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mononijikayu · 24 hours ago

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is it new years yet? — nanami kento.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now." "Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different." “My darling, behave.” “No <3” ".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, secret coworker romance, co-workers to lovers, romance, fluff, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, creampie, p to v sex, stairwell sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my darling, babe, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, actor! nanami kento, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 6k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the first fic of 2025!!! this was specifically written because of a conversation between me and @midnight-138 on the afternoon of december 31st 2024. i started progress while on a bus on the way to my grandma's house and for a bit on the 1st. i still wanted to write more for it, but i had to stop because i caught a cold. i still have a cold. and i need a massage cause i feel my body hurt real bad, cause its working hard to save my life from this cold TT TT

but that being said, i shouldn't complain too much. good things have been happening to me despite my problems. i hope that good things continue to come!!! anyway, enough yapping, i hope you enjoy this little fic. happy 2025!!! may good things, good health and happiness come your way always this year!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS ALWAYS LIKE THIS WHEN YOU AND KENTO GET TOGETHER. But it was to be expected, since you graced the screens since you were a child. Nanami Kento was like that too. Of course, it wasn’t something of a brag at all. It was just your normal.

You were lucky, you were favored like that. Kento was favored just like that. Both of you were so beloved. And especially so, in a way that they end up hoping that you both were together.

Ever since you worked with him on Jujutsu Kaisen all those years ago, it was just too strong — the chemistry between the two of you. It pulls people in for more. They wanted a story, they wanted something that could ease their days from the mundane boredom that it was to the fun, exhilarating excitement that comes with the tea in both of your private lives.

You didn’t mind, your company didn’t mind either. Neither did Kento or his side of the aisle. It helped that you were both good friends. You had met even before landing your roles on Jujutsu Kaisen, after all. So, the ‘will they, won’t they’ between the two of you really did help your careers.

But of course, just like in Gege–sensei’s scripts, some parts are sentences with too many blank pages. And the wholeness of your relationship with Nanami Kento truly only belonged to you and him. And you were not willing to expose it to the world. Not just yet.

Yet — this does not stop them from trying to do something about that.

The studio buzzed with activity as you adjusted the earpiece in your ear, stealing a quick glance at the veteran actor, singer, producer, writer and entertainment personality that is Nanami Kento.

He stood near the stage, his posture relaxed yet impossibly refined. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie a subtle but elegant shade of deep blue,everything about him just exuded a quiet confidence that made it hard for anyone to look away.

You, however, knew better than to let your gaze linger too long. You knew too well that those are reserved for just him and you to interpret and to see. No one else should. You were as possessive about your private moments as he was. But you would never say that outloud and neither will he.

“Can you believe these two again?” a stagehand whispered slowly, behind you. It was still, of course, loud enough for you to hear. “It’s like they were made for this. If they don’t end up together after tonight, I’ll lose faith in love. Really!”

You bit back a laugh, focusing on your notes. No one knew the truth, after all. That you and Kento were already together had been for a while now. Not even your publicists or managers — hell, not even your entertainment companies, knew that this was for genuine actuality, a real thing now. But you and him liked it that way.

You had let your fans go wild with their theories over the years of course. Every post, every comment, every little interaction, every collaboration, every press tour — almost everything seemed to spark a new wave of speculation and fan shipping.

For years now, the internet was rife with hashtags like #OurSecretLovers and #MrAndMrsNanami with fans pouring over every detail like it's an investigatory report they were doing, a documentary study. You had to admit, it was amusing at times, watching people try to connect dots they couldn’t see.

Nanami Kento had a reputation for being rather serious, because he gets roles in that league often. But he was a silly little man, well your silly little man. And he often had the knack for finding the most random, yet oddly endearing, posts about the two of you on Twitter. During your five-minute breaks between shoots, when you were in separate rooms or on different sets, his messages would pop up on your phone, accompanied by a link and a deadpan caption.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now."

"Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different."

“My darling, behave.”

“No <3”

".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

You’d giggle to yourself, your shoulders shaking as you tried not to draw attention. It didn’t matter how serious the production you were working on either. He had a way of making you laugh even from miles away. And that relaxes you a lot.

When it was your turn, you’d send him TikToks. Fancam edits of the two of you together had exploded in popularity as of late, especially since you both played a married couple who were spies deceiving each other recently. People thought he looked so good, especially when he had his shirt off. You loved teasing him about it. After all, he was really pretty hot in those scenes. And if you were being honest, they did in fact rile you up.

"Look at us, babe." you texted once, attaching a video with dramatic lighting, a love song playing over clips of you two stolen from interviews and behind-the-scenes footage. "We’re icons."

His reply came almost immediately: "Icons, sure. But I’m just a guy who got lucky enough to be yours, you know?"

Those words made your heart swell every time. He’d always been effortlessly humble, never letting fame or admiration inflate his ego, even as his star rose. After all, you were the senpai here—the darling of the Japanese screen since childhood.

You’d grown up in the industry, your name synonymous with household stardom. He, on the other hand, had been a late bloomer, starting as a teenager and building his career with quiet determination.

He never let the difference in your status get in the way, though. If anything, it only made him more in awe of you. He’d often remind you how much he admired your grace, how you’d navigated the pressures of fame with a poise that still left him speechless.

“You’ve been dazzling audiences since you were a kid.” he’d say, his voice warm with pride. “I’m just lucky to share the screen with you now and your life.”

And you’d roll your eyes playfully, nudging him with a smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kento. You’re a fan favorite for a reason.”

“Maybe.” he replied with a soft smirk. “But you’re my favorite. And that’s what matters.”

No matter how busy your schedules got, those small exchanges, be it a funny link or a sentimental text, every bit of this kept you connected. It reminded you both that beneath the glitz and glamour, what truly mattered was the quiet, enduring love you shared.

You were out of your bubble soon enough when Kento suddenly caught your eye from across the room, offering a small, reassuring smile and then a small gentle nod. You felt your cheeks turn red but lowered your head immediately before anyone was to notice. He was too good at making you feel like this. And certainly so, he was hiding his smirk under his cue cards.

“Alright, places, everyone!” the director called.

You finally stood up from your chair, taking a deep breath and calmed down. You gave yourself one more look in the mirror, trying to make sure that your cheeks were natural now. When you felt like it was, you smiled at your manager who handed you the mic and swiftly thanked them. You went to your position. Kento soon approached, his footsteps purposeful but unhurried.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” you replied, flashing him a smile.

You were grateful for the reassurance. Even if you were already such a big name, you still did get nervous. And even more so, with such a big show like this — the New Year Countdown, of course you could feel yourself slipping.

The two of you took your positions on stage as the lights dimmed and the opening music swelled. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he fixed himself up, your pinkies touching. Even briefly, you could feel the warmth. He did that on purpose. You could see it in his caramel eyes.

You let a brief smile echo on your lips. You gathered yourself as the lift came up slowly. When you both were in the sight of the gathered audiences and the cameras started to broadcast it all live, you both slipped effortlessly into your roles. After all, you both were professionals.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to this year’s New Year’s Eve Countdown!” you began, your voice bright and enthusiastic.

“Thank you for joining us as we bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new.” Kento added, his tone smooth and polished.

Your banter flowed naturally, as always. That well beloved chemistry between you is still ever so undeniable. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him; he was your partner in every sense of the word. And that made your job tonight a little bit easier.

But of course, the real challenge was hiding the little moments that threatened to give you away that bit you kept so dear to you. You just can't help it when it comes to him. He has such a powerful pull on you and he knows it.

There were those little lingering glances, watching and feeling the way his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a card, the subtle softness in his smile when he looked at you. After all, this is the longest you could be together in your very busy schedules this year.

Still, you kept yourself in that cage. And so did he, despite his lack of patience when it comes to you and everything about you. As the night progressed, the energy in the studio grew electric.

Various music performances lit up the stage, and interviews with special guests kept the crowd engaged. Throughout it all, you and Kento remained the perfect duo—professional, poised, and completely in sync.

After nearly a few hours of composure, it came almost all too suddenly. In just a few moments, the final countdown approached, and the excitement was palpable. The two of you stood at the center of the stage, along with the other participants for this year’s event. In front of you, the crowd behind you cheering wildly, waiting excitedly for the new year.

“Here we go!” you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

Kento leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing great, darling..”

Your heart fluttered, but you kept your composure. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

The countdown soon began.

You took a breath, looking at the screen.

You held your cue cards tightly to you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The lights soon dimmed, and the giant screen behind you displayed the numbers as they ticked down. The crowd’s voices grew louder with each second. The emotions coming through you were indescribable. Another year had gone by. But he was still by your side, like this. And all you could pray for as the time passed into a new age — that you would always be together.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Confetti soon rained down, and the studio erupted in cheers. You turned toward Kento, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you disappeared. The look in his caramel eyes was unmistakable—warm, tender, and filled with a quiet pride that made your chest tighten.

But just as quickly, the moment passed, and you both turned back to the crowd, waving and smiling as the cameras captured every angle. People of course started to pay less attention to you both and the stage and more onto the fireworks now blurring the sky with its bright hues. You and Kento made a steady exit off the stage.

“Another successful project, isn’t it?” you said, breaking the silence as you leaned against the wall.

Kento smirked faintly, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to loosen his tie. “They’ll be talking about this for weeks, you know?”

“And shipping us even harder, hm.” you added with a laugh.

“They’ll never know, though.” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You stepped closer, your hand finding his. His fingers intertwined with yours, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else could. “They don’t need to, babe.” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “This is ours.”

Kento’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Happy New Year, my darling.”

“Happy New Year.” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You had thought it would end there, sweet and innocent. You had thought you both were safe for one more year. But when you two are together after a long time…..it was a whole new animal. And nothing can stop such a wave in high tide from occupying something whole.

The next tithing you know is that the internet exploded the moment the photos dropped. Headlines blared across every platform, hashtags like #FINALLYOMG and #NewYearNewScandal trending within minutes after they were taken.

The pictures were pretty damning. They were blurry but unmistakably you, disheveled and wrapped in Nanami’s coat, your hair a mess. And him? A rare sight indeed.

It was none other than Nanami Kento, usually the epitome of composure, looking uncharacteristically undone. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the telltale bruises blooming on his neck left little to the imagination.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the coffee table as you buried your face in your hands. Beside you, Kento sat unbothered, calmly sipping his tea like the world wasn’t on fire—or at least your career’s PR team.

“I told you we should’ve been more careful, babe.” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips quivering into a teasing smile. “You were the one who couldn’t wait with it, y'know?” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with an elegant clink.

His tone was infuriatingly calm, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Who was it again, begging me to fill you up? By round two, you were going—‘Kento, I need you. Right here. Right now.’ and I was happy to heed the request like always.”

Your scarlet blush was immediate, your head snapping up to glare at him. “Kento!” you hissed, glancing around the living room as if someone could overhear, even though it was just the two of you. “Not helping!”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with the air of a man thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’m just stating the facts about, I'm the same.” he said with a shrug, his smirk widening as you shot him another flustered look. "That's not a bad thing."

Your phone buzzed again on the table, your manager’s name flashing on the screen. You sighed, picking it up only to immediately huff and toss it back down. “This is really…” you trailed off, searching for the right word but settling on a frustrated groan instead.

“Chaotic? Consequential? Hilarious?” Kento offered, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You shot him a glare that was far more affectionate than threatening. “Horrible. That’s the word. This is horrible.”

He chuckled, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on your knee. “Darling, it’s not the end of the world. Scandal or not, we’ll deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say.” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Your team probably thinks this is great publicity for your brooding, mysterious heartthrob image. Meanwhile, I’m the one getting texts about how unprofessional it looks for ‘Japan’s sweetheart’ to be caught sneaking around with hickeys and wearing her boyfriend’s coat.”

“Unprofessional?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “It’s not like we committed a crime. We’re adults in a committed relationship. And in any case my darling....….” he added, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You look adorable in my coat.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me. Very much." he quipped, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, instead letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a sigh. “Next time, though….really.....” you muttered. “We’re finding a stairwell without photographer cameras.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Noted.”

As you leaned against your lover, the memory hit you both like a freight train, vivid and unrelenting. It had started innocently enough—or as innocently as it could between the two of you. The countdown show had gone off without a hitch, and the studio was still buzzing with post-show chaos.

You both talked for a bit, had a cute moment and then went back to your professional mode when everyone started to surround you both again. It was like a switch, and it was easy. No one suspected a thing.

You went ahead into the dressing room, you talked with everyone. You’d been polite and professional, thanking the crew and chatting with some of the guests. But the moment Nanami Kento had caught your eye as you left the green room, something in his caramel gaze had made your pulse quicken.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Between his packed schedule and yours, the countdown project had been the only excuse to be in the same room together. The public facade you maintained only added to the frustration. Every fleeting touch, every shared look—it all built up, an unbearable tension neither of you could ignore.

So, when he’d quietly grabbed your hand and guided you down a quiet, rarely-used stairwell in the building when no one was looking, you hadn’t protested. You were excited, happy even. This was the chance to feel him again this close to you.

And you were glad for that opportunity. You could feel his touch be so genuine and warm despite the heavy chill in the air, and the firm grip of his fingers around yours sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Darling, I missed you, really.” he murmured as soon as you were alone.

His voice low and rough, filled with a longing that made your knees weak. His hands cupped your face with a reverence that always left you breathless, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was searing, his lips melding with yours as though it had been an eternity since your last stolen moment together.

The cold winter air bit at your exposed skin, but his touch set you alight. His coat had slipped from his shoulders in a quiet, unspoken gesture, draped over yours as his lips moved to your neck. The kisses were hot, open-mouthed, and deliberate, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin before his teeth grazed your pulse.

“Kento, babe….” you gasped, your voice trembling from a mix of the frigid air and the heat of his attention. Your fingers clutched the lapels of his suit, trying to ground yourself against the onslaught of sensations.

“Shh, just enjoy it......” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

His hands slid down your sides, firm but gentle as they gripped your thighs. Without hesitation, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the wall. The rough texture scraped against your coat, but you barely noticed, too focused on the way his body pressed into yours.

His strength always caught you off guard, even after all this time together. Your eager legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as he stepped between them, his body fitting against yours like a missing piece.

“Babe!” you breathed again, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He kissed you like a man starved, his lips leaving your neck to reclaim your mouth. The intensity of it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him. He was hungry, perhaps even more than you were. But you had expected that. He has a habit of yearning to touch you a lot.

“I hate not being able to touch you, with all the schedules we fucking had.” he muttered against your skin, the words tinged with frustration and longing. “Hated every fucking minute of it……”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tugged him closer. “Then don’t stop, babe.” you whispered, the plea soft but desperate. “Cause….I need you badly too. I need you so bad in me—”

He growled softly, the sound rumbling against your throat as his touch shifted. One hand remained steady on your thigh, holding you firmly in place, while the other slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers were deliberate, pushing aside the delicate lace of your panties with practiced ease.

When his fingers slipped through your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall. He groaned softly, the sound low and satisfied as he gathered your arousal, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“You’re already so ready for me, aren’t you, my darling?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers moved with precision, finding the spot that made you arch into him.

The cold air around you was a stark contrast to the heat building between you, the quiet of the stairwell broken only by your uneven breaths and his whispered praises. It was reckless, indulgent, and utterly intoxicating—just like him.

“Kento, babe….oh!” you whimpered, your voice trembling as his fingers continued their unrelenting rhythm. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as waves of pleasure began to build within you.

“Shh, darling.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear before trailing back to your neck. His voice was low and soothing, laced with a quiet intensity that only made your pulse race faster. “You’ll have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as he added a second finger. The stretch was delicious, his movements slow and deliberate, coaxing you higher with every stroke. His thumb brushed over your sensitive bud, and your thighs instinctively clenched around his waist.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s my good little lover, hm? My only beloved darling.” he murmured, his praise sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. “So perfect for me.”

Your fingers slid up into his messy blond hair, tugging gently as your body arched against him. The rough texture of the wall behind you was a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his touch, grounding you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“Kento, please, b–babe….oh!” you breathed, the words barely audible as your head tilted back, exposing more of your neck to his eager lips. “M–more…..more!”

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient, aren’t you? Greedy too.” he teased, though his fingers quickened their pace, curling just right to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. “I missed seeing you like this, so needy for me.”

The heat pooling in your core intensified, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “I’m—” you began, but the words dissolved into a strangled gasp as he pressed his thumb harder against your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, pretty for me, so fucking pretty." He says, coaxing you like a pied piper. His voice was low and intoxicating. Everything about it just burns you as much as his touch did. "I’ve got you. Always.”

With one final stroke, the beautiful echo, that blossoming coil inside you just snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body tensed, your thighs tightening around his waist as you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that escaped your lips.

He held you through it, his fingers slowing their movements as your body shook with aftershocks. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing soothing kisses against your temple.

When you finally relaxed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were soft, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and satisfaction that made your chest tighten.

“Better?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with affection.

You nodded, still too dazed to form words. He chuckled, adjusting his hold on you as he gently set you back on your feet. Your legs wobbled like jello against him, and he immediately steadied you, his hands firm but gentle on your waist.

“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, babe.” you managed, your voice breathless but steady. “More than fine.”

His lips quivered into a soft smile, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

As the reality of your surroundings sank back in, you couldn’t help but glance around, the abandoned stairwell suddenly feeling far less private. “We should… probably get back, babe.” you said, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s getting pretty late.”

He followed your gaze, his expression calm and unbothered. “Let them wonder where we went.” he said simply, shrugging off the concern as he adjusted his coat around your shoulders. "It's none of their business."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the mischievous glint in his eyes stopped you cold. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “After all… I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he was guiding you gently back against the wall. His lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, igniting the fire he’d only begun to stoke. His hands trailed down your sides, their warmth chasing away the chill of the stairwell as he pressed his body firmly against yours.

“Kento, babe.” you murmured, a weak attempt to regain your composure, but he silenced you with a kiss that left no room for argument.

“I missed you, a damn whole lot.” he said, his voice low and filled with longing as his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly once more. "Like I always do."

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heart pounding as the desire you’d both tried to suppress flared back to life. He pressed against you, the hardness of his arousal undeniable even through the fabric of his pants. The teasing grind of his hips against yours drew a gasp from your lips, and he smirked, his composure slipping just enough to show his need.

"Really....." Kento effortlessly whispered to you, his voice vibrating onto you like a wave crashing onto you at sea. "We shouldn't schedule much this New Year, hm? So we can be together."

"Hm.....Kento." You echo back to him, intoxicated by his touch. "'ake time....for me, okay? I'll.....I'll do the same."

“That's the plan already, you know?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he shifted, his hands tugging at the barriers between you. “Let me take care of you, like I always do.”

Soon after that, you could feel the wet, thick head of his member pressed against your entrance, the heat and pressure stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped as he began to push in slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent.

It was too good, too damn easy to fall into a high to. You could feel the stretch inside of you, it made you so full. Everything about it was intoxicating, your body yielding to him as he filled you inch by inch, your walls clinging to every part of him like he was made to fit.

It was like he was trying to make a home inside of it. Inside of you. And it just made you feel so good. A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he buried himself deeper.

“Darling.” he muttered, his voice strained and low. “You feel so perfect.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as your body adjusted to the delicious fullness. The sensation was overwhelming, the slight ache quickly giving way to a heat that spread through your entire body.

“Kento.” you breathed, the sound a mix of plea and surrender.

His large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again, the motion slow but unyielding. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and the friction only made you crave more.

“God, this is so…..you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice rough and filled with need. “You’re so tight. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go slow like this with you.”

“Don’t, babe.” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”

His carmel eyes darkened almost instantly at your words, a flicker of something primal overtaking his usual control. With a growl, he began to move in earnest, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the stairwell, a symphony of shared desire that neither of you could hold back.

The rough texture of the wall behind you only heightened the sensation, grounding you as he took you apart piece by piece. You could feel your back burn against the concrete wall as you throw your head back against it. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his body claimed yours.

“Darling, my pretty baby darling.” he murmured against your lips, his voice ragged and desperate. “You’re mine. Always mine.”

“Yes, babe. Yours….O–oh…only! Only yours!” you managed to gasp, your head tilting back as he kissed along your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

The coil in your core once more tightens with every spark you feel as he pushes deeper over and over in a fast pace. Everything about the pleasure you feel keeps building to an almost unbearable peak. It just felt too good. He felt too good.

His pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants as his control began to slip. One hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your sensitive nub and rubbing it in quick, precise circles.

You cried out, your body arching into him as the tension finally snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching tightly around him as your release tore through you.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m close!” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he shuddered against you, his body going taut as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared, labored breathing, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle as they smoothed over your thighs and waist, grounding you both.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern despite the lingering haze of pleasure in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gently setting you back on your feet. His hands remained steady on your waist, holding you as your legs wobbled beneath you. You leaned into him, your breath uneven, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just transpired.

But that wasn’t the end of it, of course.

The hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded, and neither had yours. The raw desire that simmered between you was far from sated, and you both knew it. Kento’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing soft, teasing circles against your hips as he studied your flushed face.

“I just think that I…..” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I still want more.”

You barely had time to process his words before your lover’s lips were on yours again, roughly consuming you in a kiss that was as demanding as it was all encompassing. Your hands quickly found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. Your body instinctively responds to the magnetic pull of his, over and over.

“We shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s going to make people suspicious.”

“Probably not.” he agreed, his smirk returning as his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, trailing up your thighs. “But repercussions are damned when we’re hungry. I can’t stop. I know you won’t too..”

The wall pressed against your back once more as he claimed you all over again, the cool stairwell air doing nothing to cool the fire that raged between you. It was reckless, but neither of you cared. Not here, not now. Hunger demanded to be fed, and with Nanami Kento, you were always insatiable.

After a while, you were both removed from the plane of normalcy and you were both panting with joyous weariness. He presses a kiss against your jaw as you keep a steady bite on his neck. He grumbles against you as he gathers himself from seeing stars. You follow him soon after. You released his neck and started kissing his lips once more.

When you both found yourself satisfied, you both started to make yourselves as presentable as possible. Well, at least what remains presentable and salvageable for both of you. Kento ripped too much of your outfit as much as you did. Still, you both did not care.

“We should get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his tone tender as he placed his coat on your shoulders and adjusted it tenderly on you, to keep you warm. “I’ll call my car and then we’ll just hop in there. We’ll go to my hotel, okay?”

You nodded again, your cheeks flushing as the reality of your surroundings began to sink in. But as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back toward the main building, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of contentment.

Of course, things too did not go the way you both wanted once again. You didn’t know that there were many SNS photographers and gossip journalists waiting to catch some other celebrity in that area where Kento’s car was going to be. And that’s just how you were caught, not thinking about the logistics of it all.

But how could you? It was New Years.

You just got mindlessly blown with really, really, really good sex.

And you were together once again with your lover.

How could you think about anything else after all that?

Now, back in the present, the two of you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment. Nanami Kento’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to your frazzled nerves. You sighed, looking up to your lover who presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You know this is going to be everywhere, babe.” you said, gesturing toward your phone.

He set his tea down and leaned back, regarding you with a look of quiet amusement. “Let them talk, darling. It was bound to happen eventually.”

You groaned. “Eventually I didn't need to include hickeys and a ruined coat. And oh god….. was I leaking your cum?”

You took your phone once again to inspect, but your lover took your phone with his free hand and put it away. You looked at him, almost sulky as one would look as a child. He laughs. He presses another kiss on your hair. Kento couldn’t help but smirk. Both acts had made your heart skip a beat.

“You look good in my coat though. I could hardly care if my cum was dripping out, darling.” he said simply. “I’m pretty sure I look just as ridiculous. You mauled my neck so happily after that first round.”

“You do look like you’ve been ravaged.” you shot back, though your cheeks burned at the memory. “I mean, it made sense at the time….I was hungry.”

“Hm, I don’t blame you.”

You sighed. “We’ll contact our PR and everyone later, okay?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm.” he said softly, his voice filled with the steady reassurance you’d always loved about him. “We’ll be fine, okay? I don’t care as long as I am with you.”

You sighed, leaning into his warm touch. “I guess the secret’s out, huh?”

He nodded, his gaze warm. “I don’t mind. As long as we're happy together, I say let them say whatever they want.”

You blinked at him. “You think so?”

“Hm.” He smiles at you. “Because no one will truly know who you are to me. That’s only mine. They’ll have a headline, but I’ll have the whole spreadsheet.”

You feel like your heart is melting with his tenderness. “I love you. So so much.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your lips, smiling wider at you.

And just like that, the storm outside felt a little less overwhelming.

310 notes · View notes

nothoughtsjustficrecs · 2 days ago

Text

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.

#k-fic collection review #chee chats about: filmbro-zoned by amourcheol #svt rec #svt fanfic #f: seventeen #p: chwe hansol x reader #g: fluff #g: comedy #g: suggestive #g: college au #r: sfw #wc: 20k to 30k

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cheeseceli · 2 days ago

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Late wait

Pairing: idol!Lee Know × Gn!reader (established relationship)

Genre: fluff, domesticity, drabble

Request: Lee know with a "waiting for us" kinda vibe. Just being together in their own place with lots of domestic fluff. Dancing whenever, seeing movies whenever...

Warnings: mentions of food, Minho is an idol, the cats and the boys are here as well, reader and him live together

A/n: I simply love to write domestic moments | daily click

Minho finds it funny how the most beautiful things in life are always the simplest.

Coming from someone whose life is full of luxuries, he could understand why someone would be skeptical about his statement, but he couldn't be more truthful than that.

He already saw thousands of different people, dressed in fancy suits and drank expensive wine. The places he already went to were sometimes covered in gold, and if not, they'd have a red carpet and sculptures everywhere. He's not going to lie and say these things are bad, or that he despises them. On the contrary, actually. However, when you live a life of "too much", you learn how to appreciate what is simple.

His cats stepping on his face to wake him up. All the times he went somewhere random to camp. Seungmin's burnt barbecue and Felix' brownies. You. All the things that made his life easy.

As much as he loves all those things, maybe he should highlight you a little bit more. It's only fair, since you are the one who plays the major role in making him feel alive.

When Minho thinks about you, he thinks about how he loves to wake up early before some morning schedule and see how you're sleeping peacefully next to him. You always ask him to wake you up before he goes, but he never finds the strength in himself to disrupt your dreams. You have a whole collection of little notes he put next to the bed, apologising for not saying bye, but promising to bring food whenever he's back.

He also remembers dance nights. As he is a professional dancer and an idol, he thought he wouldn't want to move a single muscle the moment he gets home. However, whenever he comes home to you singing some random song on the radio, it's impossible to not hold your hand and start swaying according to the rhythm. You don't know how to dance. When he's with you, he suddenly forgets how to as well. In the end, it's just two fools in love, dancing how your heart tells you to.

Movie nights where none of you had luck picking what to watch, so you'd just sleep mid the boring show. Cooking homemade dinner and noticing you ran out of all the ingredients, so you have to run to the market. Visiting his parents every Sunday. Staying in the entire weekend with the cats because that's so much better than going out.

There are dozens of little moments like those that Minho could talk about. None of them was particularly special - they were all things that happened every day. Maybe that was the magic of it. Living was easy with those moments, with you.

Now he was coming back home. The day was full of different events. Tiring, extravagant, but nice. He was smiling. But now he only wanted to come home to you. He knew you were staying up late so you could welcome him and ask him how the day was. And as much as you've waited, he'd hug you with his entire being and never let go.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: kiss me (more)

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143 @sleepyleeji @jinnie-ret @sheraayasherrecs @rockstarkkami @urlocalmultigroupfan (those I couldn't tag are in bold)

Dividers by @adornedwithlight | images 1, 2 and 3

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motorsportbarbie13 · 4 hours ago

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A Package Deal - Part 4

In which the real world threatens to ruin your happiness.

Warnings: angsttttttttt :) fluff at the end tho!! Pairing: Lando x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 3.6k words

- A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - Master List

yourusername (private) posted:

yourusername life lately ❤️ BFFSarah omg, someone who loves pizza just as much as Stelly Belly??? >>>yourusername they polished off a large pizza between the two of them. It was a sight to see. >>>land-ho WE WERE HUNGRY. >>>yourusername you bet my six year old she couldn't eat 4 pieces of pizza, sir. >>>land-ho AND SHE PUT DOWN FIVE! Proudest moment of my LIFE. >>>yourusername 🙄

land-ho (private) posted

land-ho party of three? smoooooth_operator it was good to see you two last night! >>>yourusername dinner was delicious, C!! tell R thank you for all the shopping reccos in Barcelona 🤭 >>>landonorris oh god, my wallet already hurts >>>yourusername well now i'm never going to beat the sugar baby allegations. >>>honeybadger y'all are a walking PR nightmare waiting to happen. kelly_pickme i must meet your two favorite girls soon! bring them to Monaco soon! >>>yourusername 😘 did L give M the lion plushie and princess dress for baby and P? can't wait to meet you all soon!! >>>kelly_pickme yes! P hasn't taken it off and the lion is a hit as well. >>>yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

Miami May, 2025

"Okay, anything else you guys want to talk about before we start filming?" Victor, the team's head of communications, asks on Thursday afternoon.

Victor sits in one of the several conference rooms located in McLaren's hospitality suite surrounded by the rest of the communications team as well as Lando and Oscar. The weekend debrief is wrapping up as he asks one last question.

"Actually, kind of." Lando clears his throat, rubbing his palms on his jeans.

The entire team turns to him then and he feels his face go a bit red. He hadn't really planned on making a big deal of this in front of the team but after his meeting with Zak earlier, he thought he should at least let the comms team in on what he was going to do tonight.

"What's up?" Victor prompts, tucking his iPad under his arm.

"Well, it's more of a 'heads up' kind of thing but Zak thought I should let you guys know that I'm planning on going public with my girlfriend tonight."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lando sees Oscar smirk. He can almost hear the 'well it's about time' teasing he's about to get when they wrap up this meeting.

Victor blinks, casting a sideways glance at Melanie, Lando's main press officer for the weekend. He could tell Victor was reluctant to agree but in all honesty, this wasn't his call and Lando was ready to make that known. "What were you planning on doing?"

Melanie pulls out a notepad to take notes, just in case she's asked about the relationship this weekend.

You were also in Miami this weekend for your second race of the season and the subject had come up last night as you were cuddled up in bed after Lando had posted about you and Stella on his private account for the first time. You had been hesitant at first, not wanting to bring the team or Lando any drama during the race weekend but he had been insistent. While you hadn't been together officially for very long, you spent nearly every spare moment together and Stella had become a huge part of Lando's life too. He was tired of being linked to endless Instagram models and having to hide you away from the public.

Lando shrugs. "Nothing big or anything, just a post of my feed with her, some kind of witty caption."

"She's the one who works in the accounting department?" Melanie asks.

Lando can't help but glare at the woman. She's in her mid-30s with mousey brown hair and wire rimmed glasses. Melanie was kind enough but sometimes Lando wondered if she had any of the media training that was forced on him and Oscar with the kinds of questions she asked him.

"No, she's on the product development team, and she's right over there." Lando tips his chin towards the large glass windows that looks out onto the rest of the hospitality suite where you sit at one of the tables typing away at your laptop.

"Isn't she a single mom?"

Again, Lando glares at Melanie as the rest of the team shifts uncomfortably in their seat. Sure, it was their job to handle any press inquiries that came into the office and sometimes there were personal questions that got asked, but that one was toeing the line of appropriate.

"I don't see why that makes any sort of difference." Oscar surprises everyone by speaking up, his tone a bit colder than usual. "I've worked with her a lot lately, she's a lovely person and wicked smart. Lando's a lucky guy."

"Thanks, mate." Lando murmurs before turning back to Victor. "HR is aware of our relationship and, not that it should matter," Lando looks pointedly at Melanie once again, and is pleased to see her look a bit sheepish as if she's just realized how inappropriate her questions had been. "But Zak is also aware that we're together and has given us his blessing too."

That had been an awkward conversation but Lando admired the McLaren CEO too much to leave him in the dark about something that involved his two employees. He'd scoured the McLaren employee handbook (thankfully there was nothing in it against fraternization of employees, so HR hadn't been a problem either) before approaching Zak first to tell him about the relationship. If there was anyone that Zak Brown loved more than Lando, it was you so of course he had been ecstatic at the news and had immediately given the relationship his full support.

Without waiting for further comment from anyone, Lando gets up and strides out the door, furious at how the ending of the meeting had gone. There were far more problematic WAGs in the paddock and you were a McLaren employee after all, shouldn't you expect the same support from the team as he did? He didn't really understand why it was such a big deal that you were a single mom or technically a coworker.

From your spot in the middle of the hospitality suite you can see when Lando walks out of the conference room, hyper aware of the way his shoulders are hitched up towards his ears, something that only happens when he's upset or stressed.

"Momma!" Your attention is drawn back to your phone where Stella sits on FaceTime before her bath for the evening. You'd been distracted by Lando's sudden shift in mood and had stopped listening to her mid-story.

"Sorry, baby. I'm listening. You and Cora had a good playdate today, yeah?"

Stella prattles on, seemingly satisfied with the half-attention you're now paying her again. But your focus is pulled elsewhere for a moment as you watch a girl you know is on the comms team follow Lando out of the conference room and into his drivers room. You couldn't remember her name but knew that she was working with Lando this weekend as his press officer so it didn't impress you as unusual that she was following him. Maybe something had been said in the meeting and she was going to try to calm him down.

"Momma, can I talk to Lando now?" Stella sighs and you grin. You were beginning to think that your daughter loved Lando a bit more than you the way she constantly asked about him and wanted to see him.

"I think he just walked into a meeting, S but how about we do this. Why don't you go take a bath and by the time you're done, Lando should be finished with his meeting and you can talk to him then."

Stella nods, seemingly happy about the arrangement. You say a quick goodbye before packing up your laptop to go check in on Lando. You were essentially done for the day so you had planned on hanging out with a few of the engineers during their meetings this afternoon before going to dinner with Lando later that night. And then you fully planned on spending the rest of the evening underneath your boyfriend.

You can see the door to Lando's driver's room ajar and you can hear raised voices floating out. Hesitating, you pause with your hand on the door handle. The conversation sounded heated and you didn't want to interrupt. You swear you didn't want to eavesdrop but Lando's shouting didn't leave you much choice.

"What the fuck do you mean the team doesn't want a 'Kelly Piquet 2.0 situation?"

Oh. Oh dear.

You had known Lando was going to tell the team of his plan to hard launch you on his socials tonight and by the sounds of it, it hadn't gone well.

"Lando," The woman, you think her name is Melanie or something, tries to sooth him. "All we're saying is maybe you should think of how this could impact her daughter. When Max and Kelly went public, it was a shit show."

"Yeah, because her father is a racist piece of shit." He spits.

"And she was accused of being a predator!" Melanie fires back. "All I'm saying is that maybe right now isn't the best time to launch a potentially controversial girlfriend."

Your blood goes cold. Controversial? There was nothing in your past that you were ashamed about. No racist relatives. No sex tape scandals or even potentially embarassing photos somewhere out on the internet. You had, all things considered, a pretty wholesome reputation. Everyone at McLaren loved you, as far as you were aware. With the apparent exception of Melanie.

"Controversial? Please, elaborate." Lando's voice goes deadly calm, as if he knows exactly what she's going to say but wants her to say it out loud.

"Lando." Melanie sighs and you take a step back, unsure if you want to hear what she has to say. "She's a young, single mom who got knocked up at nineteen years old." Melanie practically laughs, as if Lando is a complete idiot for not understanding. "There's no way she won't be seen as a gold digger or worse! She's going to be eaten alive on socials. I'm only looking out for her daughter's reputation. Don't be so naive, Norris."

Your fists clench up so tightly, the bite of your nails in your palms pulls you out of a near rage. It takes every ounce of control not to go straight into Lando's room and give that bitch a piece of your mind.

On the other side of the door, Lando swears he sees red and has to take a step away. "This is about your workload, isn't it? You don't want to deal with the awkward questions and the drama? Listen very closely to me, Melanie okay? Because I'm not going to repeat myself." The venom in Lando's voice startles you. "The three of us are a package deal now, do you understand? I am madly in love with that woman out there and her little girl? Her little girl is the center of my world too. I don't give a flying fuck if me being with her means more work for you, that's too fucking bad. If you can't handle it, I'm positive Zak will be happy to replace you. She's here to stay, you are replaceable. Understood?"

Hearing Lando say he loves you and Stella has your world tilting underneath your feet. He'd never said that to you before even though you'd been confident for a while now that he did feel that way. And that you felt the same way.

Melanie's reply is so soft, you don't hear it but moments later, the door flies open so fast you're forced to jump back bit. Melanie's flushed face looks horrified when she sees you standing in the hall. She can't hold eye contact with you for longer than a flicker of a moment before she's dashing down the hall.

Lando stands in the doorway looking horrified that you're standing there. "How much of that did you hear?"

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, your anger at Melanie now replaced with sheer embarrassment. Even if she had been the one to voice it, you were certain Melanie wasn't the only one who was thinking the same thing.

"Everything." You whisper as you look away, brushing at a tear that rolls hotly down your face.

"Goddamnit." Lando swears, shoving a hand through his curls. He hadn't even noticed his door was open after Melanie had followed after him. "Baby..." He reaches for you and you let him pull you to him, his steady warmth a comforting feeling as the panic rises in your chest.

"She's right, you know." You whisper into his chest so softly Lando nearly misses it.

Lando pulls back and the look of desperation on his face nearly breaks your heart. "What are you talking about?"

"The hate we're going to get. I'm going to get. She had a point, you have to admit. I'm a young, single mom dating a millionaire? People are going to think all I'm interested in is your money, just like they did with Kelly."

"Who cares what people think? Who cares what they say about us? The people in our lives that really matter know that's not why you're with me. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Until they start in on Stella. Have you seen some of the things they say about P?"

You were pretty confident you could handle any hate that you got but you knew that the moment you saw any hate towards your little girl, you'd be devastated. It had been something you'd been thinking about since Lando had brought up going public last night but you had been able to brush it aside. It hadn't seemed possible, the worry seeming far away and a little over dramatic but now? Now Melanie's words had anxiety twisting in your stomach.

"That's not going to happen." Lando pulls you deeper into his chest and nuzzles into your neck. He can practically feel you pulling away from him and terror shoots through him.

"You don't know that. Even if it doesn't, do you really want to spend the rest of this relationship constantly defending me? Defending us? That's no way to live, Lando. Melanie was right. I'm controversial and maybe we need to rethink this."

Lando's entire world stops spinning, his breath catching in his throat. "Wh...What? No, baby, no. Please don't do this. Don't pull away. Melanie is being hysterical. Nothing like that is going to happen."

If he had to get on his knees and beg you not to leave him, Lando would do it in a heartbeat.

"I'm not doing anything, I just need a minute to think okay?" You step out of his grasp, instantly missing his touch. You can't even look him in the eye, knowing that if you do you'll crumble. But you can't think of Lando or even yourself right now. "I have to consider what's best for Stella, okay?"

"Don't do this." Lando begs.

"I think I'm going to stay in my own room tonight." You whisper, voice straining with emotion as you barely contain the heartache in your tone.

"Is this the end?" Lando chokes out as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets. He's sure you'd step away if he tried to touch you right now and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle that kind of rejection from you. It felt like his entire world was crumbling around him and the only thing that could right this was you.

Tears stream down your face as you struggle for an answer. "No." You tell him after a moment and the relief that floods Lando's face nearly breaks your heart. "I just need some space to think is all, I promise."

"Can we still have dinner tonight?"

"I think it'd be best if I just spend the evening alone." It hurts, saying those words because you rarely get this much alone time with Lando but you need space so badly your skin begins to itch. You're desperate to get some distance from the paddock and the team and even Lando himself, to right yourself back to the proper head space. You had to consider Stella above your own heart.

If it was possible to die from a broken heart, Lando knew he was about to find out. He lets you go though, watching miserably from the spot he's rooted to on his floor as you back away slowly, almost like you're retreating from a dangerous animal or something.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

All he can do is nod as he watches you walk out the door for what he hopes isn't the last time.

You're just finishing the last bits of your makeup when there's a knock on your door Friday morning. You were a bit surprised because you knew full well that Lando had a key but the fact that he was nervous to use it after what had happened yesterday tugs at something in your chest.

You had been in the shower when he texted you that morning and the string of texts nearly broke your heart. You hadn't wanted to put him through that kind of pain but you had needed to take a moment to think through what had happened with Melanie and the comms team yesterday.

Slipping the robe Lando had gotten you in Japan a few weeks ago, you pad towards the door to open it. You're stopped completely in your tracks when you swing it open and get a glimpse of Lando in the hallway. He looks absolutely ravaged, like he didn't sleep a single second the night before, eyes red rimmed and puffy.

"Lan..." You whisper, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You reach for him, utterly perplexed suddenly as to why you had felt you needed distance from him.

When he folds you into his arms, the damn finally breaks and you sob into him, the entire previous day's emotions coming to a head. The way you finally feel complete when he's got you in his arms is unlike anything you've ever felt and for a brief moment yesterday, you had forgotten that fact.

When he kisses you, cradling your head in his hands, everything else quiets. The doubts, the fear, the anxiety. It all fades into the background with his lips on yours and you sigh into his mouth. For the first time on 24 hours you feel relieved, like you can actually tackle this issue instead of feeling like you're going to drown in your own thoughts.

Lando tugs you over to the bed, pulling you into his lap as he sits against the headboard. You tuck into his body as close as you can, head folded into that space between his neck and shoulder, drinking in the smell of him: fresh from the shower and slightly spicy from his cologne.

For several minutes, you both just sit there. Lando struggles to contain the relief that is flooding his body. He'd been absolutely miserable last night, eventually working himself into a panic attack at the thought of losing you and Stella. There was such a gaping hole in his soul when he thought about the prospect of you walking away, it scared him to death. He had never planned on falling for you, had resisted it for a bit, trying to convince himself that it was too quick to be feeling the way he did. Last night though? Last night had showed him he was further gone than he had ever expected.

"Did you mean what you said to Melanie yesterday?" You mumble into his neck after a few moments.

"Every word." Lando says without a moment of hesitation. "But is there a specific part you want me to confirm?"

You chuckle, pulling away so you can look him in the face. "The part where you said we're a package deal? That you love love us both?"

Lando brings his hands up to face your frame and you can't help but lean into him. "Of course I meant it. I'd do anything for either of you. I thought we'd established that, baby."

You drop your gaze from his then, somewhat knocked off center by the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry I got spooked. I'm just so used to doing this all on my own, no one ever wants to stay."

"Do you remember what I told you the first night we spent together in Bahrain?"

You blink, a small smile playing on your lips for the first time that morning. "You said a lot that night."

Lando rolls his eyes and kisses your temple. "It was after you had fallen asleep and I got up to get a drink of water. When I came back to bed, you curled right into me and said you thought I'd left you. You asked me to never leave you and and I told you I'd never leave you. I didn't mean it for just that night though."

Your heart thunders in your chest. You didn't remember that at all but the fact that he had said those words to you all those months ago. He'd been as far gone for you back then as you had.

"I love you more than words can say." He whispers and all you can do is nod back, emotion choking out your ability to speak for a few moments.

Lando reaches under your chin after a beat, lifting your face so he can see you. "Nobody said this was going to be easy but if we do this together, it'll be okay. You've got to trust me on this, baby. The team is fully supportive, I swear to you. Zak, Andrea, Oscar. Everyone that matters is on our side. I know you're scared and you want to protect Stella but you can't give up on our happiness because of some stupid people on the internet that don't matter."

Pain shoots through you, bright and quick as a lightning bolt as realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Something becomes crystal clear in that moment and you find yourself nodding.

"You're right. I know you are. I want Stella to see me choose myself instead of sacrificing my happiness for some stupid what ifs." It isn't until Lando says what he does that you're able to finally put into words what you've slowly been coming to realize over the last few hours. You'd been scared to admit it, scared that choosing yourself in this meant you were putting Stella second but when Lando tells you that you can't give up your own happiness to protect her, everything clicks into place.

"I want her to know that she can do hard things and choose her own path and if i listen to Melanie all I show her is that the bullies win."

"That's my girl." Lando praises, pulling you into another soul shattering kiss. "I love you." He whispers against your lips.

"Lan..." You pull away suddenly, eyes going wide. "The reason I was outside your driver's room yesterday was because Stella demanded to talk to you before bed and then..." You drop the sentence, the memory of yesterday slicing through you once again. "Do we have time to call her now? She was so mad at me last night when I said you were too busy to talk."

"Don't you ever tell my Stelly Belly I'm too busy to talk to her again." He teases before grabbing his phone. "Is she with Sarah today? They had a half day, didn't they. She was all about going to the cinema with Sarah today last time I talked to her."

The smile that settles on your face is nothing short of brilliant. For the first time in nearly 24 hours, you finally feel settled, like everything had righted itself after being so very briefly run off course. "Lets see if she can talk now before the get to the show."

landonorris posted

789,039 likes liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, BFFSarah, and others landonorris did someone say 'hard launch'? user029 oh she's PRETTY PRETTY yourusername <3 >>>user029 ugh, profile's private but SHE HAS A CHILD??? >>>user2992 if this means we're going to get dad lando content the same yaer we get dad max content, the internet may not survive BFFSarah can i like this more than once!?! <3 user0299 OMG WAIT I saw her in the background of tv shots this weekend except she was in a McLaren team kit. LANDO NOT DATING AN INFLUENCER??? >>>user3422 didn't know he had it in him >>>user000 god, i am such a sucker for a workplace romance trope

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hvnlygrl · 2 days ago

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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

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rafesbabyg1rl · 3 days ago

Text

Private Session - part three

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Summary: Rafe likes to watch reader while she works as a stripper. He pays her for private sessions, in which he gets to take her home and do whatever he pleases. When he finds out Barry has been selling you to customers, he gets jealous. After you're short on a payment for Barry, he makes you pay in a different way. Rafe eventually finds out and he's not happy. Can Rafe get you out of this sticky situation?

Pairings: Stripper!Reader X obsessive!Rafe

Warnings: Rafe is obsessive of reader. Reader is a stripper. Mention of drugs, violence (fighting), death threats, guns, p in v, unprotected sex, language, praise, SMUT!, use of y/n like one time.

Word Count: 5.0k

Author Note: Hey babes! I originally got this idea from this GIF , like just imagine he's sitting in the strip club throwing dollar bills at you like that. Some of this part was inspired by Dexter s7 ep9. This fic is NOT fully proofread. I'm SO SO SO sorry for being so inactive :(

This is the last part of Private Sessions! I'm actually pretty pleased with how this fic ended up, since it was only meant to be one part. If I get requests relating to this, or if I get struck with random inspiration, I'm not against writing more for this!

Credits: GIF from this post

After you’d hooked up with Rafe–well, you wouldn't exactly call it a hook up. After you had another private session with Rafe, your top paying client, also the entire reason you’re now a hooker, you stayed the night at his place. That morning, following the many, many orgasms he had gotten out of you and the half-hearted ‘goodnights’ you two had exchanged before falling asleep, Rafe had left you alone. He had woken you up, briefly mumbling to you about having some business to attend to, making sure you know that you’re allowed to stay for however long you please. Before leaving, Rafe gathered your scattered clothing and left it in a neat pile on one of the chairs in his bedroom. On top of the pile, he left you money. Sure, he had already given you nearly a thousand dollars for your time, but he felt that you deserved a tip, so he left a crisp hundred-dollar bill for you to find, as well as money to call an uber, since he’s unable to give you a ride back.

Of course this kind of treatment was completely unbeknownst to you. You had never expected Rafe Cameron to treat women this well, especially those he has to pay to fuck. But you’re not complaining. Your other clients never even spare a thought about how you feel, it’s only about them. But Rafe…he makes sure you feel good. He wants you to feel good. He cares about making sure you get what you need more than he cares about his own experience. This isn’t just confusing to you, since he’s also wondering why he cares, or why he’s even paying for you specifically when he has a variety of women he could fuck for free. All he knows is that he needs more of you–he needs to make things right with you somehow.

After you left his house later that morning, you had gone back to work. Barry wasn’t happy with you, you hadn’t come back like he asked last night. He needed you to work the floor, since you’re the ‘star’ of the club–the favorite. Which, all that means to you is that Barry’s got you working unreasonable hours.

“Shit…” he huffs, taking in your appearance as you show up at the club. Since it’s still morning, nobody else was there. You really had hoped he wasn’t there either, just wanting to get in, grab your shit, and go home. But of course that wasn’t the case. You stand there, gathering your items from your locker, feeling smaller with each passing second that he stares at you, laughing at your disheveled appearance. You had stolen some of Rafe’s clothes since you didn’t feel like wearing that tiny, itchy little dress you had left in last night.

“I’ll be back for my shift tomorrow.” You tell him as you try to leave the room. However, he moves to block the doorway, causing you to pause, looking down at the ground with a huff, trying to keep your cool.

“Where’s my money, princess?” Barry asks, his voice cold. You sigh, having forgotten. You reach into your duffle bag, pulling out the cash Rafe gave you for your most recent session. You do the math in your head, determining what 25% of your earnings are. You round his cut up to about $300, handing him the cash.

“There.” You shove the money into his chest. “Your cut.”

Barry chuckles at your attitude, clearly not appreciating it. His hand lingers on yours for longer than what’s needed as he grabs the cash from you. He quickly counts the bills in his hand, sighing and looking back up at you. “This is all? You were gone all night and this…” he waves the cash in front of your face. “This is all you’ve got for me.”

You swallow roughly, nodding at him. “That’s 25%.” You say, keeping your voice strong. “And then some.” you add, with a bit less confidence this time, knowing it’s not enough to keep him from getting all worked up.

Barry makes a small tsk sound, softly shaking his head. “How you gonna make this up to me then, hm?”

“That’s your cut. I’m off today, so…I, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You try to move past him, but he grabs onto your shoulder, stopping you.

“Nah…no, I don’t think so. You were out all night, not my fault you settled for less than your rate.” Barry still thinks you had gone with the client you were meant to meet last night, not knowing you went off with Rafe. Not that it would change anything if he did know. Really, Rafe had actually overpaid, again, for your time and effort. But, you hadn’t planned on staying the night in his bed, he had just pushed you past what you could handle, tiring the both of you out. So you get why he thinks you were underpaid. “Not my fault you stayed out all night, like a real fuckin’ slut.” His words cause you to wince, you hated being called that, because you aren’t a slut. You never chose to sell out your body, you just need the money.

Barry can see the fire behind your eyes, the calm demeanor you try so hard to maintain threatening to snap any moment now. He can tell he’s getting under your skin, which makes him enjoy this all the more. “You’re gonna pay for your mistakes.” You can feel his grip on your shoulder tighten as his eyes scour your clothed figure as you two stand in the doorway.

“Barry, please. I need that money, It’s my money. We made a deal, and you got your cut.” You plead, except your voice isn’t polite and soft like usual, you’re clearly pissed.

“Well…that’s not the only way.” He starts. You have a confused expression etched onto your face as he speaks. “You can always put in some hours today…” he explains, his hand dropping from your shoulder to the hem of the t-shirt you stole from Rafe.

“But, we’re closed?” You remind him. “I guess…I guess I can come back later for a few hours.”

“No.” He leans in closer, smirking. His mouth is almost touching the shell of your ear, close enough that you can feel his hot, sticky breath against your skin. “You’re gonna put some time in right now. A little private session, hm?” His hand moves around to your backside, slowly trailing down the curve of your lower back.

You recognize this tone of voice, the suggestion of his words hanging in the air heavily. Really, you can’t say no. Because there’s no fucking way you’re giving him another cent of your hard earned cash. So, you reluctantly agree.

Barry wants the full show, so he makes you get into uniform. He even went through your things, picking out what he wants you to wear. And of course he picks your newest pieces of lingerie, the ones Rafe had just gifted you last night. The one he told you was for his eyes only, which you had fully intended to honor his request, but you couldn’t say no to your boss. Barry had turned on all the club’s lights and music, setting the perfect scene for you both. He takes you into one of the private rooms.

First, he has you start off slow, just simply sucking him off. After that, he makes you dance for him for what feels like an hour, until he’s hard again and ready for more. He fucks you. Though it doesn’t last long, which you’re glad, since he’s not giving any regard to how you feel. He fucks you selfishly, using you however he pleases. The only thing he does that shows any sort of regard or care for you is not finishing inside you, instead making you swallow his loads. After a couple of hours, he finally lets you leave, saying that you’re all paid up…for now. You figure that since he’s crossed this line with you, it’s not going to be the last. Knowing Barry he’ll be making up absurd excuses to make you ‘pay’ some more.

You feel disgusting, so immediately you go home and shower, scrubbing any trace of him off of you. As you stand in front of the mirror wrapped in a towel, you observe the various marks covering your body from your clients. You hate the proof they leave on you, proof that you’re a hooker. You glance at the newer, more vibrant marks on your neck, you can’t help but smile a bit as you run your fingers over the bruised skin, remembering how Rafe has created them. Once you realize that you’re smiling at his memory, you immediately stop, shaking the thoughts out of your head.

The next day you return to work, absolutely dreading having to face Barry. Not only him, but you’re getting really over having sex with these wrinkly, old, men who can’t even get it up without taking a little pill. Each session you have with a client chipping a small part of yourself away. As you enter the staff room, you practically run into Rafe’s chest, his hands coming up to rest on your shoulders, stopping you. The two of you make brief eye contact before he walks out of the room that you’re entering. Barry stands in the center of the room, shaking his head as he looks up at you.

“Well shit,” he scoffs, rubbing a rough hand over his face. “Some boyfriend you got, huh?” Your eyebrows furrow immediately. Barry notices the crease between your brows. “Looks like you’ve only got one client now.” He chuckles.

“Wait…Rafe talked to you?” You ask, wondering if he was being truthful when he said he’d talk to Barry for you.

“Yeah, Rafe. But don’t think that means you ain’t gonna get more hours on the floor. I ain’t losin’ my main source of cash just ‘cause your boyfriend’s a little jealous.”

You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes and tell him that he’s not your boyfriend. You can tell he’s pissed and doesn’t want to listen to Rafe. Which makes you wonder how he got Barry to agree to this, since you are the ‘star’ of the club. Barry scoffs, walking out into the main portion of the club.

You feel like a major weight has been lifted off your chest, feeling so much better now that you don’t have to sell out your body. Well, other than when you’re dancing. But that’s different. At least nobody has to touch you anymore…other than those who you actually want touching you.

After changing and getting prepared, you work the pole per usual. About an hour into your shift, you spot Rafe sitting across the club, getting a lap dance from one of the other dancers, except he looks like he could care less about her–he’s looking at you. You’re not jealous–no, definitely not. Why would you be jealous? He’s just your client; your customer. You make eye contact with him and instead of looking away, you find yourself staring right back at him while you dance.

On your break, you make your way into the back room, where a few of the other girls are also taking their break. You’ve never had problems with the other girls, but you’ve never called them friends either, just coworkers. You can hear them talking before you enter the room, and when you walk in, suddenly it’s silent as their heads turn to you. You ignore their stares, heading over to the fridge to grab a yogurt. You hear their whispers as you turn your back to them.

“She’s fucking the boss.” One of them says earning a few gasps and a ‘really?’ from the others. “Yeah, I heard she doesn’t have to take clients anymore.” She responds.

Another girl adds, “shit, I’d fuck him too if it meant I’d get special treatment”, earning laughs from everyone in the room. You take a deep breath, slamming the fridge closed and turning to face them.

“I’m not getting special treatment!” You say harshly, a stark contrast to your typical shy demeanor.

“So you’re not fucking him?”

You’re so engulfed in frustration that you don’t even notice Rafe and Barry walk into the room. “Okay yeah, I fucked Barry once but it was because–” you don’t get to finish explaining before you’re cut off by Rafe’s sharp voice, which startles you.

“You fucked my girl?” He snaps at Barry. In which Barry just smirks in response, only serving to further piss Rafe off.

“They’re my girls while they’re working. And I gotta say, she takes her job very seriously–”. Before Barry can get anything else out Rafe cuts him off with a quick punch to the jaw, causing him to tumble back. You jump back as all the other girls collectively gasp, but they know better than to intervene. Barry rubs his Jaw, standing up straight and chuckling dryly.

“Country Club,” he laughs. “You really wanna do this, huh? All for a fuckin’ slut?” Rafe steps forward, punching Barry again before looking up at the others in the room.

“Get the fuck out!” He shouts before looking at Barry, moving to punch him again as the others quickly scurry out of the room. You stay, shocked at the event unfolding in front of you–because of you. The fight continues, Barry trying to fight back as best he can, but he’s no match for Rafe, especially since he’s got no motivation.

Barry manages to get a few punches in, making Rafe step back for a moment. You see him reach into the back of his jeans, grabbing the gun he has tucked into the waistband of his jeans. You gasp again when you see the gun and step back until your back hits a wall. You know Rafe’s involved in some bad shit and you’re used to seeing him use cocaine, but you’re not used to him having a gun, especially with it being pointed at someone. Before you have time to even think, Rafe hits Barry with his gun, pistol whipping him and making him fall to the floor.

Rafe leans forward over Barry, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling his head up until they’re face-to-face. “Call her a slut again–touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you.” He spits, letting go of Barry, making his head drop back against the floor, all bloodied and bruised. You make yourself look away, not wanting to see the damage Rafe did–the damage you caused. “Consider this her notice.” He mutters quickly, tucking the gun back into his waistband as he turns to face you. “Let’s go.” He says quickly, moving to walk out of the room. But you can’t move, you’re still in shock from what you just witnessed. When Rafe turns around and sees that you’re not following him he lets out a sharp breath, walking over to you and grabbing you by the arm. “I said let’s go.” His words are demanding and mean, different from the way he typically talks to you. His eyes are cold and distant as he tugs you out of the room, through the club. The others watch him drag you away, not daring to say a word as they stare.

Rafe takes you out to the parking lot, shoving you into his truck. You still haven’t even spoken a word by the time you get to his house. He pulls into the driveway, putting his truck in park and killing the engine. He speaks, still looking straight out of the windshield and not daring to look at you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice isn’t as rough anymore, though still distant. You don’t respond which makes him look over you after a few silent moments. “I said m’sorry.” His voice is a bit louder, making you jump back in your seat.

“I heard.” You mumble coldly.

Rafe scoffs at your mumbles, feeling like you should be grateful for what he did for you. But you’re the exact opposite. You can’t let yourself feel relieved that you don’t have to work for Barry anymore. Because that was your job. And unlike Rafe, you actually need a job to survive. Plus, you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into with Rafe now. You think back to what he had said to Barry just before the fight. He called you his girl. What the fuck does that mean?

His strong grip pulls you out of your thoughts as he tugs out of his truck, bringing you inside his house. He gets you up to his bedroom and you sit on the bed, just thinking in an uncomfortable silence. You blame this on yourself. You’re the reason the other girls have to sell themselves, because you fucked Rafe…and you can’t stop fucking him. You’re the reason they’re in that hell, and you got out of it because of Rafe. It’s not fair to them. And you’re the reason Rafe nearly killed the man he’s closest to.

You watch as Rafe goes into the adjoining bathroom, trying to wash the blood off of his hands, which only reveals that his own knuckles are all battered and bloody. You get up from the bed, padding over to the bathroom. He sees you approach him in the mirror and he keeps his eyes on you. You tap his waist, silently signaling him to turn around. When he turns away from the sink, now leaning up against it instead as he watches you curiously. You carefully take his hands in yours, briefly examining them. “Here…” you let go, grabbing a nearby rag and getting it damp with warm water. “Let me…” you speak softly as you take one of his hands in your own, gently dabbing at his knuckles with the rag. He winces at the contact, “shit, I know, sorry. But I need to clean them.”

“S’fine.” He mutters. Not once does he take his eyes off of your face. He notices how your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you focus, making the slightest hint of a grin form on his beaten face, which you don’t notice of course since you’re too busy cleaning his knuckles.

You finish one hand, now cleaning the other which isn’t quite as bad since it’s his non-dominant hand. Once you’re done, you look up at him. He’s standing so close you can practically feel his breath on your face as he stares down at you. Now that you’re finally looking at him for the first time since the fight, you see the bruise forming on his jaw and the slight blood stain at the corner of his mouth. You lift your hand up, gently caressing the bruise. You can tell he wants to wince, but he doesn’t let himself, not wanting you to pull your hand away. The tension is so thick it’s almost visible; the silence unbearable. The only sound being that of both of you breathing.

“About Barry–” you start, feeling like you need to explain why you had slept with him. But Rafe doesn’t let you finish, walking away into his bedroom.

“Doesn’t matter.” He speaks sharply as he strips down into his boxers, setting his gun in the top drawer of his nightstand. You follow behind him.

“No, please just let me–” you cut yourself off, annoyed at the fact that he’s avoiding looking at you. You step closer behind him, gently touching his arm which makes him finally turn around. “Rafe…”

“What?” Rafe snaps, his eyes making uncomfortable eye contact with you, but you don’t turn away.

“He made me give him a private session. ‘Said I didn’t bring back enough money for him. I had to. It was that or give him my money, b-but I need that money. I swear I didn’t want to-” You ramble, not sure why you even care to explain yourself to him, it’s not like you need to.

“Jesus, shut up. I don’t care, alright? Just go to bed.” He waves your hand off of his arm, turning his back to you again as he pulls the comforter back and gets under it.

You want to ask why you’re even here with him. He brought you here to…sleep? Why? But, you decide against it. Instead, you just walk over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. You quickly strip out of your “uniform”, feeling his eyes burn holes into you as you change into his clothes. You turn the bedroom light off on your way back to the bed. You climb in next to him, keeping somewhat of a distance between you two. You’re not exactly sure where he stands in all this or what you are. You wait for him to make a move and get closer, but he doesn’t. You both just lie there in silence. Eventually you start to doze off, though immediately woken up by the faint sound of a car pulling up, followed by some shouting.

“Rafe Cameronn,” the voice calls out, soon banging on the door. It’s Barry. Fuck.

You jolt up, but Rafe is already out of bed, pulling on a shirt and sweats, quickly getting downstairs to the door before Barry lets himself in.

Still feeling loopy from sleep, you sit up in bed, listening to what’s happening. You can only hear shouting between the two, but you can’t tell what they’re saying. You leave Rafe’s room, walking more towards the front of the house where you can slightly make out the conversation.

You hear Rafe yell, “The fuck is wrong with you? Did you not hear me say I’ll fucking kill you, huh?! Because I will. You know I will.”

“Nah,” Barry laughs. “I don’t think you will, country club.”

“You’re fucking dead.”

“No, you are.” Barry responds. “Pulling that shit on me in my own fucking club?”

When it gets silent, you get worried and peek out one of the windows facing the front of the house. “Fuck!” You panic when you notice that Barry has a gun pulled on Rafe who has his hands up. He doesn’t have his gun. You run back into Rafe’s room, grabbing his gun from inside his nightstand before you get the chance to think about what you’re doing. After fiddling with it for a moment, you manage to get the safety off.

You rush downstairs and with a deep breath, you swing open the front door, stepping outside with the gun raised, pointing it right at Barry. “Put it down.” You say weakly. Barry laughs at you, which is probably reasonable, you probably look ridiculous standing there with a gun, your hands shaking. You repeat yourself with more confidence and higher volume this time. “Put the fucking gun down! I swear to god I’ll fucking shoot!” You’d never pictured yourself like this. Hell, you’ve never even touched a gun before. And right now, it’s not the situation that scares you the most, but the fact that in this moment, if need be, you will pull the trigger. And it’s that fact that scares you.

After some time, Barry gives a dry and defeated chuckle. “Alright, alright! Look,” he tosses the gun aside. You immediately move to give Rafe his gun and you stand behind his large frame. At this point, Barry knows he needs to accept the defeat. He knows he’s not gonna beat Rafe in this, not when it comes to you. “Fine, I’m leaving. I didn’t know she was yours like that, ‘aight? She’s done, she’s all yours now, Rafe.” Barry slowly picks up his gun, tucking it into his waistband before retreating to his car. Once Barry finally drives off, Rafe lowers his gun.

Your heart is racing from the adrenaline. So when you both get inside, you’re practically jumping his bones before the door even closes. Rafe doesn’t protest. He carries you up to his room, dropping you down onto the bed. Quickly, he’s shedding his layers until he’s completely bare in front of you. You do the same. He stands over you, staring at you for a moment with a hungry look in his eyes, making you feel like prey. In one move, he’s on top of you, kissing you eagerly. Pulling back to nibble on your earlobe, whispering to you. “Fuck that was so fucking hot, baby. Saved my ass back there, huh?”

“I…I couldn’t watch him hurt you.” Is all you say before his lips are on yours again, his hand that’s not propping him up over you traveling your naked body, quickly finding your clit. You’re glad because you didn’t want to have to explain any more, because you don’t know why you did what you did. Obviously you care for him in some weird, twisted way if you were willing to kill a man to protect him from being shot.

His fingers start to circle your clit, making you moan into his mouth. You close your eyes in pleasure. Without warning he pushes into you, gentler than your previous times with him. This time he actually gives you time to adjust. When he starts moving his hips against you, his thrusts are slow and sensual.

“Fuck…” you cry out. Your noises rile him up even more, he speeds up, finding the pace that makes you scream out his name. Your fingers dig into his muscular torso as he moves your legs to rest over his shoulders, making him hit the spongy spot deep inside of you.

He leans down to kiss and nip at your neck, leaving faint marks behind. His lips trail lower and lower until he reaches your chest, latching onto one of your nipples. Between the unforgiving pace that he’s drilling into you at, his mouth on your chest, and his fingers teasing your clit, you’re seeing stars like you never have before. Your hips try wriggling away from the immense and almost unbearable pleasure, but he pulls you right back in even tighter.

“Fuck baby, so fuckin’ tight. Such a good girl f’me…” he groans against your chest, pressing quick, open-mouthed kisses to your soft skin. “My fuckin’ good girl, yeah? All fuckin’ mine now…” he leans back to watch your face, noticing how your eyes are squeezed shut. He takes his hand away from your clit, grabbing your chin roughly. “Look at me.” Rafe demands.

You obey, making direct eye contact with him as the band in your stomach snaps, releasing a burning heat that spreads throughout your entire body. His pace slows, working you through your high. Soon after, you feel the unforgivable feeling of him painting your insides with his hot, sticky release.

Eventually he stills inside of you, leaning down to kiss all over your body. When he’s fully soft, he pulls out and rolls off of you, laying on his side next to you. You catch your breath, turning on your side to face him. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. “Holy fuck…” you mutter in disbelief. You hadn’t thought the last time with him could’ve been topped, but you’ve been proven wrong. Something about it was…different. This time it wasn’t just sex and you knew it.

He reaches out, his touch gentle now rather than rough and desperate. His hair sticking to his sweat-beaded forehead, the look in his eyes and the smile on his face making you melt. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Rafe…” you say, slightly turning your head. Which he just moves right back to face him.

“What is it?” His tone is soft and caring, like he actually wants to know what’s got you so quiet.

“Nothing…well, it…it’s just…” you pause, taking a deep breath before saying what you’re thinking. You prepare yourself for the worst. “You keep…you keep calling me your girl?”

He questions you back in response, his tone carrying a more serious note this time. “Is that an issue?” He runs his thumb over your eyebrow, admiring your features.

“No…well…I, I guess I just don’t know what you mean.” You say honestly, making him breath out a quick sigh. Shit, you think.

“I mean…you’re my girl, y/n. You don’t need a job, alright? I got plenty money for us both, yeah? You can stay here whenever you want. You’re mine…’n I’m yours, yeah? How’s that sound, hm?” You just stare at him for a bit, questioning if he really just asked that or your brain is making it up so you don’t have to deal with the embarrassment. “Y/n?” He repeats softly.

“Yea…yeah.” You stutter, making him chuckle at how flustered you are. “Like…boyfriend girlfriend?”

He laughs at your question, finding it adorable. “Yeah, like boyfriend girlfriend.” Rafe reassures you, his hand moving from your face to brush through your hair again.

“Yes!” You spit out a little too eagerly. You quickly flash a bright shade of red in embarrassment. You gather yourself, speaking at a normal speed now, “yeah…um that, that sounds good. I like that.” You smile.

He slides in a quick “I like you.” He smirks, thinking he’s so smooth which makes you laugh. He pulls you in for a soft, tender kiss. Rafe pulls you in, wrapping an arm over you as your head rests on his bare chest. He pulls a sheet up over you both.

You lie there in a comfortable silence. Just when you’re about to drift off you tilt your head up to look at him, and he’s already staring at you of course. You mumble, “thank you…f-for getting me outta that club.” You lay your head back down and tilts his own head down to kiss your forehead.

“Thanks for saving me, baby.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!!! I love you so so so much!!! I just hit 200 followers and I'm shocked, I literally just started posting in the beginning of November, so this is insane. Also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Please leave requests! I can't promise I'll get to them all, but I really love receiving them and hearing feedback from you guys.

Taglist: @munsoncultedits

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saioratral · 2 days ago

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PARING: yuuta okkotsu x f!reader

PROMPT: my pretty girl SYNOPSIS: insecure? that word doesn't exist when yuuta's around

WARNING: lightly talks about insecurities (love yourself and cherish yourself :D) NOTE: i wrote this during my cringe dump moments. it was actually a cringe- VERY CRINGE smut but i couldn't get myself to post that version💔 so i edited it again. i'm a bit embarrased cause now it's from my uh 'drafts' (only one person knows what i'm talking about)

shirts, dresses, turtlenecks, sweaters- nothing ever looked good on you. not today, not ever. no matter how many times you tried on different outfits, none seemed to fit quite right, or flatter the way you'd hoped. you stood in front of the mirror, gazing at the reflection staring back at you. it felt harsh, like every angle displayed your flaws. you feel frustrated, taking off the piece and letting it fall on the ground. the calvin klein logo now visible when you toss your shirt off from anger- even that was pissing you off

“ready to go babe?”, yuuta pops his head out of the bathroom after pushing his hair in his usual style

you turned towards him, feeling suddenly self-conscious from the lack of clothing, fingers nervously tugging at the hem of your skirt. “i don’t know what to wear”

yuuta looked confused for a moment, glancing from you to the mess of clothes around the room. he flipped the bathroom light off before walking toward you, crouching down to pick up a few of the ‘rejected’ choices

“oh, isn’t this your favorite sweater? the pink one from our shopping trip?” he asked, holding up the sweater

you took a slow breath, your gaze on the ribbon design sweater in his hand. “it is,” you said, but the words felt unconvincing. “i feel ugly in it”

“ugly?” yuuta repeated

his face softened as he stared at you, clearly unsure of how to reply. how could you say those words about yourself?

before you could say anything else, yuuta moved closer, his hand reaching out to rest on your waist. his touch was gentle, as if he was seeking permission. you didn’t pull away, offering him a sad smile

“angels can’t be ugly,” yuuta whispered as he guided you toward the mirror for you to see yourself. “angels are pretty. so... pretty”

“well not this one”, you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes

yuuta wasn’t about to give up so easily. he released your waist, only to gently tug at your left hand, guiding you toward the bed. without warning, he nudged you, and you found yourself gently falling back onto the soft, warm sheets that enveloping your tired body, letting your mind drift off somewhere

but he doesn’t let you drift, yuuta was here to remind you how pretty you are. the restaurant reservation can wait, but this? this can't

“don’t say that, pretty”, he called as he hovered above you. his arms were braced beside you, locking his gaze with yours before resting his forehead on yours

the only sound was the soft rhythm of your breathing and the faint scent of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting hug. in that moment, you were in his world- his universe. it was a place where you felt safe. a place where you didn’t have to hide or feel unworthy

“you’re so pretty”, yuuta whispered. then, as if a reminder, he gently booped your nose with a playful grin

“let’s find you a nice top?”, yuuta asks but doesn’t move to his words

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “i think we can skip the reservation today”

you lift your head up to kiss him and yuuta deepens it, guiding you gently down onto the sheets. his hands roam, tracing the curves of your body as though memorizing every inch he had seen over and over. his hands rest on your waist, he pulls you closer before breaking the kiss to catch his breath. gently, he shifts you without letting you do anything, settling you to rest on the pillows instead

"we can", yuuta murmurs, his voice low as his lips trace the curve of your neck. his hands move to your back, fingers quickly working to undo the strap of your calvin's

"i want to spend the night with my pretty girl"

© saioratral 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images used are from pinterest

#yuta okkotsu #jujutsu kaisen x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x you #yuuta okkotsu x reader #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuuta okkotsu #jujutsu yuta #okkotsu yuuta #ᡣsaioratral⋆˙୧⍤⃝

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scorpioriesling · 3 days ago

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What Happens on NYE…

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, Eris, Tamlin x Reader

Warning(s): none

Summary: Each of the ACOTAR males paired with reader of you were to attend a NYE celebration with any of them. <3

SR’s Note: So… HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!! I’ve been so busy getting ✨married✨ (yes, quite literally. Lol.) & then getting back into the swing of things — not to mention, becoming really sick as 2024 wraps up. (‘: Not to worry! I have the best friends, family, and hubby that have been taking the most care of me. I know I’ve been lacking, especially with the Invisible String series — so allow me to feed y’all tonight, at least a little bit!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Rhysand

“Sweetheart, what’s got you so… preoccupied?”

You sigh, turning your attention away from the drink you’d been studying to meet your husband’s gaze.

“I just… I’m just so… I don’t know, dear. Preoccupied, like you said.” You chew on your lip, the cranberry juice in your glass doing little to calm your nerves. Around you, Rhysand’s closest friends and family flit about, singing and dancing and drunkenly laughing with one another. Usually, you’d be right there with them — it’s felt like ages since you’d had a stiff drink last.

“Darling,” he coos, his hand sliding against yours as he takes your glass from you. “Whatever is there to worry for?”

Just then, a large crash sounds from the room adjacent — and your husband pulls you close to his chest out of instinct. When you lock eyes again, he chuckles.

“Why don’t we—“ he sets your glass down on the kitchen table. “… go somewhere more, private, hm?” You nod, a small smile forming on your lips as his hand wraps protectively around yours waist. He runs his fingers up and down your spine, his next words holding a smile of their own.

“Ahh, now there’s that beautiful smile I love so much.”

He walks with you to the terrace, quietly opening the doors and stepping outside with you. The cool breeze of the night feels wonderful against your skin, which only grew warmer by the minute.

“A new dress tonight, hm?”

You grab the loose fabric of the skirts, swishing it back and forth. He leans against the railing as the light of the moon reflects off of his silky black hair.

“Yes — do you like it?” He nods, scanning you up and down.

“I love it, dear. I must say, I’ve never seen you in a style like this.” He takes your hand, pulling you close to him once more. The light of the ever rising moon makes the band on his ring finger gleam.

“Well… it is New Year’s eve, after all.” You fake a confident smile. It was true — you usually went for more form-fitting gowns, or ones that at least showed off your assets… but this occasion was, well… different.

“It’s nearly midnight, you know.” Rhys points out, his gaze fixing on the moon above. You nod quietly, preparing for the clock to strike twelve.

“Anything you want to leave behind this year? To not bring into the new year with you?” He asks. You chew your lip again, not sure how to answer. You’d prepared and practiced for weeks, yet now it felt as though no amount of preparation could have helped you for this moment.

Rhys shrugs after a moment. “I, for one, would like to leave any bad vibes behind now,” he pauses, listening and chuckling as Cassian belts out a line from the newest Taylor Swift song inside. You can’t help but laugh too as he says, “… and, maybe Cassians singing.”

The lighthearted moment eases you for only a second, a mere glimpse of time before you must work to steady your mind again. You realize, going into the new year, with the husband you have — this is exactly, the right moment, and nothing would make it more perfect.

“I, have something I’d like to bring with us into the new year, rather.” You say, and Rhys looks out as fireworks burst among the stars, cheering through all of Velaris heard from where the two of you stood. As you gazed upon the side of your gorgeous husbands face, you took a deep breath and just said it.

“Rhys, I’m pregnant.”

He slowly turns to you, his joyous expression morphing into surprise as he gazes into your tear-filled eyes.

“W-what?” You don’t think you’d ever heard the High Lord of the Night Court stutter. “Did you say-“

“I’m pregnant,” you say again, more confidently. His eyes grow larger, his hands taking yours as his lips curl into a wide grin.

“You’re… oh Gods, we’re…” he laughs breathily, almost in disbelief.

“We’re having a baby, Rhys!” You beam, and he instantly swoops you into his arms, spinning you around in the light of the firework streaked sky.

“We’re having a baby!” He shouts joyously, gently setting you down to take your face in his hands and pull you into a deep kiss. When he releases you, he stares down at you in pure joy, his hands cupping your cheeks.

“My darling, you’re going to make such a wonderful mother.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Cassian

You bend in half, laughing so hard your stomach begins to tighten. Eyes squeezed shut, you try to regain your composure — but what your boyfriend said was just so. Damn. Funny.

“Cass… you’re truly a comedian,” Mor giggles from beside you, her hand resting on your shoulder. When you open your eyes again, the first thing you see is your handsome man’s face alight with a smile.

“So I’ve been told,” he chuckles, taking yet another sip of his beer. His gaze settles on you as he slides a hand around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing you on the head. “That’s how I got this one, yeah?”

Mor laughs again, and you blush as you lean into his strong frame. Strong, but a little wobbly under the influence of all the alcohol he’d consumed tonight.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” Mor hiccups. “…to convince yourself worthy of such a gorgeous girl.” She winks, and you reach a swaying arm for her.

“Awwwh, Mor,” you say, as she stumbles a bit before standing upright. “You’re such a good friend!” There was a million better things you could’ve said, but in your intoxicated state, that’s all you could come up with.

“Oh my gosh!” The blonde squeals. “It’s starting!”

Everyone’s attention turns to the widescreen, the DJ cutting the music as the number 10 flashes on the screen.

“Alllllright, Rita’s!” He announces over the mic. “Let’s count down into this new year together tonight, shall we?”

The crowd cheers, beginning the descent from 10 as the numbers flash on the screen. Cassian pulls you closer, and you all but crane your neck to look up at him.

“Six, five, four…”

Cassians hand slides against your jaw, the other holding you to him by the small of your back.

“Three, two…”

“Gods, you are the most beautiful-“

“One, Happy New Year!”

You don’t even let the crowd get to one, or allow your boyfriend to finish that sweet sentiment before you press up into your tip-toes and smush your lips onto his. His grip tightens, almost lifting you off the floor as his mouth drunkenly devours yours. When you finally do pull away, he smiles softly at you as though it were just the two of you in the middle of the dance floor.

“I… truly am,” he whispers. “So, so lucky.”

Then, his mouth is on yours once more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Azriel

“Dare!”

Feyre takes another long swig from her glass, giggling as she sets it down in front of her.

“I dare you, Nesta,” she giggles. “To take off your bra, right now!” She cackles, as the group expresses their disbelief.

Through the protests and shocked expressions, Feyre groans over-exaggeratedly.

“Oh come on,” she whines. Nesta reaches behind her back, working to unhook the clasps.

“Yeah — it’s nothing you’ve never seen before.” She triumphantly yanks her bra free, removing it and tossing it into Cassians lap without so much as untying her gown. Cassian scoffs, feigning annoyance.

“What am I gonna do with this?” He picks it up, beginning to inspect it. Nesta chuckles, sitting up on her knees as she scans the group.

“Hehehe… my turn.” Her steely gray eyes land on you. “Hm. Y/N,” she says, and you feel your heart jump. You never liked truth or dare much anyway, especially not when your crush was involved.

“Truth? Or dare?” She raises an eyebrow.

You gulp. “Umm. Truth, please.”

She grins wickedly, subtly looking between you and Azriel as she pretends to contemplate a question for you.

“Truth, then. Hmm… alright, I’ve got one.” She leans back on her hands, watching as you fidget with yours.

“If you had to pick anyone in this group to kiss tonight, who would you pick?”

Your face heats, and you glare at her. Practically everyone knew of your interest in Azriel, everyone but himself — admitting that now would only be embarrassing.

“Oh… Gods Nesta, uhh…” The tequila from earlier swirls in your stomach, and for once, Azriel looks as though he’s interested in the game again and not the countdown celebration happening beyond the palace walls.

Your eyes meet hers, and she gives you an encouraging look.

“Go on then… name them.”

You swallow, glancing toward Azriel. Grave mistake, he was already looking at you.

Your cheeks deepen their shade of crimson.

“M-maybe… uh, Azriel.”

Nesta shakes her head slowly, that wicked grin only growing. Soft chanting from outside can be heard, the citizens of Velaris participating in the end of year countdown. They’re already at eight when members of the Inner Circle notice how near it is to midnight.

“Guys �� it’s almost midnight!” Cassian says giddily, but Nesta keeps her gaze trained on you.

“Prove it.” She says lowly, and you sigh, taking your abandoned glass and throwing back the rest of what was in it.

In an instant, you’re standing, stumbling toward Azriel — your friend, your trainer. Your true love. If only he saw it that way.

“Five, four,” the friend group has engaged in the chanting as well.

Those deep hazel eyes meet yours, his rough hands reaching to help steady you as your friends brush past you for a look out the windows. He cracks a smile, his gently hands bracing against your forearms. You are close, so close — foreheads practically touching as he leans down to peer directly into your eyes.

Behind him, Nesta rises slowly, seeming rather pleased with herself.

“So,” his voice is low and gravelly. “Are you going to prove it?”

You don’t think twice before pressing your lips against his, every point of contact between the two of you sending a million fireworks through you. His lips move, eager for more — you’re happy to oblige.

Behind you, cheering and clapping and the distant sound of fireworks is all drowned out by the sensations taking over you — Azriel’s lips, his hands holding you to his chest… Gods, he smells so good—

He pulls back, breathing heavily as he grins down at you. You chuckle, unsure if the fluttering within is the bubbles from your earlier champagne or perhaps, butterflies.

“I don’t think,” he whispers. Your eyes widen.

“I don’t think you… proved it, enough. Yet.”

You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck before kissing him again, his hands sliding around your waist. Just before you loose yourself in the moment, you squint to meet Nesta’s pleased gaze.

“You’re welcome,” she mouths silently.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Lucien

The cold winter air bit into your exposed arms, but you didn’t care. The night had been so cold, you were suprised to find your tears hadn’t frozen right on your face — perhaps, the constant flow kept them streaming down your cheeks instead.

You’d heard rumors of Lucien, your absolute best friend being mated to none other than Elain. Sure, she was beautiful, and kind, and quite perfect really — which was exactly the problem. Everything so right about her, only made you that much more insecure.

If you were honest, you understood why the Mother would choose her for him. Your best friend was perfectly imperfect— he was a beautiful male, that you’d known for years, but he was also selfless, kind, and one of the best people you knew. That’s what made him so special; he truly was, the greatest friend you’d ever made.

Perhaps, that’s why the rumors broke your heart so much. No, he hadn’t mentioned it to you — had he known? Surely he couldn’t have known of your feelings, you’d kept them so buried inside… how deeply you’d cared for him. Loved, him.

“Why?” You whispered, glaring at the night sky above. “Why couldn’t you just let him be with me?” Your voice broke, and you whimpered once more. Tonight was pure Hell — watching him, watching her. You couldn’t blame him, she was gorgeous… and for all your friend had gone through, you only wished for him to be truly happy.

You rested your head on your hands, leaning against the marble ledge of the balcony and crying so hard you didn’t hear the terrace door slide open.

“Y/N?”

Your sniffling seized, and you looked up to meet the horrified gaze of your best friend.

You wiped a hand across your face, looking down to not meet his eye.

“Lucien, please-“ you coughed. “Please, enjoy the party. It’s nearly midnight-“

He was to you in three long strides, sitting beside you on the marble bench and resting a gently hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t care what ever else is going on — what’s wrong, Y/N?” His voice carried so much concern, a wave of fresh tears stung your eyes.

“It’s nothing,” you lied. He rolled his eyes, gripping your shoulders and pulling you into his lap. You rested your head against his shoulder, your wet tears dripping onto his collar.

“It’s surely not nothing,” he argued, his hand running soothingly over your back. You swallowed, regaining some control before sniffing and peering up into his face.

“It’s…” you tried, your lower lip wobbling. His hand rested against your cheek, a small encouraging smile on his lips.

“You can always tell me anything,” he encourages. You sigh, looking right up into his beautiful face.

“I… I heard, about Elain. And I’m so sorry, Lucien, I shouldn’t be doing this and behaving this way, because I want you to be happy and-“

“Wait wait. Y/N what are you even saying?” He chuckles, his thumb brushing away a fallen tear. Your eyes well up with more as you feel like this may be the last moment you’ll ever have like this, with the man you love most.

“You’re… I heard, about the bond. You, and Elain.” You sniff.

He tosses his head back, his bright laughter splitting the air between you. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, watching as he refocuses on you.

“Y/N, come now,” he starts, his hands wrapping around your waist. “If Elain and I were truly mates, don’t you think I’d tell you about it?”

You shrug, glancing down at the stone. “I… I don’t know, I-“

He tuts, tilting your chin to look at him again. Inside, the partygoers begin counting — nearing midnight.

“Oh, Y/N… you really don’t see it, do you?” He shakes his head, gazing down at you. Your bottom lip wobbles as you look to him again.

“I just… I only want you to be happy, Lucien.” He smiles warmly, leaning in as the first firework bursts across the night sky.

“You’re what makes me happy, Y/N.”

He kisses you with so much love and adoration, you hadn’t ever imagined possible. Your fingers thread through his hair as you kiss him back with as much love as you can convey.

All he says when he pulls away is, “I love you, so much, Y/N.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Eris

You sigh as you bring the mug to your lips once more, hoping the caffeinated tea can keep you awake for a little while longer.

“I don’t like this one much,” Eris comments, watching as the girl onstage sings about getting pregnant. You chuckle lazily, setting the mug down and leaning against his shoulder.

“Not a Sabrina fan?” You add playfully, and he moves his arm so you can lay more comfortably against his chest.

“I suppose not,” he says, his arms resting as he lays beneath you on the couch. He yawns, the first telltale sign of his tiredness — you had to admit, it’d been a long day. Between planting new seeds in the orchard (an annual tradition), taking the kids to visit the in-laws and wrangling them into their rooms at the end of the day… yeah. You could say you were quite exhausted.

Eris’ fingers ran along your bare arms nonchalantly as he gazed at the screen, watching Dick Clark chat with Sabrina Carpenter after her NYE performance. Her dress glittered against the city lights, reminding you of the times you and Eris shared celebrating nights like these in the past.

Sighing, you tilted your head to peer up at your mate. The angle of his jaw, so strong — it complimented the angular panes of his face, so strikingly handsome in any light. He must have noticed your stare, as his fingers stilled and he looked down at you with a tired smile.

“What is it, dear?” You sighed, toying with the small bow at the top of your pajama camisole.

After a quiet beat, you replied. “I just… I’m sorry, you know.” His brow raised, his chin tilting so he could look at you more directly. “We don’t… celebrate. Like we used to.”

He chuckles, the movement shifting you as you pressed against his chest.

“Well, my dear… we do have children, you know.” You half-smiled.

“Yes, I am aware — I’m just missing the days we went out, I guess. Me in a glittering gown, just for you, and all that.” You chewed the inside of your cheek. Your husband’s hand began lightly brushing your arm once more, his expression sympathetic.

“I understand, but, there’s nothing to apologize for my love.” You looked up at him, and he gave you a small smile. “I’m grateful we had those times, yes — but I’m even more grateful now. Nights like these are wonderful; they’re everything I want and need. I’m grateful for our children, tiresome as they may be.” You share a giggle, and his hands move to thread through your hair. “But, this, right here, laying on this couch with you on New Year’s eve… I couldn’t possibly want anything else.”

You close your eyes, snuggling closer to him as he continued playing with your hair. You began to drift off, resting peacefully knowing you were going into the new year with the one person who loved you most.

Eris only moved to reach for the remote, turning down the volume as the crowd on the screen began chanting. You stirred, but he could tell you were fast asleep — gazing down at your beautiful face, his heart swelled.

He leaned down as the crowd roared, pressing a small kiss to your temple.

“Happy New Year, my love.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Tamlin

“So, are you gonna go talk to him, or what?”

You’d been eyeing the blonde all night, trying (and failing) to keep your staring to a minimum. Naturally, your friend caught on — likely when she noticed the sudden changes in demeanor as he entered the room you were in.

“W-who?” You feigned innocence. She rolled her eyes, jerking her chin to the brooding blonde by the mini bar.

“You know who,” she chuckled. “Mystery man?”

Now it was time for you to roll your eyes. “That’s what we’re calling him?”

She smirks. “Well, you haven’t gone and asked his name yet, so yeah. That’s all I’ve got for now.”

You sigh, sipping on the last few ounces of your drink.

“Come on,” she eggs on. “Go over and at least say hi?” She nudges your shoulder. You tip back your glass, swallowing the rest of what was in it. Only when you step forward does she applaud you.

“Shh!” You glare over your shoulder, but your friend only watches with amusement as you nervously make your way toward the bar.

Once you’re within arms reach, you take a deep breath, your gaze meeting the emerald green one you’d been eyeing all evening.

“Uh… h-hi.” You stammer. He raises an eyebrow, looking you up and down before opening his mouth.

“Hi.”

Your lips press into a flat line.

“Uh… what’s your name?” You ask. The butterflies in your stomach threaten to come up your throat, and you swallow hard.

“…Tamlin.”

Your eyebrows raise.

“Like, from the Spring Court?” You squeak. He huffs a laugh.

“Like, yeah.”

Your brows furrow, cheeks heating at his lack of communication skills. You fidget with your fingers, not entirely sure what to say next.

“Is there something I can-“

“Why are you here?” You cut him off. Now he raises his eyebrows, and your mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“No, no uh I didn’t mean it like that, I just mean, uhm. Why come to a, uh, party in Autumn if you’re from Spring?” You stutter.

He tips back his glass, setting it on the counter before him before turning to fully face you.

“Friend brought me.” He glances to the room next to you, where Lucien is talking to a group and laughing.

You shrug. “Me too.”

He looks at you near expressionless, leaving you so defeated that you turn to walk away. His hand catches your wrist, and your breath hitches as you whirl around to face him again.

He stares silently for a moment, before pulling you closer to him.

“You’re not here with a… a male?” He asks. You shake your head slowly, and he smirks.

“A shame. For everyone else, but hopefully not me.” Your cheeks darken as you watch his eyes rove over your face, down your neck, over the edge of your top…

“I didn’t come with one,” you choke out. “But, I’m not opposed to leaving with one.” You can’t believe you just said that out loud. He apparently finds it amusing, chuckling as he glances to the clock.

“You’re not above kissing a stranger you just met at a party where you know no one?” He asks, his palms resting on your hips as you stand between his parted knees. You hadn’t noticed how close the clock hand had gotten toward 12, quite literally so distracted by the man in front of you now.

“Are you?” You retort. He smiles, his right hand resting against your jaw.

“Absolutely not.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

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harumasa-wifey · 2 days ago

Note

Omgomg i love your writing sm 😭‼️

Since you're open for request, can I request a doctor!reader with Harumasa? Imagine he is going to infirmary just to see reader 😔 maybe he pretend to be sick as an excuse just to see reader

➹Just Because I Like You a Lot

✖Asaba HarumasaxFem!doctor Reader

Warning: none just some fluff, not proofread

Note: yea i almost died last week/srs but only my left hand is injured so it's fine. Thank you for waiting i also have another similar request for doctor Reader and I am currently working on it.

The moonlight falls on the papers placed upon your office desk as you go on reading while sipping on your cup of tea with more papers in the piles beside your desk.

You weren't expecting any patients at this hour as you were checking some reports before ending your shift but as the saying goes, Expect the unexpected. So there he was entering your office with a pout on his lips looking beat up.

Your instant response was putting down your cup as you stood up, several thoughts running in your head. Did he get these injuries in a Hollow? Or worse fighting some high level ethereal.

“Who hurt you?” The worried look on your face was obvious as you asked him to sit down to take a look.

“Chief”

.....

“Huh?”

The worried expression was now replaced by confusion. Why would miyabi do that? Of course she should have a reason, those thoughts ended as he spoke up again.

“Well well isn't this embarrassing, the chief and I had a sparring session and now I look like this”

“Man she wasn't playing this time” he murmured under his breath which was pretty audible in the peaceful office. A light giggle broke out your lips as you came to the conclusion on why this had happened.

“Really Miss doc? I came up looking this injured in the night and you are laughing,Won't you at least treat me with care?”

“Pfft, it's just some minor injuries you been through worse asaba but don't worry I'll ask a nurse to fix your bandages”

You were about to make your way to your desk to call upon a nurse when he pulled you back hugging you from the back, his breath fanning over your ears as he mumbled.

“I didn't come all this way for you to push me out, you know how much i hate travelling long distances”

It's true he is lazy like that and it's not like he cannot do this by himself yet he is here asking for your help when he could be home sleeping.

You held his hand which was interlocked around your waist as you faced him.

“Alright, sit back down I'll do it”

He smiled like a kid winning a prize and sat back on the bed watching you move around the office gathering the first aid kit, you came back with the kit and several bandages in your hand placing them on the desk.

“Okay, show me the wounds that have been reopened”

“Do I really need to do all that doc? You already know where it is, can't I just sit here all pretty for you?”

He said as he gave you a teasing smile clearly stating his intentions once again.

You sigh as your hands hover above his his tie first then the shirt buttons undoing them one by one as he quietly indulges you taking it off him with a satisfied smile resting on his until you pulled off his waist and stomach, he lets out a low grunt trying to make it look like it hurt while you just stared at him unamused.

“Can you please be gentle with me doc? I am a really fragile person”

“I am sure no fragile person can charge into hollows like it's nothing but whatever you want”

You checked around his wound and it hasn't been opened which was good. You just need to change the dressing, as you were thinking of changing the dressing your fingers were hovering around his abs, and how could he miss out on a chance like this.

“You like what you see doc? It took a lot of effort so i would like you to parise me more if you wanna” he asked with a slight smirk adorning his lips. You quickly take your hand back tearing your gaze away from him to the box besides.

“Ahem, i was checking the wound” even though what you said was true he surely doesn't mind you checking something else out on him.

You slowly but carefully wrapped the bandages around him and put the box aside giving him space to dress up but it seemed like he didn't want to do that either.

“won't you help me with this doc?” you wish you could dig yourself a hole, his advances were getting too much for you to act nonchalant even though the blush on your face is quite obvious to him and he is enjoying every second of it.

You help him put on his shirt and tie back, whispering quietly under your breath which was clearly audible to him.

“You cannot keep getting away with this” before leaning in to give him a final kiss as you ward him out of your office to pack your stuff to leave with him, you know he is standing outside and he won't go anywhere without you.

#zenless zone zero x reader #zzz x reader #zzzero #harumasa zzz #zzz #zenless zone zero #asaba harumasa #harumasa asaba x reader #harumasa x reader #zzz harumasa

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teenidlegirl · 6 hours ago

Text

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝓑eauty 𝓞f 𝓣his 𝓜ess ♡ 𝓒hapter 𝓕ifteen

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀summary.⠀while enduring this pregnancy journey, you unexpectedly meet miguel’s mother and she offers support. miguel finally returns and he begs but you won’t give in. on a final note, you finally make a decision about the baby.

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀content.⠀angst, pregnancy, emotional distress, arguments, swearing, heartbreak, weird chapter (beginning is reader’s pov, later half is where chapter 14 left off)

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

THREE WEEKS AGO.

since the ultrasound and that encounter with the little boy and his mother at the grocery store, you’ve been conflicted about this pregnancy. from the beginning, you were uncertain about keeping the baby because there was no room in your life for one. it was never a consideration to have children. but these recents events have slightly altered your view.

the ultrasound picture hangs on your fridge, a reminder of the reality you’re in now. a tiny blob currently growing in your womb. at first, it was stored away in your drawer of your nightstand to avoid seeing it but eventually your mind changed and decide to hang it up. you’re still somewhat fascinated by it, that tiny blob that will eventually be a miniature version of you, if you decide to keep it.

but that decision continues to linger in your mind as each day passes by. whenever you go out and see a mother with her child, you always envision your own scenarios with your own potential future child. those envisions always made your heart swell. the other day while taking luna out for a walk, you saw a woman with her daughter, who appeared to be a toddler, having their own little mother-daughter picnic. both wearing matching dresses with floral prints. it was such a heartwarming scene, the mother showing off her affection for her daughter with hugs and kisses over her head. just like any other scenery, you envision yourself with your child, in this case a daughter. having your own little picnic and wearing matching dresses, cute mother-daughter bonding.

you didn’t realize tears slowly swelling up in your eyes until your sight became a bit glossy. the conflicting emotions were too intense that you had to walk away, rushing back to your apartment. that was when you decided to hang up the ultrasound pic.

the conflict grew more complicated and it was annoying the hell out of you. but with these heartwarming scenarios, you’ve been gradually leaning towards the possibility of keeping and having the baby. imagined a miniature version of you wandering around the apartment, giggles and babbles bouncing off the four walls, luna being chased by the baby. these types of scenarios were making the decision more complex than it already is. but the fear and uncertainty still lingers as well.

lately, your friends have been visiting you to check how you’re doing and wondering if you need anything. lyla would blurt out a million questions about the pregnancy and what it’s like growing another human inside you, she’s a little nerd on the inside. mj would be making and prepping a nice cup of tea or whatever drink you want. anne would grab blankets to provide you comfort you need especially during these chilly nights. all of you huddled together as if it’s a sleepover during your teen years.

the boys would visit as well. peter would tag along with mj after getting off from work like the first time. eddie would show up at your door with whatever food you were craving with a stupid smile on his face, both of you munching on the food while shit-talking about jameson and any other asshole from work. one visit, anne tagged along with him which surprised you and made you raise a brow. their excuse was for accidentally arriving at the same time. you couldn’t help but smirk, they definitely showed up together. harry made a stop by and offered comfort. like everyone else, he offered support but it was different since the man was loaded as hell. in the end, you are forever grateful to supportive and caring friends.

but you were still missing the support and care from one specific person. miguel still hasn’t responded and you give up at this point. the message was clear he did not want to be involved and never return so why bother anymore. no matter how much you wish for him to answer back and show up at your door, you had to get over it. waiting on him was killing you. you had to stop hanging onto that thread of hope. there wasn’t any left, it vanished completely.

you had to let him go.

no matter how much you didn’t want to and now matter how much it made your heart ached.

but the pain and suffering he inflicted on you forever has a profound impact. there were still moments, mostly at night, you would shed tears because of his negligence and betrayal. still in disbelief that the very man who vowed his love to you, made you feel loved and valued like no other, abandoned you when you needed him the most. left you with another broken heart expect this one hurt more than ever because you believed he truly loved you like you did him.

as days passed, that love you held for miguel in your heart gradually transformed into hatred. your heart no longer beats with warm and adoration but instead resentment and anger. once red now black and cold, as if it has rotten like an apple. perhaps like the poison apple from snow white.

joel broke your heart, miguel rotten it.

perhaps love was a complete joke.

you truly believed miguel was different than joel. he would restore your broken heart and replace that pain with new profound love. however, he did the same as well but rotten your heart with false hope instead. the second man to damage your heart.

only pain and anger beats for them both.

the text messages and calls stopped. there were utterly useless and it was clear miguel wouldn’t come back. the conclusion was that he wouldn’t be in the picture and you didn’t care anymore. his silence was enough for you that you no longer needed him. it may be a difficult journey but you can do it without that asshole. you won’t let miguel win.

currently, you’re returning from the local bookstore that is around the block. luckily pets were allowed so you were able to take luna with you. a sci-fi horror book was your new purchase and to be added to your book collection. it also severed as a reminder to clean out your bookshelf of books you no longer need or like anymore, it’s a bit cramped as well.

heading to your apartment, you notice a woman standing in the middle of the hallway, more precisely in front of your apartment. your brows furrowed slightly in confusion as you slowly approach her. the woman seems to hear you as she turns around. curly brunette with little streaks of silver.

she offers a kind smile. “hello, are you…” your eyes widen a little when she mentions your name.

“yes…” you say skeptically. “and you are…?”

“i’m conchata o’hara, miguel’s mother.”

you stand there in shock. you finally met his mother. never would’ve thought of actually meeting her one day, mainly due to what miguel had told you about their estranged relationship.

but the real question is: why is she here?

now you’re even a bit more skeptical.

“forgive me for arriving unexpectedly, i know we’ve never properly met due to my and miguel’s situation so it may be a bit awkward.”

she seems to be… decent so far.

“the reason i came here today is because i know about the whole situation.”

well, it’s not like miguel is here and she could visit.

she takes one step closer, a sorrowful expression on her face. “first and foremost, i want to say i’m so sorry you’re battling this alone.”

oh… this was a little unexpected.

“you shouldn’t be and i’m so sorry. i wanted to come here to see you. i understand if you don’t wish to accept it since i’m miguel’s mother but believe me, i’m just as furious at him as much as you are, hija.”

so she aware of his son’s stupidity, good to know you both are on the same page. since she’s his mother, she most definitely pissed the hell off like you. a mother’s fury, especially a latina mother, is something everyone is afraid of.

“i… i appreciate that very much, señora.”

“please, call me conchata.” she offer a kind smile.

you lightly shake your head, smiling back. “i like to be polite, especially meeting for the first time.”

“you’re very kind, hija. really too kind.”

“would you like to come in? i can make café if you like?” you offer kindly.

“i would love that very much.”

you welcome conchata into your home. luna greets the woman with several barks before silently sniffing at her ankles with her tail wagging. as you heading to the kitchen to make coffee, conchata gently guides you to the living room instead.

“i can make it, hija. don’t worry about it.”

“but you’re my guest, it’s okay.” you kindly inject.

“you’ve got to much on your hands. please don’t worry, it’s the least i can do.”

sighing, you comply. you sit down on the couch while conchata makes the coffee. orange juice was your choice of beverage due to your pregnancy. after a few minutes, she returns with a mug in one hand and your glass of orange juice in the other. you thank her with a kind smile as she hands your glass of juice and she takes a seat on the other side of the couch.

“firstly, how are you doing, dear?”

you knew she’s referring to the pregnancy. “i’m alright. thankfully, i don’t have morning sickness anymore and i can actually function.”

the woman smiles softly, relieved to hear you’re doing better. “i’m very glad you’re feeling better. i remember it and i do not miss it. i couldn’t leave the bed for weeks, it was un dismadre.”

you softly chuckle, feeling a bit bad for her. “how awful, i’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

she waves it off with a hand. “the glories of pregnancy, such a beautiful thing.”

you can sense the sarcasm in her tone, making you chuckle because it’s true. everyone experiences pregnancy differently and most deal with morning sickness, at different levels yet still an awful experience. truly such a beautiful thing.

you notice her expression gradually transforms into a more remorseful one, sensing the shift of the atmosphere into deep seriousness.

“i just… can’t believe this…” her tone grows quiet, remorseful. “i know i said this before but i am incredibly sorry you’re dealing with this, hija.”

your expression matches her own, silently listening.

“i just can’t believe he would do this…” she truly sounds in disbelief, shocked at her son’s idiotic behavior. “when peter called me and told me everything, i wanted to find him and kill him.”

your eyes widen ever so slightly at her confession but ultimately understand. hearing about your own son disappearing after getting a girl pregnant would set your entire body on fire with pure fury.

“i raised him to be a good man and to be a responsible human being.” her tone turns serious for a moment. “i raised him to be better.”

conchata did, in fact, raised a good man. before everything collapsed, miguel was a kindhearted man. offered his services, fixed your bookshelf and car engine, offered his jacket when you were cold at coney island, always gave you compliments and sweet praises, made you feel happy and safe.

you just wondered why that all was thrown out the window the minute he left.

“what miguel did was irresponsible.” she states firmly, staring at you with such seriousness. “he left you alone to deal with this, it’s unacceptable. i want you to know that i’m beyond furious with him. that man is not my son with that idiotic behavior.”

wow, you like her more.

“if he ever decides to come back, don’t feel obligated to forgive him. i’m not here to persuade you to take him back, no absolutely not. it’s your decision whether to forgive him or not. what miguel did hurt you indefinitely and it’s not forgivable.”

you internally agree with conchata and appreciate her support wholeheartedly. she is right, he did hurt you indefinitely and it’s left a large scar on you.

she sighs deeply before continuing on. “i also understand your uncertainty about… the baby.”

suddenly, you feel your breathe caught in your throat. the grandmother of your potential future child sits in front of you asking about the said child. a sudden wave of anxiousness course through you.

conchata seems to notice your anxious state and gently takes your hand in hers. “whatever your decision you’ll make, i’ll support you completely. you choose what’s best for you. this concerns your well-being, you choose for yourself.”

her supportive words makes your heart melt. you truly appreciate it, especially from her.

“if you choose to keep it, i’ll 100% support you and the baby. whatever you need, i’ll be there.” she states with such sincerity. “if not, i’ll still be there to support you through the process. my house is open to you, and the baby if you choose to keep it. in any scenario, i am here to support and help you, hija.”

suddenly you feel tears prickling in your eyes. the pregnancy hormones only make you more emotional. her support truly means significantly to you and you can’t help but pull her into a tight embrace which conchata gladly accepts, like a mother would.

“thank you so much.” you sniffle.

“of course, hija.” she gently rubs your back.

after a moment, you release each other from the emotional embrace. conchata hands you tissues from the box sitting on the coffee table, quietly thanking her as you take them from her.

“your words and support mean so much to me… appreciate it so much, mrs, o’hara. i’m forever grateful, gracias.” you smile through tears.

she offers a smile. “of course, hija. i’m here for you, my doors are always open to you. anything you need, don’t ever hesitate to reach out, you’re not alone.”

that last phrase makes you tear up again.

‘you’re not alone.’

you know you have supper from friends. you still heavens told your family, nevertheless your parents and you’re still nervous to tell them. the day will eventually come when you’re ready. but now with conchata’s support, you truly don’t feel that alone anymore. miguel is still gone but at least his mother has sympathy and common sense.

after cleaning up tears and the dishes, you and conchata exchange goodbyes. giving you one final reminder to reach out for help. once she left and you close the door, you glance down at your tummy. you place a hand over it, as if silently communicating with the tiny life form growing inside. letting them know that they would have support. the thought makes your heart swell once again.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ ┈ ₊ ୧ ┈

PRESENT DAY.

all the blood flowing through your veins went entirely cold. the beating of your heart suddenly stops. waves of fury corses through you like a tsunami. you can feel the anger radiating from your skin.

miguel is back.

the son of bitch that abandoned you finally came back, standing in front of you with a scared expression that pisses you off. after 3 weeks of abandonment, the bastard decides to finally show up. you scoff mentally at the thought, in pure disbelief at his sudden return.

part of you wants to cry and yell at him for the pain he caused. scream all the pain and suffering right in his fucking face. kick and punch the shit out of him. if you weren’t carrying a tiny being in your belly, you would beat the shit of miguel with no hesitation. back in your teen years, you use to put bitches back in their place if they messed with you. unfortunately, you can’t give miguel the same treatment.

“you son of a bitch…”

miguel gulps anxiously at your cold tone of hatred that you harbor for him, rightfully so. it wasn’t the saw gentle tone contained with love and gentleness. not in the sweet manner you used to talk to him. he feels trails of sweat down the back of his neck.

“bebé, i—”

“shut the fuck up.”

you cutting him off so abruptly makes miguel wince, he feels utterly pathetic and guilty. you notice it and you scoff mentally, he really was pathetic.

“you fucking asshole…”

miguel deserves every derogatory word from you. asshole, bastard, son of a bitch, all of it he deserves it. he calls himself all those terms too. he deserves every once of your anger towards him.

“you left me…” you whisper with such sadness and anger, feeling tears gradually swelling in your eyes.

you sound so heartbroken that it stabs miguel right in the fucking heart a million times. he can feel his own tears swelling his eyes of guilt.

“lo siento, bebé—”

“you LEFT me!” you snap at him, eyes wide in fury which silents him immediately. “you left me for 3 fucking weeks, miguel! you left me to deal with this shit by MYSELF! I CALLED YOU AND TEXTED YOU AND YOU NEVER ANSWERED!”

your voice of frustration echos throughout the entire parking garage. it wouldn’t be a surprise if people, either inside or outside, could hear.

miguel just stands there like the pathetic, guilty fuck he is. eyes swelled with tears, on the verge of breaking down. your voice of frustration and hurt ringing in his ears, stabbing his heart.

this is where his idiotic decisions led to, you screaming and crying at him.

“I WAS SO FUCKING WORRIED ABOUT YOU! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?! I TRUSTED YOU! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!”

miguel panics at that. “i do love you!—”

“NO YOU DON’T BECAUSE YOU FUCKING LEFT ME!” you shout, allowing those tears to fall. “YOU LEFT ME WHEN I NEEDED YOU THE MOST!”

that was a big stab to his heart. it’s the truth, he did leave you when you needed him the most and miguel is a fucking idiot for not realizing sooner. you had to navigate this life-changing situation on your own without his support. you were dealing with this, stressed out and crying for unforgettable hours while his stupid ass was back at his stupid cabin.

he felt tears running down his cheeks.

“i needed you, miguel!” you sob, making it incredibly difficult for miguel to not rush over, cradle for your face and wipe your tears away.

the guilt was hitting him like a train. those tears of pain and sadness in those beautiful eyes kills him, especially knowing he is the cause of them.

“i needed you…” you sob uncontrollably, not caring how much of a mess you are right now. “i was so alone… abandoned…”

now he’s crying as well, the guilt hitting him harder.

“i waited… waited for you to come back…” another sob. “but you didn’t.” your tone went cold for a sec.

he should’ve gone back sooner so you wouldn’t have gone through so much suffering he caused. but he can’t change the past, the damage is done and miguel has no control over it.

“i went to the doctor’s appointment alone… sitting in the lobby alone in a room with other patients with their partners… supporting and comforting them… DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING HARD THAT WAS?! SITTING THERE AND WATCHING THEM GETTING THE LOVE AND SUPPORT THEM NEEDED WHILE I WAS SITTING ALL ALONE?!”

miguel feels like the biggest asshole in the entire universe. he remembers your text that day after unlocking his phone weeks later and how he broke down into tears. now hearing it again from you makes him cry harder, the guilt consuming him.

“I FELT SO FUCKING MISERABLE!” you shout, sobbing uncontrollably once again. “I HAD TO DEAL WITH THIS SHIT BY MYSELF! I CRIED SO MANY TIMES BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID!”

it kills him to think about it, the amount of tears you shed because of him. miguel really hates himself.

you pause a moment to wipe some tears away. miguel still fought the urge to wipe them away himself because he knows he can’t.

“i trusted you… with everything… my heart…” your voice dies down, now more remorseful which makes miguel’s heart ache. “i really thought you were different… i thought you were the right man… a good, caring person… i thought you were the one…”

miguel stares at you with wide, tearful eyes. he wanted to be the right man, he still wants to be the right man. but his stupid actions changed that.

“but i guess not.”

now he starts to panic. no, no, no. he still wants to be the right man for you. miguel loves you and he doesn’t want to lose you… but he already did.

“i thought joel broke my heart and he did but you… you just rotten it to the fucking core.”

miguel’s own heart shatters at that. putting him and that asshole joel in the same sentence makes him seethe, remembering what joel did to you, but realizes he hurt you more.

“mi amor, please i’m so so so sorry. i should never have left you alone, i scared of—”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “scared of what?”

“losing you!” he cries.

“you lost me the moment you walked out that door.”

miguel’s eyes widen once again. panic causes him to step forward and reach out with a shaky hand. “please mi alma, let me explain—”

“stay the fuck away from me.”

the bastard winces again and immediately steps back, shooting a remorseful glance.

“you hurt me, miguel, and i will never forgive you.”

his teary eyes widen once again. but then he remembers his mother’s words.

‘then don’t expect forgiveness immediately.’

‘i won’t forgive you until she forgives you. but i highly doubt she will and i do not blame her one bit.’

you won’t be forgiving him, not any time soon or ever which means his mother won’t either. but your forgiveness is much more important.

your expression turns cold, serious as you glare up at him with piercing eyes. “i don’t give a fuck about your excuse. i’ll say this once and once only, stay the fuck away from me and my baby.”

miguel’s eyes widen in shock again, both at your cold demeanor and the word ‘baby.’ he didn’t have time to respond expect standing there like a fool as you rush past him without sparing one final glance, leaving him alone in the parking garage. tears trailing down his face as he process everything that just happened. he feels his whole body go into panic mode, chest heaving and breathing heavily. feeling the entire world crumbling in his grasp as you walk away.

that’s when it hits him, he just lost you forever.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ ┈ ₊ ୧ ┈

ever since the argument with miguel, you’ve been staying at anne’s apartment. despite telling him to stay away from you, you knew he would keep running back to you since you’re literally next door neighbors. luckily, anne was kind enough to offer and allow you to stay at her place until things cool down. but honestly, who knows when that will happen.

since the argument, miguel has been leaving hundreds of text messages and calls. oh how the tables have turned. you blocked his number, thinking you should’ve done it sooner the moment he left and never came back for a while. but at least he gets a taste of his own fucking medicine.

with all these emotions, you’ve been thinking hard lately on your decision about the pregnancy. reflecting back your argument with miguel, you remember telling him to stay away from you and your baby. you referred to the tiny blob growing inside your belly as your baby, officially. you just said it to spite him, it was a spur of the moment. but reflecting on it got you thinking hard about this baby.

you’ve been rethinking everything. in the beginning, you were very uncertain about having a baby. there was no space in your apartment for another being, nevertheless a baby. although, you do make enough money to support another person. being a journalist does make you come home with some bank. it’s possible to make a small savings for baby stuff, a crib, car seat, stroller, diapers, and clothes. money doesn’t seem to be an issue. you just have to make little room for a crib, it can work out or just look for a place with two bedrooms would be easier.

but what’ve you been really thinking about is sarah, joel’s daughter. reflecting on those times during your relationship with joel, despite joel himself and his idiotic behavior, it was beautiful. sarah was a daughter to you and treated her as if she were your own. the way she sometimes called you ‘mom’ always made your heart skip a beat. earning such a title with significant meaning was an honor. she viewed you as a role model and a mother figure she’s been needing since her biological mother left once she was born. you stepped into that role and you enjoyed it very much. all the time you had spent together, shopping at the mall, painting each others nails, cooking and baking together, gossip about boys she had crushes on, do pranks on joel. you never realized how much you missed that.

sarah was your first glimpse at motherhood. you miss that bond. with this baby, you might have a second chance at having that bond again. don’t be mistaken, you miss sarah terribly, she is forever in your heart and viewed as a daughter to you. but with your own baby, you get to relive that bond on a much bigger level. a true shot at motherhood. perhaps you are ready for motherhood and just didn’t realize you’ve experienced it before.

luckily it was your day off so you remained in anne’s place and quickly texted the girls to come over to tell them big news regarding the baby. a few hours later, anne, lyla and mj show up with anticipated faces. all gathered up sitting at the dining table, they anxiously wait for the big announcement to come.

“so i finally made a decision….”

they can feel their hearts beating in anticipation. of course they knew about your uncertainty about the baby, whether you’d keep it or not. especially how terrified you were in the beginning. they all have been so supportive of you throughout this shitshow. now it’s finally time for the big reveal.

you, on the other hand, are anxious as your fiends are. heart pounding in your chest due to the anxiety flowing through your veins. it was a major thinking process for coming to a decision but part of you is finally prepared to finally reveal it.

“i’m keeping the baby.”

cries of relief fills in the air as your friends approach you with tearful eyes, warm embraces, and words of encouragement. that heavy feeling on your chest is finally lifted. the anxiety has suddenly vanished and relaxed with relief and happiness. for the first time in weeks, you cry tears of happiness.

you’re keeping this baby and are willing to take steps for preparing for motherhood. there were many doubts in the beginning but you’re fully confident to take this big step in your life. you want this baby and raise it with nothing but love and care.

but you also want to show that you’re capable of raising a baby on your own without miguel. you want to show him that you can do this without him because you don’t need him. he lost the right the moment he wakes out the door. you’re going to show him you can do anything and nothing will stop you.

miguel can go fuck himself.

you and your friends end the night celebrating your big exciting news. while enduring a night of celebration, many blocks away back at your apartment building, miguel sits at the edge of his bed breaking down into tears for the nth time as he stares remorsefully at the picture of you and him at coney island you’d taken in a photo booth. drowning himself in tears of guilt as he realizes what he’s lost.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @lovehadlovelost @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @asterrrrose @glossygreene @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff @chaeriescola @espressopatronum454 @trocaderoisyummy @totallygyomeiswife @mcmiracles @celestialgarden23 @tatatida @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @nocturne-light @xenop0p @juneonhoth @ghostsdoll ( if you’re not tagged, age/age-range is require since this fic is 18+, context for reasons why )

#⠀꒰⠀𝜗𝜚 ֺ 𓂂⠀꒱⠀﹕⠀ℬ𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝒪𝑓 𝒯ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℳ𝑒𝑠𝑠⠀.ᐟ⠀#miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #military!miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #across the spiderverse

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buckets-and-trees · 19 hours ago

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Red, White & True: Tuscon [11/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 4.7k Summary: Even though you're dealing with the AI photo attack, the full day you spend in Tucson shows in many ways how the campaign is more than just this one issue giving you reminders of so many other things that matter.

Content/Warnings: political policy discussion, marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Author Notes: The third offering for my Birthday Jubilee. Captain America divider by @firefly-graphics.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[OCTOBER 12 - TUCSON, ARIZONA]

The harsh ring of the phone on the bedside table rouses you into consciousness and you rolled over to reach for the receiver - trickier than you are expecting since Steve’s arm is draped over you.

“Hello?”

“Wake up call for you and Captain Rogers, ma’am,” comes the voice from the other end of the line. “Your prep team will be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” you respond before hanging up.

You roll back over and shimmy close to Steve again. He hums pleasantly, squeezing his arm around you as you nuzzle into his chest. You settle for a few more moments into the warm cocoon of sheets, blankets, and Steve, savoring the peaceful moment before the day begins. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your cheek, and you can hear the gentle thrum of his heartbeat. For a few precious seconds, you allow yourself to forget about the challenges that await outside this room.

"Good morning," Steve murmurs, his voice husky with sleep. His hand traces lazy patterns on your back.

"Morning," you reply softly, tilting your head to look up at him. His blue eyes are still heavy-lidded, but there's a tender warmth in them that makes your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, you simply gaze at each other, neither wanting to break the tranquil spell. But reality intrudes as you remember the wake-up call.

"The prep team will be here soon," you say reluctantly.

He groans softly, his arms tightening around you for a brief moment before loosening. "Right," he says, his voice gravelly. "Another day on the campaign trail."

You both reluctantly disentangle yourselves and sit up. Steve runs a hand through his tousled hair, looking adorably rumpled in his white undershirt. Despite the looming pressures of the day, you can't help but smile at the sight.

"Thank you," you say softly.

"For staying last night. For being here." You reach out and squeeze his hand. "It... it meant a lot."

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "Always," he says simply, his blue eyes holding yours. “You’re my wife.”

You both stay there, lost in each other's eyes. There's something unspoken hanging in the air between you, a tension, a pull that's both heady and unnerving.

But before either of you can say anything more, there's a sharp knock at the door.

"Steve?" Bucky's voice calls from the other side.

The spell breaks. Steve clears his throat, and slips out of bed.

"Coming, Buck," Steve calls out, his voice still rough with sleep. He gives you an apologetic look as he quickly gathers his discarded clothes from the night before.

You slide out of bed as well, wrapping yourself in the hotel's plush robe. "I'll get the door," you offer, padding across the room.

When you open the door, Bucky greets you with a grin.

"Morning," Bucky says. His eyes flick from you to Steve, who's just emerged from the bedroom area still pulling on his wrinkled dress shirt. There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he continues, "Didn't mean to interrupt."

Steve clears his throat. "You're not interrupting anything, Buck. What's up?"

“No?” Bucky sighs. “Shame.” But then Bucky's expression turns serious. "I've got some developments on the photo situation."

You feel your stomach drop at the reminder of yesterday’s disastrous development. "Come in," you say, stepping aside to let Bucky enter.

The lighthearted mood from moments ago has evaporated. You and Steve exchange a quick glance before focusing back on Bucky.

"What have you found?" Steve asks, his voice now all business.

Bucky steps into the room, closing the door behind him. "I've traced the origin of those doctored photos," he says, his voice low. "They were created by a small digital marketing firm called Apex Solutions. On the surface, they're just another PR company, but they've got some interesting clients."

You feel a chill run down your spine. "What kind of clients?"

Bucky's steel-blue eyes meet yours. "The kind that like to stay in the shadows. They've done a lot of smear work for people who pay a lot of money for total discretion, but the people who do this kind of work aren’t good enough to be totally infallible or else they’d be doing something else with their skills.

“And?” Steve prompts.

“And their client list includes some pretty influential political donors."

You cross your arms, fighting the ick that’s squirming in your gut. “I hate this,” you murmur.

Steve steps closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I know," he says softly. "But we need to know what we're up against."

You nod, taking a deep breath to steel yourself. "You're right. Go on, Bucky."

Bucky continues, his expression grim. "We’re running all the names, but the one that’s most interesting to me is none other than Thaddeus Ross."

You feel Steve tense beside you at the mention of the former Secretary of State and advocate and defender of the original Sokovia Accords, which had finally been repealed. “That is a big name to be involved in something like this,” Steve says.

"Ross?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "I thought he was out of politics after the whole Sokovia Accords debacle."

Bucky nods grimly. "Officially, yes. But it seems he's still pulling strings behind the scenes. From what I've gathered, he's been quietly funding several political action committees and think tanks that align with his particular worldview."

Steve's jaw clenches, his hand tightening slightly on your shoulder. "And now he's resorting to smear tactics. I can't say I'm surprised, but I am disappointed."

You look between Steve and Bucky, sensing there's more to this than you know. "What am I missing here? I know Ross was behind the Sokovia Accords, but why would he be targeting us - or Steve - now?"

Steve plants his hands on his hips, letting out a heavy sigh. "Ross has never forgiven me for opposing the Accords. He saw it as betrayal, and he's been gunning for me ever since."

Bucky nods grimly. "Ross has always been more concerned with control than justice. He knows Rogers presidency would be his worst nightmare - someone with the power and influence he’s had on both sides of the aisle means he’s been able to pull many strings for a long time. He knows he not only won’t have a seat at the table with Steve at the helm, he won’t be in the room or even in the building.”

"So what do we do with this information?" you ask, looking between Steve and Bucky.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, his expression thoughtful. "That's the tricky part. Jake and i have been taking apart different scenarios. Each of them has their own web of possibilities to navigate.”

Steve nods, his expression serious. "We have to be careful how we use this information. We can't just accuse a former Secretary of State of orchestrating a smear campaign without solid proof."

"Exactly," Bucky agrees. "And even if we had ironclad evidence, going public with it could backfire. It might look like we're trying to deflect from the original accusations."

You sink down onto the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the situation. "So we're going to sit on this information and do nothing?"

Steve sits beside you, taking your hand in his. "Not nothing. We use it to stay one step ahead. Knowing Ross is involved gives us insight into what kind of tactics he might use next."

Bucky nods. "We can also use our contacts to quietly apply pressure. Let Ross know we're onto him without making it public. But one of the narratives that has really strengthened Steve’s campaign is his refusal to go low or sling any mud while the two other parties are continually hurling hate as they always have."

You saw the wisdom, you really did, and you knew it was harder for you to be objective since you were the target the arrow had been shot at, and so you took a deep, steadying breath and chewed on your lip.

You nod slowly, processing the information. "I understand. It's just... frustrating to know who's behind this and not be able to do anything about it directly."

Steve squeezes your hand reassuringly. "I know. But we'll find a way to handle this. We always do."

Just as you're about to respond, there's another knock at the door. Bucky, being closest, moves to answer it.

When he opens the door, Sophia stands there, tablet in one arm and a caffeinated drink for you in her other hand. Her eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Bucky.

"Oh! Good morning, Bucky," she says, recovering quickly. Her gaze flicks past him to where you and Steve are sitting on the bed, still in your nightclothes. "I... didn't realize we were having a strategy meeting this early."

Bucky steps aside to let in your assistant.

“Me either,” you respond, standing up to meet her and accept the drink. “Good morning, Soph,” you add warmly, genuinely happy to see her. She’s been a rock since her first day with you.

Steve nods, standing up. "I should head to my room to get ready." He kisses you on the cheek, and it warms away some of the unsettled feeling in your gut.

Bucky walks out ahead of him, but as he reaches the door, Steve pauses, turning back to you. "Hey," he says softly, "We've got this, okay? Together."

You nod, feeling a surge of warmth at his words. "Together. See you on the bus.”

Later that afternoon as you step off the campaign bus into the sweltering Tucson heat for your third event of the day, you're immediately struck by the vibrant energy pulsing through the crowd gathered at Reid Park. The expansive green space is a stark contrast to the arid landscape surrounding the city, and today it's transformed into a sea of red, white, and blue. Campaign signs bob up and down like waves, and chants of "Rogers for America" rise and fall in rhythmic cycles.

The Arizona sun beats down mercilessly, but the enthusiasm of the supporters seems to create its own cooling breeze. You can see Steve up ahead, his broad shoulders and golden hair catching the sunlight as he makes his way through the throng, shaking hands and exchanging words with voters. Even from a distance, you can see the way people's faces light up when they meet him, the hope and admiration shining in their eyes.

Following in his wake, you make your way through the crowd, flanked by Sophia and a couple of Secret Service agents. The energy is electric, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere of the past twenty-four hours. Despite the challenges, it’s undeniably invigorating being here, seeing the passion and hope in people's eyes.

As you move through the crowd, you're struck by the diversity of faces. Young college students stand shoulder to shoulder with retired couples. A group of nurses in scrubs chat animatedly with a cluster of construction workers still in their hard hats. This, you realize, is the coalition Steve has been building - a true cross-section of America.

After yesterday's media storm, you're not sure what kind of reception to expect at any appearance anymore. But as you make your way through the crowd, you're met overwhelmingly with warm smiles and encouraging words.

"We're with you!" a middle-aged woman calls out, reaching for your hand. You grasp it, feeling a surge of gratitude.

"Thank you for standing up for women," a young college student says earnestly as you pass.

The positivity is heartening, but you can't help but notice the handful of protesters at the edges of the crowd. Their signs bear harsh slogans, some referencing yesterday's false accusations. You steel yourself, remembering Steve's words from this morning. Together, you can handle this.

As you approach the stage, you catch sight of Jake off to the side, deep in conversation with a local campaign volunteer. He gives you a nod and a smile as you pass, and you can see the relief in his eyes. After yesterday's chaos, this event seems to be going smoothly so far.

You climb the steps to the stage, joining Steve on the side. The roar of the crowd swells as you take your place beside him since you’re not technically backstage, and he reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The simple gesture, performed countless times over the course of the campaign, feels different today. More meaningful. More real.

Steve leans in close, his lips nearly brushing your ear as he speaks over the noise of the crowd. "Ready?"

You nod, smiling up at him. "Let’s do this."

He gives your hand another squeeze as the city’s mayor introduces the two of you to come forward and join him.

The applause is thunderous. Steve waves to the crowd, his smile genuine and warm. You stand beside him, your hand still clasped in his, feeling a mix of pride and nervous energy.

"Thank you all for coming out today, Tucson," Steve begins, his voice strong and clear. "We're here to listen to you, to hear your concerns and your hopes for our great nation. You've got questions, and I'm here to answer them. Let's get started!"

As Steve begins taking questions from the crowd, you marvel again at his ability to connect with people. He listens intently to each person, responding with thoughtful, nuanced answers that go beyond simple soundbites. It’s plain to see why he's been gaining ground in the polls - he has a way of making everyone feel heard and valued. Whether it's about healthcare reform, climate change, or foreign policy, his responses are clear and concise, peppered with personal anecdotes that make complex issues relatable.

"Captain Rogers," a middle-aged man in a plaid shirt calls out, "what's your stance on immigration reform?"

Steve nods, his expression serious. "That's an important question, sir. Our immigration system is broken, and it's hurting families, businesses, and our economy. We need comprehensive reform that secures our borders while providing a fair, humane path to citizenship for those who are already here contributing to our society. You know I’m a New York boy. The Statue of Liberty stands in New York Harbor as a beacon of freedom and a figure welcoming - even inviting - the people of the world to come to America. ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.’ We turn our backs on that, and we turn our backs on what saved so many of our ancestors and made us who we are. We need to streamline our legal immigration processes, invest in smart border security technology, and create a system that's fair, efficient, and upholds our values as a nation of immigrants."

The crowd erupts in applause, and you feel a swell of pride. As he elaborates on his plan, you notice a commotion near the back of the crowd. A small group of protesters has pushed their way closer to the stage, waving their signs more aggressively. You tense slightly, but Steve remains calm, his voice steady as he continues to address the crowd.

"Now, I know not everyone agrees with my stance," Steve says, his gaze moving to the protesters. "And that's okay. That's what democracy is all about - the free exchange of ideas. But I believe that we're stronger when we work together, when we treat each other with respect and dignity, regardless of where we come from."

His words seem to diffuse some of the tension, and you watch as a few people in the crowd turn to engage the protesters in conversation rather than confrontation. It's a small moment, but it encapsulates everything Steve's campaign has been about - bringing people together, fostering dialogue, and finding common ground. They continue to hold their signs, but their chanting dies down as Steve goes on.

"Ma'am," Steve says, pointing to a woman near the front. "You had a question?"

The woman, her gray hair pulled back in a neat bun, steps forward. "Captain Rogers, I'm a retired teacher. I'm worried about the state of our education system. What are your plans to improve it?"

Steve nods thoughtfully, his expression earnest. "That's a critical issue, ma'am. Thank you for your service as an educator. Our teachers shape our future generations."

He pauses, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Education is the cornerstone of our democracy and our economy. We need to invest in our schools, our teachers, and our students. That means increasing federal funding for education, raising teacher salaries, and modernizing our school infrastructure."

Steve begins to pace the stage, his passion for the topic evident. "But it's not just about money. We need to rethink how we approach education in the 21st century. That means emphasizing critical thinking skills, creativity, and adaptability alongside traditional subjects. We need to prepare our kids for the jobs of tomorrow, many of which don't even exist yet."

As Steve continues to outline his vision for education reform, you notice the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the park. The crowd remains rapt, hanging on Steve's every word as he seamlessly transitions from education to discussing renewable energy initiatives and job creation.

Steve's energy never wavers as he addresses each new topic with the same thoughtful consideration, whether it's about renewable energy initiatives or plans to support small businesses. The questions keep coming, and Steve keeps answering, his passion and sincerity evident in every word.

As the town hall draws to a close, Steve delivers a final message that leaves the crowd buzzing with renewed hope and determination.

"Thank you all for being here today," he says, his voice carrying across the park. "Your questions, your concerns, your hopes - they're what drive me every day. We're facing big challenges as a nation, but I believe in the strength and resilience of the American people. And I believe the American people are more important than any political party and the partisan politics we’ve been beholden to for far too long. Together, we can build a future that's brighter, fairer, and more prosperous for all."

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause as Steve concludes his speech. You step forward to join him at the center of the stage, your hand finding his as you wave to the enthusiastic supporters. The energy is electric, a palpable sense of hope and possibility hanging in the air.

You make your way off the stage, and you're immediately surrounded by your team, with Jake at the front, a satisfied grin on his face. "That went well," he says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "The crowd loved you both."

It’s the first time Steve’s spoken outright for an end to party politics, and it ignited a completely new kind of energy.

Sophia hurries up, tablet in hand. "Great job out there," she says breathlessly. "Social media is blowing up with positive reactions. #RogersForAmerica is the top trending hashtag across three platforms!”

The event had been livestreamed over multiple platforms. The plans had been in the works for weeks, hoping to capitalize on a potential surge in interest after the interview with Oprah aired, but the scandal breaking the day before brought even more eyes wanting to look and see what Steve was doing more seriously now.

As you bask in the afterglow of the successful event, you begin to make your way through the dispersing crowd towards the campaign bus. The setting sun paints the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the park. The air is thick with the scent of food trucks that have set up shop on the outskirts of the event - the aroma of sizzling tacos and sweet kettle corn mingling with the earthy smell of the desert after a warm day.

You and Steve make slow progress, stopping frequently to shake hands, pose for selfies, and exchange a few words with supporters who linger. The energy is still palpable, with people buzzing about Steve's speech and his vision for the future, and there weren’t any more campaign obligations scheduled for the night killing two birds with one stone so you could mingle with people and let the internet go to work processing what they’d just seen. You overhear snippets of excited conversations, words like "hope" and "change" floating on the evening breeze.

A young girl with braids tied with red, white, and blue ribbons shyly approaches you, clutching a well-worn copy of a children's book about the Avengers.

"Mrs. Rogers," she says softly, "would you sign my book?"

You kneel down to her level, touched by her request. "Of course, sweetheart," you say with a warm smile. "You know I’m not in the book though, right?”

“But you should be!”

Your heart wants to burst into a hundred happy pieces. “Well, maybe one day you could be, too! Do you want Steve to sign your book?”

“No, just you,” she says shyly.

You look up at her parents behind her, the mom filming on her phone. You give a small wave and then reach for the book. “What's your name?"

"Sophia," she replies, her eyes wide with excitement.

You can't help but chuckle at the coincidence. "That's a beautiful name. I have a friend named Sophia too."

The little girl's eyes light up. "Really?"

You nod, opening the book to the title page. "Really. And she's one of the smartest, kindest people I know. Just like you seem to be."

As you sign the book, you ask, "So, Sophia, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

The girl puffs up her chest proudly. "I want to be President, just like Captain America!"

Now your heart wants to burst into a thousand pieces.

You feel a lump form in your throat, touched by the girl's innocent ambition. "That's wonderful, Sophia," you say, handing the book back to her. "And you know what? I believe you can do it. Never let anyone tell you that you can't achieve your dreams."

The girl's mother steps forward, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you so much," she says softly. "You have no idea how much this means to her... to us."

You stand up, smiling at the family. "It's my pleasure. This is my favorite thing that has happened today, I mean that."

Steve, who had been chatting with a group of veterans nearby, makes his way over to you.

"Everything okay?" he asks softly, noticing the look on your face.

“More than okay. That interaction wiped away so much of the tough stuff I’ve been sitting with for sure.”

The day starts to catch up with you, but it was in no way as bad as the day before. Although the discourse online and in the media was still heated over all the fallout associated with the Oprah interview and the AI photos, that had bled only slightly into the interactions in person today - a true saving grace.

As you approach the bus, you notice someone familiar standing near the entrance talking to Bucky. It takes a moment for your brain to make out who it is, but when you register her signature hair style, stance, and mannerisms your heart skips a beat.

"Mom?" You say in disbelief as you rush forward.

"Hello," she says with a smile, opening her arms for a hug, and that single word wraps your heart in a warmth you didn’t know you desperately needed.

You embrace her tightly, feeling tears prick at the corner of your eyes. It's been so long since you've seen her, not since your wedding day, which feels like a lifetime ago in campaign time.

"What are you doing here?" You ask as you pull away from the hug, wiping away stray tears.

"Steve called," she says simply. "He thought you could use some moral support."

You shake your head in awe. From all you knew, Steve hadn’t had any real contact with your parents. This had you at a loss for words, grateful for his thoughtfulness and making the effort to start building a bridge with your mom.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," you finally manage to say. "Let's go inside."

She mounts the steps to the bus ahead of you, and you turn to look at Steve, tapping your hand to your heart and mouthing thank you to him. He bows his head, a soft smile on his face.

As you follow your mother onto the bus, she looks around in amazement at all the decorations and posters featuring both yours and Steve's faces.

"This is quite the setup," she comments with a chuckle.

You nod in agreement. "It's a different speed, for sure."

Your mother turns back to face you and can’t seem to stop smiling. "I'm so proud of all that you've accomplished, even if politics isn't exactly my area of expertise."

"Thanks, Mom." You knew that admission was a white flag of its own. You hadn’t had a lot of time to check in with your parents throughout the campaign, but your marrying Steve and joining the campaign had been a point of friction between you and your mother.

Still, you were so glad to have her here now, and she seemed to want to start on a new page, without the tension.

“How long will you be with us?” you ask.

“Until Friday,” you calculated that would give her two full days on the trail with you, “unless you want me to stay longer than that. But I know you’ll be busy, I don’t want you to fuss over me.”

"Friday sounds perfect," you say, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. "I'm so glad you're here. We'll make the most of the time."

Your mother nods, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "I'm looking forward to seeing this big adventure. Now, tell me everything."

As you settle into one of the plush seats on the bus, you begin simply by recounting the events of the day. Your mother listens intently, asking questions and offering words of encouragement. It feels surreal to have her here, in the midst of this whirlwind campaign, but her presence is grounding.

Sophia briefly interrupts to bring you both some dinner from one of the food trucks, and as you eat, you finally get into the events of the past few days - the Oprah interview, the doctored photos, the media frenzy. Your mother listens attentively, her brow furrowing over the difficulties you’ve had to face. Talking to her about it feels different than talking to anyone on the campaign - even Steve - because she knew you before all this - since birth, obviously - and it helps to give you more perspective, stripping yourself back from the enormity of what it has become while living it every waking moment of the day.

The staff begin to trickle back onto the bus, and you put your mother-daughter discussion on hold as you introduce her to different members of the team. Your mother is one of the most friendly women you know, you’ve grown up watching her seem so at ease generating small talk and interacting with strangers, making them feel welcome and like they aren’t strangers, and you’re glad to see her make quick connections with this group of humans who are in your orbit every day.

So it’s all the more jarring when that is not the case with Steve when he boards the bus and comes to sit by you.

For his part, he tries to greet your mother warmly. "I'm glad you could make it," he says, his voice sincere, and yet there’s something timid about it. "Thank you for coming."

Your mother smiles at him. "Of course I came, Steven,” she says. So formal. And there is just a hint of something being held back in her eyes.

Your eyes dart between them as you feel the palpable awkwardness in the air.

The next few days are perhaps not going to go the way you thought…

next part: coming 1/10

Hi, Mom! 🤭

But don't go hating on your mom yet! Remember how things went when we found out about your former husband Jeff, and trust me until next week! 🙏🏻

Also, I had said there were only going to be 12 chapters, and then last week adjusted that to 13, but... now I'm taking off the estimate. I thought this was going to be kind of a drive by highlights chapter to cover a lot of ground between October 12 and the first Tuesday of November, but that was silly. We all know me and how I've authored this fic. Any hopes of that were just SILLY SILLY SILLY. This chapter was inching up toward 8k, and that was just feeling like a lot to me. So you have a minimum of three chapters coming after this, but there's a slight chance it could even be four.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x yn #red white & true #aspen wrote something #aspen's birthday jubilee

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helloalycia · 1 day ago

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𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 [𝐓𝐖𝐎] — 𝐒𝐊𝐘𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

one / masterlist / wattpad

summary: as Skye's paranoia gets even worse, you're left to help her through it.

warning/s: same as last time tbh.

authors note: here’s the second and final part! hope you enjoy it :)

Skye and I didn't argue often, so I was pondering ours the whole night, trying to figure out how I could have acted differently. I just wanted her to be okay and to feel safe. And yes, maybe I didn't believe her, but only because she truly was overworked and it only made sense that she was sleep-deprived and imagining things.

But the last thing I wanted was for us to grow distant because of all of it.

The next morning, I sent her a text message asking how she was, but she didn't reply. I only worried I'd made things even worse, so in the afternoon, I grabbed my things and went to the dance studio where I knew she was rehearsing. I was hoping that giving her the morning to have some space might make our chat a little easier, but I couldn't be sure.

Thankfully, I'd timed it perfectly as I found her on her break, refilling her water bottle at one of the dispensers.

"Skye, hey," I said, stopping behind her.

She glanced up before her expression hardened a little. "Hi."

I frowned, glancing around and seeing we were alone, before saying, "I texted you, but you didn't reply... I've been worried."

"Well, I'm fine," she said with a sigh, looking back to the water dispenser and capping her bottle.

"Skye, I'm really sorry," I apologised, trying to meet her gaze. "I didn't mean to discredit your feelings yesterday."

She winced. "Forget it. I don't wanna talk about it. I just wanna focus on rehearsals."

"Skye–"

"Please," she said softly, frowning to herself. "I just– maybe you were right. Maybe I'm seeing things."

I wasn't expecting that, raising my brows slightly. "What makes you say that?"

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know. Everything is a lot. I don't know."

She didn't seem sure and my heart ached for her.

"I just wanna focus on rehearsals," she said decisively, before meeting my gaze with sad eyes. "We're okay."

I had a million things I wanted to say, along the lines of her taking care of herself and us figuring this out together, but she looked tired and the last thing I wanted was to stress her out further. So, all I could do was nod.

"I'll hang around," I said slowly, in a way that gave her an opening to tell me otherwise, but she didn't. "I might grab a coffee later. Do you want anything for when you're done with rehearsals?"

She shook her head, chewing on her lip.

"Alright, well–"

"No, wait," she changed her mind, making me quirk a brow. "Can you get me an iced hot chocolate?"

I tried not to smile. "That's a thing?"

With a disapproving look, she answered, "I'm trying to cut down on my caffeine intake. But I want something cold."

"Suit yourself," I conceded. "One iced hot chocolate coming up."

She relaxed slightly, taking my hand and squeezing it. "Thanks."

I offered her a small smile and she stepped forward, leaning her head on my shoulder in a half hug, before letting go and returning to rehearsals.

For the next hour or so, I worked in one of the empty studios, sorting through some social content for the next six months, before heading out to get mine and Skye's drinks, knowing I'd be back by the time she was done.

Holding a cup holder with two drinks in it, I found Skye's dressing room and struggled to open the door with my hands full.

"It's me," I called to her as I attempted to grab the handle without spilling the drinks. When I finally got it open, I continued, "You know, I'm pretty sure an iced hot chocolate is just a chocolate milkshake, but–"

My eyes widened as I looked up, seeing a strange man standing in Skye's dressing room, pinning her against the wall with his hand pressed to her mouth to stop her from making a noise. He immediately looked to me with surprise, a deer caught in headlights, and he was wearing no shirt, revealing his giant tattoo of Skye's face on his chest.

Skye's squeals for help beneath the man's hand pulled me from me my reverie, her eyes wide and full of tears as they pleaded for help. Before the man could make a move, I yelled for security at the top of my lungs, knowing someone would be around to hear it, and instinctively threw both iced drinks at him.

He shouted at the impact, letting go of Skye and giving me the chance to move forward and grab her hand, pulling her away from him and out the door. Acting on pure fear and concern for Skye, I slammed the door shut and held it closed until Skye's security team ran to us to help.

"There's a crazy guy in there!" I shouted at them, letting go of the door, and they seemed to get the hint as they let themselves in to deal with the man.

I spun around to find Skye and felt my heart racing as I saw her sat on the floor against the wall, knees tucked to her chest and head hidden between them. Ignoring the commotion as other members of Skye's team arrived on the scene, I knelt before her and placed my hands on her shoulders, leaning my head close to hers so she could hear me.

"Skye, are you hurt?" I asked, trying to hide how horrified I was.

She didn't reply, but I could feel and hear her breathing become ragged as she tried to catch her breath. Realising she was shocked, I leaned my head against hers and rubbed her arms gently.

"It's okay, darling, they're sorting it, just breathe," I said as steadily as I could. "Come on, just like this."

I took her hand, unwrapping it from her knees, and placed it to my chest which made her look up. My heart broke as I saw the panic in her watery gaze, but I focused on making sure she was okay right now. My hand rested on her chest and I took some breaths slowly to show her.

"You feel that? Just breathe," I encouraged gently, eyes focused on hers as we breathed in sync.

It seemed to work as I felt her breathing regulate, though I could still feel her heart beating like crazy.

"It's okay," I repeated, hand moving to her knee.

Suddenly, the door to her dressing room burst open as two of her security team dragged out the stalker. The man was shouting as they did, eyes searching the hall until they settled on Skye like a predator with its prey.

"Tell them to stop, Skye!" he yelled at her, struggling against the security team, but he was nothing compared to their strength. "Tell them I'm your friend! You said we were friends! Tell them!"

I blocked his view of her as I moved over slightly, trying to calm Skye's breathing as it became unsteady yet again.

"Ignore him, just look at me," I said calmly, blocking her view too and forcing her to meet my gaze. "It's just me and you, Skye. Nobody else."

She was trembling and the stalker was still shouting at her, begging for her attention, only making her panic more. I covered her ears and she closed her eyes, trying to block him out.

"Get him out of here!" I yelled at the security team behind me, growing impatient as Skye only seemed to get worse, shutting in on herself.

Finally, the stalker was dragged out of the hall and away from us, and Skye's mother showed up just in time. She must have pieced everything together as she exchanged worried glances with me before shouting orders to everyone who was simply standing and watching like it was a TV show.

Meanwhile, I returned my attention to Skye, resting my forehead to hers and uncovering her ears but still holding the sides of her face, thumb stroking her skin soothingly.

"It's okay," I repeated quietly, so only she could hear, and she swallowed thickly as she nodded, taking in my words.

Deep down though, I knew it wasn't okay. And the guilt was eating me alive because I didn't believe her and I was wrong, and now look what had happened?

—

Shortly after that whole commotion happened and Skye could finally breathe again, she insisted on showering, wanting to scrub herself clean of rehearsals and the stalker's touch on her.

So, I found myself sat on the sinks in the communal bathroom as she showered in one of the cubicles. I couldn't blame her for not wanting to return to her dressing room, at least not so soon, nor could I blame her for not wanting to be left alone.

The sound of the water splashing against the tiles was the only thing to be heard, but it did nothing to drown out the guilt that was spreading in my chest. I couldn't stop imagining the worst, thinking about what more could have happened if I hadn't arrived to Skye in time. She'd tried to tell me that she didn't feel safe and I hadn't believed her. Why didn't I believe her?

Her mum was currently berating her security team, trying to understand how this stalker got past them and how nobody had caught him. I already knew she was probably debating firing the whole team and replacing them with someone better.

The sound of the shower being turned off made me stop overthinking, instead straightening up as I looked at the cubicle Skye was in.

"Can you pass me my towel?" her voice came from the other side, soft and timid, and my guilt only deepened.

"Yeah," I said quickly, grabbing her towel from beside me and going to the door, passing it her over the top.

She accepted it and I moved back to give her some space, watching her step out a moment later. Everything about her looked so small, the colour still drained from her face, eyes still holding a shock that wouldn't go away. I didn't even know what to say to make her feel better, because how could I say anything that would help her forget about the fact she was assaulted twice by the same crazy fan and nobody did anything to prevent it?

"I got you some fresh clothes," I said instead, aware it wasn't perfect.

I motioned to the pile of clothes next to the sink.

"Thanks," she muttered, eyes not meeting mine as she moved towards them.

Giving her some privacy but knowing she'd made it clear she didn't want to be left alone, I turned around and stared at the all whilst she got dressed.

After I no longer heard the shuffling of her movements, I turned around and saw her sat on the edge of the sink, legs hanging over the side. She was looking down at her lap, preoccupied. I joined her, leaning against the sinks beside her and looking over at her.

"He's gone?" she asked quietly.

I nodded, assuring her, "He is. The police have arrested him. Your mum is sorting everything out with security. You're safe."

At this, her tense shoulders relaxed slightly and she nodded. I swallowed thickly, eyes running over her side profile guiltily.

"Skye, I'm so fucking sorry for not believing you," I finally said what I'd been thinking this whole time. "I should have."

Other than the slight frown on her lips, she didn't react to my apology, and I didn't expect her to. What could she say?

"Are you hurt?" I asked worriedly, resting a hand on the small of her back. "Did he... did he hurt you?"

She shook her head slowly, putting me at ease slightly, though I couldn't imagine how terrifying the whole experience still must've been for her.

"I want to go home," she said, just above a whisper. Her eyes finally met mine, tired and frightened.

I leaned into her side slightly. "Alright. I'll go and arrange a car for you."

"Please, come with me," she added, the implication of her fear of being alone present yet again.

I nodded, wrapping my arm around her fully and pulling her into my side. "Of course."

The thought of not being able to watch over her was awful, so even if she hadn't asked, I would've offered anyway. After everything, I needed her to be safe.

—

It was heavily insinuated that I would be staying at Skye's place for the unforeseeable, and I didn't mind one bit.

Despite the few words she spoke, it was clear she wasn't okay. Over the next few days, we stayed exclusively at home, with her taking a short break from tour-related things. She was jumpy, constantly, afraid of her own shadow even though she wouldn't admit it. And if I dared bring it up, she'd assure me she was fine.

I had to swallow down my guilt and worry for her, despite noticing how she wouldn't go into any room in her apartment without me there with her. I couldn't blame her, the fear of her crazed stalker still in the back of her mind.

Though this behaviour made sense and I was glad she was taking some time for herself, her mother wasn't in the same boat. Elizabeth would call her, at first to check in but then to hint when she would be back at the studio for rehearsals. At that point, Skye ignored her calls and so Elizabeth deemed it necessary to bother me instead, to which I may have ignored some of her calls and cut other answered calls shorter.

It was easy to stick up for Skye and tell Elizabeth that it wasn't appropriate for her to return to work just yet, but of course all Elizabeth cared for was the tour. This, on top of the fact that my own manager was getting on my back about my workload and mithering me about if there was even going to be a tour at this point, was a lot. But I tried to keep it all away from Skye as long as I could.

Eventually, of course, Elizabeth had had enough and decided to stop by the apartment unannounced. Skye was sat at her piano, playing some chords and writing some things in her songbook, and I was reading my book on the couch when there was knock on the door. Skye tensed up momentarily, not expecting company and still on edge, so I quickly got up and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"It's alright, I'll check who it is," I assured her, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

She nodded, relaxing slightly, her own hand touching mine briefly before I went to answer the door. That was when I came face to face with Elizabeth, to my surprise.

"Elizabeth," I breathed out, eyebrows raised. "What are you–?"

"Where is she?" she cut me off, impatient.

Knowing she was definitely about to make everything worse, I gave her a knowing look. "Now isn't the best time–"

"It never is," she noted with a hint of irritation, before pushing past me to let herself in. "Skye?"

I blinked, not expecting that, and closed the door behind her before rejoining her as she looked down at Skye at the piano.

"So you do remember you're a musician," her mum commented with narrowed eyes. "Nice to know."

Skye looked up at her, expression unreadable. "Hi, mum."

"You've been ignoring my calls," Elizabeth told her.

Skye shrugged slightly, looking down to the piano keys. "I didn't feel like talking," she answered truthfully.

I sighed and went to take a seat at the kitchen island, watching the conversation from there.

Elizabeth quirked a brow, unimpressed, before speaking. "Your tour starts in a week."

Skye tensed her jaw slightly. "I know."

"And?" Elizabeth prompted impatiently, waving a hand.

Shrinking in on herself a little, Skye didn't answer, so I chimed in, trying not to sound so defensive.

"Elizabeth, she's been through a lot," I reminded her as calmly as I could muster. "Give her a break."

Momentarily, her mum's expression softened. "I know that. And it was horrible, but the world hasn't just stopped."

"That's not fair," I said with a twitching frown, trying not to start an argument.

"It's fine," Skye said to me softly, before her mother could reply with an insult, no doubt. After releasing a breath, she looked up to her mum. "I'll be back for rehearsals tomorrow."

Losing my irritation, I stood up and looked to her. "Skye."

Ignoring me, her mum nodded with satisfaction. "Good. I knew you'd do the right thing."

A scoff flew from my lips as I watched her kiss the top of Skye's head.

"Rest up," she told Skye. "You'll need it."

Skye nodded, expression vacant.

I clenched my jaw slightly, eyes falling back to Elizabeth. "That it?"

Her mum resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she met mine. "Yes. Is that okay with you? I wasn't aware she had a second mother."

I narrowed my eyes, but chose not to let her antagonise me further, especially not in front of Skye. Instead, I went to the front door and held it open for her, hoping she'd get the hint. She did, but I followed after her, closing but not clicking the door behind me.

"This isn't fair," I whispered aggressively to her. "She's not okay, Elizabeth. She hasn't been okay all week."

"The world can't stop because of this," Elizabeth whispered back, just as harshly and definitively. "Everything is set. Tickets have been sold. She has to be okay."

I was certain I was at boiling point as she spoke about the damn tour yet again, completely dismissing her daughter's wellbeing.

"She can't even go into her bedroom alone and you want to throw her back into work!" I whisper-shouted, voice rising.

"I am her manager for a reason, Y/N," Elizabeth snapped back. "She needs this, especially after this past year."

"You're also her mother," I reminded her bitterly.

She met my sneer with her own. "And you're just the girlfriend, so stick to that, yes?"

I bit my tongue, refraining from saying something I'd regret, mostly for Skye's sake. Instead, I settled for a different approach. "Don't you think that after everything, we should probably listen to Skye this time? We were both wrong about the stalker. We ignored her, blamed it on stress, and look what happened?"

Her mum frowned, looking away. "It was unfortunate."

My expression faded into one of regret as I held her stare. "It was more than that."

Shrugging it off, Elizabeth replied, "Skye said she's fine."

"She's saying that because she has to. You haven't seen her this past week."

"I know my daughter. And my daughter knows the business. She can't afford more time off," she said decisively. "End of discussion."

She was so easily dismissive that it frustrated me to no ends, but she'd always been like this and it was one of the reasons we'd never gotten along. And as I watched her walk away, I silently fumed, taking a deep breath and making sure I was alright before returning to the apartment. As soon as I stepped inside, I jumped when Skye was stood there.

Forcing a small smile, I said, "Hey. Sorry, your mum was just sharing your schedule."

Skye frowned, eyes reading mine. "I heard, like, quiet shouting." I pressed my lips together, attempting to think of an explanation, but she continued, "I appreciate you sticking up for me, Y/N, but it's okay. I had to return to everything at some point."

I shook my head, concerned. "Not if you're not ready."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a child."

"I know," I said gently, "but you are human. And anybody who went through what you did wouldn't be ready so soon."

"Well, I am," she reassured me, before going to sit on the couch.

I sighed before following after her, sitting next to her. I thought she'd push me away, but she looked right at me with a knowing expression.

"I know things aren't good for you with your boss," she said knowingly. "Everyone's on your back, aren't they?"

I cursed inwardly, assuming I'd done a better job at hiding my work calls from her. "It's not your concern, Skye."

"It is," she disagreed, tilting her head. "Because they're worried I'm gonna delay the tour. And you can't do your job when you're here babysitting me."

"Hey," I said disapprovingly, holding her hand. "It's not babysitting. I want to be here for you."

She sighed softly, brown eyes dimmed. "Because I'm scared to be alone."

I furrowed my brows, eyes fluttering over her face. "So what? I'll follow you everywhere if it means you'll feel safe, Skye. There's nothing wrong with that."

She didn't seem to agree, judging from the slight curve of her frown and the reluctance to meet my eyes.

"I don't care about any of that," I said, leaning into her, fingers intertwining with hers. "I care about you."

Her thumb stroked mine distractedly, before she looked up to me. "You feel guilty because you didn't believe me."

I was ready to retort whatever she said, but this stopped me in my tracks. Annoyingly enough, she'd got it spot on. Of course I still felt guilty. It was my fault.

"I do," I agreed, finally speaking after a moment's hesitation. "But that's not the only reason I'm here right now. A part of it, yes, but the other part is I love you and I want to help you."

She pursed her lips, searching my expression, before taking both my hands and holding them. "I'm returning back to work tomorrow, Y/N. And so are you. Things have to go back to normal."

"It's not fair–"

"It's the job," she cut me off, before exhaling tiredly, squeezing my hands in hers. "It'll be okay."

I frowned, very much disagreeing, but she offered me a small smile before laying her head on my chest, and so I had no choice but to respect her decision.

—

Last-minute prep for the tour kept everyone busy, including Skye and I, and mentions of what happened didn't come up. Despite Elizabeth thinking everything was fine and dandy again, I still kept as close an eye on Skye as I could, knowing she wasn't a hundred percent.

Even though Skye gave me her word that she was doing a lot better, the fact that she rarely left my side when she could was indicator enough. And once her tour officially begun, it was a similar routine of getting ready, sound check, performing and then back to the hotel or tour bus to do it all over again.

As she always did, she threw herself right back into it, and though I wanted her to get the rest she deserved, it was nice to see her a little more at ease when she interacted with her real fans, the ones that reminded her why she was doing the tour in the first place.

About a week into her tour, after a show, we were both back at the hotel. I was sat on the couch, doing some work bits on my phone, as Skye was sat on the bed in her robe, having just had a shower to freshen up.

"Hey, Y/N," she called softly, "can I talk to you?"

I looked up from my phone, seeing her move to sit at the edge of her bed and watching me hopefully.

"Sure," I spoke, moving to sit beside her as she patted the spot with her hand. "What's up?"

She exhaled contently, hands wrapping in on themselves on her lap. "I had an idea."

I watched her curiously. "Okay..."

"Even though I'm on the road, I want to talk to someone," she continued. "About... everything."

I nodded encouragingly, surprised she was bringing the incident up on her own accord.

"I can't keep putting it all on you," she said, eyes meeting mine, "and you can't always help." As I opened my mouth to say something, she quickly added, "And that's okay, it is. But..."

"You want professional help," I finished for her, to which she nodded slowly.

"I found a therapist," she explained. "She's remote and she can work around my tour schedule. And she can help me get over this hump, stop me from feeling so paranoid, you know?"

I nodded, beginning to smile. "That sounds great, Skye. I think it could really help."

She mirrored my smile. "I think so too. I want you to stop worrying and know that I can get help. I will."

"I'll try," I admitted, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. "It'll certainly be easier for me knowing you're talking to someone about it all. I'm proud of you, Skye."

She leaned into me, relaxing, and I kissed the top of her head, feeling my concern ease into relief at the thought of her getting the help she needed.

"There's something else," she said after a moment, wrapped up in each other.

"Yeah?"

Her hesitation is what made me look down, noticing the nervous look on her face. Catching my confused glance, she pulled away and straightened up, clearing her throat.

"So," she started, eyes flickering from mine to her lap. "You basically come over to my place all the time anyway, so this seems silly. But I like having you there and I thought, well... do you want to move in with me? Like, permanently?"

I raised my brows, surprised, and then my heart grew warm in my chest as I noticed the nervousness in her expression.

A smile tugged at my lips as I rested my hand on her fumbling ones. "I'd actually love that, Skye."

She finally looked up. "Really?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Really."

Her lips curved into a smile. "Good. Most of your stuff is there anyway, but when the tour ends, maybe we can move the rest of it in."

The thought of moving in permanently made my smile widen. "Sounds good. I'm surprised you're not sick of me yet."

She laughed wholeheartedly, the room lighting up in an instant. "I could never be sick of you."

I rolled my eyes playfully and she lifted her hand to caress my cheek, pulling me close.

"I love you," she said softly, with a tender smile and twinkling eyes, before kissing me.

As I kissed her back, I knew things would get better. We were already halfway there.

#skye riley x you #skye riley imagine #skye riley x reader #skye riley #smile 2 imagine #smile 2 #naomi scott

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wheneclipsefalls · 1 day ago

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Grovel - Part 4

Pairing: Adult Lo'ak x Fem Omatikaya Reader

Summary: How much more of this can you take?

Warnings: aged up characters, swearing, MDNI, sexual tension, lust, slight angst, mentions of death and blood, war trauma, past cheating, etc.

A/N: Honestly not super happy with how the sentences turned out but writing the actual content of this chapter was so much fun. I hope you enjoy:)

Grovel Masterlist

yawne: love/beloved

paskalin: honey (endearing)

kelku: home/hut

tiyawn: star/little star (endearing)

mawey: be calm

tewng: loincloth

The sun barely crested over the trees before you had set out of your kelku in search of the youngest Omatikaya prince. You had been afforded very little sleep even once in your own bed after spending the night with Lo’ak. Too many images of what had occurred in your drunken state last night had been painted in your mind and it had your stomach tied in knots. The worst part of this torture was the fact that you knew less about your drunken mishaps than anyone else.

And Lo’ak….

Oh Lo’ak he didn’t even bother to fill you in on the details properly.

So once you had tossed in your hammock for the thousandth time in the late morning you let out a groan, rushed to get ready for the day and went hunting for that smirking Sully. That lighting fire had only squandered for a moment when you looked over at the magical music device he had left with that note.

Although early in the morning, he was sure to be in the midst of some sort of morning Omatikaya politics or hunting party. You found him surrounded by a few males for an early breakfast around a fire. You were, however, surprised to find Neteyam already there and dressed. After his ‘activities’ with Talu last night you would have supposed he’d require further rest.

Instead, it was him that nudged Lo’ak’s arm as you came into view, tilting his head in your direction to point you out. Blood still rushing at your ears and tail swatting back and forth like a whip, you stared the prince down.

“You.” One deadly point at him and then the next at the ground in front of you. Almost as if calling an animal to heel. The venom in your voice was enough to have the other males letting out teasing jeers and shoving at him.

Although swatting back at the other males for their jests and comments, Lo’ak’s expression remained soft and calm as he approached you obediently.

“Good morning, yawne.”

Rolling onto the balls of your feet you peeked up over his right shoulder back at the group near the fire. Far too close for comfort. You’d suffered enough embarrassment already without another nosy party there to witness. So in one move you snatched his wrist and pulled the towering male deeper into the forest.

Although surprised, Lo’ak didn’t lag behind for long. He allowed himself to be dragged until you’d chosen a suitable private location to lay into him.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m in trouble?” The corner of his lips turned up even as he ticked his head to the side and observed your heated composure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You demanded, swatting at his arm. Lo’ak didn’t flinch.

“You are going to have to be more specific than that, paskalin.”

“Decided to leave out some precious details last night, huh?” Your tail curved around your upper thigh, ears pointed and alert as you stared up at him. “You can quit this oblivious facade. Talu filled me in on everything.”

“Ah, I see.” He sighed, those dark brows raising as he rested his hands on his hips. “Well truthfully, yawne, I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about the kiss. I thought if you remembered you would insist on us pretending it never happened but if you want to dig into it then-”

“What?” You cut him off, eyes blown wide and heart already thumping at a new speed. “A kiss. Great Mother, what are you talking about?” You were certain this was just another game Lo’ak was playing with you but when your ire didn’t die down and his face dropped slightly, that theory began to look less promising.

“Oh, so she didn’t tell you everything then.” His ears tucked back, but there was intrigue still dancing in his eyes. It always sparkled beneath those dark lashes when his attention landed on you. It gave the feeling of being put under those microscopes they used at the human outpost. The undeniable heat of his studying gaze.

“I am not in the mood for jokes, Lo’ak.” You ground out.

“Really? But you’ve been so pleasant this morning-”

“Shut up.” Hardly the comeback you were looking for but despite the sharp sting to your words, Lo’ak only struggled harder not to grin back at you. You were ready to tear his eyes out, or maybe your own depending on the validity of his claim, and yet all he could do was joke at a time like this. “You should have told me everything last night.”

Lo’ak’s half grin slowly lowered into a thoughtful pout. You veered your attention away from those plump lips, afraid of the way your imagination was already piecing together what this supposed kiss would have looked like.

“You’re right, yawne, as usual. I only thought you were already a bit embarrassed so I didn’t believe adding the kiss to the list would help matters.”

“Embarrassed? What by the stars above do I have to be embarrassed of?” A lot. Oh so much that you had to spend half of your energy just pushing away the leering weight of thinking about what drunken acts you had gotten up to.

“Nothing at all.” His hands raised in surrender before reaching back to take down his tied hair. “Attraction is a perfectly natural feeling and so is acting upon it.” Lo’ak casually drawled, skilled fingers now working to gather his hair into a low bun at the back of his head.

“Attraction?!” It came out as almost a squawk, voice cracking in the midst. “Attraction to what? To you?”

Your tone did little to ruffle his feathers as he finished securing his hair and nodded calmly. “Like I said, natural.”

“I am not attracted to you!” Heat rose beneath your skin, cheeks sure to already be inflamed into a deep blush. You prayed that Lo’ak would read that purplish hue as evidence of the rage you felt instead of this ‘embarrassment’ he claimed to know so much about.

“I’m not asking you to admit it.” Those signature beads dangled as he casually leaned against the nearest tree.

“Well good because there is nothing to admit.” You fired back, hands balling into fists.

“Alright.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He echoed back. Lo’ak pushed off the tree before striding past you. The perfect opportunity to escape and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing after him.

“I’m being serious.” You insisted, frown deepening when you heard a deep chuckle emanate from his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise from you, paskalin.”

Your heated glare sought to burn a hole into the back of his head but keeping up with Lo’ak’s natural pace was a struggle that made your intimidation efforts that much less effective as one of his strides equaled about three of yours. It felt like hobbling after the taller male instead of the hunt you were aiming for.

“But you don’t believe me.”

Lo’ak twirled on his heel suddenly. Your skid to a stop was anything but graceful as you almost crashed straight into his chest. Four fingered hands went to steady you, but you pushed them away. However, with crossed arms you refused to retreat out of his space, determined to establish some sort of dominance in this conversation that has taken such a turn.

“Why do you care so much if I believe you?” He mimicked your posture, crossed arms showing off the veins that traveled up that swirling blue skin into pronounced biceps.

“Because…” You sputtered for some sort of reasonable explanation, but he had brought up a point. He was right, there was no logical reason for you to care about his opinion. So what if he had a big head about it, most days you just wanted him to leave you alone. “Because you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Yes!”

“Last night you told me I smelled good seven different times.” A lump formed in your throat, eyes desperately wanting to look anywhere else but him.

“And you counted it.” You shot back, fighting the urge to shift your weight from foot to foot.

“You’re right I did.” Came his immediate reply and somehow his instant acceptance of your accusation was that much more infuriating. “But that’s the difference between me and you, paskalin.”

He took one stride forward, but it was enough to close the last piece of distance between you two. “I’m not afraid to admit that I want you. Neither am I afraid to admit that I enjoyed the way you played with my hair. I savored every moment that you willingly sat there on my lap and when you suddenly leaned in to seal the night with a kiss, I couldn’t stop myself from kissing back.” Lo’ak didn’t touch you, he knew better than that, but with his shadow falling over your smaller form and purred words dripping from his lips it may as well have been as strong as skin up skin.

“And yet you have the nerve to say you didn’t take advantage of me.”

“It was one kiss. I pulled away the second you did. And when your sister said it was time to turn in for the night I had every intention of walking you home myself and leaving you alone. But you had other plans. And yawne, I’m trying my best to behave for you but I’m also a male. A male that can barely breathe when I’m around your sweet scent so when the woman of my dreams is clinging to my arm and sweetly asking to stay in my kelku where she feels more safe, I tuck her into my hammock without complaint.”

Every muscle in your body seemed to lock up, accurately aware of the last few inches between your chest and his stomach. Even more so strung up by the shameless confession falling from those perfect lips.

“Is that the truth you were looking for?” He asked, one brow arching.

A long pause hung between you before your motor functions returned back online. “I never said I want you.”

“Your scent does the talking for you.”

Your right hand balled up into a fist again, almost tempted to deliver a right hand hook that ironically Lo’ak himself had taught you as children, but then you felt the dampness between your legs. You were appalled to find that even in your anger, your body had fallen prey to the weight of his words and presence. Even Lo’ak’s own essence that now surrounded you like a warm cloak.

“You ignorant ass!” The insult was accompanied by one push to his chest that had him stepping back immediately. You were sprinting in the other direction before he could get in another word.

Lo’ak supposed he had no right to be surprised when you were unreachable for the rest of the day. Perhaps it was not his place to push you earlier but he also couldn’t find it in himself to keep from being anything but honest when it came to you. He knew better than to believe that one night in his kelku and a gift or two would win back your trust. The long game was a road paved by immense patience. A trait that was not his favorite to exhibit.

However, patient or not, you deserved to know the depth of his feelings. You may not have been willing to accept them yet, but that wouldn’t stop him from expressing them all the same. Bottling it up only made his tossing and turning at night all that much worse. Especially now that your scent lingered in his kelku. It was a new form of delicious torture to press his nose into the blanket that was still drenched in your natural perfume.

Neteyam encouraged him to continue being diligent and patient, perhaps the only piece of advice that kept him from searching for you when he found your kelku empty upon dropping off your dinner. Perhaps he had a point, even if he were to find you it was obvious that the only thing he could expect from your company was snide comments and harsh glares. And yet, Lo’ak couldn’t help but feel a craving even for that.

So when plans changed the following day and Lo’ak was invited to cliff jump with a group you were meant to be present with, he couldn’t jump fast enough at the opportunity. A storm was meant to be rolling in a few days earlier than anticipated so it was the last opportunity they would have for a while to dive safely. Meaning that some projects were set to the side temporarily.

He should have known better than to expect you with the group of friends the next morning. Neteyam, Talu, and even Kiri present but not you. When asked about your absence Talu had simply rolled her eyes and claimed she had done everything in her power to get you out of the house for some fun. To play hooky just this once.

And immediately Lo’ak knew where to find you. Ignoring the protests at his bowing out, Lo’ak gave a quick wave goodbye and bounded through the forest towards his destination.

And for once, you weren’t difficult to track down.

Norm had asked for a group to start dismantling one of the last surviving air crafts left behind by the RDA. He wanted to get it foraged for any remaining supplies that could be of use, however, the vehicle was left in a precarious condition. Hanging high in the trees above, it looked more like a crushed tin can than the death machine he knew it was during the heat of battle. Pulling it apart to even examine for anything salvageable would take a whole group of Na’vi an afternoon.

And yet, there you were. Alone and cursing under your breath as you tugged at the crushed side door with all your might. Lo’ak stifled a chuckle when he saw the position you were in, legs wrapped around a higher tree branch so that you could swing upside down and try to access the left side of the aircraft.

That threatening laughter subsided into a different feeling when he caught a glimpse of the way your beaded top barley clung to your chest in this upside down position. Only a few beads hanging loosely to cover your perked nipples.

Gulping down the lump in his throat, Lo’ak fought the urge to adjust himself in his loincloth. No doubt, you wouldn’t take kindly to his presence in the first place, let alone any evidence of his sudden arousal.

“I knew I’d find you here.” He called from below.

He was caught between guilt and amusement when his sudden comment had you losing grip on the branch with a surprised squeak and sliding across the top of the aircraft. His smile dropped when you peeked up from the other side of the machine and leveled him with a fiery glare.

“Aren’t you meant to be jumping off a cliff, dumb ass?” He heard your voice echo from above as he made quick work of scaling up the tall tree. The moment his head peeked up over the last branch, small hands scrambled to push at his own. “Go back! I don’t want you here.”

Your feeble attempts to push him off were borderline adorable as he easily lifted himself up over the last hurdle and sat back on his haunches beside you.

“You might have a hard time cracking this thing open on your own.”

A muscle in your jaw ticked, tempting him to run the pad of his finger along your delicate features. God, even when you looked ready to beat him off with a stick you were nothing short of exceptional.

“Not that it will stop you.” He added.

“What makes you so sure?” You challenged, rising to your feet swiftly to climb back to the other side of the aircraft. Lo’ak followed, as if drug by an invisible cord tying himself to you.

“Because I know you.”

The comment earned him a scoff, your tail snapping back at him when his hovering got too close.

“You knew me as a kid, Lo’ak. I’ve grown.”

“Undoubtedly.” A few brisk strides spun him in front of you to block the path. “Grown more capable. Grown more independent.” Lo’ak paused, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “More beautiful.” He whispered.

“Grown less gullible.” You shot back, causing him to stumble as you pushed at his shoulders to get him out of the way. He watched you pass, resisting the urge to keep himself within your bubble. Distance may make the heart grow fonder but no one told him that distance from you would drive him into madness.

“Still just as stubborn as ever.”

You resumed your position on the other side of the aircraft, this time ignoring the taller shadow that followed your every step. With precarious footing you were able to grip the edges of the crushed door but could only apply a small amount of force without losing your balance.

“Yes yes I know, Lo’ak. I’m a stick in the mud. Don’t know when to quit and run off for fun and games with the others. I believe Talu has already beat you to the punch on this lecture. I’m not interested in a repeat. Not all of us can be a social butterfly like you.”

For a moment Lo’ak was caught in the whiplash of your self deprecating misunderstanding and a comment towards him that seemed to almost be a complement. But then your left foot was slipping and his body was reacting before his mind could catch up. One rushed leap heaved himself into your space, one hand gripping the rack atop the roof of the aircraft while his other arm slunk around your waist to pull you back into place.

Your smaller hands threatened to break his focus as they willingly clung to his broad shoulders for support.

“You are nothing like me, tiyawn.” Those oh so kissable soft lips turn down into almost a pout. “And that’s what I love about you.”

Ear tucked back against your luscious hair and tail curling around your own ankle, the surprise at his comment gave him enough time to gently lift your body to tuck against his with one arm before carefully dispositing you to a safe perch on his left. Thoughts formed more clearly without your mouth watering essence creating a fog around them.

And yet, even staring at those beautiful golden eyes that were now relaxed from your usual glare, shot in his direction was too much to handle if he had any hope of expressing himself with more than one syllable responses. By Eywa, why did the Great Mother create such an exquisite creature to torture him with?

He turned, setting himself into a different foothold that allowed him to slowly start peeling back the thin crushed metal. Every muscle tensed as he forced it back inch by inch but the harder fight was keeping his lips from turning up into a crooked grin when he felt your intent gaze burning through him. A new spice nipped at your signature scent. Just a whiff of your arousal was enough to feel a renewed hardness between his own legs.

“You may not be some exuberant social butterfly. You may not run after danger and adventure at a rate only skxawngs like me can manage.” The metal pulled back another inch, the sounding screech almost covering up your short mixture of a laugh forced into a scoff. “But I could never be you, yawne.” He paused, daring to meet your eyes.

“So brave. So resilient. I’ve heard the stories.” The endless hours you had spent in the healers tent as wave after wave of mauled Na’vi came through those doors. There was not an ounce of him that could even feign surprise when he heard it was you that had spent the longest cleaning and stitching wounds, rebreaking bones back into position, sometimes even scrambling to rush that tent down the stream an extra mile as the bombs rained closer.

“I think you have me confused with someone else. Perhaps one of your other girlfriends that in fact stormed into battle with a weapon in hand. I am no brave warrior.”

Lo’ak’s eyebrows scrunched. He couldn’t find it within himself to even care for the brief snide in your comment when faced with your wavering confidence on display. You were never one to hide your emotions well, despite what you would like to believe. The mask you wore was always cracked, leaving him a sliver to peek into what plagues your mind.

“You fought just as hard as them. Simply in a different way.”

“Lo’ak there is no need to shower me with flattery. I know that I stayed on the sidelines while they faced death. I am no fighter. I was never meant to be and I accept that.”

Something seized in his chest, pushing his body into motion until he was back into your space, eyes bearing down at you with an intensity he hoped would burn through your stubborn defenses.

“No one faced death the way you did, yawne. The others may have gone into the heat of battle knowing the potential consequences of doing so but you were among those that dealt with those worst case consequences day in and day out. You had a front row seat to loss and turmoil. Men and women’s lives hanging in the balance, that decision sometimes being made by the rush of your own hands. There is nothing about it that remotely resembles sitting on the sidelines and I don’t know what how you fucking did it.” His lungs seized for air. “I’ve had more than my fair share of war, but I could never imagine plucking up the courage to face that terror.”

It was only after the spill of words that Lo’ak could recognize the way his blood raced. The heat that now had his tail flashing with an adrenaline that he could almost attribute to furry. Looking down at your flushed expression, lips parted and momentary disbelief at his sudden confession, he couldn’t blame himself either for harboring that anger.

How could you not see what he did? Surely after all that you’ve endured, you should be the one spitting this speech confidentiality back at him. Telling him off for even attempting to court such a fearless goddess as yourself, and you would be right. And yet, all you could do is stare back at him with a wide eyed expression and the wheels in your head turning to keep up.

“I’m sorry.” That timid whisper broke the silence and it was only then that Lo’ak had the sense to release his clenched jaw. You weren’t apologizing for thinking such things but rather for getting him so riled up and that had him drawing back within an instant.

“No I…” He gaped for the right words, bottom lip tucking between his sharp teeth. “I simply…” He paused, brows pulled together as you looked up at him with curious eyes. “I wish you could understand all the pieces that make you so magnetic, yawne. I have never met someone who cares as much as you. Utterly devoted to the people, offering your whole self to a cause without a second thought. You’re not a stick in the mud, tiyawn. You’re a rare gem.”

It was not his intention to render you speechless but Lo’ak couldn’t claim to be against the view it gave. The tense scrunch of your features relaxed until those beautiful eyes were peering up at him with the sparkle of a rushing river beneath sunlight. A certain softness fell over your countenance, one that was made even more breathtaking when a pink glow blossomed over your cheeks.

The trance you had fallen over could only last so long before you were muttering about getting back to work and sheepishly dipping past his shoulder. His lips parted for a just moment in search of digging into what change he had just witnessed but he quickly stopped himself. Lo’ak knew when it was best not to push his luck. You allowing him to stay and work was already more than he would have guessed to receive a few minutes prior, so he took that miracle in stride.

However, there was nothing to sate the side of him that sparked with curiosity and desire when it came to you. He jabbered on about anything and everything he could think of just to shoot at a chance you would have something to say in response. For a while it seemed that nothing could steal your attention away from the task it was pinpointed on, that is until a sudden burst of frustration had you slamming your fist against the curved metal and cutting off Lo’ak’s current Metkayina story.

“Stupid sky demon technology.” You muttered with a dark glint, trying once again to claw at the metal edge and pull back with all your might.

The majority of your joint efforts to dismantle the aircraft had come from Lo’ak’s own hands. Meanwhile you had stubbornly continued to struggle at pulling back even the slightest slab of metal. You were being too hard on yourself. His hands were not only larger and protected by the rough calluses he had gained handling weaponry and scavenging around hard ocean rock, but he also had the prior knowledge of sky people weapons manufacturing on his side. He knew which areas were weak points that he could exploit and which pieces were unlikely to budge without better tools.

Your hands were soft and nimble, perfectly designed for climbing trees and stitching up wounds. Designed perfectly for so many wondrous things that had him staying up at night and fighting the tent in his loincloth.

Shaking the rotting thoughts from his head, Lo’ak cautiously shifted forward to gently pry your hands from the sharp edge of metal. One more tug and it was sure to draw blood.

“Mawey, we will get it eventually-”

“There is no time for eventually!” You shot back. The soft tuff of your tail whipped at his cheek when you abruptly spun on your axis to walk past him. A shiver raced all the way down to the tip of his own tail. “It is supposed to be finished today. I do not have another day to spare. With the healer’s tent still half broken and so many injured still waiting on a new batch of medicine…I…I can’t…” The sentences broke into choppy waves as your jaw clenched and tail snapped frantically in the wind.

He sensed the best thing he could do was silently wait as you spouted out your stresses into a jumbled mess.

“There is still so much left to fix!” And although you didn’t specify he knew you were no longer just talking about the crumpled aircraft you had yet to dismantle. The war had left a mark on the village not only emotionally but physically as well. Homes were being rebuilt, roles restructured with so many gaps left from those now in the arms of Eywa forever. The list could trail on forever. Knowing you, there was undoubtedly already a list stamped at the forefront of your mind to adhere to.

But the village would be rebuilt.

The People would heal, they already were.

It was the emotional scars you harbored that stung under such uncertain times. The same sting that had you wound into a tight coil.

“I just…I can’t…” You let that thought drop with a huff, small hands now pressed over your heated face.

Wind whistled through the trees, blanketing the prolonged moment of silence.

“Do you know what the issue is?” Lo’ak carefully leaned back against the metal side. The look that you sent through parted fingers told him there was not a universe where you would ever be interested in what he thought the issue was. Regardless, he took that lack of response as an opportunity to continue. “You are too tense.”

You scoffed, arms dropping to cross over your chest.

“Everyone needs a break, yawne.” The heat in your eyes tried and failed to scorch him as he glided forward across the branch. “And you,” His bent knuckle tucked under your chin. “You more than anyone, need a release.”

That double meaning did not bode well with you. His hand was slapped away just as the pink darkened across your cheeks.

“Let me guess, this is your charming way of offering such services?”

“What services do you mean, paskalin?” Lo’ak couldn’t keep the comment from his lips if he tried. Yet seeing your reaction, he couldn’t fathom why he would want to. Pointed ears on alert and a burning fire in your expression that was all the more lovely than the stressed tension you had worn moments prior. He meant what he said about your responsible nature being admirable, but it was obvious that a little fun could do you a lot of good. “Any service you require. I’m always happy to help you release that tension.”

Swiftly you ducked under his arm and skated past him.

“Handing out offers like that so freely, surely I would need to schedule an appointment several moon cycles in advance. I think I will pass.”

It’s meant to be another stab at his younger reputation as a womanizer, but Lo’ak couldn’t help but revel in the jealousy that dripped from your voice. Subtle yet oh so sweet.

“No need for jealousy, tiyawn. The offer is yours alone.” He carefully crafted his path to let your arms brush as he passed by. You must have felt the surge of electricity too as you halted in place and faced the male now towering in front of you. “Everyone knows that I belong to you.”

A hitch of breath so subtle that his ears had to strain to hear it, but present all the same.

“I am at your disposal.”

He was taunting you.

Or well…he had been since the beginning you supposed, but somehow now it seemed to actually have a physical effect on you.

He had offered to provide a release from your stresses, not the first time either, yet now that idea was persistent in bouncing around your head constantly. It roused a heat to your cheeks and between your thighs at the most inconvenient of times. You had found Lo’ak attractive upon the first time seeing him back from Awa’atlu, begrudgingly albeit, but now that the idea of not only looking but touching such an exquisite form had been planted, there was no escaping your body's reaction.

There were a plethora of reasons you could have been feeling this way and you were eagerly holding on to every single excuse you could think of. You repeated that list in your mind over and over when you lay awake at night in your hammock, pulse rushing and temple sweaty after having experienced yet another erotic dream where Lo’ak had inserted himself as the leading star.

It was the stress. It was never his place to point out but Lo’ak was right in assuming that there was far too much tension and anxiety riddling your every day routine. It felt as if there was always something being put on your plate. Even when there wasn’t you were sure to find another task to busy yourself with that felt like the most pressing matter possible. So when you tossed and turned at night, there was no easing the coiled muscles that made your shoulders rise up to your ears. A list of responsibilities were constantly on your mind, to the point where you even found yourself grateful for the consistent meals that Lo’ak left at your doorstep. Eywa, knows you would have nearly starved without it.

Even further, there was a new development in your home. That development was named Neteyam. Neteyam who was eager to fill his days with Talu’s company and even more than eager to show his appreciation of giving her time in a very…physical manner. She spent half the nights in his own kelku but your older sister still insisted on coming home frequently to keep you company, at least make it feel like she still lived there.

However, part of you wished she would simply move into the Sully male’s kelku just so you wouldn’t have to hear their very prolonged goodbyes that consisted of far too much tongue and far too little clothing. You could never mistake Neteyam’s taller shadow casted on the privacy curtains as they attempted to sneak inside together. As two individuals that claimed to be accomplished warriors, there was no way they could truly believe this lack of stealth to mask their rendezvous from you. Or perhaps, much like his younger brother, Neteyam did not care to be modest in his sexual activities, wearing it as a trophy like the cocky bastard he was.

So there you had been left, splitting your nights between dreaming of Lo’ak in your bed, running through the constant checklist of responsibilities, and hearing the damning evidence of Neteyam bringing your sister to a higher bliss over and over.

All things considered, anyone else in your position would have crumbled by now. So what if your primal nature had come out to the surface under the recent pressures? A little arousal was normal for someone your age and by no means going to be the thing that crushed your logic to dust.

Avoiding Lo’ak had become a normal part of your routine and it had seemed like the most reasonable course to combat these feelings. On your particularly sharp days you managed to go without a glimpse of his face until dinner and even then it was from afar. You figured without any new content to fuel these dreams they would surely putter out and you would be left to focus on more important matters.

That had not been the case.

Perhaps one of the more foolish decisions you had made because it seemed the longer you spent away from Lo’ak the more instant your body’s reaction would be at the next glimpse of him. Your craving for him only grew as you denied yourself of his presence. Even the short peeks at his smile as he sat around the fire with friends had been enough to feel saliva pooling along your tongue.

And then there was that first night you had truly seen him dance. With such a long war season having come to a close, impromptu celebrations around the dinner fire had become almost routine. Jake Sully’s youngest son was the furthest from sheepish when it came to starting the vibrant dancing. He jumped at the opportunity, teaching those around him the dances he had learned from the Metkayina.

And you had to admit…you were a secret fan of the sea people’s version of dancing. The men moved with such force. It provoked a sense of weight in their presence while simultaneously showcasing an admirable flow of grace. The muscle of his thighs were pronounced with every bend and stomp. Those dark tattoos rolled like waves as Lo’ak swished his hips in time with heavy drums. You wanted to run your tongue over every inch of that dark ink. Perhaps see how far those lines traveled beneath his loincloth.

Feeling utterly mortified by your own silent lust you had tried to draw away from the dancing as soon as you were broken out of trance. Of course, you had not always been successful. More than once, golden eyes had caught your own followed by a four fingered hand reaching out in invitation.

Never before had your natural desires taken such hold on your everyday life. There had been crushes and even lust before but this felt constant. And watching Lo’ak moving his body with the confidence and charisma you could only dream of having every night, it felt like a personal attack. Every quirk of his lips into a smirk felt directed at you in a display of the conquest he anticipated.

So your patience had been a little more fried at the start of the next diving lesson. You had hardly heard any of Neteyam or Lo’ak’s directions to the crowd at the beginning of the lesson, too busy staring off into the trees and keeping your teeth from grinding together.

“Neteyam says you have to slow your heartbeat.” Talu reminded you the next time your head had rushed up from under the water prematurely. Her soft hand gently placed over your chest but her sympathetic smile had only been met with your narrowed eyes and downturned lips.

“Of course he did.”

Your voice strained to keep the sarcasm from bleeding in too heavily. It didn’t matter anyways, not when she was already making heart eyes at the future Olo’eyktan from across the way. He took one step in your general direction and you knew then that now was time to escape the barely concealed love fest that was about to take place.

Ducking beneath the water again you swam in the opposite direction until your lungs were scorched with the need to breathe. Over and over you had tried the exercise only to come up faster each time.

The lack of sleep was catching up with you, enough to have you stumbling across the slippery rocks and naturally falling into Lo’ak’s arms. Rough hands steadied you back into a standing position, his tail just barely missing a brush of your thigh. He said something, most likely checking to make sure you were alright, but none of it registered. All you could feel was the heat of his skin and that natural musky scent that somehow wafted even stronger when he was soaking wet.

Your eyes snagged his own for only a second before you were diving back into the cold water. At least beneath the surface you were able to block out the sounds and scents of the day that were too much for you to handle. If only oxygen were not an essential. Then you could stay down here forever. A perfect sanctuary to collect your thoughts.

The next time you sprung up from the depths you allowed yourself a moment of respite. Heart pounding and lungs seizing you couldn’t imagine holding your breath again. However, without that distraction your eyes naturally wandered to where Lo’ak instructed a Na’vi male from the other side of the small lake. Water dripped from his braids and created a dancing trail down the curve of his spine.

So much for staying away. It seems that no matter what you did, Lo’ak was there to throw your day off course. Even when he wasn’t there he haunted your dreams. You mentally cursed whatever spell he has managed to put you under. Perhaps dark magic existed after all.

If only you could have a break, just one moment where you were able to breathe.

A release.

That’s what Lo’ak had said. His head would grow until it exploded if you ever told him he was right, but the fact still remained, you needed relief. And you needed it now.

Lo’ak was hardly subtle in the way he peeked back at you from the corner of his eye. His ears remained standing tall atop his head and while one could claim it was to listen for possible drowning Na’vi in need, you knew that his senses were attuned only to you. And that thought…

That thought alone made something burn within you. A certain excitement blossomed as your instincts were fueled by the idea of being wanted. So many nights you had spent alone in your hammock while listening to Neteyama and Talu wrestle and giggle next door. So many dreams you had woken up from only to find yourself missing a touch that never existed.

But here was a male in his prime and he wanted you.

And, by the stars above, you couldn’t help but secretly admit that you wanted him too.

Why not let him sate your desires? After all, was he not the one that put you into this hazy state? Dash logic to the side and forget the consequences that would come later, it was your turn to escape the pressure around you and get lost in the strong arms of a Sully male.

Lo’ak spotted you before the water line had even lowered down to your hips. A part of you felt bad when all it took was one look his way and he was already neglecting the student in front of him.

Everyone knows I belong to you

You briefly heard him jumble together some messy instructions and an excuse before water was sloshing behind you. He at least had the decency to wait a few moments after you had exited the lake before trailing after.

Adrenaline pulsed through you with every step, drowning out the voice of caution long enough for you to round the corner and enter a secluded cave. It raged even higher when you heard smooth footsteps falling closer.

So when Lo’ak finally rounded the corner himself and you got another glimpse of those charming, yet currently confused, features, something inside of you snapped.

“Are you alri-”

His question melted against your lips into that sudden kiss. Although initially he let out a small sound of surprise, Lo’ak dove back into the kiss the moment his brain had caught up with what was happening.

This kiss was nothing like the sweet ones the two of you had shared as children. This was ravenous - addicting. And this time, it was you that now pushed the tension between you from taunt to absolutely filthy territory.

His lips were softer than you remembered, but created a beautiful contrast to the sharp fangs that threatened to tear into your bottom lip. When Lo’ak nipped at the flesh there in silent question you wasted no time in sliding your tongue past his plush lips.

Lo’ak tasted of the night breeze and the smoke from communal fires at dinner. Every inhale that you could spare between the battle of your lips and tongue was infused with his unique essence. Night’s whisper that could chill your bones during a summer day.

It had you fingers tangling quickly into his braids, his own hands gripping at your hips in response. And when you suddenly shoved him back against the cave wall, he submitted to your small show of strength without question. In fact, a delighted grin spread to reveal those white teeth and an animalistic glint in his eye.

Whatever bug you had caught from him, lighting your primal desires with no bounds, it seemed he had caught it too. Nothing but pure hunger and desperation in his countenance, all signs of surprise or concern washed away by the cave’s shadows.

He burned for you just as much as you did him. And a part of you, perhaps a selfish part at that, yearned to see if he was suffering even more than you have been.

So when you dove back in to reconnect your lips with ferver, your right hand caught his left wrist before it could land back on your waist. Pushing your body flush against his, you could feel the ripple of tension across his abdomen and shoulders, but he showed no signs of rebellion when you pressed his hand back against the cave wall.

His right hand mirrored the placement on the other side of him, nails digging into the rock.

In no universe would you have a chance of overpowering him physically. Neither did your actions exhibit much true force in the first place, but Lo’ak allowed you to wrestle him into your desired position.

Everybody knows I belong to you.

I belong to you.

He had every chance to spin the situation to his advantage, to finally take what he claimed to have been craving for years. But instead, it was you that got to take. Everything he had offered for you on a silver platter.

You hadn’t meant for it to be a test, but regardless he had passed with flying colors. His patience was rewarded when you dragged his left hand back to your hips and released it to explore. You had some exploring of your own to do, lips brushing down the column of his throat while finally running your knuckles over the dark lines of his tattooed sides.

The contrast of his calloused hands mapping out your soft skin was maddening. It had been a long time since someone had touched you in this way but you hadn’t realized how desperate you had become for a foreign touch. Or more specifically, for his touch. So confident and smooth yet voracious when he sought to leave the imprint of his fingertips along your hips and waist.

“Fuck yawne.” His voice was wrapped with a gravelly timbre. One that traveled straight to your core.

Such deliciously sweet torment he suffered as you bit harshly over his pulse, but Lo’ak blossomed like a flower beneath it. You could feel the way it took everything within him to not pin you to the ground and take what his body has been begging for. It was almost a more mouth watering display of strength to watch him contain his natural brawn with the veins in his arms popping, than experience the ease at which he could manhandle you.

Leaving marks along his throat was not enough anymore. It seemed this game was creating a specific suffering for you as well, the rush of your own arousal becoming borderline painful to endure. He was eager when you tugged him down for another kiss. His knees bent slightly and back curved in order to accommodate the vast height difference.

If you decided to, would he let you push him down onto his knees. A mighty warrior of both land and sea gazing up at you from a place between your thighs. His tongue only a few inches away from where you wanted it most.

The thought had your head spinning and nails digging into his shoulder blades. Lo’ak welcomed every increase of passion with just as much enthusiasm to reciprocate. However, you needed him closer. Needed to intertwine your bodies until there was no telling where you ended and he began.

Without pulling away from the kiss you steadied your hands on his shoulders and bent your knees to jump. He took the silent cue in stride, managing to capture your waist in his hands just before you leaped.

You felt as light as a feather being carried by the wind as he slowly lowered your body to slide along his chest and stomach until your legs could slink around his trimmed waist. There was no rush in the action, because for him there wasn’t any physical strain either.

He dared to push his luck just an inch further. Four fingered hands smoothed down the curve of your spine before settling at the beginning of your backside’s curve. Permission was given in the form of your tongue swirling around his devilishly. And the Omatikaya warrior did not need to be told twice before he was sinking them down further and gripping a cheek in each hand.

Your smaller hands gripped like claws in his ebony braids. And when you tugged back on them without warning, breaking the kiss, a wide grin spread over his features, accompanied by a husky laugh. Lo’ak Sully was not simply tolerating your devious attitude. He was fanning the flames to your fire, reveling in that rising heat.

And heat there was. You could feel your arousal gathering in your tewng like molten lava. Surely he too could feel it seep through the fabric as your core was pressed against his pelvis. It seemed his patience could only go so far, as he used the grip on your ass to rock you down further to where a bulge had formed in his own tewng.

It felt as if the sparks of a shooting star had rippled between you too. And you were drunk on it. Drunk on him.

As he released another groan into your mouth, you knew that you would never be able to get enough of Lo’ak Sully.

“Bro you can’t run off in the middle of a- oh sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Neteyam was turning on his heel before he had properly even entered the cave. He shuffled back out the way he came, but not before sending one last peak over his shoulder.

Your gaze remained frozen to the space it had snapped to upon being interrupted. Neteyam was gone, but that didn’t change the fact that he saw you grinding against his brother while sticking your tongue down his throat.

“Just ignore him.” Lo’ak pleaded between the open mouthed kisses he laid over your jaw.

He groaned for a less pleasant reason this time when you wiggled out of his arms. Both of your labored breathing filled the cave as he waited for your next move. His eyes shined with hope even as his lips were on the verge of turning downwards.

A similar feeling of disappointment had settled in your gut just as quickly. Regardless, there was no telling what you would do if you stayed one more second locked in this heated moment with him.

And so with red hot cheeks and a stumble to your step, you sprinted to safety.

Please comment, reblog, or send an ask with your thoughts. It does so much for my motivation<3

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