#so thank god they filmed some more together | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amourcheol · 4 months ago

Text

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 vernon who owns an outdated film store, fem!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.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #vernon imagines #vernon chwe imagines #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #seventeen suggestive #vernon suggestive #hansol vernon chwe #hansol x reader #hansol vernon chwe imagines

1K notes · View notes

helenanell · 9 months ago

Text

A Breath of Life || Challengers

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Part Two

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.)

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to.

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep.

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it.

Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered.

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real.

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water.

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone.

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again.

And your prayer was answered.

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life:

“So, when can I play you again?”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world.

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you.

Tashi had breathed life into you.

Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear.

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought.

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin.

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in.

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands.

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile.

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

“Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music.

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm.

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over.

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The four of you had wandered down to the beach.

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form.

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her.

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you.

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk.

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.”

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you.

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display.

Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear.

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear.

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass.

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you.

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile.

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is.

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria.

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face.

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

“You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table.

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.”

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?”

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently.

“Do you love her, Art?”

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.”

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her.

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.”

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

“I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you.

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth.

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi.

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.”

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek.

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.”

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!”

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?”

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him.

But you don’t move.

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together.

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin.

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you.

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back.

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious.

Why won’t he follow you?

Why do you still want him to?

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art.

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong.

You walk through the stands until you come across Art.

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised.

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares.

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.”

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone.

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him.

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly.

Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away.

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence.

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain.

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!”

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away.

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you.

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for.

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka.

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.”

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury.

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling.

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs.

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head.

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over.

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet.

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door.

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs.

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top.

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication.

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs.

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most.

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to.

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to. You want him.

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure.

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you.

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him.

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names.

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around.

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him.

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert.

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol.

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes.

“Do that again.”

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side.

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back.

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips.

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next.

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art.

Art.

Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him.

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you.

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move.

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck.

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force.

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real.

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive.

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room.

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t.

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away.

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world.

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered.

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life.

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him.

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come.

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old.

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered.

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art.

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either.

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you.

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you.

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room.

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him.

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him.

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch.

You get down off the barstool.

As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down.

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak.

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them.

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture.

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?”

“I don’t know Art, can you?”

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him.

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be.

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do.

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.”

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?”

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds.

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him.

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him.

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly.

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.”

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.”

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him.

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question.

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?”

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship.

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses.

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer.

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you.

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you.

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head.

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck.

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean.

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined.

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most.

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

“Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head.

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to.

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly.

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.”

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.”

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you.

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up.

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin.

“Lay back.” He instructs gently.

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre.

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations.

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets.

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.”

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait.

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head.

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs.

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.”

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you.

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks.

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever.

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity.

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs.

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck.

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping.

“Is this alright?”

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch.

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision.

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick.

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.”

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts.

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi.

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world.

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip.

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum.

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead.

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place.

Someone was knocking on your door.

And then you hear her voice.

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

“Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you.

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door.

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things.

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

“You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously.

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade.

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again.

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too.

Only time would tell.

#challengers movie #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #mike faist #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #tashi x reader #zendaya #josh o'connor

2K notes · View notes

fastandcarlos · 7 months ago

Text

The Chosen One : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: as part of the f1 media team you get to meet a lot of the drivers, however there’s one driver who seems to take an extra special liking to you

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lancestroll, carlossainz55 and 79,302 others

ynusername: another fun week at the paddock, look out for some AM content coming your way on race day 🏎️💚

13,382 comments

username1: we love new yn content!! 🫶🏻

lancestroll: thank you for being the perfect partner to have with us this weekend!

ynusername: @/lancestroll it was awesome to spend some time with you 💚

carlossainz55: excuse me come and film some ferrari content asap

username2: cannot wait, i've been dying to see you in the aston martin garage 🤩

username3: now this i just know is going to be hilarious

lewishamilton: you're such a traitor...last week you were all over mercedes 🙄

username4: i always thought that green was your colour yn hahah

danielricciardo: it's been too long, come back and film with me kiddo 😭

ynusername: @/danielricciardo gimme a time and a date and i'm there

username5: the queen is back 👑

charles_leclerc: still waiting for you to hurry up and come and visit ferrari

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc blame my bosses not me

username6: everyone spam f1 until they let yn and go and film with c2 pls

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by leclercgirl101, ferrarifan7 and 1,482 others

f1content: rumours continue to swirl as charles and yn are spotted enjoying their downtime together in the miami heat ☀️

796 comments

username7: if this is true i swear i'll throw a party and everyone is invited 🙏🏻

username8: surely i can't be the only one thinking they look so well suited together

username9: is this why yn's been avoiding the ferrari garage??? 🤔

username10: two people do not colour coordinate for no reason fyi

username11: peep how comfortable they look to be together 🥺

username12: i refuse to accept that these two gorgeous humans are not dating

username13: yn is the only person i will give charles up for ngl 😂

username14: it's about time yn found happiness...praying charles is the man

username15: yn isn't even working this weekend and she's there, charles must be hella important to do that 🥺

username16: if this isn't true prepare for the sound of my heart breaking

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by pierregasly, estebanocon and 89,301 others

ynusername: another week = another garage. thanks to alpine for a great couple of days 🥺

13,694 comments

username17: my favourite creator and my favourite team, thank you f1 gods 🙏🏻

landonorris: fuming!! remember when you told me mclaren was your favourite team

estebanocon: don't think i've laughed like that for a long time, you're the best!! 😂

ynusername: @/estebanocon all thanks to the talented driver who joined me

georgerussell63: i swear these days you're more popular online then the actual drivers

username18: another week of impatiently waiting for yn to film with ferrari 🙄

charles_leclerc: EXCUSE ME WHAT ABOUT ME!?!? 🤯

username19: poor charles is gonna have a breakdown if yn doesn't appear soon

pierregasly: can't believe you refused to take the alpine shirt that i gave you 🙂‍↔️

ynusername: @/pierregasly do you know how many drivers would never speak to me again if i accepted???

username20: i wish the drivers adored me as much as they adore yn ngl

lancestroll: heartbroken that you've already left aston martin for the opposition

username21: how can one person be wanted by so many teams??

carlossainz55: i'll give you a million dollars to come and save my teammate 😂

username22: not charles being publicly thirsty for yn omg

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, olliebearman and 89,492 others

ynusername: apparently this is the only garage im allowed in these days 🤷🏻‍♀️

21,706 comments

username23: according to who yn wtf??? please tell me this is charles' doing 🙏🏻

carlossainz55: i always thought that red was your colour anyway

oscarpiastri: btw papaya definitely looks better than that!! 🧡

lancestroll: no way, green is definitely more your style yn! 💚

maxverstappen1: excuse me no one can compete with yn in navy blue thank you 💙

username24: not all the boys fighting over yn like she belongs to any of them

username25: clearly no one has ever seen yn in baby pink *chefs kiss* 🩷

charles_leclerc: it's about time you finally listened to me...

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc i'm yet to be fully convinced...

username26: the mic in hand...does that mean...content?? 🎤

username27: yn in red and charles in red seem like the perfect pair ngl

danielricciardo: just ignore them all and come and interview me instead, we'll have the best time 🥺

ynusername: @/danielricciardo omw now 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 101,486 others

ynusername: the interview you’ve all been waiting for, see what I got up to with the men in red during race weeekend 🏎️❤️

27,492 comments

carlossainz55: the best time with you, we love you yn!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

username28: about time i can't believe it

landonorris: as much as i hate to admit it, you three are a pretty funny trio 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris i'll take that as a compliment coming from you!

username29: now THIS is the content that we've all been waiting for

username30: my heart just stopped for a moment to make sure that this is true 🥺

danielricciardo: i still confidently argue that we'd have a better time

username31: not me watching this on repeat for the whole weekend

charles_leclerc: my belly still hurts from laughing so hard...i hope you're proud of yourself 😂😂

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc ngl feelin' pretty smug rn

username32: screw the race, this is the content we came to see

arthur_leclerc: don't tell charles but he's not stopped talking about how great you are since this interview 🤭

charles_leclerc: @/arthur_leclerc you know this is a public comments section, right??

username33: do you know how long i've been waiting to see a post like this??

username34: all my christmasses just came at once

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by pierregasly, ynusername and 2,593,706 others

charles_leclerc: KING OF MONACO 👑🏎️

103,584 comments

username35: we're so proud of you charles congratulations! ❤️❤️

ynusername: such an awesome drive, couldn't be happier for you 🏎️🏁

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername thank you for coming to cheer me on!!

username36: about time...bow down to the king 👑

maxverstappen1: congrats brother, i'll catch you next time

landonorris: i can see how hard you you're trying not to cry here hahah

username37: you deserve this more than anyone else in the world 💕💕

oscarpiastri: no one deserved to win more than you today, thrilled for you bro

username38: enjoy the celebrations, they're so well deserved king 💞💞

carlossainz55: the only time i'll ever say that i'm happy to lose to my teammate hahah

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 just call me the smooth operator lol

username39: someone please stop the tears from falling now 😭

georgerussell63: damn that was a pretty good drive charle

username40: i've never been so on the edge of my seat in my life

lewishamilton: enjoy the monaco celebrations tonight!! 🍾

username41: i'm not even driving yet i feel like all my dreams have come true

pierregasly: we're all so proud of you, all the hard work was worth it my friend

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles4life, ferrarifanforever and 1,707 others

f1wags: is this the proof that we needed? during the summer break charles and yn have been seen lapping up the french sun on a local private yacht 🤔🏎️

username42: nobody speak to me i am officially deceased 😭

username43: surely no one can argue with this now

username44: thank you f1 gods for listening to my prayers 🙏🏻

username45: look at those smiles, they're perfect for each other

username46: obsessed obsessed obsessed 🤩🤩🤩🤩

username47: it doesn't feel right to be so happy for two people who don't know who i am

username48: i hope they know just how happy all us fans are for them

username49: my heart is so happy rn ❤️❤️❤️

username50: just hope that all the fans can get behind them and help them see how adorable they are

username51: it's my birthday today, and now my wish has come true!!

382 comments

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, lewishamilton and 3,592,103 others

charles_leclerc: shout-out to my biggest fan, thank you for always cheering me on 🫶🏻💕

193,605 comments

username52: not charles coming at us with the hard launch like this ❤️❤️

landonorris: at least now i'm not the only one who has to listen to you gush about yn

username53: i was not prepared for such an adorable set of photos 🥺

pierregasly: oh you have a girlfriend?? you should've mentioned it hahah 🙄

username54: how did these two ever think we wouldn't find out about their relationship

georgerussell63: excuse me, double date is when? 🤔

carmenmmundt: i second what george just said 🫡

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt i'm all yours whenever you want me

ynusername: couldn't be prouder of you...you never fail to blow me away 🩷🩷

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername i try my best just for you my love

username55: did i mention how obsessed with these two i am yet?

username56: my heart is racing a thousand miles an hour seeing these

carlossainz55: can't believe you tried to pretend that you two weren't dating to the whole team, as if it's not horrifically obvious?? 🙄🙄

username57: i'm so happy to see charles with someone whose rooting for him like yn does

username58: btw if there was a competition for cutest couple these two would definitely win 💯

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 104,684 others

ynusername: I could get used to all this romance stuff with you 🥺💞

21,597 comments

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

1K notes · View notes

mygnolia · 8 months ago

Text

three laws of motion, and the three ways i love you | sjy

synopsis -› the only person jake has to thank for you and him getting together is isaac newton, and the stupid apple that fell on his head.

pair -› sim jaeyun/jake x reader | genre -› fluff fluff fluff | trope -› friends to lovers, roommates to lovers

wc -› 4.8k

cw -› god the pining oh the pining oh you are oblivious.. how to lose a guy in 10 days minor spoilers!

a/n -› oopsie!! i fear jake in glasses has me in a trance. HES SOOO simpy

law one: any object that is put in motion will stay in motion until another force has acted on it. also dubbed as inertia!

jake does not know jealousy until he finds out the upcoming plan to check out the new ice cream shop together is canceled, all because kim sunoo is ‘cute,’ and you want to repay him for helping you in your communications class. he could have done the same thing! maybe he wouldn’t have been alone on the last saturday of this month if he reached out. he’s never been alone on this day. to be fair, you’ve done this only a handful of times, the limit reaching the number of fingers he has on one hand, but still! jake scowls and curses whoever kim sunoo is for stealing you away from him, even if sunoo has the brightest smile and the caring attentiveness jake wishes he himself had.

jake mopes on the couch, rewatching ‘friends’ until you come back, with a small smile gracing your oh-so-pretty face. he immediately springs up, helping you with your coat and asking where you’ve been, even if he knows.

“i was with sunoo.” you respond simply. He drills you with questions, laced with concern but hidden with a curiosity that could only stem from his feelings for you. “we went out to eat something small, and had some ice cream, that’s all. I was fine, don’t even worry- he drove me home and waited until i texted him anyway.” jake feels his role by your side becoming smaller, and he takes a slow breath, hoping that with his exhale goes the negative feelings he has about being competition.

“we were supposed to watch how to lose a man in ten days.” he complains, and you laugh, his voice sounding dejected. you shove him towards your bedroom, telling him that there’s still time to watch one of your favorite films of all time.

“but you’re tired.” he takes a step closer, examining the way your eyes lose energy as the day goes on as an eventual sign of your dwindling social battery.

“doesn’t mean I don’t want to watch with you.” you retort, opening your bedroom door and setting up the movie on your laptop. his eyes shine with worry as he carefully watches how you move. the way your feet drag, how you slowly thumb through a set of pajamas, and the look you give when you need to change.

but if jake is anything, he is weak- and to spend more time with you, his darling girl, is his kryptonite.

you both slip under the sheets, and it’s something he convinces himself is normal when you first started becoming roommates. when you were first told about how your friend knew someone who’d be a perfect roommate, you weren’t expecting jake, but he assured you that jake has always been an angel, and if anything happens, for you to give him a call or text immediately. it was never necessary, and your friend was right, jake proved to be a perfect roommate as time went on.

albeit, maybe a little too perfect, because with the way you’re resting on his shoulder and with the gentle way he combs through your hair, you wonder if it’s all in typical roommate fashion. you fall asleep before you can wonder if the way he pulls you closer, shutting off the lights and shutting your laptop is all in the guide to be a good roommate, or if he’s doing these things because he’s reading a different guide;

the guide to making the roommate- the same one you’ve had a crush on- your girlfriend.

you wake up to your laptop shut on your table, and the knot in your neck helps you realize you fell asleep in the wrong position. when you come out of the bathroom, you see jake buttering toast and cutting up the strawberries you begged him to buy at the market a week ago. you both hope that no mold has grown on them.

“how did you sleep?” he asks, plopping a strawberry in his mouth. you shrug, still trying to stretch out the tight feeling in your muscles.

“here,” he motions, a piece of toast between his lips as he walks up behind you. you know how attentive jake is to the little things, and the gentle way he presses at the junction of your shoulder blade and neck only proves your beliefs further. you always have appreciated him for the silent way he cares, and now, more than ever. the crunch of his toast as he momentarily pauses makes you laugh, turning around as he also smiles as he eats. you reach up, wiping the crumbs from his lips, and his eyes follow the movement without fail. he’s not sure how you two were so close, and how the white winter sun makes you look so angelic, but he doesn’t move out of place until you’re out of sight, thanking him for the slice of toast as you leave to get ready for the day.

he thinks that things have been the same for both of you, but suddenly, something changes his course, and his heart thumps in his ears, as if it’s possible that he’s fallen for you more.

the second time you have to rain check is finals- and he gets it, truly. your psychology class isn’t going to pass itself, and yet, his heart sinks like an anchor at sea when you pout and show him the 89 term quizlet you’re forced to study for the upcoming week.

“I really wish i could-“ you promise, genuine remorse in your gaze (and yes, jake’s forgiven you immediately). “I tried to study last night at the library to make sure we could finish queen of tears, but god, i feel like i know nothing.” jake understands with a silent nod, and does his best to put your feelings first. “after my final, i’ll be off- plus, you have your calculus final tomorrow morning anyways, right?” internally, jakes eyes turn into hearts, melting at the way you remember.

“multivariable calculus, yes, at 10.” he sighs, dreading the imminent test but confident in his ability to pass. he sighs, scrolling through his calendar despite there being no assignments due.

“if i help you out, can we watch after your final?” you swivel from your chair to face him lounging on your bed. he’s in a white t-shirt and jeans, an obvious outside outfit on your sheets. you glare at him, but don’t say anything.

still, the proposition interests you. “how are you even going to help me out?”

“i took this class last year, remember?”

right. “why would you even want to? psych’s like- not your cup of tea at all.”

jake responds without thinking, “i don’t mind it if it means we can spend time together.”

you both freeze, and the comfortable conversation stills. you spin back around, picking at the corner of your paper, nervously trying to find a deeper meaning in his words. “okay.” you mumble, and jake doesn’t take your change in disposition to heart, more worries over how you’ll perceive him if he’s too clingy.

“and,” he adds, standing up from your bed. “i want to see what happens. we need to finish the drama- the episode came out three days ago, and i think if i keep seeing edits, i’m going to say ‘fuck it’ and watch it myself.”

without turning around, you snort. “yeah, yeah. you would never watch an episode without me there.”

and you’re right, painfully so. jake closes your door, burying his face in his hands in embarrassment.

the next day, he keeps his promise, dragging you to his room to find a scraggly pile of handwritten psych assignments you’re confused as to why he even has. when you voice your concerns for his paper hoarding, he shrugs, retorting how it helps you regardless.

you lean against his blue pillows, crossing your legs as he sits back in his chair and asks you questions.

he reads off another question, pausing before letting you know it’s incorrect. “mmm, not really.” he tells you, glancing up. he leans over, pointing to the part in the textbook he’s been using as studying material, and you hear the tiredness in his voice with how low he speaks. jake is gentle; the way he looks at you understanding the text is no different, and his heart thuds painfully against his ribcage. he continues, no matter how much he wants to go to sleep, and by the time he’s finished explaining everything you’ve missed (which wasn’t even much) you both cheer to realize you’ve finished slide 89/89. you jump up from his bed, wrinkling his bedsheets as you envelope him in a tight hold.

“thank you.” you tell him sincerely, arms looped around his neck as jake is quick to hug you back. you feel his head rest on your shoulder, and your heart warms with adoration.

“of course, ____.”

you pause, thinking about whether or not you should still continue with your plans. “you’re tired.” you state the obvious. “and I don’t want to watch something if you need to go sleep.”

he rolls his eyes, motioning to you to scoot over so he can join you. “we always do this on a saturday so we can sleep in on sunday.” he comments, getting his laptop. you shake your head.

“it’s different, jake. this time, you’re tired and I don’t want to wake you up to make you brush your teeth or whatever.” he hears the playful lilt in your voice, and scoffs.

“you just don’t want to watch with me anymore!” he accuses, cracking a smile as he shoves you.

with widened eyes, you shake your head, teasing him about how he jumps to conclusions so quickly. “i would never, jake.” you meet his gaze with sincerity. “i love to spend time with you. always.”

if things stay in motion like this, without any rain checks or ice cream dates, jake thinks he likes this course of inertia much better- just you and him.

law two: force = mass x acceleration

to simply put it, jake sleeping in your bed will suffocate you sooner or later. despite being very smart, jake doesn’t realize that muscles means added mass, and the more he works out, the higher the chances of you dying from the incapability to breathe.

it starts with jake asking if he can sleep beside you, since the heater never reaches his room despite said room being a grand nine feet away from yours. you highly doubt his excuse, but you choose not to find out if it really is the cold abyss your roommate swears it is. he also tells you that he likes your light blue sheets with daisies on it, which is something that seems pretty plausible, and you’re swayed by his earnest compliments. when you asked why, a question spoken into the dark of your room, jake immediately responded by telling you that the holidays are the perfect time to grab a buddy and spread the holiday cheer. with a shove at his shoulder, he defends himself, saying that he wakes up earlier than you, so you wouldn’t have to even worry about seeing him in the morning.

that last part was true, jake was always extremely efficient with his time, and it meant you were sometimes waking up to a pan dropping in the kitchen during his kitchen ventures. but today? he seemed to be the opposite.

when the sun shines high in the sky, with your clock reading a time past 10am, you finally wake up. trying to brush the hair out of your face, you really start to pay attention to the way his breath fans your shoulder blade, and how almost half of his body weight was on top of yours. you were both people who enjoyed skinship, and your friendship was solid enough where you knew you weren’t uncomfortable, but it was the surprise of ending up entangled with someone who, last night, refused to get closer out of personal space.

“jake.” you call, tapping his shoulder. you can barely move, shuffling around as you watch him shuffle around under the sheets, his hands wandering to pull you closer. “jake!”

you don’t get much time to really admire him like his. his hair, all messy, had been undoubtedly better the more it grows out, and you’ve seen him put it in a ponytail- a new style that maybe you liked more than you’d like to admit. his bangs rest on the planes of his cheekbones, and you suck in a breath at how effortlessly angelic he looks in the morning sun.

truth be told, it brings you comfort to know how he subconsciously trusts you to scoot closer and eventually cling to you in his sleep.

jake’s eyes flutter open, and he slowly blinks without registering how close you are. you make eye contact, and your lazy stare flutters to closed eyes as you get comfortable on your pillow. yes, jake makes it a little hard to breathe, but in the end, it’s not that bad.

“i thought you said you wake up early.” you comment. jake swats at your face lightly, and a giggle escapes as you fight his hand. “it’s the holidays.” he says, a poor excuse as to why he hasn’t gotten up. he looks at you again, taking in your mock annoyance and smiling. “let me hold you, yeah?” he mumbles absentmindedly, still half consumed by the morning lethargy.

your heart skips a little, and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you try not to let jake’s sleepy comments get to you. he doesn’t mean it, you tell yourself, but his sleepy words are sober thoughts, and you try not to think about the deeper meaning. jake has the brightest smiles and the kindest of hearts, so much so that it makes his hugs warm and his comfort like a cozy embrace. and you really really try not to think about what he’s saying, because jake cares for all of his friends, so much so that his words are always filled to the brim with love. and despite knowing all of this, despite knowing that jake is one of the best wonderful people you know, you can’t help but think about if it were romantic, if you two barely crossed the boundary to be just a little more. plus, you’re basically there. it’s in the way no boy comes up to you, not because you’re not wanted, but because everyone assumes that the boy with the australian accent and arm around your shoulder is the love of your life; and everyone says you look at him that way. it’s in the way he texts you to come back to the apartment because it’s empty without you, or the way he’s currently falling back asleep on your shoulder, his arm secured around your waist. and you refuse to believe that it’s anything more than friendship. you’re almost positive he feels the same, but still, somewhere inside of your heart yearns for it not to be true.

your rapidly beating heart accelerates, and if you two weren’t friends, it’d be like you were forced to fall in love with jake.

before you leave for the holidays, you promise jake one more movie, as a make-up for the few days you two weren’t able to properly finish your movie nights. finally, it’s time to watch ‘how to lose a guy in ten days.’

“it’s not even a christmas special.” jake says as you type in the pirated site. you roll your eyes, elbowing the nearest part of him.

“it doesn��t have to be a christmas movie. you can’t even name a good christmas rom-com!”

he racks his brain, truly trying to find a movie that lives up to the expectations of one of the best rom-coms to exist. “fine. i guess we can watch this movie then.” and he pulls the blanket up in retaliation. you turn to him with a scowl, but he pretends not to notice.

when the movie starts playing, you make an effort to snatch his phone away, leaving it on your bedside as his attention diverts to the illuminated screen. “you’re going to love it.” you say offhandedly, watching how kate hudson and matthew mcconaughey immerse themselves in their roles.

you turn to jake, making sure he’s thoroughly paying attention.

“what?” he grins, his arm wrapping around you to rest on your waist. “I’m watching, don’t worry.”

you click the space bar. “tell me what happens, then.” you raise an eyebrow, waiting to hear his perfect retelling of the film so far.

“well, her fake therapist friend tells them to go meet his family, and everyone loves her off the get go. They play that card game and everyone helps her cheat, but she finds out that he’s never taken a girl home before. thinking about it, they were definitely in love with each other from the start. like, the way he looks at her in that entire movie! trust me, they’re in love.”

“oh,” you turn, a teasing smile on your features. “and you’re a love expert?”

jake suddenly losing focus on the movie, looking at the way you wait for his answer. he’s breathless, licking his lips nervously as he sends you a quick nod. “i know what it looks like to be in love.” he responds plainly when he returns his attention to the screen, his hand around your waist suddenly feeling clammy.

you hum, glancing over to your right again. “and what does that look like?”

the way I look at you. he thinks. instead, he shrugs. “like they hold the world in their hands.”

your eyes sparkle, interested in his answer but too invested in the film to press further.

“cliche.” and you’re awfully aware of the hand that rests against the fabric of your shirt, left to wonder if this is what it means to be in love.

when the finale finishes and the screen fades to black, you let the end credits roll to tell him about your thoughts. sentences that start with “to be honest” followed with something strongly worded, and sentences praising certain scenes reach his ears as he listens quietly. your gaze never leaves the screen as you collect your thoughts, and your head never leaves his shoulder. when your roommate doesn’t add on, you look up at him, and from the shift, jake turns to make eye contact with you. “what?” he says softly.

“you didn’t say anything.” you almost whisper. the enchanting glow of the laptop screen makes his small chuckle just a little bit more attractive, and for yet another time, you glance at his lips, hoping he doesn’t notice.

“i answered you earlier.” he whines, rubbing his eye.

“doesn’t count.” he cracks a smile at your bickering, and sighs.

“i agree with everything you have to say, princess. always have.” your stomach stirs, butterflies rustling around as you make it obvious how much you’ve been staring at his lips. “what’s wrong, angel?” he plays oblivious as he shifts so you two are facing each other. your eyes are drooped, the sleep making you slip into new and equally as dangerous territory. the corner of his lip pulls into a charming smile, and you feel your heartstrings tug so badly with the rapid of your rushing heart. you glance back at him, meeting his warm gaze before shifting a little closer.

and maybe jake’s hand immediately tightens at your waist, and maybe his eyes flutter shut as his other hand cups your jaw. and maybe, as the cliche song plays over a rolling list of names in the background, you kiss your best friend- the feeling leaving your heart jumping and your ears hot. your hands reach up, your thumb tracing his cheek as he pulls you closer. you pull back, eyes shining with content and so many unspoken feelings, and he looks at you, full of love. and you realize that this is what he means- that andie anderson and ben barry may have just been acting, but the smile he gives you is anything but.

you giggle, pulling him back to kiss him just once more- or maybe twice, and you’re selfish in the way you hold him, wanting of him all to yourself.

and maybe, just maybe, jake sim likes you back.

law three: every action has an equal opposite reaction.

yes, every action has an equal and opposite reaction; so it hangs as an unspoken truth in the sky that jake likes you as much as you do- but you never took physics, and you leave the apartment early the next morning. it’s saturday, yes, and all of your finals were done, but you usually always stay for just a bit longer, relishing in the winter air before detangling yourself with college and finally heading back home. the university holds an ice skating event for free around this time anyways, and in the few years that you two have been roommates, you’ve dragged him along with you. you were nothing like his somewhat skilled friends, but jake still reveled in your smiles and shaky yelps every time you were off balance.

off-balance. that’s how things were.

you haven’t responded to his texts, and he’s stuck pacing around the kitchen wondering what he could’ve done wrong. you leave every text unanswered, and a voicemail for every call.

nonetheless, jake tries again- desperate.

“hi-“ you say, in a breathless fleeting manner. “i’m busy-“

“no ___, you can’t just kiss me-“ the line ends, and you feel your heart beat fast again, like how it does every time you think about that december night.

on the other line, jake lets out another sigh, his heart twisting with worry. it’s an ugly and unexplainable feeling truly, how he’s worried you’ve toyed with his heart, but how if you kissed him again, it would soothe any wrinkles in his timeline- and that all his feelings would go back to being in love, and he’d be okay with it. jake would rewrite the stars, hanging the moon in the sky and undoing everything if it meant going back to then, with his palm pressed against your skin, his lips on yours, and his heart nestled within your hands, bound to whatever fate you would give him. and you know this about him, you know that jake would run around the world to find love from you, and you couldn’t treat him like that. there was no way you and jake were to work out, and while you’ve convinced yourself of this, jake on the other hand is desperate to read between the lines, finding himself going insane the more he lays there in the early AM thinking about what all of this means. he wishes he could redo it- so he could experience it just once more, and so he could understand where it went wrong. jake refuses to let you go- at least, not yet.

despite your efforts to avoid him for the week of christmas and new years, you felt your heart break the longer you left his message unopened, and responded with a sincere ‘happy holidays. stay warm, jake.’ he opens up the text, his heart still doing that weird thing where it uncomfortably beats, with excitement and disappointment all in the same vein.

and it’s like that for winter break- confused or at least until you come back a week early. you had plans on keeping a small tree in your apartment to add to the holiday spirit even after the holidays, and the box for the tree plus the ornaments had already been stowed away in your room. there’s no way he’s here- he lives hours from campus, and without any new year plans, you’re sure you’ll have the place to yourself.

you don’t check his location, too consumed to make the drive back to even notice his room has minuscule sound coming from it. the door stays shut, and without any gaps to really see any light, you don’t pay any mind in checking if there’s a sudden intruder.

the christmas tree slowly gets put together, and you sit with yourself as a show plays on the TV, quiet. it’s as if to not disturb the ambience, and you feel the cinnamon and cold settle within your bones when you throw out some of the plastic packaging.

“you’re here.”

the cold from your quick excursion, added with the sudden confrontation makes your blood run cold, unable to tear your gaze from the blinking LEDs on the fake evergreen tree you’ve put up.

“yeah, i guess so.” you say, unable to really conjure anything else up. you refuse to look him in the eye, afraid you’ll be faced with indisputable anger, resentment, and the confusion, the same feelings you had when at your own home. you’re afraid that the way you hate yourself for leaving so abruptly, and to ruin such a good thing, is the reason why jake suddenly doesn’t want you back anymore. that- because of your inability to accept that you love someone who’s so out of your league, you’ve let a good thing fizzle out.

there’s no cold in the apartment- the heater already being set to a cozy temperature, and yet the goosebumps on your skin prove otherwise. it’s biting, chilly almost, the way you both stand there, unsure of what to say.

it’s uncomfortable, and the silence leaves a hopeless feeling in your chest; one that screams that you two truly weren’t as meant to be as you thought.

“why?” he breathes.

“why..why what?”

“why’d you leave after all that happened?”

your eyes widen, scrambling your brain to find a lie to give before you give up, opting to simply tell the truth. you’ve hurt him once by leaving, an action that you truly have no excuse for. it’s winter, you lie to yourself. you rehearse in your head to tell him that you missed your family, and couldn’t wait to go home. it’s all lies, and jake’s no more than a polygraph test in human form. you couldn’t live with yourself if you lost him over a lie.

plus, you couldn’t lie to him- not after all the hurt.

“jake-“ you say hurriedly. “you’re everything, you’re perfect, you deserve more than me. you deserve more to a girlfriend than a roommate who rushes to pay rent, someone who doesn’t leave curling irons on in the bathroom, a girlfriend who doesn’t phone you at night because she doesn’t have anyone else. you don’t need someone to rely on you the way i just do-“

“maybe loving you is the worst decision anyone could ever make. maybe, yeah, i don’t deserve you walking out, avoiding me for two weeks, missing my messages, calls, or notes. maybe i could do better.” he starts, and you feel your heart sinking, knowing that it’d be for the better if it wasn’t you, but wishing so desperately that it could be. “maybe that’s the case, but i’m never going to be happy if i keep looking for better. I don’t hate you because you almost burned down the building, or if you stressed out about rent, and all of these other things that i can’t even remember we talked about.” jake lets out a dry chuckle, trying to remember anything bad about you, but falling short. “the point is, ____, that you can’t make that decision for me. what’s the point in trying to find more when all i’ve ever wanted is you?”

his eyes scan your expression, desperate for an answer as the quiet prolongs. the fresh tears that make way to your eyes springs him into action, and he’s quick to use his long sleeve to pat away your tears. “shh, don’t cry, angel. it’s okay, i understand.” his words replace the icy feeling in your body, and replaces it slowly with the hope that things really are as okay as he says they are. you nod, hugging him as apologies and explanations fall from your lips.

“i still have feelings for you.” he promises, and his words envelop you in comfort and solace. it teeters between like and love, unable to have ever gotten as close as couples do, but also knowing it’s so much more than a small crush on a roommate. there’s nothing temporary about how he rests his head on top of yours, holding you close as you ramble.

“just don’t do anything of the sort again.” he asks, looking at you with adoration. “please.”

your heart breaks a little, and you make a promise to never treat him the way you did, feeling foolish and horrible for what you had done. “i promise.” you nod. and give him a tight hug.

and things are in balance once again. if every reaction had an equal and opposite reaction, it means that you and jake sim have fallen for each other with equal amounts of force, and wouldn’t have it any other way.

WE FINISHEDDDD CHATTTTTTTTTTT YERP YERP YERP WHO CHEERED!! first real enha fic in AGES god save us all.

1K notes · View notes

evegwood · 5 days ago

Text

Nosferatu’s Contracts: A Linguistic Deepdive

(This is one half of a blogpost I put on my website! Read the full thing for a full list of sources and even MORE information on the contract from the 1922 film).

So I saw the new Nosferatu film the other day and while I didn't think it was all that fantastic (I loved the first half okay, calm down) the one thing that did stick out to me was the absolutely gorgeous scripts used for the contract that Thomas has to sign. Thank you to this Reddit post for sharing a picture of the entire thing:

The BEAUTIFUL red calligraphy is called Vyaz, a form of decorative Cyrillic calligraphy. In Vyaz script, letters are all joined and interwoven together to create a beautiful, ornamental typographical piece. The Wikipedia page about it is fucking pathetic but it does feature this example of text with a coloured breakdown of the individual words that comprise the piece:

Obviously this itched my language brain like crazy. The best resource I have found since to learn more about Vyaz is this full, free guide written by Viktor Pushkarev. He has also released a 254 page PDF for 25 euros called the Modern Slavic Vyaz Calligraphy Workbook and I think I'm going to have to buy it. His examples look stunning and I would love to learn more about this style of calligraphy. Thank you, Nosferatu.

The Vyaz calligraphy is only one style of writing used in that contract. The other is a completely different style of writing and, surprisingly (or not, maybe?) the best place to look for answers turned out to once again be Reddit. This commenter suggests it's another form of Cyrillic:

Here's some Glagolitic, to compare:

In a different thread, this commenter claims to have cracked it:

This commenter replies with an addition:

So that's cool! In that same thread, this commenter says that the contract looks like a Romanian hrisov, or medieval chancellery charter, and recommends this video explaining how they were written. As you can see from the example below that the commenter shared, these traditional contracts look pretty damn similar to Orlok's contract! So let's talk about them real quick, because it's interesting!

The video is by Adrian Gheorghe, a historian whose speciality is the editing and translation of all documents regarding Vlad the Impaler. He talks about how unlike letters, which would be written in Latin, these charters were written in Slavonic, a liturgical and "literary language, based on Slavic dialects of the Balkans, developed by monks in the 9th century" (X). Viktor Pushkarev suggests a book called Grammar of the Church Slavonic Language if you want to learn more about the grammar and syntax. Slavonic was often written in Glagolitic and hey, we've seen that before!

These charters also had explicit and strict structures that they adhered to. This strict standard served to not only prove the legitimacy of a document, but that "the document was drawn up with all due solemnity" (X). Interestingly, each charter would invoke God in the opening lines or would simply have a cross at the beginning, and according to the translations given above Count Orlok's contract does not seem to include this. I recommend checking out the video in its entirety to hear more about this cool bit of history.

But of course... that's not all that's written on the contract, is it? Thomas signs it, and he signs it in Kurrent script, an old traditional form of German cursive. If you'd like to learn how to write in Kurrent, there's a free guide by Margarete Mücke right here! Here's a screenshot I took of the scene along with a Kurrent alphabet for comparison:

Kurrent has a really interesting history. It evolved from gothic cursive at the beginning of the 16th century, which saw a lot of use in the medieval ages. Compared to the vast variety of gothic cursive writing styles, Kurrent was "beautiful, fast to write and comparatively legible" (X). It soon moved out of use solely in chancelleries and into everyday use, becoming more and more standardised.

This script saw a bit of a rollercoaster of popularity; in the early 1900s it was established and taught in all German schools, then steadily became seen as "antiquated and ugly", then the Nazis declared other writing scripts "Un-German" and promoted gothic typography until 1941 when Hitler declared Kurrent and its sister writing style Fraktur "to be of 'Jewish origin' and therefore taboo". More information about this can be found on this page about the history of Old German Script (another name for Kurrent).

So that's that! Count Orlok's contract is based on traditional charters of the region with set structures to highlight their legitimacy and importance as documents, using traditional scripts and handwriting of the time, and is also a style of document that is directly tied to Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Dracula and ultimately Nosferatu. Extremely cool and also totally makes sense considering Robert Eggers interest in authentic linguistic detail (like I didn't even mention the language that Orlok speaks throughout the film, which is Dacian, an extinct ancestor of Romanian). Lots of really tasty stuff to look at and I had a blast putting it all together.

Except.......... it's not the end. There's a whole second saga to be told about the contract from the 1922 film, and if you wanna read that (I get deep into talking occult symbols and angel languages) you're gonna have to read the original post on my site!

#nosferatu #not art #long post #nosferatu 2024 #nosferatu 1922

408 notes · View notes

samonroegf · 8 months ago

Text

good teachers create good students

when you, a virgin, have to have a sex scene with hayden christensen, he shows you what a good orgasm can truly feel like, in preparation for your scene together.

costar!hayden christensen x actor!virgin!f!reader, smut, fluff, age gap, dad kink, oral (f receiving), creampie, reader is 19/20ish, hayden is late 30s, dddne?

requested by anon! ᝰ masterlist

you sat nervously in your trailer, reading over the script multiple times. this would be your first time filming a sex scene, cold sweat crawled up your back. trying to keep yourself in a somewhat good mood, you shake your head trying to physically shake away the thoughts.

a knock on your trailer door pulls you out of your brain's endless cycle. walking the few steps to the door, your breath is almost taken from you. hayden christensen, your partner actor, stood mere inches from you.

you would never admit this even being tortured, but truth be told, he was one of the main reasons you choose this role. he was a phenomenal actor, and he was quite pretty to look at. your cheeks burn just thinking about it.

you smiled nicely at the older man, who wore an equal expression.

“hey! what's up?” a cheery expression, as you spoke. you bit your check, hoping it's not too noticeable. your mind was reeling just with having him in front of you. being a kid that grew up on television, you'd always been aware of hayden. he was like that dream man, that you never have a chance with.

“just wanted to come check on you, tomorrow's shooting will be a little grueling. you think you're up for it?” he chuckled, and the sound went straight to your stomach. you just step aside allowing the taller man to enter your small trailer.

he sat in a booth with you by the window, the sun shining like gold on his light hair. you'd hoped you looked equally enchanting.

“honestly,” you dragged out the word, mindlessly scratching your arm where no itch resided.

“i’ve never actually had sex, or like an orgasm so I'm not sure I'll be too good.” his aura just made you want to talk to him, you wanted to curse him for being so inviting. your cheeks warmed again, mentally chiding yourself for telling him this at all.

hayden’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he tried to get it under control. he couldn't understand how you'd never been touched, it's been hell trying to hold back and be professional. you shot him an embarrassed smile and looked out the window.

“i can help you,” he offered, but from the look on his face you were sure he didn't mean to actually say that. a nervous giggle slipped from your lips and now it was your eyebrows that were almost in your hairline.

“oh?” you weren't sure what to say, you weren't even totally sure that this wasn't some fever dream. you pinched your leg under the table just to check, it hurt, this is very real.

he leaned back into the seat, allowing his eyes to gaze over you. you were somewhere between hazy with lust, and feeling totally exposed.

“yeah, you're a cute little thing, helps you and helps me.” it was like he was being possesed by a man touch starved. maybe he was. there was a dark glimmer in his eyes, like a shark right under the water getting ready to attack..

it made you nervous and excited. you couldn't help but squirm under his watchful stare.

“oh, um, that would be great.” you couldn't keep eye contact with him, your gaze dropping down to your fidgeting hands. unsure of what to do next. you hoped you looked more composed then you felt.

you watched hayden as he moved, getting up to lock the door and close the blinds. he would be damned if someone was going to interrupt the two of you. he is thanking whatever god out there that this opportunity was brought to him.

he came back to you, just smiling somewhere between sweet and sinister. his hand comes to hold your cheek, he was so kind and yet you knew that probably wouldn't last long. another excitingly fearful wave passes through you.

you couldn't help but lean into his touch, humming contently. you guys had been here for months working on this film together. you'd become work buddies, always cracking up on set. now you knew there was no way that it would go back to that.

big eyes look up at him, and he has to look away to keep himself in control. there would be time for rough fucking later, he wants you to know how beautiful you are. can't let your first time go to waste.

“c’mere,” he leads you to the bed on the other side of the trailer. the bed was perfectly made, almost makes him want to laugh. you're such a good girl.

you were basically dumb in his presence, something that doesn't go by unnoticed. he loves how flustered he makes you, maybe he shouldn't but it boosts his ego.

you followed his lead to the bed, coming to sit right next to him. you're somewhere between fainting and vomitting, because you're here in bed with hayden christensen and you can't say anything.

“don’t be nervous, doll, I'll be so nice to you. but you gotta talk to me here. i have to have your consent.” he obviously knew you wanted this or you wouldn't have followed him like a lovesick puppy. verbal consent above all else, especially with you being so much younger than him.

“i want this, i actually don't think I've ever wanted anything more.” it sounded more like begging, than a statement. hayden's cock hardened against his pants, and he muttered, “fuck” under his breath. a playful smirk now played at his lips.

“using your words like a good girl,” his voice was so gentle and soft like a love confession, rather than dirty talk. a whine escaped your lips, you'd never been looked at like this, and especially not talked to like this. your body felt like it was on fire, and hayden is the only fire extinguisher for miles.

words aren't needed at this moment, he just helps you lay down. coming to lay beside you, his fingers drifting over your exposed midriff.

“i’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” his words are so soft and gentle, if you didn't know any better you'd think you were in a romance novel.

“please.” you're pleading and he hasn't even touched you yet, the way he's been looking at you makes you feel like there's a million exposed wires replacing your nerves.

“you're gonna be the death of me, baby.” he chuckles lowly and dark, his lips met yours, soft and hard all at once. his kisses are gentle, slowly coaxing open your lips to let his tongue explore your mouth. he groans into the kiss, and it makes you whimper.

your fingers clutch at him, pulling him closer if that were even possible. he can't help but smile into the kiss. you're so needy and innocent, he can't help but think about how sweet you must taste.

he seperates from you, allowing you to catch your breath. you're flushed, and the lust flowing theough you is almost unbearable.

“please, hayden, need.” you're so dumb with want, not a single coherent thought in your head.

“seems little girl needs to learn some patience.” he speaks into your neck, lightly biting and kissing on the skin.

“hayden,” you're whining, your thighs rubbing together on their own accord, trying anything to get some friction, something to alleviate the pain of need.

he kisses down your body, shedding of your outfit, one piece of clothing at a time. his lips enevlope around your nipples, little sighs falling from your lips like prayers. hayden wasn't sure he'd ever grow tired of the sounds.

he moved down, slowly pulling your bottoms down. almost like he was trying to torture you, or at least that's how it makes you feel. in reality, he's trying to savor every inch of creamy skin.

he finally comes face to face with your cunt. if you weren't so lost in his touch, you might've been nervous. however his hungry eyes make you feel wanted, beautiful.

“i just need one favor, baby,” his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afriad of your answer.

“anything, whatever you want, I'm yours.” you breathed out, a sultry tone in your words. you'd never heard yourself sound like that, it almost makes you wanna hide.

he tugs his lip betwen his teeth, just for a second before letting it go.

“call me daddy, okay? think you can do that for me?” you were quick to nod. you were probably going to do it anyway, but something about the way he asked made it so much hotter.

“words, baby.” his voice has a warning tone to it, and you almost wanted to push and see what he'd do. you weren't in a place to be able to do that right now.

“yes, daddy.” your voice shook a little as you spoke, the anxious energy seeping back into your bones.

“good girl,” he kissed your happy trail, all the way down until he was mere inches from your slit.

he licked up a stripe and you were about cry from sense of relief. his tongue slipping around your clit, his touch too much and not enough all at once. you were squirming under him, he tsked you. moving his arms under your thighs to hold you in place.

“let daddy take his time, angel, i promise you'll come soon enough.” his voice was low and you were sure you could come from that alone if he just kept talking.

“sorry,” you're wearing a sheepish smile, hiding your face in your arms. one of his hands coming to bring them down, holding both of your hands in his one.

“don’t hide, i wanna see you.” he's rubbing your knuckles comfortingly. it helps ease some of the tension, your body relaxing.

“there you are, now stay still as you can for me, yeah? and don't you dare hide those little noises from me.” you hum in accordance.

he pays more attention to your pussy now. his tongue dipping in and out of your core, wrapping his lips around your clit. eliciting whines and moans from your ‘o’ shaped lips.

he inserts a single finger, and the combination of his finger thrusting in and out of fo you and his lips attacking clit makes you come undone. shaking and crying as you come, he just looks at you with a smile.

“you look so beautiful,” his voice brings you out of the teance the orgasm sent you in. you give him a playful smile, completely in awe of the man before you.

“can you give me another one? need to fill you up, baby. can you take it?” can you take it? the words echo in your mind, almost like a challenge. you were determined to show him that you could and would take it.

“of course, i can,” you push up on your arms to actually look at him, it makes him smirk at your attitude.

it doesn't take him but a few moments to get undressed, and then he's stretching your walls with his fingers. preparing your hole for his girthy cock.

“daddy, hurry.” you pout, needing to fill him all the way. determination replaced by need.

“do you want it to hurt? cause i can stuff you full, but I don't want to hear any crying.” he's becoming a little impatient with her attitude, the soft, gentle man replaced by a wolf.

the way he spoke, and the look on his face makes you giggle, a giggle that's from the need to keep pushing those buttons.

his left eyebrow arched at your little outburst, “i want to be gentle with you for your first time, but you're making that really hard, doll.” curiosity piqued, you had to see what kind of roughness he'd give you.

“then let go,” you smiled oh-so innocently at him, and he couldn't take it anymore. an almost animalistic growl tears its way from this throat. with a few strokes of his cock, he was pushing into you.

the stretch was deliciously stinging, and you weren't sure if you liked it or not. but getting to see hayden above you, tongue poking out as he does his best to stay still. he's not a monster, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, unless that's what you want. tears streaming down your face. he tsks you again, “what did i say?” his hand comes to wipe away the tears and you lean into his touch once more.

“move, please move,” you're whining, squirming and wiggling. he thought he could get used to this sight, his little girl just needing to be split by his cock.

“what's the magic word?” his tone was playful and teasing, you almost want to bite it out of him.

you thought for a moment, what would probably get the most of a reaction out of him. so still pouting, and now batting your eyelashes at him, “daddy, i need you to ruin me.” your tone was genuine, you needed it and you needed it now.

what little bit of control hayden had left, has dissipated from those seven little words. he's grabbing your hips pulling them up to meet his. fingertips diggin harsh into your flesh, and he pistons in and out of you.

“fuck, doll, you're so tight. your cunt was basically made f’ my cock. taking me so well.” the pain has subsided, and all you can think about is the waves of pleasure being brought you by a man 10 years older than you.

“mm, daddy, so good, so full, love daddy’s cock, love it so much.” you're babbling, dumb and incoherent, unable to think about anything other than his member bullying your insides.

his hips are twitching and you can tell that he's getting close. you slip a hand down to your clit to rub little circles on the bud, but you're almost immediately stopped. one hand, now wrapped around your waist as he fucks into you. the other one holding your wrist, “let me do all the work, princess, just wanna make you feel good.”

his tone was indecipherable, but you nodded dumbly, letting him attack your clit. you can feel your muscles contracting, that familiar knot forming in your stomach.

“gonna come, daddy, gonna come, dad.” you're rambling again and it's making hayden feel sick in the best way possible.

“where you want it, baby?” he's always asking for permission, nose nuzzling into your neck taking in the scent of your sweat.

“inside, please, inside, please. want all of you, please.” he's smiling down at you again, not that you can see, your eyes rolling back in your head as your body begins to convulse.

“gonna fill you up so good, angel.” his hips stutter one last time, and you can feel his cum feeling up your cunt, it just makes you more sensitive.

you both fall to the bed, out of breath and hayden is laughing. if you weren't in such a daze, you'd ask him what was up.

“damn, doll, that's the best sex I've had in a while, you did so good.” he's laying on his side, leaned up. nimble fingers pushing your hair out of your face. mumbling little conpliments as you regain composure.

“well, i think it's safe to say, I'll know exactly what to do tomorrow.” you giggled and he agreed with a hum. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then nose, both cheeks and finallly your lips. soft and scattered kisses pepper across your skin and you giggle at him.

he gets up grabbing a bottle of water and some washrags to clean you up. easily manhandling you to wipe down your whole body from sweat, and gently collecting the cum that's cascading out of you. you wince from sensitively and he apologizes, pressing a kiss to your tummy.

he hands you the water and watches as you down the entire bottle, “i think I'd like to do this again sometime.”

#ζ callista says things . ✦#hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen x costar!reader #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x female reader #hayden christensen x y/n #hayden christensen x you smut #hayden christensen x y/n smut #hayden christensen x female!reader smut #꒰꒰ hayden ₊˚๑

2K notes · View notes

holybibly · 6 months ago

Text

My bunnies seem to be drawn to the dark side, don't they? And how lucky for you, my sweet babies, that I'm here to fulfil all your darkest desires.

And here's the unholy thought of the day: Your sweet, slightly feminine roommate turns out to be a hardcore yandere dominant obsessed with you.

Seonghwa was a dream come true—gentle, adorable, so caring, a real sweet baby. You had been roommates for over three years now, and you thanked God every day for that.

You shared secrets, talked about dating, watched films together, braided each other's hair, and even did skin care routines together. Seonghwa was your best friend, but deep down inside, you couldn't help but regret that you couldn't go out with him, even though you wanted to. He was the kind of person you fucked, not the one who fucked you.

You could never imagine that Hwa could fuck your brains out or make you squirt until you passed out. His lips were made for blowjobs, not for eating pussy. He was a typical pretty boy, with a soft feminine appearance and lots of admirers. So all you could do was sigh sadly and dream that one day God would answer your prayers and send you someone like Hwa, but in a more dominant and harsher way. Someone who can take care of you like a queen and at the same time fuck you like a whore.

There was only one unspoken rule in your house: never enter Hwa's room. You could use his things without permission, eat his food, and even spend money from his card, but it was strictly forbidden to enter his room. You never minded; everyone had their own quirks, but curiosity still gnawed at you from within.

One day, when Seonghwa was out, you noticed that the door to his room was slightly open. A thin crack of black space beckoned to you like a forbidden sweet fruit, and you could not resist the desire to enter his room.

When you entered his room, you expected to see anything but what you found there—all the walls of his room were covered with photographs—your photographs, or rather, your naked photographs. Hundreds of photos of you showering, sleeping, changing clothes, and even, oh my God, photos of you masturbating, stuffing your pussy with a thick pink dildo. But that was only part of what they found. A pile of your used knickers under his pillow and another all sticky with his cum on the bedside table. You took them off in the shower this morning. Oh shit.

You were so shocked that you didn't even notice Seonghwa's presence behind you.

"You shouldn't be here, darling." His silky voice kissed the soft skin near your ear, and you squealed as you turned sharply to face Hwa.

For some reason, he looked completely different now—darker, more predatory. His usual large, shining eyes narrowed, a thick darkness gathering behind the mirrored black iris. A devilish grin spread across his sensual, plump lips. He looked completely mad; not a trace of your charming, sweet friend left.

"I... Seonghwa, I'm sorry..." A mixture of fear and strange excitement filled you, and you began to slowly back away from Seonghwa to create space between you. But Hwa didn't seem to like that at all as he began to move towards you, pushing you into a corner until your back was pressed against the sharp edge of the dresser.

Seonghwa's arms trapped you, squeezing the dresser on both sides of your body, his hips pressed against you so hard you could feel his erection, and damn, his cock was thick and big. God, the boy was huge.

"Look at you; you're shaking all over. Are you afraid of me, little star?" One of his hands came to your face, cupping your cheek, and you whimpered softly at the touch. You wanted to run away and hide in your room, but at the same time you wanted Seonghwa to do so much more than just caress your cheek. "Need I remind you that you're the one who snuck into my room? What am I supposed to do with a naughty little slut like you now?" Hwa playfully pinched your cheek, making you squeal, before his hand grabbed your throat, cutting off your oxygen supply, and he pushed his cock deeper into your body, moaning deeply in pleasure.

"S-seonghwa... we... we can talk about this..." You croaked, your voice barely above a whisper, muffled by his tight grip on your neck.

"Of course we'll talk about it and more, but first I'm going to take care of you. Take care of you like you always wanted me to. I'm going to take care of that sweet little cunt of yours; make sure it's full and saturated with my cum. Isn't that what you dreamed of, my star, when you moaned my name while you stuffed your slutty pussy with that disgusting dildo?" Seonghwa leaned closer to your face, his tongue poking out of his mouth to lick your parted lips. "I know all your wishes, my shining star, and finally I can make them come true. Don't worry, my love; now I will take care of you the way I always dreamed of."

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #ateez x reader

923 notes · View notes

prael · 5 months ago

Text

Spectacle

Kinktember Day 11: Cuckquean

IVE Wonyoung and Liz x male reader smut

words: 6,118 Kinktember Masterlist

"I love you."

You love her too. That's a long-accepted fact, and you've told each other this a hundred times over. Sometimes it's casually told at the end of a phone call, sometimes it's in some romantic setting like when you're walking out on the promenade under the night sky, but in a way, these ones are the most honest.

It's a little bit special when those are the only words that come to her mind while she is cumming.

She's lying with her head against your neck, still shaking in pleasure. You would reply but you're so focused on grinding into her and you're so fucking close...

By this point, it's all become a little routine. Predictable, maybe. She gets home, you cook together, eat together, watch a film or TV show together, then one of you makes a move and... You get the picture. It's any old weekday.

So maybe this isn't what people would consider to be earth-shattering sex(fuck the critics) but she likes the feeling of your hips bucking and you spilling inside her. And you love the way she struggles for breath in between her moans before she does that same little squeal right before she cums.

These nights have all blurred a little into one. Tonight will become a little section on a page of many; a few lines that are not much more than a footnote.

Silence sets in once you untangle your limbs and lay beside her. Her head is pressed against your shoulder and the post-sex smell hangs in the air.

You look out your window over at the walled gardens on the other side of the river. It's as dull a sight to look at as always and there's hardly anyone out at this time but somehow you're content with looking at this view.

"So, do you think we should visit my dad sometime?" Liz asks out of the blue.

"I know I said I would think about it, but I was a little busy just now." You roll your head over to the side, sacrificing the river view for Liz's flush face. "What's this about?"

"Like I said, he's been asking." Her words trail off and she doesn't quite meet your eyes. She gives an awkward shrug of her bare shoulders, and then scoots over, snuggling up even closer. You give her back an appreciative squeeze.

"I can't do this weekend, busy remember? But we can go next week?"

Her hand stops circling your abdomen and she lifts her head from your shoulder to look at you. "Busy?" Her eyes dart around, searching your face for clues, but she just has to ask: "With?"

"My friend's birthday, I told you last week, and you said, and I quote, 'Okay babe, I'm meeting Wony this weekend anyway, have fun!'" You do your best-worst impression of her which earns you a jab of her fist in your side and a laugh.

"Oh... I'm always forgetting things."

"You work too hard." You cup her cheek and stretch your neck muscles to plant a kiss on her forehead. She coos and moves forward again, returning to her rightful spot snug on your shoulder. You slip your arm behind her back, and both of you lie there together in comfortable silence.

Liz moves her hand up from your stomach to your chest and starts circling her fingers over your skin. The touch is light and soft and very very deliberate.

"I have another question..." Liz eventually says, trailing off her sentence as though she's half lost in her own thought.

You bring your hand up to hers, hooking under her wandering finger and raising her hand, and then you lock your fingers between hers. "What is it? Something on your mind?"

"Am I good?"

"Good? Good person? Good cook? Good girlfriend? Good what?"

Liz laughs gently nuzzling into your body to hide her face and breathing hot breath over your skin. "Good... in bed."

"Oh thank god, I thought you were going to ask about your cooking and I'm not so great at the whole white lie thing."

She tries to punch you with the hand you're holding but you tighten your grip to stop her. "Not funny," she groans with a smile on her face.

She tries to turn her head into the pillow but you refuse to move or say anything until she looks at you. When she eventually peers up and matches your gaze you tell her, "You are the perfect girlfriend in every way," you tell her.

She exhales a short chuckle and raises an eyebrow. "Nice dodge," she tells you, unable to contain her laugh, and you laugh with her. "It's okay, I have a plan."

You pause, her words suddenly throwing you. "A plan for what?"

"You'll see."

She refuses to say anything more for the rest of the night, but she smiles at your puzzlement and laughs whenever you try to playfully nudge the subject. And you do notice that a slight smile seems to stick to her face all night, right up until she falls asleep.

***

Sunday evening transport is so hellishly unpredictable, so you're walking in the apartment door about an hour later than you planned, and about twice as stressed as you should be.

All of that washes away when you look at the girl who's been waiting for you to get home.

The scented (mostly melted) candles have been burning for a while and the smell of them fills the apartment. Not only has Liz picked out one of your favourite bottles of wine, but she's poured out a pair of glasses of it already, though they're both half-empty. And as you near it, the bottle is too.

"Hey, Liz."

"Finally! Welcome home," she says with a smile as broad as your confusion. "I've been waiting so long. So, so long." She's wearing a gown you don't recognise that's soft to touch when you hug her as she throws herself against you.

"Is this new?" you ask, touching at the silk hem.

"Of course it is," she answers quickly. "I was saving it, saving it until a special night. You know... Something special to break it out for."

She moves back in your arms, so she can have a better look at you, and she stares for just a few seconds before she leans back in, this time kissing you full on the lips. There's nothing soft about it. There's no hesitancy, and certainly no tenderness. This kiss is so firmly decided, so purposeful.

She purrs her words against your lips, "I've been giving it some thought, and, I know you would never say it, but I'm a little bit... vanilla, in the bedroom. And, I know, I know," she stops you with her fingers on your lips, shushing you with the tilt of her head and a flutter of her long lashes, "You wouldn't say anything because you love me too much and you're far too kind, but, this is for me too, okay? I want to be good, I want to try different things, exciting things, and this is the best way for me to learn."

"Liz. Liz. I've barely walked in the door and you're throwing this at me. I need a minute."

"No, don't think, we've been waiting so long for you already." Liz is pulling your arm toward the bedroom door. Her soft touch and your own burning curiosity have you willingly in tow.

"We?"

She's smiling the wildest of smiles over her shoulder as she pulls you along. Your heart beats a little harder in anticipation of what lies ahead, and even more at the look of sheer excitement and determination on her beautiful face.

You dropped your bag somewhere in the middle of the room but you hadn't even taken off your shoes before Liz is bundling you through the doorway.

"This is Wonyoung."

Why the fuck is there a girl in your bed?

"Wait. I know. It's weird right?" Liz sounds giddy, almost frantic. She bounces up to you and pulls on your arm until you stand right alongside her, peering down at the young woman in front of you. "You know Wonyoung, right?"

"Of course, I know one of your best friends, but why is she in our bed?" You turn and look at the girl lying there with a similar silk gown over her body, from her neck down to just below the knee. "Sorry, no offence, but I have no idea what's happening right now."

Wonyoung doesn't react but instead chooses that moment to rise. She is sitting with her hands folded on top of her legs. She tilts her head and examines you carefully, with an unmoving gaze that's almost more uncomfortable than the two of you hovering over her.

"It's fine." The deep smooth voice cuts through the silence like a hot knife. Her voice is as cool and calm as you expected, not that you're all that familiar with it, you have only met her a handful of times.

"Liz?" you ask, turning to her again.

"I want to watch. I'm going to watch," she blurts out her response before falling silent.

"What?"

Liz exhales softly, then draws in a steady breath, steeling herself, as her mouth curves in a trembling smile. "I was talking to Wonyoung, about... things. And, well, we were talking, and I guess maybe this idea just sort of popped into our heads. I couldn't just dismiss it. And I've had this fantasy. And well Wonyoung, it's been a while. And you, I want you to. And I can learn." Liz is talking far too quickly and doesn't finish a single sentence she starts.

"What she is trying to say," Wonyoung cuts in with her voice sharp and full of cold steel. "Is that we have come to a mutually beneficial agreement."

"Arrangement." Liz chimes in with the correction.

"That I will," her eyes drift, flickering and moving over both of you, "join you both, for a while, in a few different ways. What Liz is trying to explain is that, well, to be frank, it's been a while for me and I would appreciate some good sex. As for Liz here... It just so happens she has a bit of a fantasy about this whole thing too."

"Yeah, exactly." Liz cups your cheeks and kisses you gently. "It's completely up to you, of course." Her hands rest at the back of your neck and she closes her eyes, resting her forehead against yours. "I love you."

Your hands are hanging idly by your waist. This woman sits on your bed and your girlfriend clings to you, asking you to fuck her.

"Okay." A single word while your heart is beating hard with anticipation. You reach to Liz's waist and pull her flush against you and plant your lips against her soft supple skin.

She giggles with delight and puts a finger under your chin, tilting your gaze up. "So... We're really going to do this, huh?" Liz leans in, eyes flickering over your own as you exchange a final look. You feel her warm breath just a moment before the warm touch of her lips, pressing against yours, melting your resistance and hesitation, while sending warmth through you, easing you into acceptance, as the idea begins to cement itself in your thoughts.

There's a rustle of sheets as Wonyoung climbs up behind you and presses herself against you. "You're already late," she whispers behind you. "Don't make me wait any longer."

Liz leans away and her delicate fingers ease open your shirt, undoing each button in turn.

"Don't hold back. I want to see you give it to her." Liz takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "Please, babe." Then she takes a step back, towards the chair that you're just now realising had been moved from the corner of the room so it had a close view of the bed.

Wonyoung pulls your shirt from behind, dragging it over your shoulders and down your arms. She follows the fabric down your back with a series of gentle kisses over your spine. The light tickle and feel of her hair drag over your skin, as she tugs the shirt free of your wrists.

"Liz..." You look over to your girlfriend who is staring with a grin on her face. Her eyes follow every single movement that Wonyoung makes as if studying them, examining them, processing them.

Wonyoung tugs the shirt free of your wrists and discards it. Her hands immediately reach over your chest and drag downward, making no secret of the way that her little breasts under the silk push firmly, and delightfully, up against your back.

Her nails drag over your skin until she hits the waist of your trousers. Delicate fingers, so precise in their movement, make quick work of the belt buckle, the button, and the zip. All without pausing, all without hesitation.

Under the dim light of the evening, Wonyoung pushes your trousers, and underwear, free from your hips. Down, over your ass, dragging them down your thighs. The cool air passes over your body, and you look to Liz for affirmation.

She smiles and she nods, waiting for what comes next.

Naked, and vulnerable, you're standing before her with another woman wrapped over you. Wonyoung reaches around you with both hands, she takes one confident grip of your still-limp length, and her other hand just a little lower onto your balls.

Liz's eyes light up at the sight.

"Not hard yet. Nervous?" Wonyoung's question is a tease. Her voice, velvet and silky, is whispered into your ear. The smell of her perfume is subtle, but the floral, womanly scent is unmistakable. She moves her hand in a light grip over the base of your cock and moves it slowly, methodically, and without the urgency you might've expected.

"Maybe..."

Wonyoung releases a silent giggle against the skin at the back of your neck. "Just wait..."

You look at Liz and her hands clamp tight over her knees as her breathing visibly hastens, matching your own. Her attention is fully, single-mindedly, upon you, with you, but there is no doubt about where her thoughts and her emotions lie. She's excited. In the comfort of seeing that, so are you.

"There we go," Wonyoung whispers. Her hands work leisurely over you. And yet in no time at all, you're rising in her grip. Stiffening. Aching for more. Your focus is on the sight of the only woman you have ever cared for, but the feeling of someone else's hand on your cock as you watch her is as strange as it is exciting.

She massages with both hands, always rhythmic, always steady. "Liz, do you like to suck cock?" Her question comes out smooth, and refined but pointed.

Liz glances up at you briefly, then down between her knees. She gives her answer as a nod, looking a little timid as her hands tighten their grip even more and her nails start to press into her knees. "I like the way his body reacts to my tongue." She glances up once more with a satisfied smile.

"That's good. And he likes it too?"

"Yes," you both say it at the same time.

You shiver as Wonyoung plants a long trail of delicate, wet kisses over your neck. She draws back her hand and leaves you there, cock stiff in the air. She walks around you slowly, finally that pretty face of hers coming into view. Her dark brown hair falls over her shoulders, the locks blending into the black silk of her gown.

She places both of her hands on your chest and stares right at you, no ounce of shyness or reserve as her piercing eyes dig deep, threatening to carve a hole clean through you.

"See something you like?" she asks. "Liz, if he is so hungry looking at me now, can you imagine what his expression is going to be like once my robe is off?"

Wonyoung rests the tip of her tongue on her lower lip, using it to moisten the pillowy soft, glossy surface. Her fingers rake down your chest as she drops elegantly, slowly to her knees and smiles up at you with those shiny red lips.

"May I?" she asks.

You take in the sight of her, kneeling before you, her lips so teasingly close to your tip that each of her soft breaths kisses it. A lustful, indecent twinkle in her eye.

You force a glance over to Liz, to which Winyoung immediately reacts, "I'm asking you, not her."

And all of the reasons to hesitate are just evaporating.

"May I suck your cock?" she repeats. She remains perfectly, unnervingly, poised on her knees.

"Yes. Suck my cock, Wonyoung."

Your breath catches. Your whole body shudders as she runs the warm, wet flat of her tongue up the underside of your hardness. Her gaze never falters. Wonyoung purses her lips, before lowering herself in her elegant descent, and letting her tongue slide around you as she sinks into the first of many bobs of her head.

Liz shuffles forward on the edge of her chair.

Wonyoung takes you deep, so deep, without so much of a gag or splutter. Her dark, doll-like eyes stare straight ahead, as she swallows your cock with her luscious lips and warm mouth. The warm and wet envelopes you so wholly that you can't stop yourself from hissing a groan of approval and you feel her mouth tighten its grip with a devious grin.

Liz squeezes her bare legs together.

Wonyoung braces herself on your hip, wrapping the other hand around your thigh as she rises and sinks back down again, again, again. Each time she gets a little quicker, a little stronger.

It's so different to when Liz does it. She's normally so playful with her tongue, and she doesn't take a lot of it inside her, but Wonyoung seems to have this sole fixation on drawing you deep into her. The very back of her throat greets your sensitive tip.

The muffled moans that roll from her throat vibrate around your shaft, and her tongue eagerly rolls all over your every inch. Her deep breaths get heavier, and her suckling becomes sloppy and wet. You're getting weak at the knees.

Wonyoung finally releases you with a short gasp and looks up at you with glassy eyes, "Fuck," she groans out before spitting over your shaft.

She clasps her hand over the head and grips you tightly, stroking up and down the length.

You don't dare to tear your gaze from the stunning, lewd woman staring up at you.

"Tastes... Mmm. So good, so good." Wonyoung whines her praise out between kisses and flicks of her tongue on your tip.

Your hands twitch and the instinct to sink your fingers into her hair is a near-unstoppable urge. You gently thread your fingers into her long, silken tresses, and gently grip them. She lets out a satisfied gasp and then says to Liz, "Look at that. See how much he wants me?"

Your gaze shoots over to Liz. Her eyes are transfixed, focused on Wonyoung's tongue, wrapped around the head of your cock. Her breath shudders, then slows.

You pull Wonyoung's head down while staring at your girlfriend. If she wants a show, you'll give her one.

A quiet sound escapes her, and then a sharper inhale, but still she shows no sign of objection. On the contrary, the pleased hum that emanates from her mouth drives you wild. It encourages you. You rock your hips forward, slamming past her lips and prodding against her throat. Your lust swells alongside your confidence.

"Good girl." You know how much Liz likes it when you're the dominant one, she often teases you in conversation about how it's hot when you tell her what to do and you notice her breathing become hitched when you whisper dirty things in her ears.

Wonyoung says nothing but moans her appreciation and rewards your command by relaxing her throat and letting you use her.

For a while you use her, over and over until you're right on the edge, Liz looks practically ready to jump out of the chair, and when you check on Wonyoung, her face is a mess. Tears streaking, saliva dripping. She's taken every last drop of this beating with nothing but an overwhelming desire to serve you.

She opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue. The desperate submissiveness in her act brings you that step closer, "Cum, cum," she moans out between deep gulps of air. "Do it. Give it to me."

She's holding your cock in her fist and pumping it towards her face. With the first hot jet of cum, she cranes forward and takes it onto her eager tongue. She looks up at you as if urging you to keep going, to fill her pretty mouth.

Liz gasps audibly as you empty the contents of your balls into the sweet girl's waiting mouth. Wonyoung does nothing but accept what you're giving.

Your girlfriend just watched you blow a load into the mouth of her friend.

With each spurt into the soft, receptive touch of Wonyoung's inviting mouth, Liz squirms on her chair, her tongue playing on her lower lip.

"That's so hot," she strains to say through heavy breaths.

Wonyoung swallows all of it without instruction and then cleans you off in the same eager fashion that she sucked the load out of you.

"Hey Liz," Wonyoung croons in that smooth, velvety voice, while kissing along your thighs, her breathing quick and light on your damp skin. "You should have invited me sooner. I can think of a hundred ways to fuck this cock."

Wonyoung sweeps her damp hair from her face. She presses her forehead to your thigh, collecting herself. You can feel her taking deep breaths through her nose against the skin of your thigh.

"Show me."

At that, Wonyoung glances at Liz in genuine surprise.

"Show me all of those," Liz pauses, and takes a moment to collect her words. "All of those ways to fuck my man. Please show me."

"Okay, Liz, you just sit there and watch me fuck your man." Wonyoung's lips are sticky with your cum, glistening and tempting in the low light of the room, the remnants of your seed on her chin are even more provocative, as Wonyoung tilts her head and reveals a gorgeous neck and collarbone that draws your attention. "Well?" Wonyoung continues, extending her hand, "Help me up."

"Of course." You reach for her, eager and so, so ready. You pull her to her feet, and into a heated kiss, a little rougher than you should, but she doesn't mind. You lean down, slipping your hands around her thighs and then up to her ass, lifting her against your body.

Wonyoung squeals as you take three steps towards the bed, toss her over the edge, and then stand over her. Her gown has fallen open, framing her petite, naked body in the centre of your bed. It takes no time for her to move back, propping herself up on her elbows, and then giving her body a delicious stretch to emphasise her every feature. She sits there, spreading her legs, knees parted, showing you her bare, wet pussy, flushed and exposed.

"I want you over me so badly. Pushing my legs up over my head and fucking down into me. But not tonight. Tonight I'm going to show Liz how to ride a cock. Would you like that?" The lust in her dark eyes shines, not for you, not for Liz, but for the moment, the experience, the power that Wonyoung wields right now.

"Yes," you whisper.

"Good." Wonyoung raises herself, rising to her knees to look up at you, leaving a lingering, open-mouthed kiss on your lips before peeling the gown off of her shoulders.

In a small, feminine pile, it gathers on the floor. Then she flaunts herself, not so much in an exhibitionist way, though she certainly has every right to, but more of someone who enjoys being admired. It's not just because her body is fucking stunning, but it sells such a sinful promise of how good it's going to feel to fuck, and she knows it.

You hold her waist for that simple purpose. Hands over her narrow body, soft skin and toned muscles underneath. For her part, Wonyoung extends one delicate arm so that she may brush her index finger over your jaw, just making that familiar, if chilling, grazing over your skin. You slide your hand down between her legs and press a single finger inside her.

"Mmm. Don't be afraid," she purrs.

You stroke her smoothly. Two fingers, twisting them, delving into her as her insides react, tightening, dampening around your teasing invasion.

"Already getting me so worked up, and poor Liz over there is being so well-behaved."

"Hey!" Liz laughs playfully. Her playful laughter trails off when Wonyoung's voice lowers, and the erotic, needy sound in her tone builds.

"Lie down, let me show her how it's done. Look at me. Watch me."

Immediately, you melt away. Back to the bed, to the cool feeling of the sheets under your skin. The quiet anticipation, and the expectation. With languid grace, and without her body ever seeming to interrupt its soft, almost perfect curvature, Wonyoung climbs over you. She places one knee on the bed, then the other. A hand on your chest, then the other. The weight of her, what little there is, pressing you down until the moist heat from her lips finds your cock.

She presses your length flat against your body, the lips of her pussy holding it in a long kiss that she gradually eases over your shaft. Grinding back and forth, you watch as your cock disappears under her as she comes forward, only to drag herself back down against it.

"Feel that?" Wonyoung pants quietly.

"Uh-huh," you hum.

"Feel that warmth, that slickness sliding around you. Imagine what it's going to feel like inside, hmm?" She coaxes a twitch out of you as you do exactly as she says.

Her tight abs roll into you, followed by the press of her thighs. Hot and clasping. Higher, her bare chest bears a pair of hard nipples on her little perky tits. Higher still, her face twists in expressions of pleasure, the delight in her shining eyes, the rapture etched across her face. Her lips tremble as something threatens to escape, whether a whine, moan, exasperated breath or a request for something, she never vocalises the sound and it remains nothing more than a sensual promise of a good time ahead.

Wonyoung slows to a stop and throws her head forward, putting her hands on your shoulders. You place yours at her legs, watching her close her eyes, drawing her lower lip between her teeth.

"Feel how wet I am?" Wonyoung moves her hips in tight circles and she struggles to hold back her whimpers. Her warmth flows out of her and over you. "That's me, getting turned on at the thought of having this inside of me," she whispers. She rocks herself again, this time drawing out her whimper.

"God. Fuck..." You gasp and groan. You want this. Need it.

Wonyoung lifts and turns your cock until your head prods against her tight and needy pussy. She pauses to look to the side, her hair falling over her face but you can make out a grin, that very sly smile as she tilts her head towards your girlfriend, no doubt appreciating her breathless arousal.

"I'm going to ride your boyfriend's cock now. Cum all over his cock. Make him cum inside me. How does that feel?" Wonyoung moans softly, tipping her hips up, down, and over again, toying with the head. "Mmm, you like the sound of that, don't you?"

Liz is gripping the arms of her chair, not saying a thing. She just whines with agitation, kicks her feet out and stamps on the floor.

Then, Wonyoung gasps with relief. While your head was turned, Wonyoung surprised you by drawing the tip of your cock into her. You snap you're attention back to her as she settles around your cock. Where her throat was so accepting, her pussy is decisively not. It's so fucking tight that she struggles to take much of you in at first. Such small movements over the tip, tiny motions that rock her. And yet the sensation is something that could, and does, unravel you in an instant.

You're powerless to resist as she takes more and more of you into herself with each and every drive back down. Each little push, deeper inside, the further apart her thighs, and the deeper she descends, pushing herself, forcing herself, upon your cock.

You hold onto her ass, guiding her every bit of the way, rocking her rhythmically back and forth. Deeper, harder, tighter, she stretches, accommodating you until you reach as far as her tight walls will allow.

"You're gonna ruin this pussy." The sultry voice and the crude declaration cause another tremble out of you.

At that, she places both hands on either side of your head, palms flat on the sheet. Her pretty face is so close, just bobbing slightly as she fucks you. She pants heavily, her small, round breasts quiver and bounce up and down in front of your eyes.

She stays like that for a while, fucking herself on you, telling you all sorts of sweet nothings. "Gonna ride that thick cock. Love it so much, feel so fucking good." All the while, her perfectly tight ass is in your rough hands as you knead it and pull it wide.

Eventually, she throws herself back, breaking the intense stare, and making herself a spectacle again. She leans back, far back, her hand behind her for support, and gives both of you a show. Those slender thighs shake just enough to send you crazy each time she slaps them down against your waist. Her cute, shapely tits bouncing and jiggling.

"Fuck! Liz! You lucky girl! Mhm!" You're squeezing and palming her thighs roughly, fingers into flesh. Pulling her down hard, trying your damnedest to force her even tighter against you.

"Sfucking hot," A filthy compliment that is rewarded with another gasp of arousal and a short burst of bouncing as desperately fast as she can.

She slows to a crawl again. One leg moves off you, and then her hips swivel and the movement on your length is breathtaking. She's sideways on you now. One leg between yours, and the other stretched out over your body, her foot by your face.

Wonyoung is looking right at Liz now. "Watch me cum on your boyfriend's cock."

You're holding her by the leg she has over you, and you're using it as the leverage you need to buck into her while she works the lateral movement. The bed shakes and protests under your exertions. Wonyoung pulls her hands behind her neck, scooping up her hair and holding it up, so every inch of her body can be seen.

"Look. Look, Liz." Wonyoung lets out a guttural moan. A throaty, visceral noise of climax catching you off guard. You keep rolling your hips, taking in the way her body tenses and tightens and she trembles all over. "Cumming. On your. Boyfriend." She barely gets the words out as her head falls backwards and you can't take your eyes off of her, or the way she spasms on your lap.

She struggles to keep up the pace and rhythm but still tries her best, her resolve amid an orgasm is worthy of respect. You move her, this time, hands on her waist and twisting her so she faces away from you. She allows you and gasps in delight the moment you reposition her, her hands reaching for your thighs.

You continue the thrusts, with Wonyoung content now to take the punishment. You fuck her in a steady, thumping motion, the slap of skin against skin loud and ringing in the air. Her ass is marked red, compliments of the tight squeeze you had on it earlier. Her taut little cheeks bounce and shake each time you slam into her. Her own whiny moans and squeals mix and add a new melody to the atmosphere.

Wonyoung is nothing but moans now, one orgasm just cascaded into the next, and she shows no signs of stopping. Every now and then her sounds break through, becoming cries. Each time they do, you follow it up with a series of rapid slapping of hips. It's all you can do, just to keep yourself going, chasing that elusive climax that the three of you so desperately want.

Liz is fucking losing it. She's squeezing her thighs together. Grinding. Dancing in her chair. Her fingers, her knuckles, are white with strain as she holds onto the chair for dear life. She's making squeals and gasping moans too—she wants to cum so bad. It is as though her pussy is squeezing on nothing, you can imagine just how needy and wet she is. How painful it must feel, not being able to have that satisfaction that you can give Wonyoung.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Wonyoung wails out her climax with such intensity that it actually leaves her voice a little hoarse and you can't hold it anymore, you have to follow her lead. You have to cum.

So you do.

Wonyoung drags her nails across the skin of your legs as you reach that tipping point and pump a thick stream of semen into her. There is more and more, and she takes it all greedily as if there's no limit. As if she'll never be satisfied.

You let it all out, pump her full of hot, thick, semen. The release is enough that, for a while, you blank out the world. Nothing matters but the overwhelming feeling of pleasure.

Consciousness returns with you lying limp on the bed. Your head rolls to one side and you struggle to stay focused. You gaze down past your feet where Wonyoung lies collapsed, the exact same way as yourself. Still, you watch, and try to keep focus, and you do because when Wonyoung awakes she lifts her head, a sheen of perspiration glistening and flowing in droplets from her dark, silky hair and down her face, streaking her skin and flowing over her red cheeks and flushed lips.

The combination of both exhaustion and arousal as Wonyoung catches her breath causes a wonderful sight before she meets your own exhausted gaze and that smile of hers, all pearly white and perfect and so damn alluring.

"Fuck! I have to! Fuck!" Liz is rampant now, her hand reaches in between her own legs and then her legs are spread apart and you can see her furiously fingering her own pussy, the motion of her whole arm trembling and shaking. Her pussy is wet, and gleaming. And the fingers in it move and dive deeply. "That was the hottest fucking thing... I need to... Cum..."

Wonyoung supports the side of her face up with her fist, a grin on her features as she watches the way Liz acts like she's going insane, out of her mind, she just needs the cum in the worst way, the urgency apparent from the way her fingers disappear, pumping into herself.

Wonyoung starts crawling up you, to rest on you, while transfixed on your girlfriend pumping herself into oblivion. "Oh, Liz, that is beautiful," her eyes light up as she comments, "Now imagine the feel of it... His cum leaking out of me right now. Because he fucked me and not you."

That's what sends Liz spiralling over the edge.

Liz's body twists, writhes, shudders and convulses in orgasm. It's almost hypnotic, her thighs squeeze together so hard that her hand must hurt, but she just goes on and on and on, never easing, and it leaves a hot, sticky mess all over the chair and her fingers. You watch as she rides those waves of blissful gratification, all over a set of digits that aren't nearly enough to satisfy, not even for a moment.

Wonyoung brings her lips close to your face, hot breath washes over you, and she whispers quietly into your ear, "She's going to want this again, you know? Look at her, you even seen her cum that hard?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then me and you? We're going to be having a lot of sex."

#kinktember #kpop smut #Liz smut #Wonyoung smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #m reader #smut #Wonyoung x reader #IVE smut #Liz x Reader #Cuckquean

1K notes · View notes