of his sight tonight. no matter what happens.

“c’mon!” you grab his hand, leading him into the kitchen as you start scoping out the drink scenery. “what should we start with?” you hold up a bottle of malibu in one hand and a bottle of fireball in the other.

he grins at your excitement, cheeks flushed at how good you look. all he wants to do is kiss you and hug you and maybe bend you over his knee if it comes down to it.

now, you’re unsure if it’s the alcohol coursing through your veins or if it’s the atmosphere in the house. but you want jj more than you’ve ever wanted him in this moment.

his gorgeous blue eyes and his slightly overgrown hair, his pearly white smile and his muscles peaking out the sleeves of his t-shirt.

you hand him the fireball, opting for the malibu for yourself and link your arm around his, turning the bottle back toward yourself. “cheers, babe!” you start chugging the coconut flavored alcohol, feeling it burn its way down your chest.

he coughs at the cinnamon burst, shaking his head as he breathes out deeply. “ugh that shit is so nasty dude.”

“i know,” you giggle, “that’s why i gave it to you and took the good shit,” you wiggle the white bottle in the air before setting it back down on the counter. he turns around to grab two cups of super-spiked punch, and you use that as your opportunity to revive the game from earlier. you let your hand fly up toward jj’s butt, giggling as he raised his head toward the ceiling.

“you fucker,” he growls out playfully as he chases you a few steps away, his arms wrapping around you as he smacks you back, one hand on each cheek.

“you know you love me,” you chortle, batting your lashes at him.

“you’re lucky as fuck that i do,” he matches your tone, raising a joking fist at you as an or else.

before you know it you’ve got your arm around jj, using him as your shoulder to lean on. the room isn’t spinning but you’re definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol and you’re having a grand old time next to the blonde.

for a moment, it’s as if you’re already together. you’re gazing at him, eyes glossy and full of love as you admire each and every one of his features. “you’re cute,” you grin at him.

his eyes go wide for a moment, before he takes into consideration the amount of alcohol in your system. “thanks, y/n.” for a second it hurts his heart, knowing that you most likely don’t mean it.

“i wish you could be my date all the time,” you sigh, “you’re the perfect guy.”

“what are you saying?”

“i love you jj,” you have your face buried in the crook of his neck, your stomach beginning to hurt from the alcohol.

“i love you too, y/n.” that wasn’t new, you told each other those words each time someone left the house or went to sleep at night. he needed to know what you meant.

“i love you,” you look up at him for a beat, gauging his reaction, “like i think about you all the time.”

he shushes you. not like this. it can’t be like this. “we can talk about it in the morning.”

you blink at him, unsure if it’s a rejection or if he’s keeping you from making a mistake in your drunkenness.

“i wanna go back to the house,” you half-whisper, your confidence depleted.

“you sure?” he furrows his brows, “you feelin okay?”

“yea, i’m okay,” you just don’t wanna make yourself look anymore foolish than you already do. “jus tired. wan go lay down.”

“alright, m’girl,” he supports your weight through the house until he reaches the van. jj helps boost you into the front seat before heading around to the driver’s side. he puts the bus in drive and begins heading back to the chateau. “let’s get you home then.”

-> back to masterlist

[sturnslutz]

matt assigns you a specific job.

heh. dilfceo!matt dare i say? lowk long fic to make up for lost time of matt and bee. im sorry if this is horrible it took me 6 hours to write it☹️ fluff and smut.

it was another day at work for you. come in, work on whatever you needed to, and see your oh, so favorite boss. matt and you continued seeing each other secretly but never actually fucking. it mostly consisted of dirty words getting passed back and forth, you giving him blowjobs, and kissing.

sure, you loved it all. but you just couldn't seem to get the fact out of your mind that matt hasn't actually pleasured you, once. he acts like he wants to, but in all seriousness you both really haven't had the time, and from his words, he wants to "take his time with you."

you weren't sure what he meant, but you weren't hesitant on waiting. just becoming more impatient by each day passing.

you were in the middle of writing some email when you got a text. you were allowed to be on your phone while working, but you just preferred not to, and your friends were aware of that so they knew not to text you unless it was an emergency.

so when you got the notification, to no surprise you were confused. you stopped typing and picked up your phone and looked at the name. 'Matthew Sturniolo (work ;))'

you looked at your phone even more confused as you open up the text.

"Come to my office when you can."

you weren't necessarily busy, so you just decided to go now. sure, you guys do something almost everytime you go into his office, but other times, he did actually need something from you as his assistant that didn't consist of getting his dick sucked.

you knocked on his door softly, waiting for his response. you heard a simple, "come in." and you walked in with a certain caution you rarely get. not because of matt, but because he texted you. even coming from him, the guy who made you suck his dick the first time meeting you, it seemed "unprofessional" to him.

you walked to his desk as he doesn't take his eyes off his computer. "sit, it won't take long." you sit in the chair across him and he finally lets his big blue dark eyes look up at you through his glasses. "are you good with kids?" he states calmly, but almost making you choke on your own breath from the abrupt question.

"a-am i what?" you state, looking up at him with the most confusion all day. why is he asking you this? "good with kids. you got any siblings or anything?" he says again, calmly, taking his glasses off so he can get a better look at your expression.

"um, no. i don't have any siblings, but i have babysat a couple times. wait- why are you asking me this? matt. are you asking because you think im pregnant?" you whisper the last sentence as if anyone else is in the room, cautious of what he might say, despite never fucking once so there's absolutely no possibility you're pregnant.

"what? no. we haven't had sex, bee. you wouldn't be able to be pregnant unless you were seeing someone else. besides that, i'm asking because i need someone to watch my 6 year old daughter tomorrow night. i'm going out with a couple friends and my brothers aren't available to watch her, so i'm asking you, the next person i trust."

your jaw quite literally dropped. "matt, you just dropped some crazy info to me. you've literally never told me anything about your family before! when the hell did you get a daughter, you have siblings, and you trust me? wait, im gonna need to take a breath. but i don't know i'm not seeing anybody else i just panicked!" you rant to him with your questions.

he chuckled softly at you. "yes, bee. i trust you. and yes, i do have a daughter. her mom and i broke up about 2 years ago, when i was 26 and now it's just me and my girl, amelia. i also have 3 brothers, 1 of them being my half brother, but the other 2 and i are triplets. my half brother is justin, and my brothers are nick and chris. you'll probably meet them one day."

you nod, taking in all the information and calmed down. "okay.. um, i think i can tomorrow. would you want me to stay the night with her also?"

he shrugs. "i'm not sure yet. i'll probably leave around 6 and possibly be back late. if you wanna stay after she falls asleep, you can sleep in my bed. i'll pay you anyways. she's a really chaotic kid so you might fall asleep right after she does." he laughs at the memory of his daughter being so energetic.

"you don't have to pay me, it's fine, really." you say, trying to reassure him. sure, you needed the money and would love to make some especially as a college student, but you didn't want him to feel obliged to.

"don't worry about it, bee. i know you need it, and it's the least i can do if i haven't fucked you yet after you've sucked me off multiple times." he says with a certain calmness and smirk. "don't think its not happening soon though, kid."

you nod, smiling and looking down at your palms, unsure of what to say. "i'll text you the address and everything she needs. i'm sure she'll like you." he reassures you. "you can go on your lunch soon and get off early, i don't need anything else done today. just finish whatever you were doing before and go on your break."

you nod again, looking up at him. he had a very calming demeanor today which helped a lot with your worries. "c'mere, kid." you stand up and walk to him and he turns his chair, facing you as he looks up and grabs your jaw and kisses you softly. "you're gonna be great, bee." he mutters against your lips and kisses you once again before patting your cheek and you pull away.

you couldn't deny the heat rushing to your face at the kind words, something you rarely see out of him. it's not like he's ever mean to you, he just usually as a more professional, non-smiling side around others, even you sometimes. you notice that demeanor polishing off him once the conversation directed towards his daughter.

you walked out of the office and finished sending a couple emails, and leaving for your break. you go to a cafe you and matt have visited a couple times and order your usual. you quickly texted him if he wanted something, to which he reacted a thumbs up to. it wasn't much, just a plain black coffee and blueberry scone. you got everything and sat down near the window, watching the buzzling city just outside.

you got back to the office and clocked in, and knocked on his door once again and walked in, delivering his coffee and scone, to which he kissed you again and said thank you.

you got back to work, not having too much to do and clocked out once again about an hour later and head back home.

the next day, you walk into the office and knock on matt's door, just like usual. he lets you come in, and he looks up. "good morning, bee." you smile softly at him as you walk up to him, rubbing his shoulders from behind his chair and kiss his cheek.

"morning. so, i checked my plans and i'm free tonight for amelia. so, do you want me to come in around 5:30?" he nods, "yeah, 5:30's fine. it gives me time to show you where everything is and for you girls to get to know each other a bit before i leave. i'm telling you, i think she'll like you especially because you're younger than everyone else around her, besides her friends. me and my brothers are 28 and the other 35. her mom's 27 too."

"i'm not that young, matt. i'm only 22." you roll your eyes. he always loves getting a tease of you being younger than everyone at the company, despite also being one of the smartest there. "i know baby, 'm jus' teasin'," he says as he kisses you softly, smiling against your lips. "i'll text you everything when i'm done with all this and then you can just head out again whenever you're done and get ready."

with a final couple words, you leave and begin working on whatever needed to be done. you clocked out about a couple hours after that, not even taking your break so you wouldn't be missing too much.

you went home and got a text from matt which just gave the basics. his address, the time, and stating how you can bring pretty much whatever you would like to keep you busy when amelia and you weren't too busy.

you got ready into some basic clothes, something matt hasn't ever seen you in. you drive to his house and notice how big and extravagant his house is compared to your small apartment. you knock a couple times, waiting for the man to open the door, but instead was met by a little girl, no more than 3 feet with brown curly hair and big blue eyes just like matt.

"hi! you're bee, right? daddy said you were watching me tonight!" she says, smiling up at you with her big, pearly white teeth. you nod, already overwhelmed by how cute she is and she looks almost identical to matt.

"hi, yes i am. you must be amelia, right? such a pretty name for such a pretty girl." she nods and giggles as she opens the door wider for you. you walk in, and step out of your shoes and see matt appear from around the corner. he was wearing his familiar glasses he usually wore, but he was wearing a white long sleeve and a pair of black sweatpants and smiled softly at you.

"hey, bee." you smiled back at him and close the door as amelia rushes back to the couch. you walk up to him as he kisses your forehead sweetly. "c'mon. i'll give you a tour before i go." he takes your bag and sets it down on the couch and gives you a small tour of the house. he shows you where amelia's room is, where all the snacks are, where his room is and all the other basic stuff.

once it was time for him to go, he brought you both back to the living room to say bye to amelia. "lia, c'mere." he says as he stands next to the couch, grabbing his bag and adjusting his clothes. she plops off the couch and runs to him, gripping onto his leg as he lifts her up and kisses her cheek. "i'll be back late, tonight, okay? be nice to bee, and don't break anything. same rules when your uncles stay with you, okay? be good." he kisses her forehead once again and she nods as he sets her on the ground.

he looks to you, and kisses your forehead while holding your hip tightly as amelia runs back to the couch, not wanting to miss a moment of her precious bluey. "jus' give her food at around 8:30. there's some leftover food from last night, but if you don't want it, you can order food to the house or make some, whatever you prefer. she usually lets me know whenever she's tired so just let her eat and watch tv and she'll probably be passed out after. if you stay the night, let me know."

you nod at everything he says, and he says his goodbyes and walks out. you plop down on the couch next to amelia as she starts ranting about whatever her 6 year old self has to say. you listen intently, even if some of the things she says doesn't make sense.

once she relaxes a bit, you ask if she wants some food, and get up and warm up some of the leftover food they had. you made some for yourself, and brought over a couple snacks for the two of you and watched some more bluey.

you finally notice her getting a bit more tired, so you bring the now empty plates to the sink, and make a mental note to wash them after she falls asleep. "bee.. im tired." she mutters as she rubs her eyes. "let's get you in bed, baby." you say softly as you pick her up and carry her to her room. you don't turn on the big light for the sake of yours and her's eyes, so you walk over to her bedside light and turn it on, the soft, warm light radiating throughout the room.

you set her down on her soft bed, as she rubs her eyes again. "where are your pajamas, sweet girl? which drawer?" she opens her eyes faintly and points to the middle one of her 3 tier pink and red dresser. you walk over and grab out a soft, light blue matching set which had a mermaid on it.

"do y'like this one?" you hold it up for her to see and she opens her eyes again and nods. you walk back over and help her get changed. you toss her worn clothes into her hamper. you turn her around so her back is facing you, and grab her brush that was on her bedside. you take out her well-done braids and brush her soft brown hair while humming a soft melody.

she practically falls asleep at this and when you're done, you help tuck her into her bed. she laid on her stomach, so you sat in a criss cross position and scratched her back and head softly so she could go to sleep while still humming the same melody.

once you heard her soft snores, you rubbed her back a couple times more to soothe the scratches, and stood up and turned off her light. you closed the door quietly and made your way to the kitchen and began washing the dishes.

you obviously knew you didn't have to, but it felt the best to do. once you were finished and put the dishes in the washer, and tidied around the house a bit, you washed your hands and made your way to your bag. you planned on staying the night as you didn't feel very comfortable leaving amelia all on her own, so you brought some extra clothes. you made your way to matt's bathroom and washed your face and got changed.

you noticed a couple tampon boxes next to the toilet which were half full, but brushed away the weird feeling you got, as it's probably matt's ex girlfriend's. you knew it wasn't right to feel jealous over some guy, who was more importantly your boss, whom you sucked him off a couple times.

you finished getting ready and made your way to matt's room. it was dimly lit with an identical light to amelia's. you set your bag down on his desk, and noticed how clean his room was. the faint smell of his cologne lingered around and filled your nostrils as you took a few, calm breaths.

you made your way to his bed, and pulled out your phone to let him know everything.

"hey, i hope you're having a good night. just to let u know, im staying the night if that's alright. i fed lia and put her to sleep, she was an angel all night. i ate some of the food i warmed up for her also. i washed the dishes btw, it was no biggie. im prob heading to sleep soon."

you typed out while you set your phone to the side as you turned on his tv to watch something before you sleep. about 10 minutes into watching, you heard a text emit from your phone.

"Hey, everything's great, thank you. You're more than welcome to stay, don't worry. I'm glad she was good, and I'm glad the both of you ate. Bee, you know you didn't have to wash them, but thank you. I'll honestly probably be home soon, maybe in like an hour. I'll see you."

you heart his message before turning off the tv and calling it a night. you knew you would probably wake up when matt gets home. deep into your sleep, you couldn't hear the soft opening and closing of the front door. matt had walked in with such quietness, you would need to be right next to him to hear it.

he set his stuff on the table, and noticed how much cleaner the house was than before he left and cursed himself for allowing you to do that. on the way home, he just couldn't take his mind off you. he remembered the conversation you guys had the day before and how he noticed your shyness towards him when he mentioned how the two of you never had sex.

of course he wanted to, but he felt like he wouldn't be good enough for you since he hadn't fucked a girl in 2 years. but he decided to truly go ahead with his words and give you the pleasure he and you both realized you should be getting in whatever the two of you were, even if it wasn't a relationship.

once he dropped his stuff down, he made his way up the stairs and walked into amelia's room to check on her. he opened her door and noticed how her clothes were changed and how again, the room looks tidier.

he closed the door and made his way into the bathroom to get ready for bed. he noticed the lingering smell of your perfume and couldn't tear his thoughts away from you, and neither could his growing hardness. he scoffed at himself and finished getting ready.

once he was done, he quietly entered his room, and noticed you sleeping peacefully. he got into bed and rubbed your back. "bee, it's me." you hummed and rubbed your eyes, looking at him. "oh hey. how was your night?" you say, your voice scratchy. he laughs softly at this as he brushes a few hairs out of your face.

"it was good, baby. i couldn't tear my thoughts away from you though, the whole night." he says smirking. "oh yeah?" you say with a newfound confidence. "what were you thinking about?" you say as you turn onto your elbow, looking up at him.

he tsks teasingly. "mm. too dirty to say. maybe i should show it instead?" he says, rubbing your cheek. "matt, amelia's right next door." he shrugs. "so? we'll be quiet." you sigh, a smirk forming on your lips. you start putting your hair up, thinking it was going to be the usual blowjob, but his hand stops you. "no, no. i would love that, trust me. but, i wanna fuck you instead, if thats okay."

your eyes widen at this. "w-wait. are you sure? we don't have to. i mean of course it's okay, and i would love it but-" "yes, bee. i feel like i should be the one worrying about all this." he laughs.

"are you a virgin?" he continues and you shake your head no. he nods and kisses you softly. as time goes, and breaths get heavier, most of the two of yours clothes have been discarded onto the ground, leaving you in your bra and panties, and him in his boxers.

he's painfully hard right right now and you straddling him with your wetness isn't making it easier for him. you're grinding yourself on him as you both kiss each other deeply, your tongues intertwining."mmph- bee, stop. needa fuck you." he says, muffled as he can't tear his lips away. he reaches around, undoing your bra and pulling his lips away so he can see your tits pool down.

his eyes fill with lust as he latches his mouth around your tit, making you moan softly. he reaches his hand down, rubbing your clothed clit, eliciting another moan from you. he pushes aside your panties and slips his fingers inside you. you let out a high-pitched squeal and bury your head into his shoulder.

his fingers slip in and out of you effortlessly as he finally pulls his mouth away from your right tit and moves to your left, sucking and licking on it. as you get close to your release, he goes faster and pulls his mouth off your chest. "go 'head, baby. cum all over my fingers." with a final muffled moan into his chest, your juice gets all over his fingers as he slows his movements, riding out your high as he pulls them out, and brings them to his mouth and licks them clean and groans.

"fuck, you taste amazing." you look up at him with a flushed face, mascara already dripping down your face. his cock was painfully hard and twitching even inside his boxers, waiting for release. you moved your hand down and latched your fingers into his waistband and pulled it down, letting his long length hit his stomach.

he groans softly as you lift yourself on top of him, wasting no time to sink down. the both of you moan deeply as you lower yourself, inch by inch, until you sit fully on top of him. his fingers are gripping into your hips so hard, you're sure it'll leave marks.

"take your time, baby. get adjusted." he says through a groan. as much as he would love to fuck you reckless right now, he knows you need a bit to adjust, and the two of you need to be quiet for dear amelia right next door.

you nod and start moving up and down him slowly, your fingers gripping into his shoulders for stability. he helps you move and watches the way your pussy swallows him completely like he was made for you.

your movements grow faster and your moans increase. the headboard hits the wall continuously so you slow your movements so it doesn't hit too hard.

he can tell your getting close again by the way you hold your breath and the way you dig your nails into his shoulders. he's close too, so he forgets about the cautious movements and halts your body and thrusts into you, the wall sure to have marks.

"matt!" you say, squealing again. "shut up, bee." he says, drilling into you. he didn't mean his mean words and you knew that, he was just so focused on the two of you getting your release.

"fuck- matt i'm cumming!" you say, clenching up as he nods, groaning and halting his movements, filling you with his release to the brim. once he was finished, he pulled you off him, letting you fall back into the bed carefully.

he had some tissues next to him so he leaned over and spread your thighs open, cleaning you carefully as you wince. "i know, i know. 'm sorry, baby." he throws them on the ground as he grabs some more and cleans himself up, and then drags his boxers back up.

he notices the distress in your face as your panties were now dirty, and he stands up and grabs a pair of his boxers and hands them to you. "y'can have tomorrow off, so you can rest by the way." he says as he lays back down.

"yeah, thanks boss." you laugh as you toss your shirt back on. he rolls his eyes and smirks as he grabs a waterbottle next to him and hands it to you. as you drink it, your movements are halted by a few gentle knocks on the door. "daddy?" a small voice is said from behind the door. you and matt look at each other as he tosses his shirt back on and cover the two of you with the blanket.

"yes, lia? you can come in baby." he says, rubbing his face. the door opens and a small figure walks in with her holding her stuffed bear and her hair going in every direction. "are you guys okay? i woke up from banging on the wall and i heard bee screaming." his face drops as he realizes he actually woke his daughter up. "yes, we're okay baby. 'm sorry we woke you up, c'mere." he gestures for her to get closer to the bed as her feet patter against the ground and reach the bed.

he kisses her forehead and rubs her head as he whispers reassuring words into her ears. he looks over at you for your response as her big eyes look over. "yes, lia. i promise i'm okay. im sorry we woke you up also." she smiles softly. "it's okay." matt gives her one last kiss on the forehead before she walks out and closes the door.

he huffs and falls back on the bed. "sorry i woke her up." you mutter softly and he looks over, his face softening. "don't worry about it. we both did, actually. and she falls asleep fast, i guarantee you she won't remember in the morning." you nod as you take a deep breath.

"y'alright though?" you nod again to his question. "jus' tired." he nods. "me too. let's get some sleep." he kisses your lips one last time before you rest your head on his chest and fall asleep.

this took WAY longer than it needed to. started writing at 8:30pm, it's currently 2:18am. so if this is horrible i apologize.

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris comment to be added or removed.

[t0jisd0ll]

Yandere guitarist (male) head-cannons

cw: yandere traits, literally nothing else lol, this guy is a cutie pie <33

disclaimer: I want to emphasize that I do not endorse or support this type of behaviour. This content is purely for entertainment purposes.

Yan!Guitarist, the golden-hearted lead guitarist of a local indie band, who’s always wearing the biggest, goofiest grin as he pours his soul into every performance.

Yan!Guitarist, who notices you for the first time mid-performance, nearly missing a chord when he catches you smiling and nodding along to the music.

Yan!Guitarist, who practically bounces off the stage after the set, rushing to find you with a slightly breathless, “Hey! Did you like it? Did you have a favorite part? Oh, wait—you don’t have to say the guitar solo, but… was it the guitar solo?”

Yan!Guitarist, who immediately lights up when you compliment his playing, his face going red as he scratches the back of his neck and stammers, “Aw, you’re just saying that… but, uh, thanks. Really.”

Yan!Guitarist, who finds himself thinking about you nonstop, his bandmates teasing him for how distracted he seems during rehearsals. (“Dude, you’re writing love songs now? Who’s the lucky person?”)

Yan!Guitarist, who starts inviting you to every gig, always making sure you get the best seat in the house, his face lighting up whenever he spots you in the crowd.

Yan!Guitarist, who doesn’t even try to hide how much he’s into you, constantly sending you cheesy texts like, “This riff reminded me of you!” or “Practicing is way harder when I can’t stop thinking about your smile.”

Yan!Guitarist, who gets adorably pouty when you’re too busy to hang out, sending you exaggerated sad selfies and messages like, “Guess I’ll just practice alone… again… 😢”

Yan!Guitarist, who can’t stand the thought of you spending time with anyone who might take you away from him. He’s not aggressive—just clingy, always finding ways to keep you close.

Yan!Guitarist, who drags you to band practice and lets you sit on the couch while he plays, throwing you shy but excited looks every time he nails a tricky solo. “Did you hear that? That was for you!”

Yan!Guitarist, who insists on walking you home after every show or late-night hangout, his arm slung protectively around your shoulders as he chatters about his dream of you being his permanent plus-one.

Yan!Guitarist, who becomes your personal cheerleader, hyping you up at every opportunity and making sure you know just how special you are to him.

Yan!Guitarist, who might seem soft, but when he sees someone flirting with you, his energy shifts. He’s quick to bound over, throw an arm around you, and cheerfully introduce himself as “their boyfriend!”

Yan!Guitarist, who has a habit of slipping his hoodie or jacket over your shoulders, murmuring, “You look better in this than I do. Actually, you look better in everything, so… just keep it?”

Yan!Guitarist, who doesn’t realize how possessive he’s become until he catches himself thinking things like, “They’re mine. They’re mine, right? They wouldn’t leave me… would they?”

Yan!Guitarist, who gazes at you with so much adoration it almost hurts, softly whispering, “You know I’d do anything for you, right? Just… promise me you’ll always stay by my side.”

Yan!Guitarist, who falls so hard and fast that he’s practically your shadow, trailing after you with boundless energy and endless affection, determined to keep you as the center of his world.

Yan!Guitarist, who might be golden retriever soft but will still bare his teeth at anyone who tries to come between him and his favorite person.

© t0jisd0ll on tumblr. Please do not steal my work as I spend time, and I take a genuine effort to do it.

[killuabutgayer]

sonadow is genuinely a really good ship that makes a lot of sense if u let go of homophobia and "cringe" and just think about it.

they match each others dynamic SO well, very protective of one another, literal two sides of the same coin w direct parallel experiences, the fruity looks they give each other, shadow being the only one able to keep up w him even in super form, sonic being a lot like maria

"it'll never be canon" idk the vas and writers seem to like it🤷‍♀️ the takeovers and sonic prime is close enough to make us happy, plus if we're strict to canon nothing would be fun.

and why is everything titled sonic x shadow LMAOO- first the game then the takeover then the jp title.. they couldve used any other name or variation but no. SONIC X SHADOW take it or leave it (they're definitely aware)

sure ig ships and romance can be cringe sometimes but its for fun yk?? every single time i see someone post or mention sonadow as a ship some homophobe always goes in to ruin the fun like "theyre JUST rivals and friends nothing more do NOT ship them they are straight it'll never be canon" even making up shit to make it "problematic" like stfu omggg... i hate plenty of ships but commenting on others posts is so unnecessary just mute/block n move on??

why are you even there anyway? esp on youtube like bro clicked on a sonadow video posted by a channel named sonadow fan and get mad when u see sonadow what were u expecting😹

not just that but sonadow specifically gets way too much hate compared to anything else. the amount of posts ive seen like "worst things in the sonic fandom: *sonic just kissing shadow* *pedophilia* *weird asf fetish* *incest*" then everyone in the comments only dogpiles sonadow like r u fucking srs rn😭😭

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

let me chase your demons away | l.howlett

First post of the New Year, hoping to write bigger and better things this year :)

Summary: Logan struggles to sleep... but not when you're around

Warnings: nightmares and panic attacks

Pairings: leaning more towards a fem!reader

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better so please don't hesitate to comment and obviously reblog to share my work.

Requests are also open if there is anything that people want me to write 💛

Logan had struggled with nightmares for as long as he could remember. Up until now, there had never been anything that could prevent the neverending terror loop his brain played on a night. Up until you.

You hadn’t been at the school long, Charles had invited you to come and teach English to some of the younger students, but Logan could tell there was something about you, something about your scent that made him relax. Your sleeping habits were just as messed up as his meaning that, whenever you both found yourself unable to sleep, you would both end up on the couch in the mansion’s living room, watching shitty movies to try and tempt you both to sleep. More often than not, it worked for Logan but little did you know that it wasn’t the mind numbing films or the peaceful silence, it was your company. 

For weeks, Logan would simply allow himself to fall asleep on the sofa beside you and it was the best night’s sleep he would have all week. He would ensure there was a good amount of distance between the two of you, not confident enough that he wouldn’t have a nightmare and go all Wolverine on you. You would wait until he fell asleep and then arrange his legs and neck comfortably on the couch, laying the thick blanket over him and then heading off to bed. 

When you were out on a mission or away from the mansion on a long period of time, Logan would have many nightmares. Nightmares meant a sleep deprived Logan and a sleep deprived Logan meant suffering for everyone else in the mansion. One night in particular, snow was falling heavily when Logan went to sleep and you were out of town, visiting some friends in a nearby village meaning a nightmare was 100% guaranteed. Snow was hard enough for Logan to manage, reminding him of Stryker and the physical and mental toll he went through. 

He woke with a start, his chest heaving and feeling tight, dripping sweat and struggling to concentrate on taking deep breaths. He didn’t know why it occurred to him but for some reason his first instinct was to call you so that’s what he did, not even considering the late hour, knowing that you were more than likely awake. 

In the next village over, your phone buzzing interrupted the conversation you and your friends were having over a bottle of wine. “Who’s calling you at this time?” Your friend, Georgia, asked with a smirk. 

“You got a secret boyfriend, you’re hiding from us?” Faith nudged you with a cheeky grin but you just gave them a half smile, standing and excusing yourself to take the call. 

“Logan? Has something happened?” You asked down the phone, alarmed by the heavy breathing and almost whimpers you could hear. 

“I-I think I’m havin’ a heart attack bub.” He said and you knew from then what was wrong. Since when does the Wolverine have heart attacks?

“Logan, you’re having a panic attack honey. You need to take deep breaths, sit yourself down and stop pacing, okay? Are you sat?” You asked and heard the creak of a bedframe as the man grumbled an affirmative. “Alright, in through your nose and out through your mouth. It’ll pass, Logan, I promise.” 

After a couple of minutes, his breathing began to even out the amount of noise he was making reduced. “I… sorry for interrupting your evenin’.” He ended the call quickly and you were left standing in the hall of your friends house, confused. Why did he call you out of everyone?

~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, upon your return from your friend's house, Logan pulled you aside with a stern look on his face. “What happened the other night, didn't. Understand? Forget it.” 

You look at him, confused and slightly insulted. “What? You think I’m going to tell someone or something? You think I think of you any less because of it?” Your protest seemed to throw Logan off guard and he looked at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. “I don’t know who you think I am, Logan but that’s not the type of person I am.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

For the next few nights, Logan didn’t go downstairs to sit with you on the couch and watch shitty films, didn’t allow himself to bask in the comfort your company gave him. Instead, he suffered on minimal sleep and caffeine, causing headaches for everyone around him and snapping at every minor inconvenience in his life. 

Eventually, you grew tired of it and grabbed him by his forearm just as he was about to head to bed, dragging him towards the couch. “Everyone’s tired of your shit, Logan. Sit on the damn couch, watch a movie with me and sleep.” You demanded, pushing him to his side of the couch and putting the blanket over him before plopping yourself down at your side, closer than the pair of you would normally sit. Logan resisted for as long as he could but pure exhaustion gave him no other choice than to relax and sleep. His eyes fell shut and within minutes he was asleep, snoring and drool coming from his mouth. However, instead of going off to bed like you normally would, you rested your head against his shoulder and let yourself doze off. 

When the students and teachers of the school began waking up and racing downstairs to fight for the tv, they all fell silent at the sight of the notoriously grumpy Wolverine cuddled up with the cute English teacher, his face pressed into your hair as he spooned you, deep snores emanating for the man. Storm and Jean ushered the children out of the living room, telling them to leave the pair of you to rest for a little while longer while Scott immediately found a camera to take a photo to tease Logan with as soon as he woke up.

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

[mythicmanuscripts]

Do you think omega Aemond despite trying so hard to fight being an omega would try to preen for his Alpha subconsciously? Like imagine he and his Alpha have gotten together and he cant help but spend a little extra time worrying that his hair isnt straight enough (we all know he straightens his hair 😅), his old clothes dont ‘fit’ so he *needs* to get newer and nicer ones that no one has seen before in a color you said made his skin look nice, and no, it is just a coincidence he has started hounding the other omega ladies for skincare tips.

Aw I love this idea!!!

Omega!Aemond below the cut. All my a/b/o content is tagged with 'a/b/o hotd' so if you don't want to see this type of thing just block that tag.

So firstly, from the moment Aemond spoke to you for the first time he was obsessed. He's just so... captivated? There's something about the way you take him seriously in a way most alphas don't, but at the same time you manage to also make him feel so well cared for. He always wants to be around you, and he starts to get grumpy and irritable when he hasn't seen you in a few days.

Basically from the moment he presented as an omega he has had alphas talk down to him and belittle him and assume he’s not as strong or smart as he is. (Side note, what if he claims Vhagar after he presents? Runs away and ends up with Vhagar who protects him?). It’s this history that makes him so unreceptive to any courting attempts. If one more person gifts him a rose and promises to take care of him then he’s actually gonna lose it.

Despite this, he's somehow completely oblivious to how he wants you to mate him? You’d think with his general distain for most alphas it would stand out to him immediately when there’s suddenly an alpha whose company he actually enjoys.

He mostly doesn’t realise this just because he honestly doesn’t even think of it. He doesn’t really think of anything when you’re around. Usually he’s constantly analysing every alpha in his vicinity, glancing at them all often to take note of where they are and trying to spot his quickest escape route. But with you it’s like that mistrusting part of himself just doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Head absolutely empty.

He's been pushing down his instincts for so long that he doesn't realise his desire to always be around you isnt just because he gets along well with you.

It's extremely obvious to everyone else of course, he's not exactly subtle. He goes from refusing to give any alphas the time of day to tripping over his own feet in his hurry to snag a seat next to you. And then just when they think he can't get more obvious, he starts asking for fashion advice and maybe even starts peaking into the kitchens to see how the servants cook so that he can make you something one day.

It’s especially obvious whenever he sees an opportunity to do something for you, and he’ll actually get upset and almost territorial over you if someone else does whatever he wanted to do? And this is all the way down to the most minor thing. He literally hissed at a servant who saw him reaching for the wine and assumed he wanted a cup of it to be poured.

Because no!!! No he didn’t want a cup to be poured he wanted to pour it for you!!! He’ll be all grumpy about it, acting irritated until you say his name and get his attention back on you then he almost immediately forgets about the servant.

Once you realise how much Aemond seems to love any compliments and acknowledgement you give him, you take special care to ensure you're saying nice things to him. Every single time you do his scent spikes and he blushes and sometimes you swear he's having to stop himself from purring.

He always takes note of the specific things you compliment him on and ensures to focus on them. When you realise this you start to use it to encourage self care for himself? You complement how well rested he looks, you thank him for that eating enough, you tell him you’re so proud of him for standing up for himself, etc.

And all throughout this he has absolutely no idea he’s falling for you.

In fact, he only notices when he realises one day how it’s been ages since some rich alpha came skipping into the castle with an offer of mating and a generic gift he’ll throw out immediately. Maybe it’s only at a big event that it finally comes out? Like there’s a massive celebration feast hosted with dancing and music and usually at least 10 alphas are all lined up to ask for a dance but this time not a single one approaches him.

It’s only after that evening that he realises everyone thinks he’s already taken by you.

Which…. Well they might not be 100% right but they certainly aren’t wrong either.

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

can we know what was planned for the rest of phase 2 and phase 3 ( if anything ) ?

SO . to roughly summarize the events , that was a fake jax to show that 00's Bullshit Mindfuck Powers (BMP) also work in reality . however before that was revealed , 00 appears to guilt out of ragatha for doing that , and also reference the ... nasty asks i got about how people think she's annoying and frustrating . it's an entire scene

after that she goes through the door and ragatha believes at this point that it goes to the circus only to find that it was just Paint . she briefly abstracts as a joke , tries to go back to caine and ann only to get lost . finds bubble who becomes her companion for this portion , somehow lead to phone call #3 and that's where the coherence ends

for the stuff that'll eventually connect :

an encounter with fake zooble

a fake gangle to actually complete the sock puppet collection

fake kaufmo as well

has a talk with an imaginary ann

phone call #4

DOPPELGANGER ??!!!!!!!!!???!!!

we find out that caine's infected it's just that his code is able to quarantine it but it's beginning to not last long . oopsie doopsie .

The Murder

this all sounds fucking insane i'm sorry . the nature of planning out a story for an ask blog is that you can't really make your stories not sound like mad ramblings . this one relies a Lot on actions having consequences so i have to make sure i'm telling a story that's still loose enough for the audience to participate .

phase 3 is a Weird one because it's the loosest . i did not have an ending planned because the ending was supposed to be Created here ... and um ... well ! welly well well .

it will start with ragatha trying to get caine to the anti-virus and finds zooble there who will call her a STUPID BITCH for literally Exploding Herself in phase 1 and uh . she'll eventually reunite with everyone else . and pomni .

[sky-is-the-limit]

I don’t think people fully understand the sheer gravity of Destiel.

Like, this isn’t just a story about an angel falling in love with a human or another fanon ship that was created just because two dudes were standing too close.

This is an angel, a being forged by God, programmed to follow orders, incapable of free will, the literal embodiment of divine obedience!!! choosing to rebel. For one man. For Dean Winchester.

Think about it. Castiel wasn’t made to feel. He wasn’t made to question. He was made to serve, to follow heaven’s will without hesitation and then he meets Dean. He saves him from hell and in that moment, that exact fucking moment, his entire purpose shifts. Dean didn’t just change his mind cause we are not talking about another mortal being. He changed his entire fucking existence.

And here’s the kicker of it all. God, the all-knowing, all-powerful storyteller, couldn’t stop it. God, who controlled the narrative, who created Castiel and set the rules of the universe, couldn’t stop him from falling. Cas didn’t just disobey orders!!!!!!! He shattered the divine design. He looked at Heaven, at the eternity he was promised and said, "No. I choose him." Insane.

Do you understand how fucking huge that is? This isn’t a simple love story. This is cosmic rebellion and the writers couldn’t even grasp the insanity of what they created for a CW show.

It’s tragic and overwhelming because Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean for any selfish reasons. He didn’t want anything back. He didn’t expect Dean to love him, didn’t need his affection or validation. He never got to touch him or kiss him or get the "I love you too" that all of us wanted to hear. He just wanted to be near him. To help him. To save him, over and over, to make sure that Dean knew that he had someone who was looking after him.

And the cost? It was everything and people just brush over that.

Cas gave up Heaven. He gave up grace. He gave up the safety of eternity and purpose to stay in Dean’s proximity. Not because he was destined to, not because God told him to but because he *chose* to. That’s what makes it so tragic. It wasn’t written. It wasn’t meant to happen. Castiel broke the rules of his existence for someone who didn’t even realise the depth of it until it was too late.

Then THAT moment. When Cas says, "You changed me, Dean." It just hits different, doesn’t it??? Cause it’s not just a love confession. it’s a revelation. He confirms it right there that it was Dean's humanity that did it. Not some grand cosmic force, not some divine intervention. Dean himself, in all his flawed, beautiful, self-sacrificial mess, changed everything.

Dean, who always put others before himself, who had to raise himself, who gave everything to Sam and kept nothing for him. Dean, who was destined to always be second, to always sacrifice his own needs for someone else. Dean, whose car that he loved so much, his only constant, even that belonged to his father. Dean, whose clothes were probably second-hand, whose childhood was spent taking care of his little brother. Dean, whose purpose was always for the world, for the greater good and never for himself.

For the first time, Dean had something that was his. Something that wasn’t meant for anyone but him. Cas was HIS. Not for God, not for his father, not for Sam or the world.

This isn’t just a story about love!!! It’s *the* story about love. It’s messy and painful and romantic in the most devastating way cause Cas didn’t just rebel against heaven, people!!! He rewrote the entire concept of free will, of devotion, of sacrifice!!!!

He loved Dean with everything he was and that love was strong enough to defy God himself.

It’s the greatest, most tragic, most insane fictional story of our lifetime. Nothing will ever come close.

[nothoughtsjustficrecs]

This was, without a doubt, a phenomenal read. Seriously, the humour is impeccable; my cheeks hurt from laughing so much. I’ll have to re-read this story one day, perhaps multiple one days (yes I’m aware that makes no sense). And their relationship is amazing, I truly love it and every second of this story.

Thank you for writing this absolute masterpiece and sharing it with us!

When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go because I knew I'd forget otherwise so below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such]

-

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

Okay this lil comments are making me laugh “ he persuaded the idiot to get a rom-com instead / planning to rob the CDs ” he has such high hopes and thoughts of others 😂

“ Now, he did not want to sound pathetic ” oh no please do sound pathetic, I kinda like it

“ But then, who was watching Disney movies at that age? ” me, damn Vernon, go back to being pathetic

“ He had, in his own words, called you a hag. ” cackling

“ You had to grip the counter, cackling at the response ” we are one. Hags who cackle together and all that

“ Maybe life can be unfucked ” okay I need to stop highlighting every phrase that makes me laugh or else I’ll highlight half the fic at this rate, stop making me laugh (im kidding pls never stop)

“ Mr. Filmbro. Miss Disney-Hag ” aw they have cute lil nicknames for each other already

Omg is he about to rob his lil sister???

Omg Vernon you absolute shit omg

“ Filmbrother ” I have literal tears in my eyes why is that so fucking funny

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

Those first texts just imagine receiving that, oh Vernon you silly boy. But tbf I probably would’ve forgotten to add my name too, so I get it

“ “I like my men a little pathetic.” ” you know, im starting to think you just wrote me in this story because she is so relatable

“ “That seems more like a you problem then!” ” okay im convinced you literally copy & pasted me now, I’m always saying that

But seriously im loving this so far! the shenanigans ehehehe

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

“ “And Batman is the same thing, except he dresses up as a fucking bat…stupid furry.” ” I have never heard someone call Batman a furry before but man now I’m never going to be able to forget it. Nananananana furryman!

Omg im laughing so hard at the disc swapping, and mingyu being dumb holy shit my chest hurts

“ “Let’s watch a fucking Disney Princess movie.” ” the man knows what to say to win a gal over

“ shuts down like a lagging desktop when it tries to run the Sims ” damn, that hits close to home

The whole lantern scene is so fucking cute and written so well I can so easily imagine it all, I love it

“ “If I am to be your exception, _____, then I suppose you can be mine.” ” SCREECHING THAT’S SO CUTE

If his favourite movie is anything other than Shrek I quit

“ “I think I could have fun with you anywhere…in secret or for anyone to see.” ” exhibitionist

YESSSSS SHREKKKK

“ VERNON LOST HIS VIRGINITY WITH SHREK PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND. ” no but this reads like a newspaper headline and im just wheezing at the thought of seeing an article titled that

“ You swore if you recited the IMDB plot out to him during sex, he would have spunked within minutes (a mental note to experiment on that later) ” I snorted. But now im very curious how that experiment would go

“ Within this myriad of fans, you tried to search for the most mentally ill one ” im back to highlighting every other line because fuck did that make me laugh

“ “Where are you, kitten?” you purposely growled, lowering your voice an octave. “Daddy’s waiting.” ” omg “ “Kitten actually killed himself after hearing that,” was his purposeful monotone. ” I love them

“ a boy engulfed in all the pinks of the colour wheel ” I am flailing and kicking my feet omg I love a man who is down bad for his partner

I kind of wish they just stood there staring dumbly at each other with their phones to their ears still, just because the mental image makes me laugh, but you’ve done enough of that already my cheeks hurt so probably good you didn’t write that. My cheeks might break.

They are seriously so cute omg, partners who break and enter together stay together 💗

𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐨-𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝

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

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

𝒘 𝒐 𝒓 𝒅 𝒄 𝒐 𝒖 𝒏 𝒕 : 21.7k words

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

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

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

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

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

back to masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, the fated question. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes darted to the newcomer. 

They stayed as he beheld you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled at him.

Then dropped the bomb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My god, you’re a filmbro!” 

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

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

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

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

There was one, solitary, quiet moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tilt of your head. “Are you lying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello again, Mr. Filmbro.”

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

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

He would be cordial—kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. 

Maybe his irrational dislike ran further than he thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Disney Princess Movie Set—Complete Edition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re for my ex-boyfriend.” 

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

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

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

“Oh?” Small world. “What’s the name?”

“Kim Mingyu. Do you know him?” 

Vernon Chwe nearly shit his oversized jeans.

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

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

Right. 

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

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

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

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

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

A half-truth—that should suffice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for minding his business.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What master plan?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

“Did _____ actually?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vernon visibly shivered. 

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

“Damn it,” he said under his breath. 

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

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

vernon: u dont have to wait till next week 

vernon: ill help u with the plan

There. And now, he shall wait.

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

normal disney enjoyer: wait who tf is this??

Oops. 

vernon: oh mb this is vernon lmao

vernon: from the filmstore

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

vernon: ??? ive said it now tf

normal disney enjoyer: and im happy u have ;)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nevermind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course not. “Sure.” 

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

Sure. “Of course not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wonder why,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Swear on my life, Mr. Filmbro.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then an idea came into his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me.” 

“No.”

“Tell me!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Filmbro…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked back. 

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

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

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

“Is this where magic comes from?”

“What the fuck?!”

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

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

You nearly burst out laughing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he knew it was now or never.

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

He whipped his head around, anticipating the worst.

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

Oh. Jesus. Christ.

“The nerd from film theory?”

Vernon’s face dropped. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“_____?”

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

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

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

“This is for calling me a stupid bitch.”

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

And run for your life.

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

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

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

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

The car revved to life at your signal.

It was time to get the fuck out of here. 

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

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

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

Just then, you burst into laughter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You and your fuck ass movie collection…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A glance at you. “Yep.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How recently are we saying?”

“...yesterday evening.” 

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

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

He then looked at you. “Oh, Jesus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Jesus—”

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

Oh, he was stunned alright. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That dread disappeared instantly when Flynn confessed his little secret.

“Eugene Fitzherbert?!” The boy demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was then Vernon heard your favourite Disney song.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Standing here, it’s oh! so clear…!”

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

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

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

You were already looking at him. 

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

“I’m where I’m meant to be!” 

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

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

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

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

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

You would have only sang your favourite song to him. 

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

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

“All at once…everything looks different…”

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

“Now that I…see you.”

Shit. You were rather beautiful before him.

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

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

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

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

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

In any romantic comedy, he would have kissed her.

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

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

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

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

“I should make you wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would answering a heated question do any harm?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, Vernon was prepared when you kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

VERNON LOST HIS VIRGINITY WITH SHREK PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.

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

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

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

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

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

Your rating, on the other hand, differed slightly. 

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

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

“But am I wrong, though?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, both have Sandra Bullock in them…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mr. filmbro: yo where u at

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

You rolled your eyes.

_____: im coming to save u kitten.

mr. filmbro: :0

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What your gaze ended up on was someone completely different. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A ghost of a smirk. “Sofia’s.”

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

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

“I thought you were gonna wear all black.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[paperstorm]

Thanks for the tags @carlos-in-glasses @annoyingcloudearthquake @laelipoo @strandnreyes and @whatsintheboxmh!

From Somewhere in a Song chapter four, posting tomorrow :)

TK’s lucky. He met people in rehab whose families didn’t want anything to do with them anymore, who’d been fired from jobs they wouldn’t get back, who knew they’d have to cut off all their old friends because those were the people they drank or used with. TK came back to a dad who was happy to see him, to fans who still wanted to buy tickets to see him perform, to friends want to support his sobriety even if TK keeps insisting they don’t need to worry so much. He has money, he has resources, he has people who care about him and want him to succeed. He has so much more than so many people in his situation, and he feels like such an imposter every time he catches himself wallowing in self-pity.

And yet he’s still outside a bar in South Philly, leaning against a vibrating brick wall with throngs of people having the time of their lives on the other side of it and all TK can think is how much his life feels like a tightrope walk these days. One misstep or gust of wind and he would tumble down, and he can’t count on a bouncy nylon safety net always being there to catch him. He wanted so badly to be his old self, just without the substances. He wanted to keep being fun, the life of the party, the one who bought drinks for everyone else, the one people were happy to see when he walked into a room. It’s a gut-punch to admit that TK’s not sure he knows how to be that person anymore, without the pills and the booze, and to realize that means maybe it was never him all along.

“TK?”

Inhaling and looking up, TK feels crashed into by the sight of Carlos’s concerned face frowning down at him. TK hadn’t realized he’d slipped down to his backside on the ground until Carlos crouches, sitting back on his heels until he’s closer to eye level and reaching out a hand that he places on TK’s shoulder. It’s instantly warm even through TK’s jacket, and he immediately shrugs it off.

“No offense but you’re kind of the last person I wanna see right now,” TK grinds out, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

Carlos doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t leave, either.

“They prepare you for this in rehab, you know,” TK says, almost immediately ignoring what he’d just said. “I thought I was ready for it.”

He fumbles for purchase on the rough brick of the wall behind him, pushing himself vertical in a way that nearly knocks Carlos over onto his ass on the concrete. TK paces away, shaking his hands out in front of his body. Every inch of him feels like it’s vibrating. He can feel, without looking, that Carlos is still standing behind him, but TK doesn’t turn around. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged his storied past with Carlos in earshot. TK’s talked to his dad and his band and Billy, but he’s left it unspoken in front of the band travelling with them. He’s not so naïve, though, as to imagine they don’t know. He’s sure Carlos saw the headlines and the Tweets and all the very public hoopla.

To the empty alley, he laughs humorlessly and says, “They literally coach you on this, about avoiding places that might be triggering if you can but that ultimately you can’t orchestrate the world around you so that triggering things don’t exist. We worked on mantras and breathing exercises and making sure there are people you can call, if you’re not being stupid like me and making your friends go with you to a fucking nightclub.”

“Who should we call?” Carlos asks, his voice finally returning to the sticky night air around him.

TK turns. He sighs and shakes his head, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nobody. You don’t need to stay out here with me, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Carlos argues, in a voice that’s far too gentle for TK’s liking.

“That’s not your problem.”

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet

@goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @whatsintheboxmh @bonheur-cafe

@reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee @never-blooms @lemonlyman-dotcom

@sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce

@hereghostslive @butchreyes @just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian

@tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter @eclectic-sassycoweyes @ditheringmind

@emsprovisions @irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage @chicgeekgirl89

@carlossreaders @ladytessa74 @denizoid @everlastingday

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[sschizoid]

Hello! Saw you were taking requests, how about the Tulpar crew going to an amusement/theme park together? Could be Disney or literally any theme park. Thank you 😊

whoosh! your wishes are my commands, anons !! (∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

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curly

he brought sunscreen and you can bet your ass he's going to remind everyone to reapply every two hours

can get motion sick pretty easily, so he tries to stick to the tamer rides. the ferris wheel is definitely his favorite, though he still feels his stomach churn each rotation. the view from the top is worth it

saw a stand where someone was doing caricature drawings and thought it sounded really fun. sat for a good 10 minutes while the artist worked before being handed the result and felt his heart drop. smiles and thanks the man, but spends the rest of the day looking for reassurance from his peers. "haha, oh man. this drawing is crazy, right? my nose is just... so big. like, almost a little too big, don't you think? ahah, it's... it's waaaay too big, right?"

jimmy

carnivals and amusement parks are actually pretty nostalgic for him. he wasn't super well-off growing up, no vacations or family trips or anything. but the carnival? it was close by, easy to sneak into, and not super difficult to find lost tickets littering the ground

especially skilled at tent games. balloon darts, ring toss, you name it. he's extremely competitive and let's the carnies know that he knows their shitty little tricks when it comes to sabotaging gameplay, and if they try anything on him, he's gonna make them real fucking sorry

shamelessly pays $12 for a solo cup of beer and fried cheese curds

anya

she loves amusement parks. as a child, she found herself drawn to the more extravagant rides, but now finds comfort in the simpler ones. she particularly enjoys the mirror maze and carousel

one of her weaknesses is funnel cake. specifically the kind with powered sugar, chocolate drizzle, and strawberries. she promises herself she'll only have a few bites, but that's not happening. she's eating the whole thing in under 3 minutes

constantly getting sucked into those games where the carnies goad and howl at you. she'll brush it off and laugh awkwardly at first, trying to skirt past, but if a dunk tank heckler teases her one too many times, she's gonna throw balls at that button until she's either broke or he treads water. whatever comes first

swansea

he's too old for this shit. he tags along, but just kind of hangs on to everyone else's stuff while they do their own thing

...well, that's how things started, at least. after he warms up to the environment a bit, he's not gonna be opposed to having a little fun, but not too much. he asks the woman at the face-painting stand to give him a bit of flourish, but nothing too crazy. she turns him into a tiger

daisuke will pressure him into trying bumper cars, but of course the fucking car he's assigned doesn't want to work. he just sits there with his chin in his hands waiting for it to be over while a bunch of kids ram into him from all angles laughing their asses off. daisuke is no better than them and joins in. he thinks its hilarious

daisuke

total thrill-seeker, the ricketier, the better. especially fond of the ones that make your stomach drop and your eyes bulge. think drop towers, pendulums, and zippers.

if there's a haunted house, he's gonna be really obnoxious during tense and quiet moments, letting out a sharp gasp and making everyone around him jump. he does this at least 3 times before getting a taste of his own medicine when a scare actor sneaks up behind him and screams. bro is shook to his core after that

absolute master at the tilt-a-whirl. has his rotations and leans down to a science, no matter how much weight is in the car, and will keep the cab spinning the entire time. god help anyone who is partnered with him

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such a good and fun idea it was asked for twice! tysm! if anyone else has any requests; my asks are open !! ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊωˋ )ଓ⁾⁾