#by doing nothing in particular in recent memory

[tonycries]

Bed Chem - T.F.

Synopsis. No, you’ve never gone through a heat. No, your big bad neighbor, Toji Fushiguro, hasn’t had a rút in years. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive when all that changes with your…bed chem.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Toji, OMÉGAVERSE AU, slight enemies-to-Iovers, rúts, breéding, MARATHONS, cúmplay, búlges, Toji is BIG, heats, face-sítting, 69, spítting, praise, oraI (f + m), knottíng, he goes FÉRAL, DÚMBIFICATION, one use of “ma’am”, fated mates, matíng bites, p talking, breaking furniture, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.9k (whoops)

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“-oh! And, darling, my friend recently showed me this new serum that could-”

“-help with my…condition, huh?” You’re finishing off, teeth grit almost as hard as your fingers were around your glaring phone. “Mom- I’ve already told you that I want nothing to do with those sketchy inducers. I’d rather stay dormant like this forever.”

There’s slight static crackling from the other end of the line, “I’m just so worried for you, especially with that massive alpha-”

“Who? Wait- Toji?” You’re braving out a chuckle, gut clenching at the memory of your utterly hot new neighbor and his muscles upon drool-worthy muscles. “Y’know, the doctor has already determined that it’s impossible for me to go into my first heat now.”

And despite it all, you can’t help but drink in a deep inhale the moment you step foot into your cozy local convenience store. Only for your senses to be met with…nope. Nothing, again.

“Besides-” Fingers hovering over that angry red End button, you’re speed-walking your way as inconspicuously as possible towards the Heats and Ruts aisle. “-Toji doesn’t have ruts.”

Well… 

Nobody ever said that you weren’t a hypocrite - but, hey, you were desperate at this point. 

Even if you had to consider another one of your mom’s attempts to artificially induce your inner omega into finally putting in the work.

With your goodbyes hastily muttered, and your phone stowed deeply away into one of your pockets, you find yourself slowing down near that one particular section of the Omega shelves. Gulping at the somewhat-shady inducer portion that you found yourself familiar with ever since you’d reached late puberty without a single heat. 

It was ridiculous, but it wasn’t impossible. 

Mandatory school bloodwork revealed you to be an omega - yet, you felt like anything but that. Anything but what you supposedly were as you watched more and more of your fellow omega classmates miss out on a week or two of school to deal with their heats. 

Consoling you with pitying glances and half-hearted complaints that alpha scents were annoying anyway. But you didn’t care if the pheromones were obnoxious, and the cycles even more so.

Your months just came and went by without any of it.

You’d visited many fertility and growth doctors over the years, and not a single one had been able to pinpoint exactly what was blocking you from accessing the pheromones and biology that everyone else could. That you wanted to. 

Hell, even betas were said to have at least a faint ability to smell wafting clouds of musky perfumes.

Most professionals claimed that everything was as it should be, that you might just be dormant - a late-bloomer, if you will. A very, very late bloomer. 

A majority presented at the start of puberty, or perhaps - in only very rare, alleged cases you found on barren forums - after meeting their fated mate. Two souls bound to fill in each other’s missing pieces. 

The theory was something you let yourself indulge in guilty sips, the sort of fantasy that flashed through your mind right before you wound up with yet another heartbreak.

But after graduating college without a mere half-sign of anything to do with your second gender, you vehemently called bullshit on that one. 

Some suggested that you might merely be a beta in disguise. It was almost comforting to think that it might have all been one big mix-up, yet, every medical test after medical test you’d done always came out the same. 

An omega.

“Damn second genders.” You’re grumbling, traitorously curious fingerpads skimming over the sterile boxes of medicines with official-sounding names. You’d tried out a few with the least amount of side-effects before, and it always ended up being a waste of your time (and your paycheck.) “Damn- damn inducers-”

CLACK!

In your reveried haste a few unstable boxes of products found themselves plonking onto the ground. Wincing at the withering glare of the manager unhelpfully peeking in from a few aisles down, you urgently dropped to your knees to put them back-

“Damn, what did those scented lotions do to you? Remind me not to get on your bad side, doll.” 

You see him before you hear him - strong, engulfing hands motioning into your field of vision to dexterously grab at the mess you’d created. 

And then once you hear him it isn’t any better, because you could recognize that richly rumbling baritone anywhere. 

“Wha-” Cutting your own self off with a strangled mess of a yelp the moment your furrowed gaze looks with viridescent eyes. “-oh.”

Oh? Oh?

Toji Fushiguro quirks up one brow in a way that is unfairly attractive, sultry scar engraved onto one side of his sleazy grin tilting up ever-so-slightly. And was that- a dimple? “Heh- n’ the pretty girl says oh. Cat got your tongue, sugar?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing that this was the first time you’d ever been so…close with the man himself. 

Usually settling for grumbling conversations from your doorstep and incoherent text conversations from his toddling, cherub-faced son stealing Toji’s phone.

So ah, there was one thing you’d forgotten to mention to your mother. Sure, you might have let it slip that Toji was…ruggedly handsome - all Herculean physique, a glossy black Harley Davidson bike, and long legs that carried him well over six feet - but you’d always omitted one thing. 

He was just so cocky.

And you can already feel your blood curdling strangely in your veins, scoffing out a heated puff of breath. “Nah, more like the alpha in the Omega section is.” Darting your eyes anywhere but at the strain of Toji’s sinful compression shirt sneaking winking at you underneath his leather jacket, practically painted onto the ridges of his washboard abs. “Thinkin’ of a secondary gender change, Toji?”

“Ah, yeah yeah-” He’s rolling those hooded eyes, leaning in so pointedly close that you can practically feel his slow, seeping look up and down. “-got tired of havin’ cute lil’ omegas falling all over f’me.”

You scramble to finally stand, “You wish.”

The bout of husky snickers that escape from him make your thighs squeeze together, and Toji’s promptly following you to place back all those fallen lotions. “‘Course I do. That n’ the brat is out on a trip with his lil’ pink-haired friend, m’just killing time.” Tilting his head at you, “You? Thinking of going for alpha? Or…” Crossing his big, beefy forearms, and he must know the effect that has on you and your greedily ogling eyes. “-an alph-”

“Just this.” You’re cutting him off before Toji could fray at your sanity even more, holding up that heat-inducing serum your mother had mentioned. 

But, oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t the expression you’d expected on the handsome face of Toji Fushiguro. Maybe something more smug, perhaps even amused as he realized your little predicament- but never this.

Eyes stony, sharp jaw clenching with a jumpy little tick. And Toji’s fingers are so thick when they pluck the box cleanly off your hands, the split-second graze of his burning skin making you feel almost feverish.

“This trash? Yer takin-” He’s glaring down at the serum as if it had offended him personally five times over. Something about the utter look of discontent makes your chest burn, “-this trash?”

You find yourself defensive, “N-no. At least, not yet. What about it-”

“Because s’gonna ruin your inner workings that’s what.” And for all the world, you never expected to be getting lectured by Toji Fushiguro of all people on your health - though, one look at his sculptured body should have told you all you need to know about just how seriously he takes it. “Don’t even know why s’on the market. S’not good for ya, mama.”

And you knew that. Probably. But ah, the things you do when you’re at your ropes end. “And? I’ve never had a single heat my whole life, y’know?”

“And I should know, bratty doll.” Toji murmurs, throwing that oh-so-famed miracle serum haphazardly back onto the shelf and flipping off the manager who glares at him. “Haven’t had a single rut in years, not since Megumi’s- anyways, all these inducers here are full of shit.”

“Oh.”

Wrapping a staggering arm around your waist to guide you, your body practically burns. Weird. “Tch- silly girl.”

Two peas in a pod.

Before you know it, you’re being dragged by a disgruntled Toji away from the treacherous clutches of the Heats and Ruts aisle and past the cashier - who only smiles as you so-very-subtly sneak in a long whiff of the air. 

Again. Nothing. 

With the stinging pang of disappointment, you sigh as you step outside. Only for Toji to rub your back with a hum, “S’alright. You’ll be alright, sugar- you’re my strong girl, huh?” Eyes widening at just how…sweet Toji was being. That is, before he opens his mouth once more- “Besides. Who needs inducers when you’ve got such a big strong alpha-”

“Pass.”

“Don’ act like ya don’t like it, little miss neighbor. I see how ya look at me.”

“I- I don’t-” You did. And you do. And you will - in fact, you were looking at him that way right now as Toji swings over one thick thigh to straddle the padded leather seat of his prized Harley Davidson. Looking like he’d just stepped out from your wettest of dreams and it makes you almost simper out a sigh.

He’s jutting his head back at the tempting extra space behind him, and you could already hear the suggestion oozing into his next words. “Mhm— whatever ya say, girl. Now stop just standing there looking pretty n’ get over here, I’m a busy man.”

It’s almost as if on auto-pilot when you do.

Toji Fushiguro’s motorbike was big, and just as intimidating as he was. And it’s only on shaky legs that you manage to press yourself only mere precarious inches away from his hulking form. “Heh, ‘er name’s Harley. Fitting for a bike, huh?”

“If- if you crash I’ll kill you.” You’re puffing out a few thickly muffled words through the sleek matching black helmet he was deftly putting on you. Wondering just what led you to be…here of all places. 

“Yes ma’am, I’ll help ya hide the body.”

“M’serious- no funny business.”

“Uh huh, anything else, mistress?”

“And I’ve seen you run red lights so no-”

SMACK!

Your heart stutters with a loud ba-dump! as Toji’s rounded, calloused fingertips leave a good smack against the side of your thigh to get your yammering mouth to halt. And he’s letting off a titter at the shocked expression of your face even through the tinted helmet before turning to rest his hands on the handlebars. 

“Hold on tight.”

It’s all the warning you get - and, honestly speaking, you don’t think any sort of warning could’ve prepared you for the way that Toji rides. 

Something about it is so attractive. 

Maybe it was the creaking stretch of leather as his biceps strained against it from underneath, maybe the way your ears ring with his words even louder than the growl of the bike, maybe it was the way that you were holding him.

Arms stretching to connect over Toji’s broad front, your skin mushes against the curvaceous mounds of his toned pecs. Firm and warm. So, so warm that you can’t help the way that your eager self was mindlessly inching ever-so-slightly closer-

“Phew.” Startling - but not moving away - at the low whistle that Toji blows out, eyes still trained weaving through traffic. “Dangerous game yer playin’, omega.”

Sidling even closer, the defined angles of his back muscles only flexed at the innocent smooch of your tits. “What?”

“S’fucking close.” And not just to him, but to his scent glands. So sensitive and prickling the shaggy black hair at the base of Toji’s neck just from your heated proximity. Huh, strange. “S’a damn good thing I ah- don’t get my ruts, huh?”

And, suddenly, you’re despising what these helmets hide from you. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t get my heats, huh?”

The exact same words playing over and over in your minds once Toji’s braking to a stop at his designated spot right outside your apartment building. And part of you almost feels upset that this little ride with him was over. 

Letting him do as he pleases when he’s seating around gruffly to take off both your helmets himself, you couldn’t help but notice that something about the air seemed…thick. Like it had just been dipped in candy and right now you were gladly suffocating in the sugary sweetness. 

Your eyes catch onto a lock of deep black that’d curled behind Toji’s ear - and you knew right then and there that something was wrong, you knew that you weren’t thinking. That you weren’t listening to your common sense. 

Because before you can stop yourself - before you can even register it - you’re swiping away the stray tuft, sensory curves of your fingertips just catching onto the skin above where Toji’s smooth glands should be.

“Fuh-fuck-” He’s hissing, willowy eyes curtaining behind a scrunch of his lids, and it’s almost as if on instinct that his thick digits fly upwards to trap your hands right there. “Hold on- just a little, mama-” Pressing down even tighter, and the way that Toji’s letting his head tumble back makes your mouth lacquer with a syrupy wave of drool. “-s-so you said you haven’t had a heat in years-”

“Ever.”

“-ever, huh?” Dewy whirlpools of his eyes examine you, and suddenly you feel like running away. But Toji only grins, “Say, why don’tcha scent me?”

Your maw falls slack with a hot shudder, and you’re not sure if it’s in shock or if it’s from how much you wanted it. To have an alpha offering himself on a silver platter - let alone Toji. Letting out an eloquent, “Wh-what?”

You’re being reeled in even closer with a tug of Toji’s strengthened hands, plummeting onto his chest with a cushioned oof–! He only repeats, breathing bated like he didn’t want to know anything himself until you did. “Scent me, pretty girl.”

“I-I don’t know why-” Your fingers unlatch, and you swear it makes Toji’s chest rumble with a low whimper. Steadily planting them onto the collar of his overpriced jacket to pull. “But if this is your idea of a- oh.”

Shit.

Shit.

And something…is different. There. 

Was- was this how he smelled? This heady concoction of jasmine and something so undeniably…Toji? 

Something snaking and boiling bubbles up throughout your body, you all but slump yourself into his eagerly awaiting arms. You can’t even register what you’re doing, nuzzling into his tender throat. Can’t even recognize the look on your face when you’re gasping in greedy heavals of what was obviously his scent.

That you could smell.

With a gasp, you’re pulling away, eyes diverting to him and- oh, it was much the same for him.

There was no other explanation for the lecherous look of devastation on Toji’s pretty features right about now. 

Scarred lips parting in awe, weighty lids drooping down until those heart-eyes him were almost invisible, face veiled with a delicate flush. His palms find their way to rest on the dip of your hips and stay there.

You’re croaking out, “T-Toji-”

It happens so fast - too fast. 

It’s as if your mere voice was enough to send a zillion volts of electricity shattering down Toji’s spine, jolting him with something darkly visceral. Enough to snap up one tannish forearm and bite-

“Ngh-” Toji’s pearly canines coat with a slight tinge of red, eyes shuttering open - and you notice that they seem slightly less glassy now. Slightly. “-fuck ya really are dangerous, doll. Was almost g’na have me take you right here right now.” The slight dip of his strawberry-pink tongue as Toji pulls away makes you gulp, “N’ I don’ wanna spend my first rut in years here.”

.

.

.

Toji couldn’t think - he couldn’t breathe. And if he was any lesser man he’d have fallen to his knees with only one whiff of your candyland smell. 

Addictive. 

Fingers clutched tightly underneath the plush of your thighs to carry you all the way in through your cozy apartment. Never faltering. Never slowing. You could almost roll your eyes at the blatant reminder of strength if you didn’t feel so feverish.

Toji’s steely eyes light up at the way your trembly fingers clutch the silken hem of your skirt, lips wobbling with every spilling word. “T-Tooooji, feels so hot.”

“S’that so?” He’s swiping the regal button of his nose down where the sides of your neck were swollen, breathing in the hot, sugary waves emanating from your skin. “Feel anything else?”

And the slight hitch of your breath is all that he needs as an answer, well, that and the goopy wetness that was formulating between your thighs. Shit, he never thinks he’s kicked down a door off its hinges harder than he has to your poor bedroom door. 

Draping you gently onto the plethora of silken sheets, you whine at the slight recoiling bounce.

Barely even given the time to gather your wits before Toji’s sliding his jacket and his t-shirt teasingly off, all thick, muscled limbs stalking towards you like a predator that’d just cornered his favorite prey. And you eye his rippling back, his rumbling tone speaking over your mattress’ creaks. 

“Ya better know…” he’s hurling out, mouth just only centimeters away from yours. Hot. “-m’not here ta fuckin’ play around jus’ cause you’re in heat, sugar.”

Ah, that’s what it was - heat. You were in heat. Fuck. 

Your fingers leave neatly indented semi-circles on his flesh when Toji’s grasping your throat tightly, padded ends of his fingers pressurizing right onto the treasure trove of your scent glands. “If I fuck you now, you will be mine. You and…” Before one largely crowned kneecap of his sidles into the snug cove of your pussymound. Weighing down- “...her.”

It’s the only thing you could do to bat your lashes up at him in a way that makes Toji’s achy cockhead twitch. “I want you…wan’ you to touch me, Toji–”

And that’s all that he ever wanted. 

Roughened hands shove you meanly back onto the cushy bed, and Toji’s sliding his palms languidly down, down, down every curve and dip on your body. As if he was trying to worship you with them. 

“Oh? Only wan’ me to touch ya?” Toji’s humming, Adam’s apple bobbing with wads of salivation once his fingers slink down to curl at your bra strap and snap! “Not to take this off or-” You gasp, the sting almost making you forget those minute rips! echoing from where he was grasping your t-shirt. “-this? Guess I can do whatever I please then, right?”

Before you can say a word of shrill protest, those useless pieces of fabric are tattered off. Ending up not-so-nicely in a pile right beside your bed with Toji’s intact clothes. 

“H-hey!” You whine, “Those were ah- limited edition-”

“Ah, I’ll buy ya five more of those.” Toji rolls his eyes when your lips part open, “What? Thought I wasn’t filthy rich or somethin’- Oh, girl, you are about to be spoiled. But first, a kiss-” Innocent and sweet onto your lips, “-here. And…”

Toji huffs out a few cocky sniggers at his own little joke, because of course he does. Leaving you off with a gentle swat! to the perfect curve of your hip and your heartbeat throbbing at your drooling cunt. 

He’s shuffling onto his very knees at the bottom of the bed, tutting at how unfairly far you were from his greedy mouth - well, that had to be fixed. You almost get whiplash from how swiftly you’re being dragged to let your jittery legs be thrown right near his tightly coiled deltoids. “-here.”

Head bobbing in an urgent yes yes yes when Toji rids you of your flimsy skirt and slowly slides down your drenched panties. All bunched up and leaving a glimmering coating of slick down your skin.

Stuffing it into his pants pocket, “This is a lil’ reward f’me.”

“Filthy.”

“Oh, well helloooo there, pretty girl.” He’s drawling, eyes flashing with such darkness at the heavenly mess of a banquet all laid out in front of him. “You’re so in heat- so fuckin’ in heat. See? Who needs fuckin’ inducers when ya have me.”

Toji’s pupils were swallowing up his verdant orbs. Needy. And he’s unashamed in taking a long deep inhale of your saturated pheromones. His favorite perfume now. “Lookin’ real happy ta see me. Happy s’your hah- first heat, hm?”

You’re squirming, fingers tangling into his silken tresses in an attempt to try and shove his face closer. “Are- are you talking to-”

“Hush now, doll.” Toji leaves a wet pap! of his fingers thwacking against the treacly slit of your pussy, watery with your flooding slick and greedy. “Lemme talk to ‘er- lemme talk this cute cunt through her first heat. M’honored, y’know?”

And honored just doesn’t begin to cover it.

Toji was devoted.

It’s like your wafting clouds of heady scent made his mind dizzy, until the only thing he could do was to let his slutty tongue loll out and sliiide at the splatters of translucent sap soiling your inner thighs.

“Oh- fuck-” You’re squirming your hips in a wild buck upwards, only to have him pin you down with the heavy-handed weight of his forearm. “-feels so- so…”

“Yeah? Good? Ya always get this wet or s’that jus’ f’me?”

Truly, you could only jumble out a few nonsensical syllables. Because Toji didn’t want to waste a single ounce of your precious juices, slurring out a few open-mouthed kisses across every inch of skin you’d exposed to him. And the moment that rosy peak of his tongue touches upon your teary pussy- oh.

He thinks he might just be the one about to cry.

Because you didn’t just smell like his favorite candied lollipops - you tasted like it, too. And, fuck, he can’t help but go in for seconds. Thirds.  

Guffawing out breathily with disbelief, he’s drawling his tongue to mush open the gummy folds of your pussy. Swirling out a lazy flick of his sopping muscle to stretch out the tight ring of your wide agape-

“Just look at ‘er all hngh- overflowing.” You watch with bated breath when Toji’s prying your quivering entrance with a bullying few inches of a singular thick index - only one, but Toji was so incredibly towering with his size and strength that you find yourself keening. Coral pink lips puckering up to give your hooded clit a squelching kiss. “Heh…like a damn waterpark, aren’t ya?”

Filthy words only making you filthier. Making your omega inside blink up and yearn.

Your gushing wads of juices bawling from between your legs in torrent. And you yelp at the lecherous sounds that echo out - the waterlogged squelches and slurring that only makes Toji grin. Wild and sly. “Mhm, real talkative.”

Arching your back into the perfect slutty curvature off of the prespired sheets, “Tojiii- s-stop teasing n’ give me- ngh- more.”

More. 

And just then you feel him fuck his softened digits into you slow and thorough. Curling up to swipe down the mushy soft spots of your walls - Toji was burning up. But you were burning up even more, and shit.

Shit. shit shit shit-

You don’t know if it’s because of your heat, or if it’s because Toji is just that good with that rude mouth of his - but you’re cumming faster than the thought could even flash across your melty mind. “Wait- m’close ngh- Toji- I’m gonna-”

It’s like a tidal wave of bliss peaked up further and further with every slashing motion of Toji’s gyrating make out with your cunt. You’re so very extra sensitive right now and he makes use of it - bumping up that rounded angle of his nose to press your fleshy clit just right. 

It’s so intoxicating. So heady that he finds himself pushing back those sweat-dampened bangs of his to lower down loooong breath. And then finally another passionate French kiss onto your bulging pussy. 

“Fuck- I-” Pearlescent droplets of tears welling up at the scrunched corners of your eyes. “M’so- sensitive–”

God, his wolfish canines were sharp nipping teasingly into the fat pucker of your pussy lips. Parting your slick-gleaming mound to squeeze his tongue into your tight hole, the stretch is incredible. It’s staggering. And Toji can only sully your insides with a gentle brush of his lengthy tongue along your gooey insides before pulling back with a huff. 

And then again- to let out a throat groan when your elastic walls push with resistance. And again. And again and again-

“Now m’offended.” Toji’s letting out a surly swat! where you’re trickling down viscous fluids of sickly sweet slick that coat his mountainous knuckles, his wrist, the raised trailways of his veins. “Wanted more but tha’s all ya can take- tch.” 

Oh, by the time your white-hot tingles of pleasure were bating you should’ve known better than to think that Toji Fushiguro was done manhandling you with his superhuman strength to every whim and want of his. 

That he would give you even a second of a warning before hovering over your frame and flipping you into such a pliable position over him.

His back hitting the puff of the pillows, strands of hair making a dark halo underneath him. Toji looks so fucking handsome that you can feel your pussymound slobber a few streaky puddles of slick onto his heaving abs. 

Hands positioned on either side of his leering head, you mewl. “Give me a warning first, you animal-”

“Hell yeah.” He’s snarking up at you, but there’s not a single speck of heat behind his words other than towards you. Towards what he wanted to do to you. Planting a heavy smack! on your ass, “Tha’s right you’ve got me in a rut after years like a fuckin’- animal. Heh, so jus’ lemme throw my pretty omega ‘round a lil’, I can feel how wet that gets ya.”

“N-noo- it doesn’t-” But that was a fucking lie and both of you knew it, knew it from the syrupy pool of sap laminating his heated skin. 

“See? She’s on my side. Doesn’t talk back.” The curvaceous pads of his fingers twiddle and tease your plumpened clit, so dirtily that it only makes your dripping cunt drool even further. Leaving a gauzy cobweb of treacly slick with every swat! swat! swat! he gifts. “Has anyone ever had her seated on a mouth, sugar? Made you feel good that way?”

Your head shakes before the thought has even contorted itself into an understandable shape. “No- no one has- ngh- before.”

It’s a confession, it’s a line plucked right from Toji’s filthiest thoughts on those late, late nights.

And he couldn’t look happier when molding you to the exact shape and angle that he wants you in. Turning you right around to bare your sodden pussy from the back, your unbalanced thighs curling on either side of his ravenous head. 

Not even a single command, yet your head is swimming with honey at just how much you were like putty underneath his hands. 

Your head cranes over the plane of your shoulder to give him a pretty plea. “Toji?”

“Mhmmm, Toji’s right here, pretty girl.” He’s awestruck - stunned with the gumdropping droplets of sap plopping down onto his tongue and sliding right down his throat. Making him groan, “Filthy fuckin’ pussy, can feel ya ngh- dripping allll down my tongue.”

And he’s drunk. He’s babbling, he’s heaving and heaving to inch his intoxicated maw to connect with your saturatedly glossy pussy lips. “Lower her down so I can give her lil’ smooch.”

Your hands nimble down along the tufted black happy trail brushing from between his navel and going down, down, down. “L-like this?”

“Nah, more. Can’t believe all those pathetic boys never had ya hah- sitting on their faces. Spread those pretty legs n’ lemme show you-” You can’t even begin to think about merely hovering your entire deadweight above him, because Toji was ready. And he was hauling you to rest every single mass of your flesh onto him, “-how a real man fucks.”

Thickly viscous helpings of your generous slick flood his mouth the second that Toji’s lengthy tongue is burrowing between your folds and driving you mad. 

Sliding all the way up and down up and down up and down with a welcoming flit at your buttoned clit and then pumping you overwhelmingly full. Fucking you with the overheated scratch of his tastebuds exactly the way that he wanted to with his achy cock right now.

“Can still taste m’self on ya- haaah- good.”

Toji wasn’t holding back.

“O-oh my god, m’so sensitive.” Your moans come out mangled. Wanton. Spilling from between your parted lips right along with rivulets upon rivulets of waterfalling saliva every single time that Toji’s bumping the curvaceous search of his tongue into your earliest sweet spots. “Slow down, Toji–”

Your fists maze through the velveteen blankets and clench, hips jerking up-

“Nuh uh, doll, no runnin’ away from your Toji.” Sliding up one slick-glazed hand to snake the small of your back, he’s using his face to nudge your legs even further. Drowning your sobbing cunt with a fat wad of spittle, Toji’s licking down the stray speckles that gravitate back onto his own mouth. So dirty that it makes him delirious, nose crinkling, bottom lip bitten. “Yeahhh, crack ‘em open even wider. She’s eager.”

Eager you were.

Jostling your hips against his mouth until through your clouded mind you were wondering whether he would suffocate. But little did you know that this might just be Toji’s ideal death - buried right there between your pretty legs. 

You’re being bounced so hard that you can feel your legs aching with the strain, hollowing out shuddered breaths and whines of Toji, Toji—

“Say my name.” He’s huffing, easing in a thick few inches of his fat digits that fill up the snug geysering orifices. Each n’ every single volume of space that’s inside you, and those puckered pecks leave screeching squelches that have you halfway through sobbing. “Say my name- say my name heh, g-gonna have a looot of ngh- noise complaints after this.”

Even though he’s saying this, he doesn’t do anything to deter you. Why the hell would he?

Pumping you full of one finger, two, three until your gummy ring of muscle was being molded to the plump circumference of his lengths. Multi-tasking. 

All the way until he was slathering the patterned bumps of his knuckles with a sticky second skin of slick, Toji curls those rounded tips down the tenderized walls of your channel and drags. Feeling for that one special target of his-

“G’na make ya feel s-so good.” He’s whispering, breathing like it was the truest of true words. And shit- he hasn’t felt like this for ages now - years. Secondary gender growling from his inner depths with guttural need to give you more more more. “Gonna find- ah- found it.”

And Toji knows he found it with the way you squeal. Wafting scent intensifying, lashes fluttering with a clinging swash of tears once he jerks a good push into that bulging bullseye that makes you see stars.

“Right there- Toji– right there-”

“S’fucking loud.” He’s rolling his eyes for what seems like the nth time today, but it was impossible not to when you were just so cute being teased like this. Bubbling out a few sloshes of slick and spit when your fingers dip right underneath his trousers and push. “O-oh? Trynna keep yer mouth full, huh? Let’s see ya try then.”

Your low lip juts out into a pathetic sort of pout that Toji finds adorable, that only makes his clothed cock pool out a darkening patch of precum onto his boxers. 

“Wan’ taste you- make you feel good.” Your words are warbly and broken, tone hitching upwards with every tiny slip of his sticky underwear downwards. It’s like you were teasing him - teasing yourself. And your inner omega was oh-so-very impatient. “Wanna make you feel…oh.”

“Heh, cat really got yer tongue now, huh?”

And you couldn’t even retort, you couldn’t even snap back as you usually might have because you were stunned. 

Maw falling slack at the generous girth that was throbbing fatly between your fingers, honestly from this lecherous angle it seemed like a struggle to even close your fist around him. Because Toji was…big - and even saying that was an understatement. 

Just about nine throbbing inches with hefty breeder balls that your bleary gaze could make out, flushed a candied pink on the rounded curve of his mushroom tip. Graduating down, down, down into a pale baby rose - you didn’t know whether it was the heat talking but right now he just looked like your favorite sort of lolly.

“L-look so pretty, Toji.” You babble away, words getting breathier and breathier as sloppy as his kisses get. Your puckered lips are almost stinging with just how thorough he was. “Wanna taste…”

Oh, and you didn’t realize that one perk of having your secondary gender presented was realizing the shift in his pheromones. 

You didn’t know how you knew but there was a tinge of utter adoration in Toji’s jasmine-infused scent as you plop down a wet mass of slippery saliva right onto his strawberry divot. Lathering the split, plummy globe before planting your mouth down and kissing.

Your mushy tastebuds looping little motions over the creamy butter-topped cap of his splurging cock, he tastes so heady. Rich pre melting on your tongue and it was so musky, so…him. 

“Oh, girl-” he’s breathing out through a rasping sigh. Darkened brows marrying together at just how warm your mouth was sheathing around his painfully hard shaft, “That’s it- thaaaat’s it. Suck on my cock like a good girl, mama—”

“Ngh-” Your jaw aches, throat jumping at the squeezing sensation of his lustrously crowned tip tunneling right down. Craning your head so that he could count every bounce, “S-sho bwigh.”

You were so heavenly, alternating to leave shy little snogs over and under his sensitive slit - and Toji was one competitive man. It was in his nature, of course. 

Tumbling your hips to rest even greater onto his mouth, he didn’t need to breathe. Didn’t even want to even dream of it when he had the circles of his fingerpads latched on your jiggling ass so hard it was sure to leave battered bruises for the next week and weeks and weeks.

“Damn, she’s good, huh?” Toji’s whispering at the sopping wet purse of your lips, “But I can’t have myself  c-cum before- fuuuck- my girl.” 

Your eyes were sprinting all the way to the back of your heavy lids with ever swaying lash of his mean mouth. And it didn’t matter just how vulgarly you were sliding your starved tongue down the heated ridges and veins of his swollen cock - Toji was doing ten times worse. 

Every deepening inch you swallowed up into your cavernous mouth only made him plug you fuller. Every stray swipe of the thick, ivory beads of his pre made Toji douse out lumping masses of saliva lewdly. And every twitch that made you sure Toji was right on course to tumbling over the edge was urging him to push you headfirst into your orgasm with a final teasing pinch at your clit. 

And your mouth opens with an accusing gasp - did he just…pinch your clit? But all thoughts of his audacity and the fact that Toji was chuckling out right after washed away as soon as your high was flooding you.

Moans being muffled around his generously fat shaft, the only thing that you get is just a single wispy wire of condensed cum being lacquered onto your tongue. Just one. Right before Toji’s free hand splays out onto your scalp and pulls you free with a wet pwah!

“Tha’s it-” You hear him mutter in the blinding cloud of your orgasm, it felt so blissful that some darkly primal part of you said that you were never letting him go after this. He was yours. Your mate. “-louder. Louder– good fuckin’ girl cummin’ all over my mouth.”

Toji didn’t know how the hell was multitasking with your pussy kindly spraying him with a sheeny covering of all your remnant juices. But for you? Anything.

Anything anything anything and he was whispering the very same mantra into the quavering, slick-flooded entrance of yours. Letting your hips drag sloppy grinds to ride out every edge of your peak - to use him in a way that no other alpha might just.

Toji’s strokes up into your tightly-clasped fist were deep, and he doesn’t stop even when your eyesight stops tinging with black. Not even when your back arches with oversensitivity, waterfalls of tears producing from your ducts. Sobbing, “I-I’m- ngh- Toooji- I can’t anymore-”

“Sure, ya can–” Looking you right into your thoroughly half-lidded eyes as he nods along with the slurring symphony that he was orchestrating from between your overworked legs. “-she says ya- ngh- can.”

Toji wanted to taste you again. Needed it.

“But-” And, yet, he finds his ear perking up at the wobbly sound of your voice, blushing bludgeoning tip creaming out another thick mess of white. “-but I wan’ my next- ah- next orgasm around your cock, Toji–” 

And, well, how could he say no to that?

Toji thinks he could never say no to anything you ask ever again with the way you were positioned precariously on top of him and still begging. 

He’s saying goodbye to your pretty pussy with a slow peck as a lover would. Breathing in heavily - oh, how he loved the smell of you. “M’gonna see ya later, m’kay? Don’t miss me too much.” 

And another gifted spank! to your tenderized ass makes you jerk a few inches off of his sugary mouth. Sweet, sweet praises being pecked up the bending arch of your spine when he sits you down all cutely on his lap.

You’re heaving out a huff, scent glands throbbing with a spike of something slightly salty. Jealousy. “M’startin’ ta think you’re playing ngh- favorites.”

“Well, duh.” He’s fluttering his long, bestowed lashes with an eyeroll, barely even flinching before cupping your slobbering pussy with one large palm. Teasing, “I’ve got yeeears ta make up for.”

Years of desperation and need pouring and pouring out when Toji folds you easily onto all fours.

And that’s when you’re getting a thorough striking of exactly three times that Toji’s sappy crownhead jolts upwards with a few gummy kisses hello up and down the crying middle of your pussy lips. Smooching. Gently. Before he’s snuggling right beside your hole-

With you bent over and arched right how he wanted you - oh, he was so enjoying the view. Saturated bursts of cloudy pheromones hitting your feverish body and only making the fountains of translucent slick increase tenfold. 

Shit, you were so wet that Toji has to force himself to let one greedy hand go from its favorite job trapping you underneath him. 

Guiding a few dexterous digits to wrap around the bulkily bloated cylinder of his base, he takes his time slipping and sliding.

“Might wanna hold yer breath, mama, h-heh…” You’re squirming your hips deeper into those pronounced hip bones of his despite the fact that simply breathing won’t help you take on his monstrous size. But you wanted to. You needed to. “Gotta c-count- ngh- eeeevery inch like a good girl now, m’kay?”

And that’s exactly what he made you do. 

“Oh!” Saltily flavored globules of your tears had your lips wetted, blubbering unconsciously when Toji anchors the hills of his palm onto the ends of your spine and pushes. “Shit- Toooji, why the hell are you s-so big-”

“Now that doesn’t sound like a ngh- ‘one’ ta me…”  But of course, who was Toji if it wasn’t for a little bit of teasing. Just enough to get your lips pouting cutely and your gluey walls clinging around him as if afraid he would pull away. Adorable. “Now now, c’mon- don’t tell me the biiig stretch has made ya forget how to ah- count, mama.”

So easy to rile up, to get you shaking your head so fervently that you swear you could feel your melty mind tumbling about like a bobble head. “N-no. I can count.”

“Then, say it w’me-” And oh, you knew that tone. That feral tone of his that would never ever bode well for you or your needily dripping pussy. Toji’s inching his hips back mere sinful inches, drawling out all the while. “-oooone.”

He doesn’t even ease you in.

Hitting your spraying cunt with the full force of his mushroom-topped head pushing past the adhesive-like resistance of your flooding entrance. Pushing and pushing and pushing- “One.”

Toji’s hands are clammy - depraved - when they pry your bouncing ass ever-so-slightly to really take in the sight of your gobbling pussy. Because he had no shame. He had no fucking shyness letting out a proud puff of pheromones that make your boneless knees weak.

“There there.” He’s patting that curve of your hip he loved so much - birthing hips, the thought strikes him. Shocked at just how much deeper that drowns him into his heady rut. “My good omega. Now…two.”

“T-two-” You’re sobbing out.

“Hmmm, nah- no stutterin’.”

Oh?

And, honestly, Toji half-expected your omega in heat to snarl at him a little, to let your hugging channel scoop up a hefty few dollops of milky pre right before he’s reeling the familiar pathway forwards again.

But, oh shit, he didn’t expect for you to bare your teeth like a fucking threat. For one hand of yours to dart behind with surprising accuracy and curl around his shaggy haircut, dragging Toji to pump you full. And it wasn’t just one inch. Not two. Not even three - you were damn near yearningly jackhammered with about halfway down his fuming red shaft before he finally got his cottony brain together. “Two.” 

“Damn, greedy girl–” Toji praises, though it comes out as more of a rasping growl that sends voltaged shivers down your spine. “Comin’ back for more, already? Knew my dick was hah- heat- alright then-” And the bed rings out with a few symphonied creaks when he shuffles his muscular thighs wider. Steadier. “-but ya better still fuckin’ count.”

Four. five. Six.

More and more - seven and eight. 

Up until Toji’s puffy head smudges a wet wipe at the canvas of your cervix. You were so soft there that he obviously has to greet the melty depths of your pussy with a good spurting of ribbony pre, swabbing around those drenched springs with a lazy circle of his hips.

“Eight.” Your jaw spills a surging slew of profanities at the feeling of him spearheading you so open, face pushing into the soft mattress when you perk your hips up and push. Only to gasp at there being- more? “Wait- I want-”

“Down, girl.” Toji’s sweat-shimmered biceps flex when he shoves your too-eager body back. “Gotta get you to at least cum on m’cock again before I give ya my- fuuuuck- knot.” 

And Toji fucks you like he’d going to make you remember.

He knows he’s going to make you remember - it’s why he has that big, dopey smirk smearing wider and wider across his face with every fat thud! into the rubbery bounds of your pussy. You’re taking him like you’re made for it, and that only makes his heart stutter even louder than your protesting wooden bedframe.

“Doll, m’gonna ahh- break this damn bed.” He’s uttering out, never ever sounding prouder of himself than right now. “And you.”

“Cocky.”

“Whatever, girl- talk t’me when ya haven’t gotten- hah-” Managing out through blissful hiccups of his breath, “-heart-eyes after bein’ hngh- fucked dumb by me, ‘kay?”

You’re not sure if you’ve heard that correctly - but luckily for you, Toji Fushiguro is allll about keeping his girl in the loop.

All about prancing his rough hands to entrap your wrists and pull you with barely even a wisp of his true strength. Beaded dewdrops of sweat perspiring up and down the heavily toned muscles of his back like their very own personal rollercoaster.

With you right along for the ride with the way that his rightly angled rotund tip romantically scours and scours for your magical g-spot. Jerking you up in midair to snap his slender hips with a particularly vicious pap!

The sensation of skin-on-skin makes your head dizzy, and your core overpour with another sudden downpour of treacling juices. But what was even blasphemously worse was the way that precious geyser embedded into the treasure trove of your walls were pummelled. 

Over and over.

“There- right there–” you’re sounding out as if you were a broken record. Every resonating moan of yours accompanied hand-in-hand with the loudest splish-splosh of sputtering juices. Secondary gender working overtime now to make Toji cum. To make him give you his knot- “-wan’ you to c-cum right there.”

“Where?” Toji’s deepening his angle to bump a heavy-handed slam pounded into your cervix. “Here?” At your vehement shakes - honestly, he wondered if you even knew he was taunting you at this point. “Then…” Only to give your peaked clit a mushy squeeze, “-here?”

You’re almost crying at this point, bursts of heat fluctuating between your goopy depths and your swollen scent glands. Full and ready. And it’s a sight so pretty that Toji can feel his stomach twisting already. “N-noooo.”

He almost loses it once your shakier, smaller hands take the lead to guide one of his own all across your thighs where he loved. Your cunt, where he loved just a bit more. And to about halfway along your pretty tummy to press- “Wan’ you to f-fill me up riiight here.”

And Toji only growls, “Riiight there, huh?”

Pinpointing his puffed-up divot to smudgeon repeated heavy collisions into the latched wall of your womb. Once. Twice. Before thrashing your permeated walls with hosing flushes of his cum. Of such thick ribbony wads - and it’s so fucking dense that you feel your hips weigh down.

Or perhaps that was because of your own orgasm the- third of the night?

Just about all you can manage out, syllables falling from your lips slower than you’re being hammered through the faintish spurts of your high. “C-umming–”

Before you know it, you have one of his muscular forearms around your throat in headlock, bulging Toji’s rounded biceps hard and possessively at the bumpy area of your glands.

“Cummin’ again?” Toji snarls against your ear, nails clawing at your hip to keep them under his control. “Yeah- yeahhh tha’s right. Milk your dear Toji, t-take this fucking cock. Take my…”

And Toji was about to overstuff your awaiting hole with the fat circular ring that’d swollen around his base, to finally give you his knot the way he’d been dreaming of ever since you waved at him on the day he moved into this fucking building. 

But just one sneaking glance at the ivory lipstain your puffy pussy was wearing, the way the ends of your sopping slit drown with a swamping drip drip drip of his lustrous cum makes Toji go a little…crazy. 

Makes the bulgingly tender crook of your neck look so, so tempting. 

His glassed-over eyes lock downwards, breath hitching at the way he slowly sinks back out and in has your pussymound mewling out such a cute glomp! His second-favorite girl - after you, of course - was speaking back to him. Lathers of splashing cum painting his bulky heft with a ring of frosted seed. 

Oh.

Toji would never get tired of this. How the fuck hadn’t he had a rut in years again?

And he says only one word, “More.”

“M-more?” Your fingers experimentally nudge at the tautly coiled pressure at your stomach and find yourself slobbering - from both drizzling lips. Even with the dredges of pouring cum, you were still so full you felt that you could burst. “Can it even fit?”

Right now he thinks the hazy fog covering his brain would never stop - and he doesn’t want it to. Waves of pheromones wafting off of him in such high concentrations that you find your mouth flooding with saliva all over again.

Cobwebs of it overspilling down onto the veined muscles of his forearm - only increasing in saturation when he tilts your head up in the perfect 90 degree curvature to face his boring gaze. And his mean mouth.

Spitting right onto the tainted bullseye of your tongue, streamy rivers flowing back into your mouth when he firmly nudges it shut. “If yer droolin’ n’ can still t-take ngh– that,” Branding the thorough push of his circled circumference into your cervix like he was branding the swollen indentation there permanently. “-then ya can take allll of haaah- this, okay, mama?”

Shit, was Toji glad that both your concoctions of pheromones kept him still hard. And he’d heard of ruts that lasted a week - two, uncommonly. The longest ever recorded was twenty days and by god was he going to gain the title of world champion.

Even if it meant he had to lift you cleanly off of the now-broken bed, the exact same one that you were only now noticing. Just barely so. 

You’re gasping, fingers digging into Toji’s smooth skin when two arms wrap around your middle and jostle you over a few coiling bedsprings that’d started to stick out from one sagging end of the mattress. Being pushed to bend over in such a complaint position at the end of your cool mahogany desk. 

You’re dipped deep, but his battering rams were impossibly deeper.

And the zig-zagging probe of his veins were massaging you just right, thrusts determined and practiced now that Toji had every scouring inch of your pretty pussy drilled into his mind.

“Th-three’s the ah-” Toji’s chest rumbles with a sensitized shiver once he hikes up a strong leg, caging you with him and his ruthless cock and him. Letting you gape at the documents rustling and flying about, “-charm. Or was it four? Ngh- f-five? Six?”

Just how long did he intend to mess up your insides? 

Though, you really, really aren’t complaining at the way that every merciless dab of Toji’s sharp hips into your fleshy mounds fuck you stupid. Entire body burning up - all the way from his lolling, sweat-stucken head in the crook of your neck, to the splurging torrents of streamy sap coating you.

And then there was that stinging plap! of his tightened knot behind you-

“C-can I have your knot now, Toji—?” 

Shit, his hips stutter their sloppy staccato, did you even know what you were asking for?

You never knew that heats came with such a side of begging, but right now you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Or to complain. Because Toji liked it, earning your pillowy walls with extra thorough hits. 

“Impatient girl.” He’s raising a hand to give two messy spanks on your bulging pussymound, deep snickers hitting your ear in condensed pants at the way it only makes you filthier. “Real diiiirty, too. mmm, wonder if she’d ngh- m-make an even bigger ngh- mess if I…”

And at this point, you were hanging onto every word falling from his kiss-bitten lips. A side-effect of just how good he was fucking you into the digging edges of your clattering desk right now. “What- ngh- what? P-please-”

“Ohhh, know yer m-manners, huh?” Full body wracking at the oodles of slicked sheens frothing down the plump curve of his globed balls and making them clench. Dangerously so. “S-since ya asked so fuckin’ nicely, I’ll let you ngh- know, sugar.” 

Nothing could have prepared you for the way that Toji moistens his parched mouth with a few sultry licks of his lips as if preparing to share his deepest, darkest secret.

Nothing could have prepared you for the notched up burst of his jasmine perfume that makes your legs resemble weak jelly, and Toji’s support yours until they were hovering almost midair. 

Because he was craning his head down to nip at your scent glands, with a sudden snicker. Crazed. A few octaves higher. Like he doesn’t even realize it’s tumbling out before sighing, “-wonder if she’d make an even bigger mess once I get ya…pregnant, mama.”

And oh you think you’re cumming - hot spurts of bliss tackling you by surprise. Fuck, and if you thought that the last orgasm had taken a lot out of your Toji then you’re sluttily glad to find out that that was not the case.

The complete opposite, in fact.

You’re sure that Toji cums even more this time, sunken divot into the elastic material of your walls welling up with the creamy helpings of his bloated cock. So much seed spilling out of him that you wondered whether this was the rut or just him.

Just his urge to fuck you full until you were pathetically overspiling, until had had you in a hold so tight that you think you could almost feel Toji’s delicious crownhead fuck his cum into you until it reached your lungs. 

For what feels like rounds upon rounds until your saliva had amassed in a forevermore pool underneath you. You didn’t know what time it was. How long it had been- 

Only feeling the firm glissade of Toji’s washboard abs against your back. The way his thighs shivered and jerked at every one of your gripping clenches. And despite being so fucked, you were already drooling at the heavenly cushy push and pull of his Adonis-like pecs heaving in throaty gasps. 

So unfairly sexy that it made your primal instincts preen. Mate.

And, apparently, Toji was thinking much the same. 

“F-fuuuck-” He’s letting his mouth nuzzle the side of your throat with all the tenderness that he wasn’t bestowing upon your sappy cunt. “Think about i-it- you all ngh- round and glowing n’- rooound–“ Rambling and rambling at the wet splashes inside you of his stuffing, “You’d make the prettiest momma.”

As if to prove his point, a gentle hand greets the inflationary outline that was slowly forming its way at your tummy. Made by yours truly - Toji. 

“I…” And he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars. And his sanity right along with it somewhere up there. “-want that. Oh, I- hngh! want that-”

Words barely out of your mouth before Toji’s hand slams down - he had to keep himself together. He needed to. But that grating desk clearly wasn’t the place, because you flinch when one straining leg snaps!

And Toji’s alpha instincts are flaring up in an instant, wrestling you to the ground right - pulling out for only a nanosecond to flip you onto your prespired back, pretty legs strewn sloppily over his shoulder, even prettier face gazing up at him - beside the wreckage. One that you’d only find it in yourself to worry about much, much later. 

Definitely not when he’s patting the curve of your pussy with a softened thwack! Murmuring, “Then..g-gonna hafta- hngh- take it.”

And if you didn’t know any better, then you’d have sworn that the smug Toji Fushiguro’s voice cracked as soon as he was settling for drawing a languid heart pattern around the velvety perimeter of your entrance. Before thumbing his way inside-

“Hck!” Your lip wobbles with oversensitivity, nails clawing red, red lines of raw need across the faintly bubblegum pink flush of his body. “S-Soooo much–”

And, yet, you couldn’t get enough. 

You watch with a bitten lip with a fat goblet of sweat drips from Toji’s angular jaw and slithers between his pecs to disappear down below. More - you wanted to fucking ruin him.

The desperation of your heat plummeting in heady wavelengths all around you and making the room smell like a candy heaven.

One that you were very much lost in with the unforgiving stretch of Toji pawing his way to working your sprinkling cunt doubly open. Fingers pumping in quick, methodical half-fucks in the same way that his persistant hips were doing.

Every single recoil against your fleshy cervix causes you both to keen at the wet slosh of his mounds of seed piling up inside you from all the endless rounds before. 

Again. And again. And again and again until it feels like countless hours upon hours. 

“Ohhhh- w-ait-” Toji stammers out, attractively sharp jaw falling and wrenching shut a few repeated times. And then his hips slow down. “Think s’gonna- ngh- ohhhh yeah, gotta take this kn-knot okay? Like my goood girl, okay?”

You’re filled with countless inches of a staggering girth that you didn’t even know was possible. Because while alphas were big…Toji was extra big. 

Extra rounded in his sizable knot, rested upon thickly globular balls that still held such voluminous amounts of cum. Pounding open your eager cunt further and- further-

“I-is it in?” You’re shrilling out, syllables slurring and stumbling together with the incredible stretch being made evident from down below. Fuck, your nails create more painted patterns. You didn’t even want to look - you couldn’t afford to cum again just from the sight. 

“J-just ngh- one more inch. Scratch me, ruin me- anythin’. But m’gonna make it f-fit.”

And Toji only hooks in another one of his thumbs, this time swiping the fat pad of a few stray fingers down your buxom clit. “Count w’me, doll-” For his sanity more than anything. Neck straining with a few popping vessels of blood that swell, face reddening with such a maidenly fucking blush as he looks downwards. “-ooone more-”

“-inch.” You finish off, not expecting that exact moment to be when Toji snaps. His patience. You, full of that achingly hot knot that’d been just begging for you to take him the very moment you waltzed up to him with that sweetened saccharine scent. 

His favorite now.

Gulping in cavernous quotas of it the moment Toji’s inflated knot pops and he sinks his sharpened canines into your scent glands with a whimper-

Hard enough to taste your honey-glazed pheromones, to draw blood. To be permanent - just as he’d needed it. 

Hard enough to make him cum all over again at the feeling of your own teeth making their pretty mark on him. Shit, he didn’t even know if it was fucking possible for his overworked cock anymore. But he sure wasn’t fucking complaining at the delicate splat splat splat of milky cum hitting the back of your pussy. 

Already filled to the brim and spilling with every loving grind that Toji was boring down upon you. The only thing that he could manage when you two were connected so…tightly this way.

“Cute.” Toji manages to run his fingers over the proprietorial set of indentations set in his flesh, eyes still laminated dewily with an euphoric sort of stunned awe. “F-fated mates really have some good ngh- bed chem, huh?”

Fated mates. You could only smile and scent that overwhelmingly addictive jasmine scent of his. Taking in a long, deep breath as he held you. Tight. 

Yeah, jasmine. 

But jasmine was Toji Fushiguro’s.

And you’d be damned if Toji Fushiguro ever let you off that easily.

The smile you’re given is feral, predatory teeth glimmering in the dim lighting and making the neat circle of marks at your neck throb. And something about that told you this was far, far from over. 

You could only hope that your floor didn’t suffer the same fate as your bed, and your desk…and your fluttering cunt.  

After all, you both did have years to make up for. 

“Now the only haaah- way to really test our bed chem is to see whether we can make Megs a big brother.”

A/N. Thinking about making an omegaverse installment for every JJK man- what do you think babygirls?

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: thanks for reading guys

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

~~

Y/N was never a light sleeper, but this particular time waking up felt way more difficult than usual. Her head was hurting from all the crying and the last thing she could remember was Tommy holding her against his chest and the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with his own unique scent before she nodded off, unable to handle the recent events.

“Mrs. Shelby, you're awake” One of the maids spoke up with a gentle smile, putting a steaming tea on the nightstand by her side.

Sitting up, Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“I'm not a Shelby” She responded with more annoyance than she'd like.

“Oh” The older woman said with a hint of shame. “My apologies. Mr. Shelby asked to bring you tea and some pain relief tonic,”

Y/N nodded, thanking her quietly before she rose from the bed, looking around. The room looked familiar in a less than pleasurable way, just like the clothes she was wearing. Sighing deeply she walked out of the room, seeing the dark corridor of the places she once called home.

After getting refreshed and dressed, Y/N walked toward the grand staircase. She stopped cold, feeling goosebumps running through her spine in the worst possible way when she saw the monumental portrait of Thomas and her in the stairwell. One she used to see everyday. The eyes on the portrait looked as lively as ever, mocking the pain she held in her chest every time she saw it. There she was, the former lady of the house, laying claim to her domain even from the grave. The longer she stared at her, the more she felt Grace was taunting her. “You may have been his woman once, but I have his heart and his ring on my finger now.” The words rang in her ears, coming from the depths of her memory, loud as the day she heard them for the first time. Y/N couldn't seem to be able to tear her gaze away, silently battling the ghost that seemed to curse her relationship forever.

She stood there for a long moment, immersed in the painting so much that she didn't realise she was being watched.

Thomas stood in the doorway on the other side of the corridor, watching her silently losing the battle as shame gnawed on his insides. He should have thrown it away long ago, but it was the last thing on his mind as he desperately looked for Y/N everywhere. The dead woman on his wall wasn't a big concern.

“You're awake” He spoke up, unable to handle the silence anymore.

She turned around, almost startled, as he caught her staring at her. The first thing she noticed were the glasses on his nose, and she fought against the little smirk that tried to appear on her lips so badly.

“What am I doing here? Where are the boys?” She asked, straight to the point. Thomas shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, knowing she wouldn't be happy with the news.

“Boys are with Frances upstairs, playing.” He responded, looking her in the eyes. “You're not safe outside of Arrow house. You three need to stay here until the vendetta is over.”

“What if you had more men surrounding my flat instead?” Y/N bargained.

“It’s too dangerous and I need my men concentrated not spread out over cities” he replied, already prepared for the questions he knew she'd ask.

She wanted to argue so badly. Y/N wanted to be free from him and the reminders of the past that this house held. But she knew that receiving a black hand was a serious threat she didn’t have the capacity to handle by herself.

“The only reason I'm not leaving right now is because I need to keep them safe.” She said, stepping closer. “...and if anything happens to us, I want you to know that it's all your fault.”

Despite knowing and seeing the pure hatred in her eyes, Thomas could never fully brace himself for the impact of her words.

“Nothing will happen to any of you. I give you my word” He said, quieter this time.

“Your word means nothing to me, Thomas. Just… just stay away from us as much as possible.” Y/N added, wanting to walk away.

“You can't expect me to stay away. They.. are my kids. My sons.” He said suddenly, and the confidence and fierceness of his voice made her stop in her tracks. “I regret losing you every single day. Every day I grieved the loss of my bloody heart, and then I found out there's three I should have been grieving. But you're here, and so are they. So I won't let yo–them go.” He hissed out, almost frantically and the vulnerability in his eyes made her slightly tremble. It hurt even more, because she waited so long to hear.. anything. Any crumb of reassurance would be enough to keep her here, but he didn't say a fucking word.

Straightening her back, Y/N inhaled a deep breath, looking back at the bloody portrait who was witnessing the whole scene. Seconds later she looked at him again, and the fire in his eyes was more lively, outweighing the dead, judgemental stare.

“They won't call you their father. If you break this rule, you won't see us again.”

***

The next day Y/N woke up, bracing herself for another battle as she walked down the stairs and to her surprise, the portrait was… gone. Her heart thumped wildly at the realisation and she couldn't believe her eyes. Suddenly the tension in the house seemed to have lessened.

Walking to the kitchen, she noticed Thomas sitting by the table with a cup of coffee and a cigarette in his hand, as he read the newspaper. It felt weirdly domesticated and the thought alone made her smirk.

“Did the boys eat?” She asked, not sure what to expect.

“Frances fed them an hour ago. Tommy is napping in the living room, and Nick is picking daisies with Mary in the garden.” He responded in a calm tone, not tearing his gaze away from the newspaper.

Silence hung in the air as they each did their own thing

Finishing up her breakfast, Y/N cleared her throat again as she looked at the wall in front of her.

“The portrait is gone” She pointed out in an emotionless voice, not looking at him. A couple longer moments passed before she heard him exhale a cloud of smoke.

“What portrait? He responded, and Y/N’s lips stretched into a subtle smile before she grabbed her plate and walked away.

A couple days later Y/N still avoided him, occasionally getting to talk to John or Arthur, but both of them were distracted by the giant threat hanging over the family. Polly seemed to keep it together the best, coming over whenever she felt like it for some female company.

Y/N said her goodbyes to Polly, going to put the cups into the sink and cleaning the mess after Nick. She wasn't used to having maids doing everything for her, so it was more comfortable to just clean the mess herself. Nick himself was currently spending time with his uncles by the stables, and Tommy was… who knows where.

After cleaning, Y/N went looking for the other boy, asking Frances who just directed her to the little room where the toys were stored.

She expected everything, but not the view she saw arriving in the doorway. Little Tommy sat back on his legs, watching with wide eyes and furiously colouring the different shapes Thomas drew for him.

“Dat?” Tommy asked suspiciously, pointing towards the crooked flower on the paper and glancing at him with big eyes.

“This?” He asked with a grin, “that's a flower” he explained, to which the boy nodded, narrowing his eyes lightly.

“...and dat?!” He asked suddenly in a squeaky tone, seeing the car Thomas drew for him.

“That's a car. Almost” He chuckled, seeing the crooked shapes as he tried his very best.

Tommy nodded, grinning in the same way as his father before glancing at his mum.

“Hi!” He waved, before pointing to the flower again. “fwowa!” he said proudly, pushing his little chest forward.

Thomas just laughed quietly, putting the pencil down.

“Good job, little man” he said, before slowly rising from the floor with a groan.

“Oh God, I'm too old for this” He whispered with a chuckle, glancing at Y/N who wasn't able to suppress the smile on her face after she heard Tommy talk. “Don't smile like that, now it's your turn.” Thomas added, passing by her in the doorway, his shoulder brushing against hers.

***

The next couple weeks were… rougher. Changretta was relentless in his search, which turned into a couple of seriously dangerous situations where John got shot in the chest barely coming out alive. Polly didn't agree with a lot of Thomas' actions, despite his inability to back off right now. He stood his ground, no matter how difficult it was sometimes to keep Y/N inside Arrow house whenever worse moments would arrive. And they did, fairly frequently.

The pull he felt became stronger and stronger, no matter how many daggers she kept throwing. Spewing the words she held deep inside, reminding him of the monster he used to be… or maybe still was? He couldn't tell. The view in the reflection of his mirror was so blurry, that it didn't matter. As long as she saw him to be fit enough to be around boys.

The house was completely quiet as he made his way through the corridor, lacking the usual sounds of kids playing or Y/N walking from one room to the other. Walking past the library, he caught a glimpse of light coming from the room that made him stop in his tracks.

His hands trembled with anxiety. The fear settled in his ribs over three years ago and hasn't left him once, even though they were here.

Thomas was aware of how powerless he was once the vendetta was over. The thought of them leaving the house and never coming back was making his heart squeeze painfully, reminding him of the privilege he once had, but gave it up willingly. The fear was like a loop, tightening around his throat with each passing day as he grew comfortable coming home and seeing them here.

Walking into the library, Thomas was completely quiet, wanting nothing but to see her if it was all he could count on. He was completely unaware of the fact that she always felt his presence. Sometimes letting him stay, and other times making him leave so desperately that made him wonder whether it was possible to day from a broken heart.

Step after step he tried to control his shallow breathing as he finally saw her. Standing by the big shelf, he traced over the backs of books standing there for so long, it felt like they were always there.

“You wouldn't like that one” He spoke up quietly, noticing how she didn't even budge hearing his voice. It took a longer moment before she replied.

“How so?” Her voice was calm, light-hearted as she found herself lost in the countless stories filling up the wooden shelves. The nagging thoughts in his mind disappeared the second he heard her voice.

“Because you don't like uncertainty. It's filled with unanswered questions and has an open ending.” He thought for a moment before replying, well aware of the content of this book, because he read them all. In the moments of despair, trying to hold onto every scrap of feelings in the house so empty, it felt like nobody lived inside.

Sighing deeply, Y/N put the book back in its place, grabbing another one.

“Nobody likes uncertainty, Thomas. Holding onto the moment, unsure of what's to come.” She sighed, hearing his slow footsteps approaching. “A book is just a book. You can close it, and move onto another one anytime. If only life was just as easy.”

Silence in the room caused the whole scenery to become more intimate, unexpectedly even for him. Stopping mere inches behind her, he watched the back of her head for a moment, remembering the nightmares he had every night. Ones where he couldn't reach her, no matter how he tried.

His breath caught in his throat as he slowly raised his hand, moving it closer and closer towards her shoulder. Inches away, he noticed the goosebumps covering her skin. Without looking he reached out to the shelf, grasping onto the book he knew by heart, while his arm brushed against her own.

He stood close, too close, and Y/N knew it too well, yet she couldn't bring herself to make him leave or pull away. The way he trembled as his chest pressed lightly against her back made her stand still.

“You'd love this one” He whispered, not feeling brave enough to speak loudly. The uncertainty they talked about he knew better than anything else.

Her breathing became heavier, feeling him so close, the tingling on her skin she hadn't felt for so long almost made her flinch. Slowly, she turned around facing him.

This, Thomas didn't expect as she suddenly looked up, their eyes meeting in a gaze long forgotten, yet still alive and lively as when they looked for the first time.

“I don't read anymore” She confessed quietly, and his eyes couldn't help but watch her lips intently. The way they wrapped around the words she spoke.

The urge to grab and hold her closer was strong, almost too strong. Tommy tilted his head to the side, getting a better look at her face in the dim light.

“I can read it to you” He offered quietly, as it was the closest she allowed him to… just be near her.

So he waited, scared of ruining the moment as she moved closer. Their noses brushing against each other.

“I wanted you to speak, not read.” The sound of her voice was like the most beautiful music he ever got to listen to, even though the words were far from it. “...but now it's too late, and you're standing too close.” her breath touched his lips, taunting.

…and then she pulled away, leaving him standing there. Slowly making her way out of the library.

“You're cruel” He said, loud enough for Y/N to hear.

***

Y/N opened her eyes suddenly, sitting up as she took a deep breath, desperately trying to blink away the nightmare she had. The clock showed three AM in the morning, and her heart was pounding from the fear she felt. One she rarely felt anymore, feeling as Thomas was taking it over day by day, despite her unwillingness to share anything. Even the broken, ugly parts he ruined.

His cold eyes kept looking at her in the dream, so unfazed by the idea of her absence. The humiliation turned into physical tears rolling down her cheeks as the memories clouded her reasoning.

Getting up from her bed, she remembered the way he touched her. Avoiding her eyes, throwing his head back. Not bothering to bare himself, so eager to take but never give. Forcing her to pour from a completely empty cup.

Her bare feet were cold against the floor as she quickly made her way through the corridor, knowing where she'd find him. Swiftly opening the door to his office, Y/N didn't bother to say a word or wipe her tears away as she quickly walked up, not looking him in the eyes.

“Y/N?” He asked, taking his glasses off and setting them on his desk while she suddenly pulled him back, creating more space to straddle his lap. Tears kept streaming in a smaller amount, but never ending as she ripped his shirt open, baring his chest.

“What are you–” He tried to speak up, but she didn't let him, as she pressed her lips against his so aggressively his breath caught in his throat.

Pulling on his belt she unbuckled it skillfully, a motion she knew too well from all these years ago. The inner pain burned her chest as she kissed and bit him, while pushing his arms away.

“Shut up” She hissed, as the humiliation from the memories took over her mind. The shame of giving and never asking for more. Of being taken and left without any rest. Pulling his pants open she stroked him impatiently, doing just enough to get him going. It wasn't difficult, as he was the only man she ever slept with, knowing his habits and body more than she'd care to admit.

Her nails raked over his throat and chest, ripping a deep groan from his throat.

He didn't dare to ask, feeling and giving everything she wanted to take. Despite the burning, the physical attraction and need she felt was stronger, her arousal glistening and visible as she lined him up with her entrance, not caring enough to be slow or subtle as she sank down on him fully. A subtle moan pushed past her lips as she squeezed her eyes tightly, doing the same thing he used to.

His eyes were wide open, taking the beautiful sight of her on top of him, but the expression on her face made him hurt so badly, he thought he might not survive. He reached out, wanting her to look at him, but she refused, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly as she moved on top of him frantically chasing her release.

“Y/N” He begged quietly, as her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing to cause pain.

“I hate you. I hate you so much” She whimpered, as his fingers dug into her thighs.

“Please” He whispered, and she let go of his throat, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Thomas wanted to reach out to wipe her tears away, but he knew she wouldn't let him.

So he leaned forward, his forehead pressing against her collarbone when he let out a shaky breath.

“I love you” He whispered weakly, holding her tightly as she haven't stopped moving even for a second, brimming on the edge.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you” She cried out, opening her eyes as she looked down at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were half lidded but he didn't give up, staring and repeating like mantra.

“I love you” kept spilling from his lips as she reached her peak, causing him to follow right after as they reached the release.

His head fell forward, tears escaping his tired eyes as she quickly got off of him, leaving him without a word.

***

Y/N was growing increasingly restless inside of the Arrow House. Her days had been filled with reading and finding activities to keep her sons occupied, which took less time than usual, as Thomas took every opportunity to spend time with them. There was one room she had only been in once prior on this visit. She shuddered at the memory of her desperate conflicted intimacy with Thomas. Y/N knew that room would hold a concentrated form of his presence and essence, even more so after that night. She wasn’t sure if she felt strong enough to enter his sanctum again, but while Thomas was away on business and her boys were having their afternoon nap, the curiosity overcame her hesitation as she entered his space.

It was incredibly… him with deep mahogany furnishings and sumptuous emerald accents. During that night, she had paid no attention to the surroundings in the office - only to him and her inner emotions. Slowly she went deeper into his study, turning on a lamp at his desk. She could picture him here with those round glasses on, absorbed in matters of business both legitimate and less so. To the side of his desk was a small curio cabinet filled with antiquities and presumably family mementos. It hardly garnered a second thought from her until she noticed a figurine on the top shelf next to an old photograph of Thomas and his siblings. It was the figurine.

Before the war, before everything changed, she and Thomas would wander around Birmingham together - young and full of optimism. Both their families were poor and doing their best to survive in the cruel world, but they were the dreamers of their respective clans. He and Y/N often visited a certain shop that sold trinkets and collectables. Y/N yearned to be able to spend money on frivolous little objects like these one day. There was a specific figurine that she longed to own: a porcelain ballerina with graceful fingers and a white and pink lace ruffled skirt. She thought ballerinas were the most fairy-like women that walked the Earth. Of course neither of them could afford such a beautifully crafted figurine, but Y/N swore that one day they would walk in that shop and purchase her ballerina without a second thought to the cost.

That never happened, yet here it was, that same figurine she had seen so many years before sitting in Thomas’ curio cabinet in his most sacred space of his home. She didn’t know what it meant, but she felt tears prick her eyes at the reminder of those beautiful days from their youth. If only they could be like that again. If only the war and the turmoil after it hadn’t soured the tender young love they had known.

“I see you found your way back to my study” Thomas’ deep voice called from the doorway. Y/N was startled. She had been so lost in her memories and feelings that she hadn’t noticed his presence. She shifted awkwardly.

“Yeah, it seems like it.” She responded, glancing towards the curio cabinet. He slowly came up closer, a small grin on his face.

“What did you find?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to the side. Of course he knew what she saw, but wanted to hear it.

“I can’t believe you remembered my ballerina” Y/N said, not meeting his gaze.

“I went back to the shop to get it, but old Mr. Jones said he’d sold it years before. It took some hunting, but I eventually found her. I was hoping to someday show it to you, but… seems like you found her instead.”

“Why?” she questioned him in a small voice.

“Because this is how I remember you. You always said the ballerina was like a fairy or goddess come to Earth, but to me… when I saw that ballerina figure, I saw you.” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she glanced back towards the cabinet and then back at the man in front of her. Letting out a deep sigh, she wiped her eyes.

“Why now? Why did it take you so long to… to do this? Anything. I waited so long and… and now it's too late, Thomas.” She said, looking at him with an expression that crushed him. Feeling his breath hitch painfully, he felt his throat tightening. He had grieved over losing her and now that Y/N was physically here, she had never felt more far away from him.

After looking into her eyes for a longer moment, Tommy grabbed her hand, slowly straightening it against his palm while the other one reached to his holster, pulling out his gun. Y/N’s eyes widened, but his gaze remained locked on hers, not faltering.

Finally, he didn't feel the fear. Holding the loaded gun, he slowly shoved it into her smaller hand, aiming it forward before he closed his eyes. Pushing his forehead against the muzzle tightly, keeping her wrist upright.

“Then kill me.” He said out loud, the words hanging in the air for a moment. “Because otherwise I will never let you go, no matter how hard you try.”

Thanks for reading lol bye

@iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @garrison-girl-08 @chaimaarouaine11 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @honeymoon8

@dannysankletattoo

[salemlunaa]

success story!!!!

OMG SALEM SALEM SALEM, U AND UR WISDOM LITERALLY SAVED ME

idk if you're going to see this because you don't seem as active anymore but i literally revised my entire school life thanks to you!! this is like the first really huge thing i manifested (even though there's no such thing as big lol but you get what | mean)

this success story is gonna be superrrr long but it’s worth it i promise!!

For context im from the UK, and in the last 2 years of school is called a sixth form or called a college (16-18) and you can either transfer schools or stay in the one you were already in for 5 years.

I decided to move (like 80% of the people in my year/grade 💀)  i wanted change and to meet new people, but my entire friend group and so many people i love stayed in my old school.

I found out the grass wasn’t greener on the other side and let’s just say i really did not like the change, i felt fomo from my friend group and all of them expressed how deeply they missed me and how much i should’ve stayed and so i started to feel regret. 

And if you’ve ever felt regret to a significant amount, you know it’s the worst feeling you can ever feel, it’s like your insides are twisting, it’s like beating yourself up over and over again. And it got really bad. It lead me to a deep depression where i barely focused on my studies, and it showed with recent test scores. But I read your post and so many others and realised: i’m not stuck, and never will be, I can go back if i wanted. And so that’s what I did

No one really speaks about revision, not as much as i’d like as someone who now owes revision her life lol, so i was a bit nervous and super doubtful, but i looked at revision success stories and told my self if someone can revive someone back from the dead, someone can revise a serious diagnosis and another can change their age, you can revise the fact that you ever moved. 

I really hung on to your posts that drilled it into our heads that it’s already done and there’s nothing to do. And tellafairy’s posts about how we can change our lives from the comfort of our own beds. Even in my darkest moments i repeated that mantra and it calmed me down. 

I wanted to use the void but realised i probably would’ve have put it on a pedestal and most likely would’ve gotten so hung up on it, so decided to use SATs and choose the reality where i never moved schools and school life was so perfect.

I fell asleep on the first few nights, but then one particular night, i felt really fulfilled and floaty so I just kept visualising a day at school with my friends. AND I SWEAR TO WHOEVERS UP THERE I WOKE UP AND I FELT LIKE SOMETHING SHIFTED, LIKE I REGAINED ALL THESE MEMORIES

I LOOKED AT MY PHONE AND MY SCHOOL EMAIL WAS MY OLD ONE WITH ALL OF MY OLD TEACHERS AND I WENT TO SCHOOL IT WAS LIKE I WAS ALWAYS THERE AND NEVER LEFT

it felt weird when i woke up, like i felt a change, but it felt like i was supposed to be here, like i was at peace with what happened. 

I also used blanket affirming and manifested some things on the side too:

appearance changes

being sooo good at school

school rules being more lenient

change in subjects and more new friends

a school fine shyt Imao

more money +desired family

I really wanna thank you and and @tellafairy @itsrlymine @pineapplepr1nc3ss888 @scentedpeachlandcreator @sugarplumfairy777 @catherineaboutlife @authenticbunni @empyrealoasis @joc3lynn+ youtubers Rita Kaminski, Sammy Ingram and a youtuber called The Power of I AM (he’s sooo underrated but a literal gem) ik at the end of the day it was all me BUT THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HOW HAPPY I AM WITH MY LIFE RN

If you’ve made it this far, please i’m telling you don’t give up, I was at the lowest of low, like seriously i didn’t even know if i wanted to be here, remember this: you are not stuck , you can manifest absolutely anything, yes, even that thing that seems impossible, and please remember that revision is real and it’s not only for small things like erasing an embarrassing memory or something, you can use it to change the trajectory of your life and i can swear by that as you can see!

you are so powerful you can change the past, please believe me when i say you shouldn’t give up, trust me if i, a D1 procrastinator, someone who was a super doubtful person can do this YOU CAN TOO AND I CAN PROMISE THAT.

it's already done, think as if you have it, and for those who are going through a lot mentally, you. are. not. stuck. that's something i had to remind myself. you can change anything and everything instantly and at any point in time, these circumstances aren't your home.

you don’t have to be a passenger of life, you are the author and creator, please remember that if anything.

i love you so much sai okay byeeeeeee 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

i was lurking through my asks for post ideas and oh my lord. i think this is one my favourite success stories, like ever. I rarely answer asks due to repetitive nature but i had to share this success story

YOU FUCKING DID THAT BABY!!!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU AND IM SO HAPPY YOU’RE HAPPY 💘💘💘

i honestly love a massive revision story because these just show how powerful we are and how nothing is real except the now. and we REALLY CAN change ANYTHING

please please please listen to anon and keep going and and listen to them when they say you aren’t stuck, think as if. there is no such thing as failure.

you can change your life with loa. mark my words

[amourcheol]

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. 

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t five

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 5.4k

chapter warnings: old scars, angst (trauma response), discrimination, argument, some fluff

proof-read by my girl: @madschiavelique

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six |

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

The warm water of the shower was refreshing against your cold skin, although winter was coming to an end there was still a stiff chill in the air.

If time would have allowed it, you’d have spent all day letting the heat cascade down your spine and through your hair, but you’d already wasted so much of the day by sleeping - and your water bill was already calling your name.

You turned the faucet off and immediately missed the comfort the shower brought you, but there were things to do. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you threw your pajamas into the washing hamper in the corner of the room and opened the bathroom door.

“All yours,” you called out in no particular direction before heading into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you.

There was a moment of silence as you stood with your back to the door, but when you heard footsteps getting closer and the bathroom door click shut again, you knew it was safe for you to drop your towel and dry yourself properly. 

Jayce glanced around the white tiled room, the small frosted rectangular window letting in just enough light to sting his tired eyes. He stood in front of the sink and acknowledged his reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet.

His glass twin stared back at him with exasperated surprise. How long had it been since he last saw himself that wasn’t in a passing car or a dimly lit store window? Not to mention doing it willingly.

He combed his fingers through his beard and felt the strands of tangled hair catch on his nails painfully, making him wince at the tug of his skin and recoil his hand. It was longer than he thought it was.

He then ran his fingers through his hair, finding the same type of intertwined follicles there too, but it was less painful against his scalp. He gently pinched a clump of his fringe and separated it from the rest, pulling it down and in front of his eyes - it stopped in the middle of his nose.

As he followed the dark brown wisp he was unintentionally forced to make eye contact with himself, and almost immediately diverted his attention away from his own pupils with a scowl.

Grasping the hem of the black t-shirt he’d slept in, he lifted the fabric up and over his head, shaking it as the elastic collar pinged against his ears and disorientated him momentarily. The fabric dropped to the floor and his hands braced against the sink, with a sharp inhale of breath he returned his gaze to his reflection.

He was larger than he remembered, and the light coloured lines that littered the expanse of his skin told the story of how, one that he would never retell himself.

He trailed a particularly elongated one across his left peck, the flesh was slightly raised. Despite it being at least four months old, it was still the freshest and so was the memory of what caused it. 

The pain, the helplessness, and the acceptance all came rushing back to him. He’d done nothing to stop it, but looking at himself now, he understood why.

His body was a battlefield of scars that he’d come to agree he’d deserved. He observed his physique; a wide chest dusted with dark brown hair, broad solid shoulders, and thick arms leading to large veiny hands. He was imposing and frightening - built for violence.

He sniffed sharply to push back any chance of anger, the scent of your body wash unintentionally filling his nostrils from the residue that remained in the bottom of the bathtub.

The skin that covered his knuckles - tough and calloused from years of use - had turned white the moment he laid eyes on himself, but your lingering aroma quelled the bubbling desire to shatter his reflection with his fist.

You were kind and your voice was soft. You spoke to him like you did to anyone else; apart from the apparent caution which sometimes arose. It was nice, but he didn’t deserve nice. He’d never deserved nice.

There was a ticking clock, counting down the seconds to when you’d come to the same realisation. 

Of course you’d be scared of him, any sane person with an ounce of self preservation would be, he just couldn’t understand as to why you’d allowed him into your home. To be as vulnerable as to fall asleep next to him on the first day.

A careful knock brought his attention away from the mirror, “I’ve put your clothes outside the door, you left them in the living room and I guessed you’d need them,” your voice was muffled by the 2 inches of wood that stood between you both.

He felt the tension in his shoulders relax, and the vice grip he had on the sink loosened. He waited to hear your footsteps fade before he opened the door a crack and grabbed the clothes, shutting it again.

Returning to the sink, he placed the clothes down neatly atop the closed toilet seat and turned the faucet on to let the basin fill with warm water. 

His eyes roamed the room when he spotted a shelf to his right; there was a neatly folded cloth with body wash, shampoo, conditioner and deodorant. A piece of folded paper stood in front of it that said ’For Jayce’. He held it in between his fingers and admired the soft strokes of your handwriting with a mellowed smile, placing it gently back onto the shelf for safe keeping.

Using the washcloth you’d provided for him, he submerged the fabric under the warm soapy water in the basin and rung it out until it was only damp. He scrubbed all the important parts of his body quickly, he hated the way the water trickled down his skin in small beads, but knew it needed to be done.

Once he was clean and dry he reached for the pile of clothes you’d bought for him, slipping the boxers up and letting the waistband hug his hips - they were a little bit tight around the thigh, but not painfully so - then followed the black jeans, socks and the white t-shirt. 

All very simple clothing but he guessed you were playing it safe in case he didn’t like what you picked. He blew air out of his nose as a small laugh, as if he’d complain about something you bought for him.

He glimpsed at himself in the mirror again, avoiding his face but focusing on the clothes, he looked like a regular person you’d see on the street. A big person, but a person nonetheless.

He stepped back so he could see his lower half, which is where the problem began. His tail protruded out the top of the jeans and curved over the strain of the waistband like water arching from a fountain. The bend of it being forced into an upward position wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable.

Grabbing the base of the appendage, he started to shove it into the leg of his pants. It wasn’t as uncomfortable, but it did make a rather obvious bulge down the back of his right leg, ending just before the curve of his knee. 

He grumbled with frustration and pulled it back out again, instead lowering the jeans so it wasn’t bent in an awkward position. He lifted the white shirt slightly but was immediately greeted with the sight of his ass cheeks, so he swiftly pulled them back up again.

He let out a low sigh, he was going to have to put up with the discomfort.

As he left the bathroom, you noticed how he was playing with the back of the jeans with a deep scowl on his face and teeth bared in frustration. “If they’re the wrong size, you don’t have to wear them,” you tried to reassure him with a gentle tone.

When you saw him struggling with his tail it didn’t take you long to realise what was bothering him and you instantly mentally scolded yourself. Of course normal pants wouldn’t fit him.

Guilt washed over you as you searched for a solution, “Oh!” you clapped your hands as the idea popped into your head and you disappeared. He paused his fussing to watch you leave, only to reappear with a pair of scissors in your hand.

“We can cut a hole into the back for you,” the suggestion seemed like a quick and simple answer, but as you tried to step around him to get to the area he twisted his body and stepped backwards.

You blinked at his reaction, “I’ll be really careful, I promise,” you tried to reassure him with a light tone but when you shuffled closer with the scissors held in your hands he moved again, his spine pressed firmly against the wall.

You glanced up at his face and your heart panged with pain when you saw how his nose was scrunched up and his lips trembled as they failed to hide a snarl of warning he was giving you. 

His teeth were bared at you with the points pressing harshly into his bottom lip, in the short amount of time you’d spent with him you’d only seen his canines when he’d smiled or was enjoying himself. This was new and unexpected aggression.

“Oh, fuck,” you exhaled quietly as you hastily lunged backwards and exited his personal space. “I’m- I’m so sorry,” your voice shook as much as your hands did as you placed the scissors down on the arm of the couch and retreated further.

You watched him cautiously push himself off of the wall and slightly relax. His chest heaved with a panic that had taken you too long to notice, but it was slowing down.

“I-” you started to say, but stopped yourself. Carelessness like this was exactly what you wanted to avoid. Should you give him space? Should you explain what you were trying to do? 

“I’d never hurt you,” looking at him was proving difficult so you focused on the tatty rug under the coffee table you’d bought when you’d first moved in, “I’d never-” you repeated but couldn’t finish. Your voice was already practically inaudible, so it was barely noticeable when you’d stopped talking.  

Jayce noticed. He heard the way your voice trembled out an apology and he wanted to believe you. He closed his eyes and sharply twisted his head to the side in a harsh blink, like he was trying to shake away the defensive response that was so deeply ingrained in him.

His pupils quivered inside golden irises as he forced himself to observe your reaction. Forced himself to take note of how his actions had affected you. How you chewed the inside of your gum and caressed your elbow in search of comfort he couldn’t give you.

You studied the fibres of the rug from where you stood. It was more frayed and dirty than you’d remembered, worn from walking over it with shoes inside the house. Maybe you should make a rule of no shoes indoors from now on.

The train of thought was interrupted by quick movement in your peripheral vision. Jayce held the jeans out to you with an extended arm and an apologetic gaze in his eyes.

The surprise on your face was clear, especially when you glanced down and realised the only thing he had on his bottom half was his boxers, you darted your eyes back up to his and pushed any details you may have subconsciously remembered out of your brain before they could settle.

He jutted his arm forward indicating for you to take the jeans, of course he wasn’t holding them in the air for the sake of it. It was a compromise.

“Thank you,” you took the fabric and held it to your chest, slowly reaching for the scissors again. He didn’t flinch this time so you picked them up and moved to the couch, draping the jeans over your lap.

The one thing you hadn’t thought of was where his tail was anatomy-wise. “Is it on your coccyx? Like, your tailbone?” you felt silly asking as soon as the question left your mouth. Where else would it be?

He moved from the defensive position to stand in front of you and watch you work. You held them up in front of you, trying to gauge where his tailbone would settle; then returned them to your lap and sliced through the fabric with difficulty.

“That should be okay for now,” you moved the scissors to the side and slid your fingers into the hole you’d made to check if it was big enough for the appendage, “I have a friend who is a seamstress, I can ask her to alter them properly for you so it’s less-”

A hum of agreement came from his throat causing you to glance up from your work. What you didn’t expect or anticipate was that when you’re sitting down and he is standing, your head is directly in line with his crotch.

For the second time today you quickly shifted your eyes away from his boxers and held up the jeans as a make-shift barrier, “Done!” you said hastily.

He took the pants and slipped them back on with no issue, pulling his tail through the crudely made hole. It wasn’t ideal but it was much better than the alternative. You watched him quietly, wondering whether you should at least offer to help, but from his earlier reaction you had a feeling it wouldn’t go down well.

A somewhat awkward silence fell over the two of you as you put on your comfiest shoes and Jayce slipped on the smart dress shoes he was wearing when he arrived. You watched the - what you assumed to be - fake leather bend and flake at the toes from the pressure. 

He twisted the frayed laces around his fingers and tied them into a bow in a way you’d never seen anyone do before; it was like he was solving an intricate puzzle he had created and only he knew the answer to. They were worn from years of use; these were either the only shoes he’d ever owned, or they were second-hand from the sanctuary. The latter seemed like the most plausible.

He needs new shoes, you mentally noted.

Once you were both ready, you walked down the stairs together quietly until you were outside in the crisp air. It wasn’t late enough that the sun had set but it was late enough into the afternoon that a chill was setting in.

“Will you be cold?” you turned to Jayce, a question that you should’ve asked before you left the apartment. He’d taken a grey hoodie from the assortment of clothes you’d thrown at him, but compared to your coat, scarf and beanie he was basically wearing summer clothes.

He shook his head ‘No’ and you tried to read his expression to see if he was just trying not to be difficult, but he seemed relatively unbothered by the winter air.

“Okay, well, let me know if you do,” he nodded in agreement, the brown tassels of his fringe bouncing with the movement of his head, and you started walking in the direction of town.

For a Saturday afternoon it wasn’t as busy as you’d expected it to be. Which, in hindsight, was a strike of luck - you hadn’t stopped to think about how that would’ve affected Jayce. He’d spent the last few months stuck inside with other hybrids, not a busy town filled with people hauling too many shopping bags and street vendors shouting rhythmically to secure the last sale of whatever they had left before they had to close for the day.

It might have been too much noise for him to handle so soon. A few cars had passed you quicker than they should have and his steps faltered at the sudden loudness of the engine as it passed.

You’d asked him to swap places with you so you were between him and the road but he declined. Although, after the fourth car zoomed by you he stopped reacting to them - perhaps he adapted quicker than you thought he would.

After approximately thirty minutes of walking with only the sound of two pairs of shoes hitting the wet pavement between the two of you, you’d made it into town.

“I probably should’ve asked you if you liked long walks,” you chuckled to yourself as you nuzzled your chin into your scarf. He didn’t respond to your comment; his attention was, instead, on your surroundings.

The buildings in town ranged in height but the majority were three-story buildings. Typical shops on the ground floor with apartments built into the upper floors, you were thankful that your home was an apartment complex.

As you were walking to your first destination, Jayce had slowed down to a stop by a man who was drawing people’s portraits. He’d positioned himself in a way where he could see the man’s sketchpad as well as the woman he was drawing.

It had taken you a second to realise that he’d fully stopped and you’d accidentally continued walking so you hurried back to him. 

He studied the man’s technique without getting too close to him which you were grateful for, you were sure if he’d snuck up behind you whilst you were concentrating it would make you jump at the very minimum.

With his hands in the pouch of his hoodie, he tilted his head to the side and observed every movement the artist’s hand made and eventually he started bobbing his head as if the pencil was controlled by his forehead.

His face was calm and serene, with a tint of excitement in his eyes, something you only saw in him when he was playing a game with you. The absentminded smile that crept onto this closed lips was contagious to your own.    

Jayce was engrossed in watching him work and you didn’t have the heart to tell him you needed to be quick before the café you wanted to show him closed, especially when his tail started to swish back and forth behind him.

You were uncertain how long you’d stood with the rest of the crowd watching the artist, and you were sure you were going to be shooed away by him at any moment, but he never did. It was probably part of the job, the attention of having an audience watch you work.

It was your stomach rumbling that eventually made his ear twitch and his attention flip back to you, his eyeline drifted to your stomach and back to your face. As he started to continue walking you tried to reassure him, “We can stay, it’s okay,” but he ignored you, leading the way blindly. 

He had no idea where he was going but you followed him regardless. The only time you stopped him was when you wanted to go into a particular store; you wanted to reach out and touch his forearm or bicep to stop his long strides, but called his name gently instead.

Every time the syllable left your lips he felt a flutter in his chest; he would never get bored of hearing you say it.

After an hour of unintentional shopping you’d collected a few things that you needed for the apartment, and somehow missed the few strange looks that had been thrown your way.

You had managed to show him the majority of the town, when you were really starting to feel the hunger.

“Do you wanna get some food?” you asked, as if you weren’t the one that kept sidetracking your journey to the cafe whenever something caught your eye, and the look Jayce gave you reflected that.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and waved for him to follow, “Okay, okay, let’s go”, luckily the cafe wasn’t far from where you were. 

The door jingled from the bells that hung just above the frame as you pushed it open, the scent of coffee and freshly baked goods immediately filling your senses. 

Casual chatter of customers hummed all around, creating a warm and friendly ambience. 

“I always come here when I’m in town,” you said in a hushed voice as you held the door open for him. He had to duck slightly to not bump his head on the way inside.

As the two of you walked towards the counter the voices around you became noticeably quieter; Jayce hunched his shoulders and neck forward in an attempt to seem smaller but it didn’t help much.

You were more than oblivious to the hushed whispers that followed you the deeper into the cafe you went. 

“Hello!” you greeted the worker, who was busy restocking the bakery display and hadn’t seen you yet, in a joyful sing-song voice like you did every other time you visited.

“Good afternoon, what can I-“ her voice cut off into a surprised shriek as she acknowledged your presence. The tray of brownies she was holding almost scattered to the floor from the full body jump that rocketed through her muscles.

Her attention was not on you or your concerned expression, but on the hulking figure shuffling awkwardly behind you.

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow animals inside,” her statement trembled in her throat, but that didn’t stop your concern elevating to shock, “Excuse me?” you asked politely and blinked at her with the hope that you’d just misheard her.

She cleared her throat with a cough, “It will have to wait outside, we don’t allow animals-“ she started to repeat herself but the shock from how she spat out the word ‘it’ had twisted and evolved into irritation, “It?”.

Even a non-English speaker could’ve understood from the tone of your voice that not only were you insulted, but bordering on anger.

She glanced between Jayce stood behind you and your sharp eyes that dared her to speak again without thinking.

“For hygiene purposes, we can’t have animals in the store,” the arrogant uncertainty in her voice was evidence enough that she was lying but trying to find an excuse to insult him. 

“First of all, he’s not an animal, he’s a person-“ you paused to place your hands on the counter in an attempt to ground yourself and resolve the confrontation, but the way she regarded Jayce with disgust made it increasingly difficult, “- Secondly, with the dirt under your nails I’d say you’re concern for cleanliness is misplaced.”.

The noise that came out of her was a mixture of a scoff and a short laugh. 

Of course, the sensible thing would’ve been to leave the moment she’d opened her mouth. 

However, you’d seen actual animals in this particular cafe on multiple occasions and there was an explicit irony that directly behind her on the wall was a sign written in chalk that said ‘Dog friendly’ with a crudely drawn smiley face.

This was not about animals being near food, this was a specific attack against Jayce and something deep within you would not let it slide. 

“Tell your mutt to leave and I’ll think about serving you,” her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened until they were barely visible.

Adrenaline coursed through you in a burst and your breathing became heavy, but you had to try and remain calm.

“I see that thinking isn’t your strong suit so I’m going to say this very slowly,” your voice was low and almost a whisper as to give her no voice but to listen to what you had to say.

You kept your eyes latched onto her, “I wouldn’t trust you to make a glass of water properly-“ as you were about to continue, another worker, this time a lean brunette man, appeared to your right.

“What’s the problem?” he interrupted with a calm and polite voice which only served to piss you off more. You sighed and gestured to the young girl behind the counter.

“Your colleague had some unprofessional things to say about my friend,” it took you a moment to think of the correct word for him. 

The man raised an eyebrow at you in confusion “Your friend?” he repeated your words back to you but converted it into a question, “Yes, my-“ you turned to look at Jayce but he was no longer there.

Your heart dropped when the space behind you was empty until you saw his silhouette through the condensation covered glass window. 

Arguing with this girl had been so important to you that you hadn’t noticed his departure.

“A hybrid,” the girl spat the words out like she had taken a bite of a sandwich only to find that it was mouldy inside. She folded her arms over her chest defiantly and with a smug smile that screamed arrogance.

“Well,” the man turned his head to his colleague slowly, “We serve everyone here, hybrids included,” he said as if he was reminding her of their policy in real time, and her smile dropped at the realisation that she was not being supported in her discrimination. 

“Please allow us to apologise with complimentary food and drinks for you and your friend,” he leaned over the counter, reaching for something you couldn’t see but you shook your head.

The girl was staring daggers into you and you could sense she knew she was going to be spoken to when you left.

You looked over your shoulder and saw that Jayce was still stood outside, “With all due respect, no,” your words were blunt and to the point. If there was a way for you to voice how angry you were without sounding like a Karen, you would.

“The next time you have an opinion about someone, at least make sure it’s your own and well informed, otherwise you’ll come across like a snivelling bigot,” you shot at the girl before you confidently strode to the exit.

The chiming of the bell when you swung open the door didn’t sound as sweet anymore, and the coffee scent you’d grown to love over the last year tasted sour in your throat.

You couldn’t meet his eye when you were outside again so you kept your gaze to the ground. Something you’d noticed that had become a habit around him.

The feeling of guilt had returned to crawl its way up your throat again; you could’ve done more. You should’ve checked that this cafe was a safe place for him before taking him inside. He must hate you for humiliating him in such a way. You wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to leave and never come back to you.

The door behind you opened with a jingle and you felt irritation seep into your back before you heard the voice of the person who caused it, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to listen in to your conversation-” you turned to see an elderly lady with a kind smile.

You stepped to the side to let her fully exit the cafe and close the door behind her, “-but I know another cafe that is very hybrid friendly just outside of town,”. The woman peered up at Jayce through her glasses, her gaze unbothered by his appearance, “There’s people like you there all the time,” the wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks creased as she grinned.

Jayce was taken aback by how easily she spoke to him, his eyes wider than usual as he glanced between you and her, “That would be lovely, thank you,” any previous notes of anger in your voice had left you as you handed her your phone to give you directions.

It wasn’t far, but she was right with it being on the outskirts of town, and you were in unfamiliar territory with only your phone navigation as your guide. When you eventually found the building with ‘Paws & Pour’ painted in white italics above the door, you knew you were in the right place.

You chuckled to yourself at the cheesy title they’d chosen, but it was also rather endearing, in a quaint homely kind of way. As you opened the door there was no bell to signal your arrival but an enticing smell of oak and warm tea surrounded you like an invisible mist.

This time you wouldn’t make the same mistake as before. You poked your head through the open doorway to inspect the interior and to check how busy it was inside; something you couldn’t do from the safety of the street due to the windows and door being tinted.

It wasn’t too busy, a few tables were taken but it was quite spacious for how deceivingly small it looked from the outside. 

Your intention had been to ask Jayce to wait outside whilst you asked the barista if it was okay for him to enter, however, before you could even fully step inside a wisp of white flew past as if a momentary blizzard had clipped your vision.

You followed the direction the snowstorm to the corner where a group of beanbags had been strategically placed by the window - a woman with long white hair plonked herself down into a dark blue one, and if it wasn’t for the gentle piano music playing through the speakers, you probably would’ve heard the rustling of the polystyrene shifting inside the fabric as she got comfortable.

She turned to talk to the woman next to her and that’s when you noticed the shoulder length rabbit ears swaying with the movement of her head. Her companion sat crossed-legged in the accompanying red beanbag next to her, and held her mug with both hands. Her black pointy ears twisted like a satellite towards her friend’s voice as she spoke. 

You pushed the door open fully and stepped through the threshold so you weren’t hovering strangely and gestured for Jayce to follow with a reassuring smile. This time he didn’t need to duck to enter the building, but he still hunched his shoulders in an attempt to seem less imposing.

As you approached the counter a feeling of deja vu and dread lingered around you, but was quickly washed away by the couple occupying the booth directly opposite. 

At least you assumed they were a couple by the guy’s hand settled tightly on the jean-covered thigh of the male canine next to him, their pinkie fingers interlocked under the table as if they were promising something that was to only be between them.

His proud feline ears stood tall atop his platinum blonde locks; they were a stark comparison to his companion. The only way they didn't disappear into his hair was because they were a darker shade of brown, but both wavy and droopy. Similar to Jayce's, you thought.

The feline rested his head on the canine's shoulder, who was seemingly unbothered, if not encouraging of him being used as a pillow. Noticeable by the surprised yet adoring glint in his eyes as he studied the features of his slumbering partner.

All of this was completely lost on the man on the opposite side of the table. Another feline with fluffy pointed black ears amongst a cloud of hair the same colour, but he seemed happy enough scrolling through his phone.

That answered one of your questions, this truly was a place where hybrids were welcome.

lockjaw:

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[enchantress-arc]

I recently learned that a particular sub of mine still had some conditioning from a while back that hadn't been used in quite a while, specifically that she had a bit of a tendency to become incredibly dazed and begin dropping into trance when presented with a cock (though, talking to her afterwards, she doesn't think that this conditioning would activate for most people). I learned this through a tiny bit of teasing on a call, when she saw my wonderful Bitchbreaker through the shorts I was wearing, her eyes rolled back and her tongue came out. Learning that on its own was very interesting. More interesting was just how effective this conditioning was, just how deeply she dropped from such a small tease, from only seeing it through my clothing. Naturally, seeing the effect that already existing conditioning had on her was quite a "blood in the water" moment for me, and, with her permission, I continued. After teasing her a bit more by showing off, it became incredibly clear that she was very, very suggestible in this state. I took my fingers, made a circle, and told her that however far down those fingers were on my girlcock, that's exactly how much she'd feel thrusting into her mouth. With her eyes rolling back and her tongue out, she took that cock like a wonderful, adorable little slut, so much passion and energy pouring into this imaginary girlcock fucking her face over and over and over. When it leaked and I told her to lap it up, she did, she was so empty, so mindless, so focused on serving this perfect Bitchbreaker, and I decided to have a bit of fun, to break my pathetic bitch a little more. I made her choke on it, put the whole thing down her throat as roughly as I could over and over, watched her drop even deeper with every single thrust, and reinforced this particular little piece of conditioning, just a bit, making it stronger, making it apply to my tits as well, making it easier to activate, even if she just saw me playing with either through my clothes she'd begin to feel the effects. Watching her empty little head take all of that new conditioning in with so little resistance as she kept mindlessly serving was absolutely wonderful. And of course, I couldn't just leave things there. I had her listen to me. I told her that, if she did a good job, if I finished in her mouth, she'd simply fall asleep. She'll get a nice little taste of Mistress, of her sweet, irresistible girlcum, and then she'll sleep for me. And she did such a good job, following along, listening, and when I finished, I simply told her to sleep for me. Her tongue twitched, lapping it up just as she had done earlier, and she collapsed onto her bed. I ended up staying in this call with her for a bit after that, just staying nearby, whispering little affirmations, until I was sure she was properly asleep rather than just in trance. Afterwards I left the call, left her a message telling her I hope she had enjoyed herself, and about an hour and a half later, I received a message from her saying that she had woken up covered in drool, and that her memory of what had happened was fuzzy at best, (which is rather interesting because I had never given her any commands related to memory during this, but regardless, it was incredibly cute). I'll admit I haven't done sessions that intense, that explicitly sexual (and especially focused on my own body) very often, but it was very, very fun. Seeing her eyes rolled back for that long, her drooling and sucking on a part that wasn't even really there with so much passion, it was wonderful, and I need to do something similar to her in the future, because the look that adorable, pathetic bitch had on her face made me want nothing other than to find ways to break her in even more.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I see him in the back of my mind, all the time.

This fic came to me in a dream, woke up crying.

You couldn’t help but feel abandoned, left behind to deal with the onslaught of emotions all by yourself as your eyes remained firmly on where Viktor once was before the arcane consumed him whole.

The war was over but the hollow feeling within your chest only grew stronger when seeing loved ones reunite in fits of hysterical tears and bone crushing embraces, the lump in your throat got worse as the ache in your heart had something missing, someone missing that made it beat faster than normal. There was nothing Viktor left behind of his existence besides from his cane that you kept tightly clutched within your hand, mimicking the way he’d love tap the ground with it, as though you were trying to prove to no one in particular who cared that he still exists.

Silent tears seemed to flow endlessly down your cheeks as you wandered through the hallways of the Academy, and yet you felt numb, cold like you were already long dead and didn’t know it just yet as even your fingers felt cold to the touch, but you didn’t know whether that was from the biting cold wind or something else entirely. You didn’t care either as your reason for caring and for loving every aspect of life was taken away from you, taking your beating heart with him as he did and you didn’t know whether to hate him or love him even harder for giving you the best moments of your life, memories that seemed to all play out before you as you entered the now empty laboratory.

You could still hear the laughter and the scolding echo as though the walls with complex equations scrawled upon them had harboured the essence of the people who once worked diligently to the point of physical exhaustion. Your throat clenched again you delved deeper into the lab with one place in mind like you were being pulled towards it by an unseen force; Viktor’s workbench that had now upon closer inspection had a fine layer of dust settling over it, something he would’ve never let happen despite the tendency to leave his things scattered everywhere he pleased but still become cutely annoyed when he couldn’t find them.

However there seemed to be one thing that the dust refused to touch, a broach. Your brows furrowed as you looked at it confused, what was a broach doing in a place like this? It looked like it was made a while back but yet had a polish to it that made it seemed like it was made only recently. You knew Viktor didn’t wear broaches so seeing such an item on his workbench specifically was leaving you more questions then answers, questions that were soon answered when you noticed a small note underneath it, scrawled with Viktor’s usual chicken scratch writing;

‘For my dearest muse, for I will always be with you, always - Viktor.’

You clutched the cane tighter now as the pain within your chest almost made you collapse on the floor. This broach was for you. Viktor made it for you and never had the chance to give it to you, or perhaps he was waiting for the right moment to do so, but fate decided to be cruel and change the trajectory of your life for the worst; the common con when you happened to fall in love with a scientist determined to make a change. You sighed unevenly as you reach for the broach, your fingers closing over the cold metal of it while gingerly lifting it off the workbench, holding it up to your face so that you could take in the details of Viktor’s most beautiful creation.

The broach had a decent weight to it, not too light where you could easily crush it within your hand, but not too hard where it was proven difficult in your hand for prolonged periods of time. It was beautifully done as on the front of the broach was a an intricate design of a mechanical Blue Jay bird. You ran your thumb across the bird to feel the engravings that made it beneath your finger tips. The bird began to glow a vibrant blue, making you jolt a little, and the broach opened up to show it’s insides to you as a soft melody began to play from some hidden component within the broach.

The moment the first notes of the soft melody hits your ears the tears that had stilled in you moment of curiosity began to fall once more, this was the song that you had told Viktor once upon a time ago was your favourite, and so for him to make you this broach with your favourite bird on the front and your beloved song on the inside, you’ve never felt more loved by a man such as him. Yet you couldn’t run to him and kiss him senseless, not anymore, which made the broach itself a reminder that even if he was long gone you were the last thing on his mind.

‘Oh Viktor.’ Your voice came out weak as a sob broke from your lips as memories resurfaced as the melody continued its tune just for you.

…

‘Viktor!’ You burst in the lab, making him jolt as he looked over at you with what he wanted to be conveyed as annoyance but came across as a cute pout in your eyes.

‘My dear how often must I tell you not to burst in here so abruptly and without warning, what if something went wrong and you had gotten hurt.’ Viktor scolds as you merely shrug and moved over to his side to look over his shoulder, trying to see what he was working on, only for him to move it slightly away from your line of sight.

‘We’re both alive aren’t we?’ You said sarcastically and Viktor sighs as a small smile graced his lips as his amber eyes looked back at you with the warmth you always use to being greeted with. ‘You truly fear nothing my love but the next time you pull sometime like that you’re banned from entering the lab for the rest of the week.’ He says warningly as he points his wielding tool at you to emphasise his point.

You leaned over to kiss his forehead. ‘Duly noted my love but can I see what you’re working on? Or is it a secret for me to find later?’ You then ask as you once again tried to see what he was making, and once again Viktor move it away from your curious eyes, making you pout once more as you looked at him pleadingly.

Viktor sighs, your curiosity was never ending and while he would indulge you on his creations, he couldn’t do so for this one. This broach was his most ambitious project thus far and it was a project he has dedicated to you a long time ago the moment you both sat at the docks, hearing a harmonious melody within the wind as you admitted that it was your favourite.

It was that moment where Viktor decided to make something that you could keep on your being forever and thus project blue jay broach was underway. He was halfway done with it, all he had to do was finished wielding some components on the inside that would play the melody the moment the broach was opened, then he would move onto engraving the blue jay on the front as a final touch to a months long work in progress. ‘Practice your patience and you shall find out what it is soon enough my muse.’ He says softly as he kisses the back of your hand.

‘Alright keeps your secrets, I’ll find out sooner or later.’ You said as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Viktor raised a playful brow. ‘Is that a threat or a promise my muse?’ He asks.

You shrugged your shoulders. ‘Why not both.’ You said and Viktor laughs which makes you smile in response, feeling your chest warm as you looked at him, vowing to treasure this beautiful man for the rest of your life.

…

‘I know it’s not much but I wanted to make you something…I know it’s not the best but-‘

‘I love it my muse.’ Viktor starts as he takes the gift off of your hand, cradling it within his own as he looked over the amateur wielding and more so at the love and effort you’ve put into making this just for him.

You looked between him and the bird that you’ve made for him on a whim one day, wanting to repay him for loving you as he did in a way he’d recognise, even if you weren’t familiar with it you’d give it a try just to see him smile that gorgeous smile of his that made his amber eyes seem to brighten.

‘Really? You mean that?’ You asked and Viktor brushed his hand against your arm softly, stopping to hold your hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

‘Unequivocally my love. It possess a uniqueness that is undoubtedly yours and yours alone.’ He replies while pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

‘That’s a poetic way of saying that it’s made by an amateur who can barely wield shit without almost hurting themselves.’ You muttered under your breath as you rested your head against his shoulder. Viktor chuckles as he puts aside the mechanical bird on his workbench in order to hold you against him as he rests his head atop of yours.

‘If it’s any consolation it’s a well made creation for an amateur wielder.’ He says, smiling to himself when he hears you muffled groan. He wishes to stay like this forever if he could, just have you in his arms for all of eternity until that eternity fades to nothing, and it was just you two locked in the moment in the blanket of never ending darkness.

‘I hate you.’ You say.

‘I love you too my muse.’ Viktor replies as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

…

‘Viktor?’ You asked.

‘Yes my love?’ He replies, looking at you.

‘Do you think we’re together in every universe?’ You then looked at him, finding him more beautiful than any star that hung in the sky before you.

Viktor makes a face full of thought before letting his hand find yours, squeezing it as he presses a kiss to the back of it. ‘Of course my love, for what would I be without you to be my muse, my confidant and my anchor.’ His face then becomes one of seriousness as he leans so that his forehead touches yours. ‘Do you believe that we’re together in every universe?’

‘Without a doubt.’ You answered back, kissing his lips. ‘I don’t think I could live in a reality where you don’t exist my beautiful Viktor.’ You add as you started deeply into his amber eyes, watching them soften in relief as Viktor reciprocated your kiss with one of his own.

‘What a coincidence I was thinking the exact same thing my muse.’ Viktor whispers softly to you as he kisses you once more. You held the back of his head to keep him close as the stars watched you both display your love for one another in the most innocent way possible.

…

Mel wondered down the hallway but as she was about to pass the lab, she heard the soft melody coming from it and stopped to peek through the open doorway. Sat fast asleep on Viktor’s chair, body splayed uncomfortably across his dust covered workbench, was you and she couldn’t help but smile sympathetically for you, after all you had just lost the love of your life before your very eyes and with no plausible way of getting him back.

What was making the melody Mel did find as her eyes landed on the open broach within your hand, Viktor’s final gift to you as it hummed the melody for the fifth time. It was a beautiful song Mel thought to herself as she moved next to you, resting her hand over your shoulder as she heard you softly mutter in your sleep. ‘I’m sorry Viktor. I love you.’

‘I know he loves you too.’ Mel replied as she reached over and closed the broach in your hand, seeing the mechanical engraving on the cover as she did so before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, wanting nothing more then let you sleep and be with Viktor in the land of dreams as she moved to walk back out the door. Mel looks back at you once more and in a moment of nostalgia overcame her she saw Viktor sleeping in that very chair instead of you. He was clutching his cane the same way you did and in that moment it looked as though your hands were touching; together intertwined in the smallest of things.

Viktor would always be with you, always.

[pineconepie]

Yan king???👀

I had a little fun with the worldbuilding because it gave me an excuse to use one of my old ideas.

I'll explain it briefly because I didn't do much explaining in the writing: there are five major kingdoms in the nation of Lepidoptra - Rosy Maple, Atlas, Luna, Death's Head, and the one where reader is from: Comet Kingdom. Everyone has wings that resemble a moth, along with antennae. (yes moths are a huge hyperfixation of mine)

Just thought I'd get that out of the way lol. Anyway, this is probably one of the most yandere characters I've written mwehehe.

TW: Attempted murder (kind of but not really), parental yandere, manipulation, implied gaslighting, infantilization

...

Ever since you could recall, your father had been very protective over you. He homeschooled you, didn't let you leave the house much, only allowed a few select friends, but those friends were also friends with your dad, and just getting paid to talk to you.

Your father would hold you as often as he could, making sure he was the first and last thing you'd see daily.

He had told you, ever since you were just a young mothling, your wings had been cut off by a robber who attempted to kidnap you, and thus, your father had to be extremely cautious in regards to keeping you safe at home.

You never left the house alone, and even if you did, you were monitored.

Sometimes, you'd get strange flashbacks. Almost like deja-vu, but these felt more vivid in your mind.

Once when you saw Castor, your father's, sword, you had a vision of yourself getting stabbed in the chest. Or when he'd look angry at you, you'd recall seeing that exact expression on his face before. But those thoughts went away as soon as they appeared.

Sometimes you'd get horrible nightmares of him. You dreamed he hurt you somehow. And yet, you'd always wake up feeling fine. Nothing hurt physically.

But mentally? Something just wasn't clicking right.

Recently you began sneaking out of the castle, not wanting to alert your father, and you began going to this little tavern at the edge of town to spend time with your village friends, ones you know for a fact your father would never dream of approving.

"Calliope, Osmond, hey," you greet warmly, walking over to their usual table in the corner, sitting down beside them.

"Hey," Calliope says, leaning her head against her hand. "How was escaping the palace? Almost got caught again?" Her bright golden wings flutter slightly as she grins.

"Nah, Dad doesn't suspect anything at all," you proudly state.

"Good, because he would have our heads," Osmond sighs. He shares an uneasy glance with Calliope, then glances back at you. "We wanted to speak to you about something unsettling we found. About your father."

You hesitate. "If this is about him and the Atlas Kingdom again, I told you already—"

"It's not about that," Calliope mutters. She pulls out a huge book from a satchel, one that barely even fits in it. "Okay, I'm about to warn you, this is weird as hell. Even Oz was weirded out."

"Well if he was unsettled by it, then I'm scared to see what it even is," you say with a breathless chuckle.

"We found it in the royal library," Osmond tells you quietly. "And well, this should explain it." He opens up the book and starts flipping through pages and pages until he lands on one in particular, pointing down at it for you to read.

It has your name and picture on it. Your full name, everything.

At first, you find it slightly strange, but think there may be some kind of explanation. Most of the pictures on the book show you when you were younger, being held on Castor's hip while he made speeches at ceremonies. He looks the same as he does now, except maybe with a bit longer hair.

Then you start seeing yourself getting older...

There's one of a memory you don't even recall, of a headline saying the "(Y/n), Child of King Castor of the Comet Kingdom, joins Arkema Mittrei, Academy" in which you're being handed over to the kingdom's most prestigious academy.

You were homeschooled, that never even happened!

Another one shows you using magic abilities, and you look older than you currently even are. And you have... wings?!

"That was our expression when we read it too," Calliope anxiously says. "We weren't supposed to be in the Royal Library since its always locked and guarded, but we managed to get in with Oz's magic. We were looking for more evidence to prove to you that your father is terrible, but instead we just stumbled upon this."

You don't know what to say. "This doesn't make any sense. I never went to any academy, and my wings..."

"And you look older in these photos," Osmond observes. "I don't know what is going on, but this is just further proof you can't trust him. I know he raised you and you love him, but he's controlling your life and clearly keeping things from you. I knew he caused a lot of meaningless wars and was incredibly paranoid about you, but this?"

"I'm at a loss for words, here," you murmur, shaking your head as you feel tears stinging in your eyes. "What the hell am I supposed to do?! Just confront my dad and hope for the best?"

Calliope puts a hand on your shoulder. "Run away with us," she proposes. "Oz's mom is in the Atlas Kingdom, we can find sanctuary there."

"No way am I just abandoning my dad with no warning," you argue. "Besides, he'd try burning down all of Atlas if he knew I was there! I'll just ask him for an explanation. I'm sure there is one."

"And risk letting him know you've been sneaking out of the kingdom?" Osmond scoffs. "Your death wish, not mine."

"Just give us at least a month or two," Calliope says. "Please. That way we can come up with a game plan."

You exhale quietly, your antennae twitching. "Okay. But no longer."

...

"Uhm, hey, Dad? I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Hm?" He peers his eyes away from the newspaper he's reading and smiles at you. "Of course! Come sit." You hesitate as he pats the seat next to him on the couch, and you reluctantly plop beside him. He hugs you closer to his chest. "So," he hums, kissing the side of your head, "what is it?"

"...have I ever went to Arkema Mittrei Academy?" You watch as his smile drops.

He glances off, contemplating a response before returning his gaze to you. "Oh, sweetheart, where did you hear that? Of course not! I think you'd remember something like that." His laugh sounds nervous. "Have you been having those scary dreams again?"

You bite your tongue. "No. I came across a book in the royal library. I know you don't like me going in there unsupervised, but I did. And I saw pictures of myself at the school, and another one where I'm older, and have my wings. Why do I have no recollection of those moments happening?"

His smile drops even more so, and now, his expression is unreadable. "Where did you get the book, baby?"

"I... uh, I got it in the royal library. I told you that," you stutter.

"How did you get in there unsupervised? There's always guards patrolling the library," Castor explains, narrowing his eyes. "Did someone help you sneak in?"

"What? No!" you lie. You start trying to wriggle out of his grip, but he holds you still.

"Baby," he soothes, almost condescendingly, "just tell Dad what he wants to know. I'm not mad."

He's lying. He's angry. You can't see the expression on his face because he's holding you so closely, but you can feel his rage boiling beneath his skin.

"No, I'm not lying. It was just left unlocked! But that's not my question, I wanna know what I saw in those! Why is there evidence of me doing and experiencing things I have zero memory of?!"

"I knew I should've burnt that damn book," he grumbles under his breath. "I thought you were doing so well this time."

"What do you mean 'this time'?!" you nearly cry, flailing so hard out of his grasp you fall to the floor.

"Oops!" Castor chuckles, standing over you with a cold grin. "Gosh, it feels like yesterday when you could hardly walk without tripping over your feet. Always so wobbly and unstable." He stands up and contemplates on something. "Alrighty, kiddo, since I'm so nice, you have two options. Bedtime and we'll forget about this, or you keep pushing me and we'll see where this takes us."

"What does that mean?" you rasp. "What will you do?"

Castor's bright wings spread out widely, as a show to intimidate you and make you feel smaller. "I really would rather we both just go to bed."

He's never hurt you in the past... "I just want to know what's going on."

"Well, for starters, all that information you think you know is irrelevant, it's been rewritten now," Castor replies nonchalantly, looking down at you. "All those things you saw happened, but you didn't experience them because that wasn't you. Not this you. The original you was too disobedient, so I had to reset and start all over again."

"Reset?!" you repeat incredulously. "What are you talking about?!"

Castor runs a hand through his hair. "Fine. Since you think an explanation is worth it. You can't die. You're immortal, just not in the same way I am. This is like..." He pauses. "...your nineteenth life or so, I believe? Once you die, you turn back into a baby. No injuries, no sickness, no memories. A clean slate. I try to avoid it, but whenever you start rebelling or growing too independent, it has to be done all over again."

"Nothing has to be done! You're killing me, just so you can what?! Watch me grow up again, exactly the same way?! What kind of twisted logic is that?!"

"Don't raise your voice at me," Castor scolds. "I'm not killing you, at least not technically. Besides, I love watching you grow, trying to find the perfect way to raise you. But it seems like no matter how I do so—whether I give you your freedom or make sure I'm the only face you see, you always end up leaving."

You shudder at his cryptic words. "Were you the one who cut off my wings?"

Castor waves a hand dismissively. "Only because you kept trying to run away with them. But they always regrow back once you're reborn." He pulls out a dagger, one you now understand why he always carries it with him.

"Dad, please..." you quietly plead, scrambling back in an attempt to stand up. "I'm sorry. We can let this go."

His eyes darken. "Not an option anymore, sweetie. You asked for answers, and you got them. Hey, maybe the twentieth time is the charm." He lunges for you, holding you down so he can lift his blade. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I promise it'll just feel like a pinch, and then you'll wake up good as new!" His expression is sweet and adoring, but also crazed.

Just as he brings the blade down and you squeeze your eyes shut, all your hear is Castor's groan of pain.

"(Y/n)!" Calliope yells, grabbing onto your hand and yanking you up.

Castor wipes the blood running down his nose, glaring at the two of your friends. "(Y/n), you made some friends, huh? Must've been sneaking out behind my back for a while if they're jumping in their own graves for you." He gets back to his feet and starts approaching. "Step away from my child before you really regret it."

"Let's go!" Osmond demands, opening up a portal in front of Calliope after she pulled you to your feet.

The three of you tumble in, right before Castor tries attacking you as well.

Then suddenly, you're back outside, standing in the forest where your kingdom stood tall. You can hear him scream in frustration from all the way out here, likely calling for guards and barking out orders.

"He knows magic too," you whisper. "He won't be too far behind."

"I can only make portals so far," Osmond murmurs. "We need to run. Now."

[thewritingrowlet]

The Spirit-lifter, ft. Red Velvet Seulgi

tags: nothing particular with this one

length: almost 14k

author's note: This is the continuation of The Heart-lifter, but it's not as sexually charged as that one anon's suggestion.

---

The weight of the cuffs in his hand feels different now. No longer a symbol of justice served: they are a stark reminder of the line he has crossed. Hyunwoo stares out their apartment window at the city lights, each one a potential witness to his transgression. He has let a thief go. Hell, not just let her go, but brings her into his life—into his bed.

The memory of Seulgi's tear-streaked face, the desperate tremor in her voice as she speaks of her past, still tugs at his empathy, but empathy is a dangerous thing for a police officer. A slippery slope that erodes the very foundations of his duty. Is this love, as they have so hastily declared, or a twisted consequence of his authority meeting her vulnerability? This very question gnaws at him, a constant unease that shadows the moments of tenderness they share.

“Oppa…” Her soft voice is heard from behind, but Hyunwoo dares not turn his head. “Oppa, are you okay?” she asks, concern carried with every word. He nods slowly, his mind racing with all kinds of thoughts, silence gripping him hard. “No, please, don’t lie to me. I know that look,” she counters, not convinced by his small gesture and tense body.

Seulgi wraps her arms around him from behind, her hands resting on his belly, offering comfort and warmth to ease his mind and body. “Oppa, please, say something…” she says, the soft voice contradicting the weight of her demand. Hyunwoo places a hand on hers, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “I’m alright, baby,” he says, attempting to hide his stress from her. “It’s just that, erm, my mind is taking me places,” he adds, hinting at the truth behind his turmoil.

Seulgi moves to stand before Hyunwoo, filling the small gap between him and the window, guiding his chin downwards to look him in the eyes. “Oppa, please, what is it? You know you can tell me everything, right?” she demands, growing frustrated yet understanding, wishing Hyunwoo would let her help carry the burden. Realizing there’s no other way but to tell the truth, he relents, letting his worry be laid bare before his lover’s eyes.

Hyunwoo takes a deep breath, piecing together an answer for his beloved. “The superintendent wants to see me tomorrow morning,” he begins, stringing each word together carefully. “Something about my... unorthodox handling of a recent case—your case.” Seulgi’s eyes turn glassy with unshed tears: the superintendent must’ve heard about Hyunwoo’s misconduct in handling her shoplifting incident, about him abusing his authority, and karma is out to get him.

“Will you… lose your job?” she asks, her voice shaking with thoughts of potentially being the cause of his downfall. Hyunwoo shrugs, as clueless as she is. “That’s definitely a possibility,” he answers. “Perhaps they’ll even send me to prison for failing to enforce law.” A heavy sigh flows out of her lips. “Law,” she mutters. “The only thing that separates us from the animals, or so they say.” A shiver runs down his spine, getting flashbacks to the first time he heard that phrase during his training period. “Yeah, precisely, and I’ve failed.”

The silence that follows Hyunwoo's words is thick with unspoken fear. Seulgi's grip on his arm tightens almost imperceptibly. "No," she says, her voice low but firm, the earlier tremor replaced by a sudden steeliness. "No, I won't let that happen. You did what you did because of me—because you understood. I won't let you face the consequences alone."

A new determination sparks in her eyes, pushing back the tears. "We'll figure this out. Together. What can we do? Is there someone we can talk to? Someone who would understand?" She searches his face, her gaze intense, seeking a solution, a way out of this looming crisis. The thought of Hyunwoo behind bars sends a cold dread through her, a feeling far more terrifying than her own potential arrest. “I think we can look for an attorney if that’s necessary. I think I still have that right,” he says, a sense of strength surging within at her supportive stance. “Give me the attorney’s number,” she says. “I’ll reach out to them myself if I must.”

Hyunwoo stares at Seulgi, a complex mix of emotions swirling within him. Gratitude, yes, and a profound sense of awe at her fierce loyalty, but also a pang of guilt. He, the supposed protector, is now being shielded by the very person he initially apprehended. "Seulgi-yah..." he begins, but the words catch in his throat. He doesn't deserve this, he thinks. “Yes, that’s me,” she repeats, a smile taking root on her features. “We can do this, oppa.”

Seulgi lifts his hand, her gaze glued to the cuffs in his hand. “Think of it like this,” she places a hand on the rigid cuffs, “we’re sharing the burdens of life as if we’re cuffed together with no other way but forward, and we move forward together—always together.” Hyunwoo’s lips slowly curl into a smile, her words reaching the deepest parts of his heart, the tenseness of his body gradually dissipating. “You’re right,” Hyunwoo answers, strength and determination to keep fighting surging within him.

Hyunwoo reaches out, his thumb tracing a line on her soft cheek. “You always know what to say, don’t you, baby?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, carrying emotions with every word. “I’m so lucky to have you in every sense of the word.” Seulgi presses a tender peck to his knuckles, a testament to the love for this man before her. “I don’t think it’s simply luck, though,” she counters. “It was fate, oppa. We found each other when we needed each other the most.”

She leans closer towards him, her gaze locked on his. “Besides…” she adds, her voice getting smaller, “the sex is amazing.” A soft chuckle escapes his lips, the first genuine laugh he’s had since receiving the summons letter this afternoon. In this moment, surrounded by a comfortable intimacy, the fear fades, replaced by a fragile yet tenacious hope. They have each other, and they are what each other needs.

Alas, the reprieve is fleeting. The memory of the superintendent’s summons lingers like a shadow in the corner of the room, a reminder of the storm that threatens their peace. Hyunwoo slowly, hesitantly, pulls away, his brow slightly furrowed with a sense of urgency. “We need a plan,” Seulgi suggests, her voice regaining the edge from earlier. He pecks her on the forehead, staying longer than usual, transferring the stress she has promised to help carry. “I don’t think there’s a ‘we’ here, baby. I mean, I can’t bring you to the superintendent,” he says. Seulgi’s eyes grow shiny, tears pooling and threatening to spill. “But… but I can’t let you go alone. Can I not wait outside or something?” she counters.

Hyunwoo cups her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the first tear that escapes. "Baby," he says softly, his gaze filled with a mixture of love and concern. "This is an official matter. It's about my conduct as a police officer. Your presence there... it could make things worse. They might see it as further evidence of my..." he trails off, unable to voice the word "failure" in front of her.

Seulgi shakes her head zealously, more tears dropping onto her cheeks. “Worse than you going alone? Worse than you possibly losing everything because of me?” she presses him further, her voice shaking with emotions. “At least let me be nearby. Let me be the first person you see as soon as they’re done with you, no matter what anyone says.” Seulgi grips his uniform hard, her knuckles turning white. “Please, don’t shut me out now, oppa. Did we not promise to face this together?"

Hyunwoo’s resolve erodes at the raw vulnerability in her voice. He knows she’s right and having her nearby would help, but his police-trained instincts keep screaming at him, urging him to make her stay at home. Weighing his options, he just looks at her—really looks at her—his mind racing with different scenarios that might happen if Seulgi is spotted near the headquarters.

Eventually, he can only sigh, conceding to the basic needs as a person: he’s going to take her along, even if she can’t directly see the superintendent. “The café,” he mutters. “You can wait for me at the café across the street.” Releasing the tight grip on him, Seulgi quickly wipes her tears with the back of her hands, relieved by him giving her the green light to be close to him while he faces the unknown. “I’ll be there, and I won’t leave until I see you step out of the building,” she says, determined and resolute.

-

The café across the street is small and unassuming, the kind of place where the aroma of stale coffee hangs heavy in the air. Seulgi chooses a table by the window, her gaze fixed on the imposing gray building that houses the superintendent's office. Each passing minute stretches into an eternity, filled with a gnawing anxiety that claws at her insides. She sips her lukewarm latte, barely registering the bitter taste. Her mind races, replaying the events of the past few days, the unlikely turn their lives have taken. From a desperate act of survival to an unexpected intimacy, and now, the looming threat of professional ruin for the man she loves with everything she has.

Minutes pass by, and Seulgi finally catches the police car that is assigned to Hyunwoo. “That’s him,” she thinks, her heartbeat growing quicker. Her fists clenches, gripping the end of her sweater, wishing she could give him a hug or a kiss before—

“Oh, he’s getting in…”

A small sob slips through her lips at the sight of Hyunwoo being greeted by a pair of men wearing a different uniform than him, their serious expressions cold and stern. “Please, be kind to him like he is to me.” Seulgi leans her head against the window, only able to watch helplessly while Hyunwoo disappears behind the two big doors in the front. “I love you, Kang Hyunwoo. I will always love you, no matter what happens today.”

All Seulgi can do is wait, watch, and pray for the man who is always able to lift her heart in the most unexpected ways.

…

The big, heavy doors close behind Hyunwoo with a solid thud, the sound piercing the quiet interior of the headquarters. As he��s escorted to the superintendent’s office, he catches some fellow officers stealing glances at him, murmuring among themselves and shaking their heads, accusing him of failure without saying a word. “No one else to blame but myself,” he thinks, making peace with his choices, even if they are perceived as incorrect.

One of the men escorting Hyunwoo knocks on Superintendent Park’s door, the sound of his knuckles on the wood chipping away at his persistence. The door opens slightly, a signal that Hyunwoo’s judgment is about to start. With an open palm, the officer gestures to him to enter, and after taking a deep breath to steel himself, Hyunwoo pushes the door, closing it behind him, his nostrils picking up the scent of Superintendent Park’s favorite essential oil from the diffuser on his desk.

“Kang Hyunwoo, Metropolitan Police Unit,” he introduces himself. “Ready to report, sir.” With a flick of his finger, Park signals Hyunwoo to come closer, straightening his sitting posture at the same time, his expression plain and unreadable. “Officer Kang,” he begins, his voice smooth but firm. “You are aware of the reason as to why you’re here, are you not?” Hyunwoo nods firmly. “Yes, sir, I am. It pertains to my handling of the shoplifting incident of Miss Kang Seulgi, a former celebrity,” he answers, keeping his voice steady, avoiding showing emotions. This isn’t the time to be vulnerable or sentimental. This summons is about facts, as cold as they may come.

"Yes, Officer Kang," Superintendent Park replies, his gaze unwavering. "Your report states that you apprehended Miss Kang Seulgi for shoplifting, yet no charges were filed. No report was officially lodged. Can you explain this discrepancy?" Park's voice remains calm, but there's an undercurrent of steel that sends a shiver down Hyunwoo's spine. He knows this is the crux of the matter.

Hyunwoo takes another deep breath, carefully choosing his words. "Sir, upon further investigation, it became apparent that Miss Kang's actions were driven by... extenuating circumstances. Severe financial hardship, coupled with a desperate need for essential goods." He pauses, gauging Park's reaction. "I exercised my discretion, sir, prioritizing a resolution that addressed her immediate needs while considering the... mitigating factors." He avoids mentioning the personal connection that has formed between them, knowing that would only complicate matters further.

“Is that so, son?” Park asks, his features relaxing by the minute. His body doesn’t look as tense, and his forehead isn’t furrowed as tightly. Hyunwoo nods slowly, keeping the truth of their connection tucked away in the depths of his mind. “Okay, so,” he continues, sighing briefly, “why did she pay her fine with your card?” The next question makes Hyunwoo swallow hard. “She… she didn’t have money, sir, so I… paid for it upfront, and she’s been paying me back little by little,” Hyunwoo answers, adding lies to mix in with the truth, playing a dangerous game with his superior.

“I see,” Park leans back in his big leather chair, “that’s quite the generous gesture for an officer apprehending a suspect, wouldn’t you agree, Officer Kang?” Hyunwoo forces himself to maintain his gaze locked on Park’s, his heart pounding in his chest. “With all due respect, sir,” he begins, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “I was trying to defuse the situation and ensure the well-being of those involved. Miss Kang was clearly in distress, and… I felt that letting her return the stolen goods and have her fined was the correct course of action,” Hyunwoo adds, offering an elaborate reasoning to support his stance.

Park leans forwards again, his elbows planted on the smooth surface of his desk. “Let’s cut to the chase, son, and be honest with me: were you or were you not biased towards Miss Kang Seulgi?” he asks, no longer interested in rhetorics. Hyunwoo takes a deep breath, mustering up the courage to answer truthfully as demanded. “Sir, I…” he trails off, unsure if he should simply confess that he was indeed biased towards Seulgi.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy with the weight of the unsaid. Hyunwoo's gaze flickers, a brief, involuntary glance towards the window, as if seeking Seulgi's presence for strength. Then, he forces himself to meet Park's eyes again, his jaw tightening.

“Yes, sir. I was biased towards Miss Kang,” Hyunwoo eventually admits, his tone low and measured. “I believe that my... sympathy for Miss Kang's situation did influence my decisions. However,” he rushes on before Park can interrupt. “My primary concern was that the situation could be resolved quickly and efficiently. I did not act with malicious intent, nor was I seeking personal gain.”

Hyunwoo ends his explanation, leaving the true extent of his “bias” unspoken, hoping that it’s good enough for Park. After all, the fate of his career, perhaps also his freedom, is in the hands of the superintendent.

“Sympathy,” Park echoes. “A commendable trait in a police officer, but if that very trait leads to a complete disregard of protocol… Then that is a liability, Officer Kang.” Park sighs, letting his head rest against the back of his chair. “Tell me one last thing, son: after all the things you’ve done when handling Miss Kang Seulgi’s case, what do you expect to happen to you?” Hyunwoo lowers his head, feeling the weight of the question, his life hanging in the balance. “I… I expect punishment, sir. Anything other than dismissal from my post.”

Park studies Hyunwoo for a long moment, his gaze intense and unreadable. The silence in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife, amplifying the weight of Hyunwoo's admission and his plea for leniency. Finally, Park leans back in his chair, a sigh escaping his lips.

"Punishment," he echoes once more, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. "Yes, Officer Kang, there will undoubtedly be consequences for your deviation from protocol. However..." He pauses, his eyes still fixed on Hyunwoo. "Your honesty, while belated, is noted, and your explanation... it suggests a degree of compassion that, as I said, can be valuable, if properly channeled." He reaches for a file on his desk, his gaze momentarily shifting away from Hyunwoo, leaving the young officer in a state of tense anticipation. The sound of the folder opening seems deafening in the quiet room.

“Officer Kang Hyunwoo, I hereby declare that you are temporarily discharged for one month for your failure to follow protocol. During that period, you will receive a 50% pay cut. Is there anything you’d like to address before I send you on your way?”

A wave of relief washes over Hyunwoo, so potent it almost buckles his knees. A month's suspension and a pay cut are harsh, but it’s not dismissal, and it certainly isn’t jail. He manages a shaky nod, his throat tight with a mixture of gratitude and lingering anxiety. "No, sir," he says, his voice hoarse. "I understand. Thank you for your... leniency." The word feels inadequate, considering the potential consequences he braced himself for.

Park observes him for another moment, his expression still unreadable. "Use this time wisely, Officer Kang," he advises, his tone softening slightly. "Reflect on your actions and remember the oath you took. The trust we hold is fragile, and it must be earned and maintained." He gestures towards the door. "You're dismissed." Hyunwoo straightens his posture, his legs feeling strangely weak but eager to leave, nonetheless.

As he turns to leave, a single thought dominates his mind: Seulgi. He needs to see her, to tell her. He hopes the news won't devastate her, knowing how much his job means to him, and how much she blames herself for his current predicament. However, he also understands that he can’t just see her at the café across the street—hell, it is across the street from the headquarters.

Having received his phone back from the guards, Hyunwoo is tempted to send her a text, but he’s promptly reminded about that particular case where a backdoor was installed on a suspect’s phone which allowed the police force to access messages and calls. “Fuck,” he curses silently, gripping his phone hard in frustration.

Hyunwoo heads out from the main doors, standing still in front of the headquarters, his gaze darting towards the café where Seulgi must be waiting for him. Eventually, he spots her: she’s leaning against the window, looking rather calm from where he’s standing. He quickly formulates a plan to show, not tell, Seulgi that he’s fine.

“I guess I can use a cup of iced latte.”

Hyunwoo straightens his uniform and hat, putting on a charade, as he crosses the street to reach the café. The little bell hanging on the door frame rings as he enters the establishment, punctuating his grand entrance that is meant for one person and one person only: the stressed woman in a terracotta sweater sitting by a window.

“One large, iced latte with less sugar, please,” Hyunwoo places his order, making sure his voice is loud enough for both the barista and Seulgi. “Of course, officer. Please, have a seat,” the barista replies, her finger pacing around on the small monitor before her.

Hyunwoo's eyes never leave Seulgi's as he places his order, the emphasis on "latte" and "large" deliberate. It's a small detail, a shared joke from a late-night coffee run a few days ago, a code only they would understand. Latte means no one is hurt. Large means things are okay. He hopes to God that she gets it.

Seulgi's gaze sharpens; her initial anxiety is replaced by a flicker of understanding. The corners of her lips twitch in reflex, a silent acknowledgment of his message. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, but she maintains her composed facade, aware that they're still in a public space, under the watchful eyes of anyone who might be observing them.

The barista calls out his order, and Hyunwoo turns to pay, his heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. “Ah, thank you for the quick service,” Hyunwoo says out loud, drawing quite the attention of the café’s patrons to himself. “My cat will be missing me soon, and I appreciate how quick you were with my latte,” he adds, doing his best to get Seulgi to catch on to the signal lying beneath his words. “Tell your cat I said pspsps, officer,” the barista jokes, unaware of the true intentions behind his seemingly innocent sentence. “Of course, my cat is very friendly anyway.”

Seulgi's eyes flick down to her own hands for a brief moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile gracing her lips before she schools her expression back to neutral. “Cat means me, and this cat does miss him,” she thinks. The pieces click into place. She takes another slow sip of her latte, feigning disinterest in Hyunwoo's exchange with the barista.

Seulgi keeps her eyes fixed on Hyunwoo as he makes to leave the establishment with a cup of latte in his hand, she herself ready to bolt out and head home to see him in a more private setting. “I’m coming, baby. Wait for me, okay?” she thinks.

“Have a good day, madam, and always stay safe,” Hyunwoo greets her briefly right before exiting. Seulgi gasps slightly, not expecting to have an interaction with him here and now. “Y-you too, officer,” she replies quickly, the heavy beats of her heart bumping against her ribs, wishing she could just hug him here and now.

Seulgi waits for a while, allowing a few seconds to pass before gathering her bag. She stands up, her movements deliberately casual as she heads towards the exit. The bell above the door jingles again as she steps out onto the street, her gaze immediately locking onto Hyunwoo's. A silent understanding passes between them. They can't linger here, not so close to the lion's den. Without a word, they begin to walk in the opposite direction of the police headquarters—Hyunwoo to his unit car; Seulgi to the bus stop—their pace quickening with each step, the unspoken urgency of their situation propelling them away from the prying eyes and potential surveillance.

Hyunwoo reaches his unmarked police car, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror as he starts the engine. He needs to appear like any other officer heading out on patrol, but his mind is racing. He has to get to Seulgi as soon as his shift allows, to hold her and reassure her that they will face this together. The image of her worried face in the café window is etched in his memory.

Seulgi hurries towards the bus stop, her terracotta sweater doing little to ward off the sudden chill that grips her. Each passing car makes her jump, her mind hyper-aware of any potential surveillance. The relief of Hyunwoo's coded message is now overshadowed by a renewed sense of anxiety about the future. What will happen to him? What will happen to her? The uncertainty hangs heavy in the air as she waits for the bus, her gaze fixed in the direction Hyunwoo's car disappeared.

-

Seulgi presses the buttons on their door with urgency, her finger racing to get the door unlocked as quickly as possible. With a satisfying click, it unlocks, and she immediately pushes the door open, unwilling to spend one more second outside the safe space that is their shared apartment.

“Oppa!” Seulgi enters the apartment screaming his name, looking for the only person who can soothe her anxious heart and mind. “One second, baby,” he replies, his voice coming from the kitchen along with sounds of sizzling. She drops her bag on the floor, running towards him, seeking the comfort only he can provide.

Seulgi crashes into him from behind, her hands stacking on top of each other on his firm stomach, her face pressed against his back. “Oppa…” she calls to him in a whisper, her voice trembling, starting to break into tears. “It’s okay, baby,” he sighs—out of relief, not stress. “We’re okay, trust me,” he offers an assurance, but it does little in calming the sobbing girl.

Hyunwoo turns off the stove, the sizzling ceasing abruptly, and immediately pivots to face Seulgi, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her familiar scent, a small anchor in the storm of his own emotions. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "It's alright. I'm here." He rocks her gently, the way he does when she's had a particularly rough day.

"What... what happened?" she finally manages to choke out between sobs, her grip on his shirt tightening. Hyunwoo pulls back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, his gaze tender. "It's... it's not the best news, baby," he admits, his thumb gently wiping away her tears. "But it's not the worst either." He hesitates, gathering his thoughts, knowing he needs to choose his words carefully. "I've been suspended... for a month, and… I’ll be receiving only half my salary during the suspension."

Seulgi buries her face in his chest, crying out of control, smacking him with her fist repeatedly. Not out of anger, but rather out of regret and self-blame. All she wanted was safety and comfort during a tough time, but she’s brought him crashing down with her, and the weight of the guilt is crushing down on her.

Hyunwoo holds her tightly, letting her tears soak into his shirt. He understands the source of her anguish. She sees herself as the catalyst, the reason his life is now disrupted. "Shh, baby, shh," he murmurs, stroking her hair. "It's not your fault. I made my choices. I chose to..." Hyunwoo hesitates, the word "help" feeling inadequate. "I chose to do what I thought was right."

He pulls her back slightly, looking into her tear-filled eyes. "Listen to me, Seulgi-yah. My job is important to me, yes, but you... you are more important. A month will pass. We'll manage the pay cut. We'll get through this, together. This isn't the end, it's just... a bump in the road." He tries to sound reassuring, but the uncertainty of their future still lingers in the back of his mind. He just hopes his words can offer Seulgi the comfort she desperately needs.

“I’m… I’m sorry, oppa,” she mumbles, her voice barely intelligible because of the tears. “I-I’ll leave if you want me to. Just say the word and… and I’ll be out of here,” she adds. Hyunwoo shakes his head. Deep down, he knows that her leaving would devastate him. “No, baby, I don’t want you to leave,” he strokes her cheeks softly, “I don’t want me or you to be alone in this hard time.”

Seulgi plants her face in his chest once more, her arms wrapped tightly around him, as if afraid that he’ll disappear if she lets go. “I love you, oppa, and I’m sorry for everything,” she mutters, her tiny voice barely reaching his ears. “I love you too, baby, and I’m sorry for everything too,” he replies, his mind going back to the day they agreed to carry this burden together.

The memory of that day, the day they stood and agreed to face the odds together, solidifies Hyunwoo's resolve. He will not let this setback break them. He will not let Seulgi's guilt consume her. He will not let their shared dream of a life together fade.

He pulls back slightly, his hands framing her face, his gaze intense. "We made a promise, remember?" he says softly, his voice a low rumble. "We said we'd face this together, hand in hand. A month is nothing, Seulgi-yah. We'll get through it and come out stronger." He manages a small, reassuring smile, hoping it reaches her through the haze of her tears. "We have each other, and that's all that matters." He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, a silent vow to protect her heart and their bond, no matter what the future holds.

Seulgi slightly pushes back against him, asking to have some space to catch her breath. “I… I accept,” she says, wiping off the tears herself. “I will stay here and… and support you in every way I can.” A bigger smile blooms on their faces at this moment of mutual understanding and agreement to be each other’s rock. “Sounds great to me, my love,” Hyunwoo says, his heart flooded with gratitude and love for the woman in his arms.

The apartment feels different now, charged with a new kind of intimacy born from shared vulnerability. The mundane tasks of daily life take on a deeper meaning: cooking dinner, cleaning up, simply being in each other's presence. There's an unspoken understanding that they're both drawing strength from the other, preparing for whatever the next month may bring. The world outside may be uncertain, but within these walls, their love is a constant, an anchor that holds them down amidst the raging storm.

-

The month of Hyunwoo's suspension has passed in a blur of quiet intimacy and unspoken worries. They navigated the financial strain together. Seulgi's unwavering support has been a constant source of strength for him. Now, the morning of his reinstatement dawns with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation hanging in the air of their apartment. Hyunwoo lays in bed, the sunlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the familiar lines of Seulgi's sleeping face beside him.

A sense of normalcy, something they have both longed for, is finally within reach. Beneath the surface of his relief, however, a knot of anxiety tightens in his stomach. Returning to the force means stepping back into a world that now feels complicated, a world where his loyalty has been tested and his judgment questioned. He wonders how his colleagues will treat him, what his new assignments will be, and most importantly, how his relationship with Seulgi will be perceived in the eyes of the law and his peers.

“Good morning,” Seulgi greets him with closed eyes, her voice slightly hoarse from the sleep. “It’s that day, isn’t it?” Hyunwoo nods at her question, knowing what she’s referring to. “Yeah, it is,” he says. “I’m so rusty, though.” She chuckles, amused by his choice of words. “Don’t worry. You might be rusty, but you’re my rusty.” Hyunwoo laughs. The joke might be lighthearted, but the weight of the emotions behind the joke is anything but light.

Hyunwoo pulls Seulgi closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "My rusty, huh? I like the sound of that." He lingers in the warmth of her embrace for a moment longer than necessary, drawing on her strength before the day truly begins. The familiar comfort of their apartment, the soft light, and the quiet intimacy are a stark contrast to the rigid, public world of service he is about to re-enter.

He eventually pushes himself out of bed, the cool air hitting his skin. The uniform, freshly pressed and hanging on the closet door, seems to hum with a quiet authority he hasn't felt in a month. As he dresses, each button, each buckle, feels like a step back into a different skin. He glances at Seulgi, who is now sitting up, watching him with an expression he can't quite decipher—a mix of pride, worry, and an unwavering belief that steadies him. He knows this day is not just about his job; it's about proving that their unconventional bond can withstand the scrutiny of the world he serves.

“You’re going to be okay, right?” Hyunwoo swallows a gulp at her question, he himself uncertain if he is indeed going to be okay. “Honestly, I don’t know, but I’ll try my best. For us both,” he says, regaining the resolve he once had. “If you need anything, oppa, just call me. I’ll come running to the headquarters if I need to,” she offers, unwavering in her support for him. “No, that won’t be necessary, sweetheart.”

"I know," Seulgi whispers, her hand reaching for his, their fingers intertwining. "But I'll be waiting, and I'll be thinking of you every second." She squeezes his hand, a silent promise that transcends any physical distance or official protocols.

Hyunwoo finishes fastening his uniform, the weight of the badge now feeling heavier than before, not just with duty, but with the fragile hope of their future. He leans down one last time, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss that promises his return. "I'll be home as soon as I can, my love," he murmurs against her mouth, a silent echo of the anchor she is for him.

Taking a deep breath, Hyunwoo prepares to leave, tapping around his body to check if he’s forgotten anything. Confident that everything is sorted, he begins to approach the front door. Not as a regular guy he has been for the past month, but as a police officer who is taking another chance at public service.

“You forgot something, oppa,” Seulgi calls to him. “Yeah? What is it, baby?” he asks, looking around him to check. “A piece of me, oppa,” she tucks her favorite hairpin in his back pocket, “something to remember me by. Something to remind you what you’re fighting for.”

Hyunwoo reaches back, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the hairpin in his pocket. A warmth spreads through him, anchoring him to her even as he prepares to face the day. He turns to Seulgi, his eyes filled with love so profound, it almost hurts. "Thank you, baby," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't forget."

Then, with a final, lingering look that promises his prompt return, Hyunwoo opens the front door and steps out. The click of the lock behind him sounds like the closing of one chapter and the hesitant re-opening of another. The familiar scent of their apartment, a blend of Seulgi's perfume and the lingering aroma of their favorite candle, fades as he descends the stairs, replaced by the crisp, cool air of the morning. He straightens his shoulders, the uniform feeling both heavy and right. The world outside awaits, and he knows that with Seulgi's piece of him tucked safely away, he is ready to face it.

-

“Kang Hyunwoo, Metropolitan Police. Reporting for reinstatement,” Hyunwoo says to the officer attending the administration desk. The officer grabs a folder with his name written on it, looking through some documents, her finger tracing lines along the papers as she reads each one. “Welcome back, Officer Kang Hyunwoo. Please head to the superintendent’s office, and after that, please head to the armory.” He nods firmly, the reality of returning to duty settling in his mind, his fist clenching with nerves. “Certainly. Thank you for the help.”

Hyunwoo turns from the desk, the polished floor of the main lobby stretching before him. Every familiar face he passes seems to offer a fleeting glance, a silent judgment he tries to ignore. He focuses on the superintendent's office, a destination that still carries the weight of his disciplinary summons. The scent of disinfectant and stale coffee, so characteristic of the building, fills his nostrils, a sharp reminder of the world he now re-enters.

He knocks on Superintendent Park's door, the sound echoing louder in his ears than it should. This time, there's no escort, no sense of impending doom, but a new kind of anxiety hums beneath his skin—the anxiety of the unknown. The door opens, and Park's face, as unreadable as ever, greets him. "Officer Kang," Park says, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Come in. We have some matters to discuss before your full reinstatement."

A shiver runs down his entire body, his mind racing with thoughts of these “matters” that need to be addressed before his actual return. “Yes, sir.” Hyunwoo stands before Park in a steady, proper stance of a police officer, and that is when a small laugh, feeling somewhat warm to Hyunwoo’s ears, escapes Park’s lips. “I remember the day I first met you when you were a rookie, son,” Park says. “Your eyes were basically aflame, burning with passion to serve the public.”

A thin smile forms on Hyunwoo’s face, rekindling the day when he was first initiated into the police force. “A rookie’s innocence, sir—typical, wouldn’t you say?” Hyunwoo replies, feeling a bit shy at the memory of his naiveness way back then. Park laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing, his posture relaxed. Such a stark contrast to his energy during their last meeting. “Typical, yes, but nice to see, nonetheless.”

"Sit, Hyunwoo-yah," Park gestures to the chair opposite his desk, his smile softening further. "No need for formalities among old acquaintances. Though, of course," his tone regains a touch of its professional edge, "this is still an official meeting." Hyunwoo takes the seat, the leather cool against his uniform, his gaze still fixed on Park, trying to discern the true intent behind this sudden shift in atmosphere.

Park leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Your file shows a strong record before this, say, incident. Dedication, good instincts, but also, as we’ve seen time and time again, a tendency towards... unconventional solutions." He pauses, letting Hyunwoo absorb his words. "The department values integrity, Officer Kang, and adherence to protocol. However, it also values good judgment and, yes, even empathy." He picks up a pen, tapping it lightly on the polished wood. "So, let's talk about what we expect from you, now that you're back."

Hyunwoo straightens in his seat, ready for the parameters of his return. He understands this isn't simply a formality; it's a re-evaluation of his worth, his perspective, and his place within the force. "I'm ready to listen, sir," he says, his voice firm, conveying both respect and quiet determination.

Park leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "First, your return probationary period will last for six months. During this time, you will be under direct supervision, and any further deviation from protocol will result in immediate and permanent dismissal." He pauses, letting the severity of the statement sink in. "Second, we've had a request from the District Chief's office. You're being assigned to a new unit: the special one. One that deals with sensitive cases. High-profile individuals. Cases that require a delicate touch, and perhaps…” Park trails off, his eyes gleam with a look that might be a challenge, or a warning. "Unconventional solutions, which you’re awfully terrific at."

Hyunwoo takes a deep breath, the implications of Park's words settling over him. Six months under the microscope, a new, highly visible unit, and the implicit expectation that his "unconventional" approach, while dangerous, is precisely why they need him. He doesn't miss the subtle irony, or the weight of the trust—or perhaps the test—being placed upon him.

"I understand, sir," he says, his voice steady. "I'll do my best to meet those expectations." Park clicks his tongue, seemingly unsatisfied by Hyunwoo’s promise. “No, no, no. What was it you used to say when assigned to a new job?” he asks, looking for a specific answer.

Hyunwoo’s thoughts swirl in his head, his eyebrows furrowing, trying to remember what he once said, and a smile is starting to take form on Park’s face, eager to hear the old mantra. “Erm, I will excel in my duties, sir?” Park’s lips curve into a smile, finally getting the answer he desires. “Yes, that. I like it when you say it, Hyunwoo-yah.” Hyunwoo nods firmly, his resolve now firm like it once was, his straight posture a semblance of that very persistence. “Yes, sir. I will excel in my duties.”

"That's what I like to hear, son," Park says, his smile lingering. He rises, walking around his desk to clap Hyunwoo firmly on the shoulder. The touch is heavy, not entirely paternal, but loaded with expectation. "Now, go get your badge back, get your gear. Captain Lee is expecting you in his unit room on the fifth floor—and remember, excel." A pleasant shiver runs down Hyunwoo’s back, eager to excel, like his superior has commanded him to. “Excellence is what we seek, is it not, Superintendent?” he thinks.

Hyunwoo offers a crisp, respectful bow, a muscle working in his jaw, before he turns and strides out of the superintendent's office. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing off the conversation and the lingering scent of essential oils. The hallway, which had felt like a gauntlet minutes ago, now seems like a path. He doesn't glance at the other officers this time; his focus is singularly on the armory.

The heavy metal door of the armory swings open with a familiar groan. The smell of gun oil and polished steel is almost comforting, a scent of purpose and capability. The armorer, a gruff veteran with more years on the force than Hyunwoo has been alive, merely nods, already pulling Hyunwoo's service weapons—a long-barrel, automatic assault rifle and a handgun—and a set of holsters from a locked cabinet.

As he straps on his gear, the familiar weight of his sidearm settling against his hip, and the cool metal of his badge clicks into place on his uniform, a sense of belonging washes over him. He's not just a man trying to do right; he's Officer Kang Hyunwoo, the newly appointed personnel of the Special Police Unit, back where he belongs with the force.

A nervous shudder flows through him at the sight of the new assault rifle he’s been assigned to. The clean paint, signifying its minimal wear, and the bigger bullets in the magazine feel… daunting.

“What’s wrong, rookie?” the armorer asks, still using the same epithet from the past. “Nothing; just admiring my new toy,” Hyunwoo answers, trying to play it coy. The armorer scoffs, more playful than demeaning, slightly amused by his answer. “Your new captain wants you to start training with your new toy immediately, so you better get used to it.” Hyunwoo nods firmly, his fingers running along the length of the barrel. “Oh, I will get used to it alright,” he says, now finding the confidence he’s been lacking recently.

As Hyunwoo takes the assault rifle, its cold, ergonomic weight feels alien yet strangely familiar in his hands. This isn't the patrol weapon he's used to; this is for a different kind of war, a silent acknowledgement of the gravity of his new role. He checks the safety, the action smooth and precise, a testament to the meticulous maintenance of the armory. The armorer watches him, a flicker of something unreadable in his veteran eyes.

“You know I take good care of my toys, rookie,” the armorer quips, his weary eyes gleaming with playful boast. Hyunwoo chuckles. Out of all the men and women in the force, the armorer is the one he’s been the closest with, taking Hyunwoo under his care since day one. “I know, boss,” Hyunwoo quips back. “You might be old, but at least these things stay young on your watch.” The armorer huffs, his forehead furrowing, annoyed every time his age is brought up. “Just get out of here before I smack you.”

With his new gear secured, Hyunwoo makes his way towards the fifth floor. Each step echoes in the quiet hallway, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the lower levels. The "Special Police Unit" office doors are unmarked by purpose, a symbol of their discretion. He pauses before one such door, taking a deep breath, the subtle feeling of having Seulgi's hairpin in his back pocket a grounding presence. He's ready to excel, to face whatever "unconventional solutions" Captain Lee is seeking out of him.

Hyunwoo knocks on the door a few times, but no immediate answer is heard. “Is no one in?” he wonders, looking around to look for clues, finding none. He knocks a few more times, this time a bit harder than before. “State your name,” someone from the other side demands. “My name is Kang Hyunwoo,” he introduces himself, and the door is opened for him, revealing a deceptively big room with men in black inside. “Kang Hyunwoo, huh? Well, welcome to the 131.”

The man who opens the door, dressed in a sharp, dark combat shirt that seems out of place for police headquarters, steps aside. Hyunwoo enters, his eyes quickly adjusting to the subdued lighting of the large room—well, it’s clear that this isn’t an ordinary office.

A long, sleek conference table dominates the center, surrounded by ergonomic chairs. On the walls, digital screens display complex network maps and blurry surveillance footage, their faint glow casting long shadows. Several other figures, dressed similarly in dark attire, are scattered around the room, some hunched over keyboards, others observing the screens with focused intensity. There is not a single uniform in sight.

"Take a seat, Officer Kang," the man who greeted him says, his voice smooth and authoritative, indicating the chair at the head of the conference table. "I'm Captain Lee Jungwon, and these are your new colleagues,” he gestures to the surrounding individuals, “we’re the 131. Our work here isn't about upholding public order on the streets, Officer Kang. It's about working in the dark to serve the light." Lee chuckles, rubbing his forehead while sighing, seemingly amused by something. “Whoever came up with that last line plays video games too much,” he quips.

Hyunwoo’s lips quirk in a small, involuntary smile at Lee’s self-deprecating humor. It eases some of the tension that has coiled in his gut since stepping onto this floor. He takes the indicated seat, placing his assault rifle carefully on the floor beside him, its black form a stark contrast to the sleek, modern aesthetic of the room. The other agents remain focused, their movements economical, their faces unreadable, a silent testament to the intense concentration their work demands.

“In the 131, we don’t go around calling people by their ranks; we just say their name as if we’ve known in each other for decades,” Lee adds. “So, Hyunwoo-yah, any questions right off the bat?” Hyunwoo’s eyes remain on the screen with the map of the country, intrigued by the dots and the lines connecting them. “What is that, captain?” he asks, gesturing to the map with his lifted chin. Lee turns around, pointing at the big screen behind him. “That? That’s the drug smuggling chain, and those dots are known warehouses that these scums operate out of. Oh, and it’s Jungwon-ie to you, Hyunwoo-yah.”

Hyunwoo steps closer to the massive screen, his gaze tracing the intricate web of connections. The sheer scale of the operation laid bare before him is staggering, far beyond anything he has encountered in his regular patrol duties. "So, these warehouses," he muses, "are they under surveillance? Have we got teams on the ground?" He can feel the familiar buzz of a case beginning to take shape, the thrill of the hunt sharpening his senses.

Jungwon leans against the table, observing Hyunwoo with a keen, assessing gaze. “Yeah, all of them are. We’ve been deploying agents to keep an eye on each one, and it’s almost time to go guns blazing.” Hyunwoo swallows a gulp, unready to hear such a revelation on his first day at this new unit. “Guns blazing, huh?” he mutters. Jungwon approaches his new teammate, resting his elbow on Hyunwoo’s shoulder. “We brought you here for your ability to come up with unconventional approaches, but your first assignment is to raid a warehouse with us,” he explains, his tone kind and patient.

"A warehouse raid," Hyunwoo repeats, the words tasting different than “arresting a shoplifter." This is familiar territory, just on a much larger, more dangerous scale. The adrenaline begins to pump, pushing out the last vestiges of his morning's anxiety. "Understood, Jungwon-ah. Any specific intel on resistance or defensive setups?" He looks back at the screen, no longer just intrigued, but actively analyzing.

Jungwon grins, a flash of approval in his eyes. "That's what I like to hear. We'll download the full operational brief onto your comms, but in short: heavily armed, well-funded. They don't play nice. We're hitting them before dawn tomorrow. You'll be part of the initial entry team, front line. Get acquainted with your new rifle, Hyunwoo-yah, because you'll be using it." He turns to a nearby console. "One of our intel specialists, Minho, will set up your comms and walk you through the details. He’s the guy over there," Jungwon points at a fellow operative who is fiddling with field laptops and radios.

Hyunwoo nods, the taste of impending action sharp and metallic on his tongue. This isn't the kind of 'excel' Park spoke of in abstract terms; this is raw, immediate, and potentially deadly. He turns towards the operative Jungwon indicates, a lean man with sharp features, his fingers flying across a keyboard. Minho looks up, his expression serious but not unwelcoming.

"Minho-yah, this is Hyunwoo," Jungwon states, his elbow still briefly on Hyunwoo's shoulder. "Get him set up. Access codes, comms, the full brief for Operation Sunrise." Minho offers a curt nod, gesturing to an empty workstation. "Follow me, Hyunwoo-yah. There's a lot to cover before your wake-up call tomorrow." Hyunwoo follows, the rhythmic tapping of Minho's keyboard already a part of the intense symphony of the 131. He is officially in.

-

The familiar click of the lock echoing in their apartment has never sounded sweeter to Hyunwoo. He peels off his uniform, shedding the weight of command and responsibilities of the 131. The day has been a whirlwind of intensity: new faces, a new unit, and the chilling reality of Operation Sunrise looming just hours away, but here, in the soft glow of their living room, that world feels distant.

"Oppa?" Seulgi's voice, warm and melodic, drifts from the kitchen. She emerges, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her eyes immediately finding his. A small, relieved smile touched her lips, mirroring the one that blooms on his own face. She doesn’t ask about his day—not yet. She just walks into his open arms, pressing herself against him as if reaffirming their anchor in the face of the raging storm outside.

They move through the evening in a quiet rhythm, a shared understanding of the precious hours they have. Dinner is simple but laced with an unspoken tenderness. Later, wrapped in each other's arms in the comfort of their bed, the world outside fades into insignificance. His fingers trace the curve of her spine, her breath warm against his chest. It is in that intimate stillness, just midnight, that the weight of his duty presses down on him again.

He shifts slightly, and Seulgi hums, snuggling closer. "I will start a new case before dawn," he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper against her hair. "It's... big. A warehouse raid." He feels her stiffen imperceptibly. "Heavily armed. Front line." He waits, bracing himself for her fear, for the tears, but when she finally speaks, her voice is steady, though laced with undeniable concern. "You'll be careful, right, oppa? You'll come back to me in one piece, right?" Her hands find their favorite spots on the small of his back, just right over his waist. “Of course I will, baby. I will come home right after the operation is finished.”

Seulgi buries her face into his chest, her breath a soft, warm sigh against his skin. She doesn't need to ask for more details; the weight of his words, the mention of being heavily armed, and the description of this operation are enough. His promise, however, settles deep within her, a fragile shield against the fear that still gnaws at the edges of her mind. She tightens her arms around him, as if to physically hold him to his vow.

“Oppa,” she murmurs. “What do you need from me tonight—you know, before you head out and start shooting at… at… erm, guys.” Hyunwoo looks at her tenderly, touched by her selflessness to prioritize him before the big, likely very dangerous, operation. “If it’s not too much…” he begins, “I’d like to touch you, baby.” Seulgi nods, a soft, beautiful eye smile decorating her features. “Of course, oppa. Vanilla, perhaps?” she asks, her thumb making circles on his cheek. “Yes, vanilla.”

He pulls her closer, and in the familiar embrace, the tension that has been coiling in his stomach all day slowly begins to unravel. "Vanilla," a word that, for them, means far more than just a flavor. It is a shared language of comfort, a return to basics, a deep, gentle intimacy that always soothes his frayed nerves and grounds him in their love. It isn't about fireworks or wild passion tonight; it is about reaffirming their connection, drawing strength from the safety of their bond.

“I’m ready for you, oppa,” she whispers, guiding his hand towards her growing wetness. Seulgi moans softly as his fingers run over her sensitive area, touching her over the soft fabric of her pants. “Oppa, don’t tease me too much, please…” she mumbles.

Hyunwoo's breath hitches, the playful plea a spark that ignites a deeper need within him. He sheds the last remnants of his duty from his mind, focusing solely on the warmth of her skin, the soft sounds she makes, and the urgent desire to lose himself completely in their shared world. His hand moves under the fabric, exploring the damp heat he finds there, eliciting a soft gasp from Seulgi as she arches into his touch.

“I… I will smack you if you don’t put it in within the next minute,” she threatens, each word carrying her desire for something greater—something more carnal. A low chuckle escapes Hyunwoo, his amusement growing at the sight of her demanding want. “That won’t be necessary, baby,” he whispers back. “I want you so bad myself.”

He pushes forward, a soft groan escaping his lips as he finally buries himself inside her. The fit is perfect, a familiar homecoming that sends a wave of relief through him, melting away any lingering tension from the day. Seulgi gasps, her legs instinctively wrapping around him, pulling him closer, deeper. The rhythmic creak of the bedsprings becomes a silent testament to their shared need, their desperate desire for connection before the impending chaos.

They move together, a primal, ancient dance of two souls intertwined, each seeking and giving profound comfort, pushing away the looming danger for this precious, fleeting time. In the hushed darkness of their room, their lovemaking becomes a desperate act of reaffirmation, a silent promise to return to this sanctuary, to each other, no matter what tomorrow brings. When the last tremors subside, leaving them breathless and spent, Hyunwoo holds Seulgi tightly against him, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in unison, a fierce, defiant beat against the quiet encroaching dawn.

-

Seulgi can only chew on her nails as she watches Hyunwoo prepare, her heart thumping at the sight of her better-equipped man. No longer is he a regular street policeman: he’s now a special operative within the force. She’s proud of him, yes, but just thinking about him being in the front line with bullets flying by, terrifies her beyond words.

“It’s amazing how you can act so professionally, as if you didn’t just try to put a baby in me,” she jokes, trying to steal his attention and distract herself from her worries. Hyunwoo turns his head to the side, showing her a calm smile, his hands still busy strapping things on. “Always quick with the jokes, as if I didn’t just try to put a baby in you,” he counters. Seulgi chuckles a little as her concerns gradually disappear. “You got me, oppa.”

Hyunwoo steps away from the closet, now fully geared, minus the firearms. He walks over to Seulgi, pulling her into a tight embrace, feeling the soft tremor in her body despite her earlier attempts at levity. He buries his face in her hair one last time, breathing in her familiar scent. "I'll be careful, baby," he murmurs, his voice rumbling low. "I promise. For you, and maybe for our baby."

The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken fears and profound affection. When the discreet vibration of his comms unit signals its time, Hyunwoo reluctantly pulls away. He takes her face in his hands, his gaze locking with hers, a silent vow passing between them. He gently presses a kiss on her forehead, lingering for a moment, then turns. As he heads for the door, he feels the familiar weight of the hairpin in his back pocket and the comforting presence of the strand of her hair over his heart—his twin anchors in the storm he's about to enter. He opens the door, the pre-dawn chill biting at the edges of their warm apartment, and he steps out into the silence of the hallway.

-

He steps into the cold silence of the hallway, the faint hum of the building's ventilation system the only sound. The warmth of their apartment and the soft scent of Seulgi, already seem miles away. Each step he takes towards the elevator feels heavier than the last, a steady march away from comfort and towards the sharp edge of duty. He presses the button for the ground floor, watching the numbers light up, counting down to the moment he steps out into the pre-dawn dark.

The police vehicle waits, engine idling, a dark, silent beast in the empty street. Inside, Jungwon is already in the driver's seat, his profile stark against the faint glow of the dashboard. "Right on time, Hyunwoo-yah," he says, his voice low and dry, lacking any humor. The atmosphere in the car is taut, charged with the quiet intensity of men preparing for battle. Hyunwoo slides into the passenger seat, the heavy weight of his rifle settling between his legs. He looks straight ahead, already mentally reviewing the operational brief, the world of his home receding into the distance, replaced by the grim reality of Operation Sunrise.

“Alright, let’s go!” Jungwon exclaims, banging on the roof of the vehicle, sending signals to those present to prepare for the worst while attempting the best. Hyunwoo closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, erasing the lingering thoughts about Seulgi and the intimacy they shared, clearing his mind for the operation ahead. “Nervous?” Jungwon asks, noticing his new partner’s behavior. “Something like that,” Hyunwoo answers, sighing heavily. “I mean, I went from a street cop to a special ops guy. I think I have the right to be nervous.” Jungwon chuckles and sighs after. “Yeah, I think you do. First times are always nerve wracking.”

"So, how do you deal with it?" Hyunwoo asks, turning his head slightly towards Jungwon, a genuine curiosity in his voice. "The nerves. The first times." The vehicle begins to move, the low rumble of the engine a counterpoint to the quiet tension inside.

Jungwon glances at him, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips, barely visible in the dim light of the dashboard. "You remember why you're doing it, Hyunwoo-yah. You remember the faces of the people you're protecting, even the ones you've never met, and then," he pauses, shifting gears as they pull onto the main road, the city lights a distant blur, "you just do your job. You trust your training, you trust your team, and you trust yourself. Everything else is just noise, and you’ll learn to shut it out." He turns his full attention back to the road, his grip firm on the steering wheel. “We’re going to be just fine, man,” Jungwon adds, offering assurance to Hyunwoo, his calm voice carrying genuine qualities.

-

The cars stop one block over as an attempt to be discreet, and the men cover the rest of the distance on foot, each person moving with purpose and fully understanding what to do and how to do it. The concrete pavement of the sidewalk creates echoes as their boots thump against it, the sound filling the dark that is silent otherwise.

“This is Gamma 1. Comms check,” Jungwon whispers into his radio, awaiting confirmation from his teammates. One person after another answers, whispering back their number and callsign—everyone but Hyunwoo. “Gamma 9, come in. Say something,” he demands. His captain’s voice snaps him out of his stupor, his eyes blinking rapidly as focus is regained. “Gamma 9, solid copy,” Hyunwoo finally answers. “Focus, Strider. This is not the time to fall asleep,” Jungwon reminds him.

"Understood, Gamma 1," Hyunwoo replies, his voice now crisp and devoid of any lingering hesitation. He takes a deep, steadying breath, feeling the cold metal of his rifle's foregrip against his gloved hand. The images of Seulgi and their apartment, which have flickered at the edge of his awareness, are consciously pushed back. His world shrinks to the immediate environment: the dark warehouse, the silent shadows of his team, the low static of the comms.

Jungwon's voice, relayed through the earpiece, is all business. "Teams are in position. Stone, Bone, report status." Muffled confirmations follow, along with a glint of a sniper scope that is seen on a nearby roof. "Gamma team, prepare for breach. On my mark." Hyunwoo drops into a low crouch, his eyes scanning the big metal door ahead, his training kicking in with an almost instinctual precision. The silence stretches again, broken only by the rapid thump of his own heart, a drumbeat counting down to the explosive beginning of Operation Sunrise.

“Mark!”

The slap charge blows the door open with a bang, the loud noise piercing the silent darkness, drawing the attention of those present from both sides of the operation. From other sides of the warehouse, sounds of shattered glass are heard, courtesy of the teams Stone and Bone, and one thing is clear now: the only way is forward.

“Flash out,” Jungwon commands. A couple of flashbangs are tossed around, disorienting those who get caught in the radii. Taking the small window of advantage that they have created, Gamma operatives begin moving, taking down the lesser-armed men around the perimeter.

Hyunwoo moves instinctively, his new rifle shouldering perfectly as he clears the doorway. The flashbangs' disorienting echo still rings in his ears, but his vision quickly cuts through the haze. He spots two figures, weapons raised, struggling against the blinding light. A quick, precise double tap from his rifle drops them silently. The familiar scent of cordite fills the air, a grim perfume of combat, reminding him he's truly back in the fray, deeper than ever before.

"Clear left!" Hyunwoo shouts, his voice sharp and controlled, sweeping his rifle around to scan for potential threat. Jungwon is a shadow beside him, moving with fluid efficiency, his own weapon spitting controlled bursts. They push deeper into the warehouse, the vast space dimly lit by emergency lights and the occasional muzzle flash. Boxes stacked high cast long, deceptive shadows, turning every corner into a potential ambush. The distant shouts and sporadic gunfire from Stone and Bone's sectors confirm the chaos has begun, solidifying their immediate objective: secure the perimeter, eliminate resistance, and find something to expose The Comrade and their pawns.

Hyunwoo takes cover behind a concrete pillar, peeking his head out slightly to see ahead, and his eyes widen at the massive threat in the back area. “Machine gun, machine gun, machine gun,” he warns his teammates, and they immediately take cover behind solid, less penetrable things. “Guardian, do you have visual?” Hyunwoo frantically asks for support. A confirmation rings in his ear; Guardian has his sniper rifle aimed right at the gunner. “Taking the shot,” he says. “Machine gunner down. I repeat, machine gunner is down.”

"Pushing forward!" Jungwon yells, his voice cutting through the comms. With the machine gunner neutralized, the immediate pressure eases, but the warehouse remains a labyrinth of danger. Hyunwoo sprints from his cover, his rifle sweeping, his eyes tracking movement in the oppressive shadows. Scattered gunfire still echoes from other sectors, indicating fierce resistance across the sprawling complex.

They advance systematically, clearing sections, checking behind crates and derelict machinery. The air is thick with the smell of dust, sweat, and something acrid – perhaps the lingering scent of chemicals from the drug operation. Suddenly, a figure darts from behind a stack of barrels. Hyunwoo's instincts take over, his finger already tightening on the trigger, but Jungwon barks a command: "Hold fire! Blue! Blue!" The figure, a young operative in dark tactical gear, spins to face them, his face smudged with grime but his eyes alert. "Yah," he pants, "we've got movement in the back. Heavy foot traffic heading towards the south end. Looks like they're trying to evacuate something."

“Stone team, listen,” Jungwon says to the comms, his voice laced with urgency and tension. “Prepare to engage; they’re coming your way.” Acknowledgments are heard through the comms, and the Gamma men make their way towards the back exit, hoping to pinch the bad guys between a rock and a hard place.

Hyunwoo moves with renewed purpose, his gaze fixed on the south end of the warehouse. The thought of them evacuating something crucial, possibly The Comrade himself or vital evidence, fuels a fresh surge of adrenaline. The metallic tang of anticipation fills his mouth. He can already hear the distant, muffled thud of footsteps rapidly approaching, accompanied by the clatter of what sounds like heavy equipment being dragged.

"Move! Move! Move!" Jungwon barks, urging the Gamma team forward. They sprint past towering stacks of crates, the shadows flickering around them, testing their discipline. The south exit looms ahead, a single, reinforced bay door that looks suspiciously quiet. Just as they reach it, the door suddenly snaps open, revealing a line of rifle barrels aimed at them. “Shit, take cover!” Jungwon screams, trying to get his teammates to look for safety in the face of immediate danger.

Bullets fly past them, and some are close enough to the point where Hyunwoo can hear them zipping over his head. His heart races, banging inside his chest, his breathing ragged and short. It is at this moment that he realizes he’s hiding behind a wooden crate, and before long, those gunners will try shooting through this crate to get him. In a state of panic, he sprints towards a concrete pillar that is similar to the previous one, hoping to be safe, but it was enough for one of the bad guys to put a bullet in his shoulder.

A searing pain explodes in Hyunwoo's shoulder, ripping through him and sending him sprawling against the cold concrete pillar. The impact knocks the wind from his lungs, and for a terrifying moment, all he can hear is the roar of blood in his ears, drowning out gunfire. His rifle clatters uselessly beside him. He presses his uninjured hand instinctively to the wound, his fingers coming away slick and warm.

"Strider! Status!" Jungwon's voice, strained with urgency, rips through his earpiece. Hyunwoo tries to respond, but a grunt of pain is all that escapes him. The world spins for a second, the dimly lit warehouse blurring, but a surge of adrenaline, cold and sharp, cuts through the pain. “Fuck—yah, cover Gamma 9!” Jungwon screams into the radio, trying to prevent his teammate from getting shot again.

The bullets continue to fly, impacting the pillar around Hyunwoo with sharp cracks, sending chips of concrete showering over him. He curls tighter, trying to make himself as small as possible, the pain in his shoulder now a dull, throbbing ache intensified by every jarring impact. Through the haze, he sees Jungwon’s shadowy form moving swiftly, laying down suppressing fire, forcing the enemy to pull back slightly.

Then, a heavy hand clamps down on his uninjured shoulder. "Can you move?" It's Jungwon, his face grim, eyes darting between Hyunwoo and the firing line. He doesn't wait for a full answer, already pulling Hyunwoo roughly but carefully back, away from the immediate line of fire, towards a larger, more secure barricade. "Gamma team, look to flank! Gamma 9 is down!" Jungwon yells into his comms, the urgency in his voice cutting through the ringing in Hyunwoo's ears. Hyunwoo grunts, forcing himself to his feet, leaning heavily on Jungwon, his vision still swimming, but the immediate threat of another bullet finding him spurs him onward.

Jungwon puts Hyunwoo behind a solid cover where he’s confident that he won’t get hurt again. “Hey, hey, stay with me, man,” Jungwon slaps his cheek multiple times, trying to get Hyunwoo to stay conscious. “I’m… trying,” Hyunwoo stammers, fighting the immense, searing pain on his shoulder. “M-medic… plea-please,” he begs. “They’re on their way, man. Just stay still for now.”

Hyunwoo presses his good hand harder against his shoulder, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it still seeps through his fingers, warm and sticky. His vision tunnels, narrowing to Jungwon’s grim face, then flickering to the distant flashes of gunfire. He can feel the cold creeping in, a dangerous numbness that isn’t just from the pain. He needs to stay awake. He needs to fight.

"Jungwon-ah..." Hyunwoo rasps, forcing his eyes open wide, fighting against the encroaching darkness, gripping Jungwon’s arm as hard as he can. “T-tell Seulgi, I… I love her with… everything I have.” Jungwon shakes his head vehemently, not entertaining his rambling. “Tell her yourself, man. You’re going to see her after this.” Jungwon grabs his radio, screaming into it, calling for medical help for his injured mate. “Fucking finally—hey, man, they’re almost here. Just stay with me for a minute.”

Hyunwoo’s grip on Jungwon’s arm loosens slightly, his eyelids fluttering, fighting the heavy pull of unconsciousness. The distant sounds of the raid, the shouts, the gunfire, all begin to fade into a muffled roar. He tries to focus on Jungwon's face, a blurred image against the chaotic backdrop, but the darkness is winning.

Suddenly, a new presence is beside them. Hands are on him, tearing at his uniform, and a voice, clear and concise, cuts through the haze. "Bullet's clean, through and through. Minimal arterial damage, but he's losing blood fast. Pressure here!" A tight, cold pressure clamps down on his shoulder, a different kind of pain, but one that promises relief. Hyunwoo grunts, a mix of agony and unconscious acknowledgment. He feels himself being carefully lifted, the ground shifting beneath him. He vaguely registers Jungwon's voice, now further away, giving orders, and then, the world finally dips into silent, velvet black.

-

Firm knocks are heard from the front door, and the loud sound stirs Seulgi from her slumber. “One second…” she mutters, dragging her feet towards the source of sound to greet whoever the hell is on the other side. She takes a look through the fisheye: there’s a woman in a police uniform at the door, the badge on her shirt similar to Hyunwoo’s. Seulgi rubs her eyes and tidies her hair, quickly removing signs of having just woken up.

“Good afternoon, officer,” she greets her, maintaining a straight face while her mind runs amok. “You must be Kang Seulgi, Kang Hyunwoo’s partner,” she says. Seulgi nods slowly, biting her lip nervously in reflex. “He has been hurt but is recovering. He asks to see you, so please follow me to the hospital,” the officer says, her voice nearly barren of emotions.

Seulgi's blood runs cold. The quiet hum of the apartment, which just hours ago was a sanctuary of shared intimacy, now feels hollow and vast. "Hurt... how badly?" she manages to ask, her voice barely a whisper, betraying the controlled composure she tries to maintain. Her earlier attempts at tidying her hair felt ludicrous, irrelevant.

The officer's eyes remain impassive, betraying nothing. "He's stable. The doctor will brief you fully at the hospital." She offers no further details, merely a slight tilt of her head, indicating the way. Seulgi swallows hard, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She grabs her phone, purse, and a sweater from the nearby hook, her movements stiff, almost mechanical. His promise to her—that he would come back in one piece—echoes in her mind, a fragile mantra against the sudden, overwhelming fear. Without another word, she steps out of her apartment, following the impassive officer into the chilling uncertainty of the afternoon.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of traffic and ringing silence inside the police vehicle. Seulgi stares out the window, but her mind is replaying snippets of the morning: the feel of his skin on hers, his warm embrace, and his hot release during their shared intimacy. Each memory is a painful counterpoint to the dread coiling in her stomach. The officer drives efficiently, occasionally glancing at her in the rearview mirror, but never offering comfort or explanation.

When they arrive, Seulgi is directed to follow a nurse to Hyunwoo’s room. As they walk together, the air in the hospital seems to grow colder and colder, forcing Seulgi to hug herself tightly, her sweater doing its best to block the cold. “He’s in this room,” the nurse points at a closed door at the end of the hallway, “please be careful around him; he’s injured, after all.”

Seulgi nods weakly, her gaze fixed on the closed door before her. She pushes the door open slowly, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. Her eyes immediately find him. He's pale, lying in the hospital bed, a pristine white bandage stark against his shoulder, a tube running from an IV drip into his arm. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow, and for a terrifying moment, her heart stops. Then, just as tears begin to sting her eyes, his eyelids flutter open, and his gaze, though weary, finds hers. A weak, familiar smile touches his lips. "Seulgi-yah," he rasps, his voice rough. “I love you, baby.”

Seulgi instantly breaks down crying, crumbling under the weight of those four words that are otherwise lighthearted if said under any other circumstances. She puts her head on his chest, unable to bear the sight of him, usually so strong and steadfast, lying in bed in a hospital after getting injured in duty. “Baby…” he whispers, his hand searching for hers. “Please don’t cry. It’s not as bad as it seems,” he adds, trying to make the stress more bearable for her.

Seulgi sniffles, lifting her head slightly, her tear-streaked face finding his. "But... but you said you'd come back in one whole piece, oppa," she whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. She holds his searching hand, her fingers trembling slightly as they interlace with his. His skin feels warm, reassuringly so, despite the cold hospital air.

Hyunwoo manages another weak smile, his gaze steady despite the fatigue etched around his eyes. "I mean, I did come back in one piece, baby. This is just... a minor inconvenience." He squeezes her hand gently, trying to inject some of his usual playful charm into his voice, though it's still rough. Seulgi lightly smacks him on the chest. “Very funny, Kang Hyunwoo,” she snarks, but a smile is starting to bloom on her tear-streaked face.

"See? That's what I like to see," Hyunwoo rasps, his weak smile strengthening slightly as her tears begin to subside. He looks at her, his gaze filled with a profound love that transcends the sterile hospital room. He then glances towards the door, his professional urgency flickering to the surface even in his weakened state.

“Did you see any of my colleagues out there?” Seulgi follows his gaze, looking at the door like him. “I mean, just… just the female officer who brought me here.” Her gaze returns to him quickly. “Why, is there anyone you’re looking for?” He manages a small nod. “My captain,” he says. “I’m just wondering if the operation was successful.” Seulgi sighs deeply, not entirely liking him still thinking about the operation. “Let’s not think about that right now.”

Hyunwoo manages a small, rueful smile, acknowledging her unspoken concern. "I know, baby, but... it's important. We were right in the middle of it when I went down. Jungwon-ie was covering me." He winces slightly as he tries to shift, the movement tugging at his bandaged shoulder. "Did the doctor or nurse say anything else?"

Seulgi gently places her hand over his, stilling his restless movements. "No, oppa. Just that you're stable, and that the doctor will brief me properly when they come." She squeezes his hand. "Please, just rest now. You're safe. That's all that matters to me." Her gaze is unwavering, a silent plea for him to let go of the mission for a moment and focus on himself. Feeling content in the knowledge that he’s loved and cared for, Hyunwoo closes his eyes, seemingly trying to get some rest. “You’re all that matters to me, baby,” he echoes.

Seulgi watches him, a fresh wave of tears stinging her eyes, but these are tears of relief now, not terror. She gently strokes his hair, her fingers tracing the contours of his forehead, pushing away the stray strands. The room fills with a quiet calm, broken only by the soft beeping of the IV machine and the rhythmic sound of Hyunwoo’s breathing, which slowly deepens as he drifts into a much-needed, pain-medicated sleep.

-

“Operatives Kang Hyunwoo and Lee Jungwon,” Superintendent Park says their names out loud in front of the crowd. “For your bravery and selflessness in service with Unit 131, I present you both… the Sentinel Star.” Claps, from both fellow officers and civilians in attendance, fill the field in which they are gathered.

Hyunwoo stands tall beside Jungwon, the crisp lines of his uniform a stark contrast to the hospital gown he'd worn just weeks ago. His shoulder still twinges, a constant reminder of the chaos of Operation Sunrise, but the pain is a dull echo compared to the pride swelling in his chest. Superintendent Park's voice rings out, clear and strong, acknowledging their names in front of the assembled crowd of fellow officers, uniformed dignitaries, and a scattering of civilians.

The Sentinel Star medal, cool and heavy, settles against his chest as Park pins it on. The applause that follows is deafening, a wave of genuine appreciation that washes over him. He glances to his left, catching Jungwon's eye. His captain's usual wry humor is replaced by a solemn pride, a silent acknowledgment of the crucible they had been through together.

In the sea of faces, Hyunwoo's gaze finds Seulgi. She stands near the front, her eyes shining with tears, a proud, tender smile blooming on her lips. He offers her a small, private nod, a silent reaffirmation of his promise to always come back to her. This medal isn't just for him; it's for them, for the life they're building, for the sacrifices they both make.

Stepping off the podium, Hyunwoo makes his way towards the crowd of civilians, and Seulgi is quick to find him. She crashes into him, hugging him tightly and peppering pecks on his face, not caring about making such an affectionate scene in public. “I’m so proud of you, oppa,” she declares without even the smallest trace of hesitation in her voice. “Thank you, love. I’m so thankful for you, you know.” Seulgi giggles, her cheeks tinted in a pink hue. “You’re so—wait, what are you doing?"

Seulgi can only look at him as Hyunwoo gets down on one knee, her mouth stuck open at the sight of a velvet box in his hand. “Kang Seulgi, will you marry me?” he asks, his voice calm yet emotionally charged. Tears—an abundance of them—begin to freely flow onto her cheeks, taken completely aback by the abrupt nature of his proposal. “Yes! One thousand times yes!” Seulgi exclaims, her voice shaking with emotions.

The crowd, which has momentarily hushed in stunned silence, now erupts into a fresh wave of cheers and applause, far louder and more personal than the commendation ceremony. Seulgi throws her arms around Hyunwoo, pulling him up from his knee, her joyful sobs muffled against his neck. He holds her tight, burying his face in her hair, feeling the tremor of her happiness and relief. The ring, now gleaming on her finger, felt heavier and more precious than any medal.

Later, as the crowd thins and the formalities begin to wind down, Jungwon approaches them, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. "Took you long enough, Strider," he quips, clapping Hyunwoo on the shoulder, careful of his still-healing wound. "Congratulations, Seulgi-ssi. You have a good one, even if he did get himself shot on his first day." Seulgi laughs, wiping away the last of her tears. "I know, Captain Lee, and thank you—for everything." Jungwon gives them a firm nod, holding back tears of his own at the sight of an emotional moment. “Again, congratulations, you two. I wish you good life together.”

-

That evening, after a particularly productive physical therapy session for Hyunwoo and a quiet dinner, the reality of their engagement truly settles in. The apartment is bathed in the soft glow of twilight, a hushed intimacy filling the air. Seulgi, who has been tracing lazy circles on his bandaged shoulder, looks up at him, her eyes soft with a mixture of tenderness and unyielding desire.

"You're a hero, you know," she murmurs, her fingers moving from his shoulder to his cheek. "My hero." She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a gentle invitation for something greater. "And tonight, my hero owes me some good sex." Her voice is a playful whisper, but beneath it, Hyunwoo hears the raw need, the unspoken relief that he is here, whole enough to be touched.

Hyunwoo chuckles, the sound a low rumble in his chest. "Is that so?" he rasps, his own desire stirring to life, his good arm pulling her closer. "Considering what I went through to get here, I'd say I've earned it." His fingers find the hem of her sweater, slowly gliding underneath, teasing her skin. This isn’t about comforting nerves or facing fear tonight; this is a celebration. A celebration of survival, of commitment, of a future they fight to secure.

Seulgi gasps as his touch spreads warmth through her. "Absolutely earned," she breathes, helping him shed his shirt, her gaze lingering on the scar tissue blooming on his shoulder. There is a moment of tender reverence as her fingers lightly traced the edge of the bandage. He pulls her down onto the bed, their bodies meeting with a familiar comfort, a deep sigh escaping them both. Their kisses grow more ardent, tasting of shared joy and undeniable passion. Hands explore, rediscovering familiar contours and secret places, each touch a testament to their enduring love and the vibrant life they now embraced without hesitation. The soft moans that filled the room were not of fear or pain, but of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a triumphant symphony of their engagement night.

[grandline-fics]

id like to request something - desperate kiss prompt with kid💗 love how you write him hihi

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Desperate Kiss

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Kid

WORDS: 822

A/N: Thank you for the request! I also didn't realise it's Kid's birthday until I was finishing this. I hope you like what I came up with for Kid and this particular prompt

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

Kid was always so self-assured, confident to the point some would call it arrogance. He was a true pirate, he wasn’t going to just roll over and let someone else take something he wanted. He also wasn’t going to just give up on pursuing something he wanted because someone was there first. Life was too short in his eyes to live anything but how he wanted and he did it unapologetically. Kid thought he was unshakable and never considered himself capable of hesitation. Then you had to come along and throw a wrench into his perception and the worst part? You had no idea what you did to him and with every passing moment of being around you he felt like he was slowly losing grip on the situation and going mad. 

On the calm, dark waters the Victoria Punk idly sailed through Kid had settled into his watch for the night. Knowing how bored Kid could get you decided to join him at least for a little while. To pass the time you shared a drink and idly chatted, mostly reminiscing about past adventures and tavern brawls. Which led you to talk about the most recent trip on shore that had gotten out of hand. 

“That poor guy didn’t have a clue what was happening.” You laughed with a small shake of your head. “Did you really have to punch him with your metal hand though?”

“Why not? Fucker had it coming.”

“Maybe it was the drink I had that night but I can’t remember him really doing anything to warrant a fight until everyone got involved.” You tired to focus your memory but still nothing came to mind. “I mean one minute he was boasting about his own crew then you appeared.”

“You forgot the part he tried to recruit you to his crew.” Kid explained and you gasped, reaching out to grab Kid’s arm as the memory sharpened. 

“That’s right!” You laughed, how could you have forgotten? Then you grinned broadly. “Were you scared I’d be sweet-talked into switching crews?”

“Don’t be a moron.” Kid scoffed, doing nothing to move away from your touch. “I wasn’t letting some nobody think he could take what’s mine.” Your smile stretched at Kid’s choice of words. You were part of the crew long enough to interpret what he’d been trying to say. You were his crew, a member of his family and he was a very possessive person and violently protective of the things that were important to him. To think his motivations went beyond looking out for a member of his crew wasn’t even in your mind to consider. 

“That’s what makes you the best Captain there is.” You smiled before finishing your drink. With a sigh you got up from your seat, taking his empty mug into your hand as well. Kid watched you carefully, his mouth falling into a scowl as he realised you were turning in for the night and he still had a handful of hours to endure a boring watch. You spotted his sour expression and mistook it for the earlier topic of conversation. Playfully you rolled your eyes and leaned down, pressing a kiss against your Captain’s forehead. “Promise I’m not going anywhere Captain. Stop worrying okay?”

You smiled and as much as you wanted to head straight to bed, you instead began to head for the kitchen to leave off the mugs you’d both been drinking from. The last thing you wanted was a lecture from Killer about the deck being left in a mess needlessly. Behind you, you could have sworn you heard Kid mutter ‘fuck this’ and thought he was cutting the rest of his watch short because of of how quiet it was. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that so it wasn’t entirely unexpected. What was unexpected though was when you heard his rushed footsteps drawing closer. As you reached for the door to the galley you were sharply turned and your back pushed against the solid wooden door. “Kid, what the-”

Before you could finish your question, Kid’s hand secured itself against your hip and his lips pressed hungrily and eagerly against yours. Fuelled purely by the desperate need for you to see him as more than just a Captain and desperate for you to finally see how he felt about you he couldn’t help but act the way he had. Against your lips, his arrogant grin crept in when he heard you drop the mugs in your hands as your mind caught up to what was happening. As the clattered loudly against the floor, you grabbed his arm and the back of his neck, returning the kiss at last with equal need. Inwardly he berated himself for doubting himself and hesitating making a move, because had he known kissing you would be like this he would have done this a long time ago.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut

[yuurei20]

Received a request for a summary of last month's Savanaclaw voice cast special episode of Twst Radio! (very sorry for the delay!)

Highlights: ・Leona dressed as a bumblebee ・Ruggie's VA dancing with Cater's VA at TwstFes ・Leona's VA saying he would like to be a baby hippo

0:00 - 

Ruggie’s VA Ichikawa Aoi (🍩) and Jack’s VA Ban Taito (🐺) are regular hosts for the show, so it begins with them introducing themselves, the show and then Leona’s VA Umehara Yuuichirou (🦁). They talk about how it is 🦁’s first time on the show.

2:40 -

The “opening talk” is a topic for them to discuss set by the previous’ installments guests (team Pomefiore), and this month’s theme is “Halloween memories,” as the show ran on October 31st.

🐺 talks about going dressing up in a sheet, cutting eye holes and wearing it as a ghost, and rollerblading around as a child. 

🦁 says he has a vague memory that might have been from Halloween, of dressing up like a bumblebee in kindergarten with his older sister. (If you saw fanart of Leona dressed as a bee around this day, this is why ww)

🍩 says that Halloween became more of a thing when he was in college, and he would dress up in costume and wander around with his friends.

6:00 - 

Reading a letter from a listener: the writer says that Azul and Vil are their favorite characters and they have decorated their room in Azul- and Vil-motifs. They are excited about the new birthday series and are looking forward to Vil and Azul’s cards. They ask, do the VAs have a routine at home that they follow all the time? The writer says that their routine is spraying Azul and Vil’s room fragrances and drinking tea. 

🍩 says he has nothing at all. 

🦁 “What do you do when you have some extra time to kill at home?”

🍩 “I lie spread-eagled and stare at the ceiling”

🐺 “That’s your routine, then.”

They laugh ww

🐺 says he plays darts before he goes to bed, and also does moxibustion.

🦁 wants to say he has no routine but 🍩 used that answer already ww

He says he has no particular routine anymore, but a long time ago he had a habit of sleeping on the floor. Not so much on purpose but he would wake up in the mornings and realize he had spent the night on the floor. But it’s not happening anymore. He says it was probably because he used to have a rug that he got rid of when he moved. Without the rug he stopped falling asleep on the floor by accident.

09:54 -

Time for Savanaclaw talk! Their themes are “Impressions of Leona/Jack/Ruggie,” “About voicing Leona/Jack/Ruggie”, “About the main story.”

Impressions of Leona:

🦁 There might be more that he is uncertain about than it appears. But from outside he looks very calm and collected. He doesn’t like having to go out of his way to do things, and yet he still looks out for others. 

🍩 I get the feeling that he really looks out for other people.

🦁 And the other people in the dorm stick with him.

🍩 He’s highly respected.

Impressions of Jack:

🦁 He’s rugged.

🐺 says Jack has things that he refuses to concede on and that seems to set him apart from the other students in the dorm.

Impressions of Ruggie:

🐺 He’s got a lot of appeal.

🍩 He has a backbone. He is determined to survive. 

🐺 And he’s a proper senpai. He is really good at looking out for others in his way. 

About voicing Leona:

🦁 says that in relation to the story he has to always keep in mind how quick-thinking and intelligent Leona is. He has the desire to help his country but does not say it out loud, but 🦁 feels that that is being portrayed in the brief times that Leona does talk. He says this feeling is getting stronger now, in recent recordings, than it was in the beginning. He says that he can really feel how Leona is watching everyone around him. 

🐺 says he wants Leona to be his supervisor at work ww “He’ll compliment you!”

🍩 but he’s always sleeping

🦁 pretty much

🍩 and he won’t compliment you to your face. 

🦁 he’ll only compliment you behind your back.

🐺 I may have to rethink this.

🦁 I bet he only eats grilled meat.

🍩 He doesn’t eat vegetables.

🦁 So if you go out to eat together…

🐺 That might be a bit much.

🍩 He’ll only give you the vegetables.

🐺 I need to think about it.

About voicing Jack:

🐺 says that Jack is straight-forward and serious, but there are times when he really acts his age, as he is only 16. So he has to always keep in mind the fact that Jack is still only a first-year student. And when he clashes with someone, he is willing to admit when he is wrong. 

🍩 He shows a kind of tough-guy attitude, or something of a stubbornness beneath the surface, because he is so young. Has your impression of him changed since the beginning?

🐺 He’s good at looking out for others—that’s for sure. He says he’s a lone wolf but he doesn’t seem to dislike communication with those around him at all. 

🍩 Yeah, the first-years have a lot of scenes together.

🐺 He seems to be very conscious of his group and its unity. He wasn’t open to others in the beginning, but is always willing to acknowledge the abilities of others. He is very compassionate towards the people he admires, and will smile at them. I think over time he has begun showing his emotions more.

🍩 Feels a bit like he’s coming to show his true self.

About voicing Ruggie:

🍩 There is always this conscious effort to not reveal everything on his mind. 

🦁 He is in something of a trickster. He has a lot of roles to fill.

🍩 Ultimately, I think Ruggie’s philosophy around taking action revolves around ensuring his own survival and keeping his family alive. Personally, he’s very conscious of things in terms of mutual interests, and although he puts on a charming act, he consciously tries not to reveal what he is really thinking. He ultimately focuses on efficiency and acts based on where he can benefit, so he doesn't waste time on unnecessary things. And the “shishishi” is second nature to me, now. I no longer struggle with it.

🐺 Has your impression of him changed over the years?

🍩 I feel like I’ve said this already somewhere before, but at first I thought that Ruggie disliked Leona. 

🦁 At the very beginning, right.

🍩 I would really wonder how much of this I should show, like how much of Ruggie's behavior towards Leona should be portrayed as flattering or genuine dislike. When receiving direction I would ask, ‘Does Ruggie dislike Leona? Does he like him?’ The way Ruggie feels has changed a lot from the beginning. He doesn’t dislike Leona or Jack; if anything, their interests align, and they’re working in the same direction, so he doesn’t dislike them. It’s not really a matter of like or dislike, it’s not something that fits into a simple category. It’s more like he doesn’t categorize things like that, and I am always conscious of that in recordings.

🦁 Ruggie and Jack really do respect Leona.

🍩 He’s the leader.

🦁 I really get that feeling, yeah.

🐺 I feel like Jack is looking at Leona as someone on a level that he wants to surpass.

20:44 - 

Main Story Talk: A general review of the plots of Book 2 and Book 3.

🍩 As I was watching the main story, I started thinking, the way the Savanaclaw members solve problems is actually kind of villainous, or it’s like they have bad habits. The characteristics of the dorm really comes through in the way they solve their problems, and I actually quite liked their approach.

🦁 They stole the key to the VIP room.

🐺 Leona turned the contracts to sand. That’s certainly one way to do it. From Jack’s perspective it was “Wow, my senpai are amazing.”

🍩 He wouldn’t forgive them for the spelldrive tournament, but he was fine with how they solved things in Book 3.

🐺 For Jack, since they accomplished their goal using a method he was incapable of doing himself, he was very impressed.

A general discussion of Leona playing the hydra game in Book 6 and 🦁 playing it during Twst Fes, where the players were going to win an in-game gift if 🦁 got a certain score and 🦁 promised to pay for everyone himself if he failed.

🐺 Weren’t you nervous?

🦁 Not at all.

🐺 Talks about how how 🦁 never seems nervous and 🦁 says that his nervousness just doesn’t communicate to other people, who often comment on how relaxed he seems.

🐺 asks when he gets nervous and 🦁 says there are times when he gets nervous during events. But he wasn’t nervous about Twst Fes. He apologizes ww

🦁 says that he will fumble lines during recordings sometimes when he is nervous, but since he never looks nervous, it always looks like he is just messing up apropos of nothing

More Book 6 plot talk. They talk about how Leona only compliments Jack in times like this when Jack is not around to hear him.

🍩 It would make Jack so happy if he knew.

🐺 Absolutely.

🍩 Ruggie would rather receive cash than words.

🐺 Are you the type who compliments people to their faces, 🦁?

🦁 I might be the type to compliment people to their backs. But I am often watching people.

🍩 Me too

🐺 I gotta be more careful

🐺 talks about a conversation he had backstage at Twst Fes with 🦁 , where 🦁 complimented 🐺’s performance, and it made his heart flutter.

🍩 says that at that same time he been dancing with Cater’s VA backstage ww

Book 7 plot talk.

28:45 - 

Review of the upcoming in-game release schedule

31:54 - 

Ending talk.

🦁 says the radio show is fun, and it is the first time the three of them have gotten together since Twst Fes. 

They set next month’s opening talk topic: what type of animal would you be if you were a beast person?

🦁 Hippo.

🐺🍩 Hippo?

🐺 wwwwww. Why.

🦁 There is that really cute baby hippo.

🍩 The video where it’s really angry.

🦁 I didn’t realize that hippos could be that cute.

🍩 You want to be a small hippo? They sweat red, you know.

🐺🦁 Really?

🍩 It’s pretty scary. They have strong biting strength, too.

🦁 Just a baby hippo then. To stay cute.

🐺 I’d be a cat.

🍩 What would you do?

🐺 I’d like it if people would tell me I’m cute.

🦁 An at-home cat? Stray cat?

🐺 Home.

Everyone laughs.

🐺 All I have to do is sleep and people will say I am wonderful and cute. That’s how I want to live.

🍩 Do you know red-eyed crocodile skinks?

🦁 What is that?

🍩 Because they’re cute.

🦁 What even are those? You know what those are?

🐺 Yeah I know what they are. The ones that are easily frightened, right?

🍩 Yeah, they’re cool. I don’t know if they’d count as beast people though, since they’re reptiles.

🐺 Did I say this one a livestream? I have a leopard gecko.

🦁 I know those, the leopard…thing, I’ve heard of those. They’re cute, right?

🐺🍩 They’re cute.

35:46 - 

Closing and over!

[shitsndgiggs]

Hey there is this one fic where you did kenan going through our text messages can you do one where we are going through his text messages

Ty🐧

TABLES TURNED - KENAN YILDIZ

You reacting to Kenan’s DMs

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, the kind where you stay in pajamas and lounge around with no particular plans.

Kenan and I were sprawled on the couch, his head resting on my lap as I absentmindedly ran my fingers through his hair.

I had my phone in one hand, scrolling aimlessly, when I suddenly remembered the TikTok trend that Kenan and I had done the other day—where he read through my DMs and reacted to the chaos in them.

The memory of his over-the-top reactions, dramatic sighs, and occasional bouts of jealousy still made me laugh.

“What’re you laughing at?” Kenan asked, tilting his head up to look at me, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied, grinning mischievously. “Just thinking about how hilarious you were during the DM thing.”

Kenan groaned. “Don’t remind me. Your DMs were a lot.”

“Exactly,” I said, poking his cheek. “And now it’s your turn.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

“You heard me,” I said, grabbing his phone from the coffee table before he could react. “We’re doing ‘My Girlfriend Reacts to My DMs.’”

Kenan shot up from my lap, attempting to snatch the phone back, but I dodged him, clutching it like my life depended on it. “Oh, no you don’t!” I teased. “You had your fun with my DMs—this is payback.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, trying to sound casual, but I caught the nervous edge in his voice.

“Kenan,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” he said quickly. Too quickly. “But you know how people can be in there… It’s not worth your time!”

“Oh, it’s definitely worth my time,” I shot back, unlocking his phone. “Now let’s see what we’ve got here.”

I started scrolling through his Instagram DMs while he sat next to me, shifting uncomfortably.

The first few messages were harmless—just fans expressing their admiration for his game or wishing him luck.

“Aw, this one’s sweet,” I said, showing him a message from a little kid asking for advice on how to become a football player. “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Kenan relaxed a bit. “Yeah, those are fine. That’s most of them, honestly.”

“Hmm, let’s see about that.” I scrolled further, and that’s when the real fun began.

“You’re so fine. If you ever need a rebound, hit me up. I’d take care of you better than your girl ever could.”

I read it aloud, my voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Oh, really? ‘Better than your girl ever could,’ huh?”

Kenan’s jaw dropped. “Who even says that?! Delete it. Block her. I don’t know her!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No! Absolutely not,” he said, looking genuinely distressed. “She’s delusional. You know that.”

Next DM: “I have dreams about you, Kenan. Just one night is all I’d need.”

I choked on a laugh. “What do you even say to this?”

“I don’t say anything!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I don’t even open them!”

“Sure, Mr. Modesty,” I teased. “I bet you love the attention.”

“Only from you,” he said, trying to butter me up.

Another one: A voice memo. I played it, and an overly dramatic voice purred, “Hey, Kenan. Just saw your game… You looked so hot out there. Maybe we could celebrate your win sometime? My treat.”

I looked at him with a mock-serious expression. “So… do you take her up on the offer, or…?”

Kenan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Y/N, stop. This is so embarrassing.”

“No way,” I said, grinning. “This is amazing.”

Then came the kicker: A series of messages from someone who had clearly been trying to shoot her shot for months. Each one was thirstier than the last.

The most recent read: “If you ever get tired of your girlfriend, just know I’m waiting for my chance. I’d treat you like the king you are, baby.”

I dramatically gasped. “Kenan, how could you not reply to such a devoted admirer?”

“I didn’t ask for any of this!” he defended himself. “You know I only care about you.”

I leaned in close, pretending to scrutinize him. “Hmm. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

By the time I finished going through the DMs, Kenan looked like he’d been through the wringer.

His face was flushed, his hands in his hair, and he kept muttering about how unfair this was.

“Relax,” I said, setting his phone down. “It’s all in good fun.”

“For you, maybe,” he grumbled, but I could see the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You survived,” I teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And now I know you’re not secretly entertaining your fan club.”

“You didn’t have to do all that to know that,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around me. “You’re the only one I want, Y/N. Always.”

I couldn’t help but smile, my heart melting a little at his sincerity. “Good. Because I’m not sharing you with anyone.”

“Same goes for me,” he said, pulling me closer.

“But just so you know… I’m never letting you go through my DMs again.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing. “But only because I already got the content I needed.”

“You’re impossible,” Kenan muttered, but his grin gave him away as he kissed me.

[xo2dee]

So I know I requested something but this was just kind of an emergency request not in the sense that like it can't wait to be answered but in the sense that it was so sudden to ask and such, idk if that makes sense I hope it does anyways here it goes, if you would like you could just ignore the other request or what not I'm not sure but my grandad just passed away a week or so ago and it's the first major death I've ever had to deal with in my little 24 years of life. I was wonder how would Dante or Vergil comfort me, he was the closest thing I had to a father. Anyways thank you I live for your writing. ❤ also if you choose not to answer this request that is also okay too. I'll still happily enjoy the other pieces you write.

PAIRING: Dante/Reader. WARNINGS: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Grief. WORD COUNT: 917.

A/N: first i hope you're doing okay babe, and im so sorry for your loss, and i hope by writing this i hope it makes you feel better and i chose dante for it since he feels a little easier giving a situation like this. i do hope you enjoy this and best wishes to you right now 🤍

DMC MASTERLIST

Feet dragging as you moped up the stairs and into your bedroom with the migraine of the century, you couldn’t help the stinging behind reddened eyes and your chest caving in on itself as you fought to come to terms with everything that happened in your life recently.

Losing a loved one was never something you wished to happen to anyone, let alone did you think it’d happen to yourself so suddenly and leave you grasping for precious memories after the shock finally settled in. The days leading up to the service and finally putting them to rest for how they asked was another grueling process on its own, and even then your emotional and mental state had taken a beating in all terms once you finally sat down alone and tried to fight your way through your mind. Or perhaps when you spent too long in the shower or bed, scowling as your throat began to close in itself and the tears began to blur your vision, but you had to remind yourself that you weren’t alone in having to suffer through grief. Not when you had someone who had an idea of just exactly what you were dealing with.

Dante had been nothing but the very thought of just what you needed in a time of loss – his touch bringing you solace and his humor brightening up your days as he pulled teeth and nails of his own to get you to smile and feel at ease.

Dante’s presence at your side was always a welcome one, whether he was just there to sit by your side or leaning into your body in his own form of physical affection, and in your moments of grief and adjusting to what had happened so suddenly he’d been there for you through and through. He’d been practically attached to you by the hip for a week, calloused hands shifting to soothe at your back or fingertips smoothing down the frowning lines that had taken to live on your forehead as your moods had plummeted for the time being. His words had been soft as was his touch to comfort you, his statement of “I have an idea of what you’re going through, but I wanna hear everything you wanna say.”, making you sigh and relax in his hold once you remembered you were in the presence of someone who could understand your grief to an extent.

He'd been so patient with you – never once teasing you when you didn’t immediately get up from bed to start the day, not caring how you stopped holding up your appearance for a time, making sure you stayed fed and hydrated in case you forgot to do either, and really, he was just there. A constant existence next to you with open arms and warmth beyond recognition to let you seek in particular awful moments at night. How many times had Dante let you just silently cry into his chest before you fell asleep there? It had been nothing but his arms holding you as he alternated between just letting you cry it out and a brief word or two to keep you in better spirits.

Yet as it went on, you couldn’t help but think you were beginning to wear down on Dante with the toll death was beginning to take on you.

And as you laid on the bed, yawning as the exhaustion of everything in life creeping up on you, you felt the mattress dip as Dante sat the edge of the bed and the back of his fingers caressed your face as you laid there. The touch made you sigh, and your eyelashes fluttered to keep back the treacherous weeping you’d done enough of while he was around, and you could only sniff through it and trying to bury yourself deeper into the sheets to avoid pestering him again. However, Dante was never one to let you slip so easily through his arms no matter the emotion you were feeling, pulling the sheets back away from your shivering form as he pulled you into his lap before his lips spoke comfort against your temple.

“You don’t have to be strong around me, y’know. It’s okay to not be okay and to not be strong. It’s okay to cry, and if you can’t cry that’s okay too. Don’t let anyone else tell you how to grieve.”

The caving of your chest suddenly felt too weighted with how it exploded in a myriad of different emotions, the first lone tear slipping from your eye a silent one as you hummed and turned your face into his neck for further warmth. Grief was an emotion you could taste as the tear nearly slipped through your lips, but in your heart you couldn’t help the love and elation you felt once Dante had confirmed he wasn’t giving up on you at all, and he’d be there regardless and no matter how long it took for you to be yourself again. And as long as you had Dante by your side, you knew you had those steppingstones along the way.

He shifted again to hold you better, thumb swiping away the tear sitting on your top lip as your ear listened to the soothing melody of his heartbeat before he asked, “What can I do?”

You could only smile, moving your hand until you were interlocking your fingers with his as you opened your eyes to meet his gaze, “You just did it.”

[catslvrr]

you know all my dreams (you were one)

danielle marsh x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Being a superhero involves a lot of saving, like saving people from burning buildings, saving cats stuck in trees, and even saving yourself from being evicted from your apartment. There’s one thing that you haven’t saved yet, and that’s your relationship with Danielle.

Contains: cursing, blood, violence, death, cliche hero stuff

You would like to believe that you are a good roommate.

But when you come tumbling through the window, landing with a raucous thud, all you have the strength to do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to the heavens that your roommate graciously ignores you. Again.

This is the fourth time in a week that you have managed to enter your room in such a manner. You rely on the fact that your roommate is abnormally nocturnal and is most likely asleep by now.

You grimace as you remember that one time you accidentally crashed through her window, blacked out, and woke up to her grim face as she poked you with her foot. It wasn’t that far off from how she originally found out you were Spider-Woman two years ago.

It had been a rough day. You didn’t leave exactly scot-free after fending off the attempted escape of some maximum security prisoners at the Raft. 

This attempt may have been catalyzed by the recent blackout that you may have caused by fighting off another escape attempt, but who’s to say that’s the case?

Regardless, all escapees were given a scenic swing, free of charge, straight back to prison—a temporary one anyway. Now all you had to worry about was making it home in one piece.

By the time you reach home, the muscles in your arms giving in from the endless web-slinging, you don’t have enough energy in you to ease your landing (which really just meant trying to land on cool superhero poses). You swoop right onto the floor, face-down and limbs sprawled out like a measly bug helplessly trapped in a web.

You’re not entirely sure of the full extent of your injuries in the moment—mostly because of the way your whole body is burning, reminiscent of the building you were thrown into, but you’re pretty confident you have at least multiple bruised ribs, a black eye, and a mild concussion. 

“So, all things considered,” you say half-heartedly to no one in particular. “Not too bad.”

(Future note: You actually also had one fractured toe.)

You’re happily drifting off into unconsciousness, with nothing but the belated, slightly panicked thought of whether you locked your door or not, when three sudden strikes at your door jolt you awake.

Suppressing a groan, you roll over and pull yourself up as best as possible, ignoring the way your ribs scream at you. God, you were in so much pain. You let out a breathy exhale and even muster a crooked smile, even though you know your roommate can’t see you.

“Roomie! What’s up?”

A pause. 

You cringe. Seriously, ‘Roomie’? You should’ve gone with the name you saw on the leasing contract.

(When you first saw it, you thought that the lease was some sort of scam, because your roommate’s signature looked like someone trying to draw Australia from memory. Upon further questioning of the landlord, you were left with the information that your new roommate, Haerin, was indeed real.)

Before you can even apologize for your lame attempt at a greeting, Haerin’s response comes curtly.

“There was a crash.”

You pick up on a slight inflection of curiosity in Haerin’s tone—is glad that despite her nosiness, she didn’t decide to barge in and see you in your full Spider-suit glory. You force out a chuckle, hoping your roommate doesn’t notice the strain.

“Oh—right. I just fell. Tripped over my own feet. I mean, while dancing. Well. Trying to, you know?” 

Your embarrassment grows with every word that bumbles out of your mouth, and when the heat in your cheeks is too much to bear, you manage out a simple:

“Yep,” to eloquently finish it all off. You cross your fingers and hope your roommate doesn’t question the fact that there is no music playing at all.

You barely hear a non-committal hum over the pounding in your ears, and only release your breath when you hear the familiar obnoxious typing of keys, finding your heartbeat in tandem with its rhythm.

There are some things you can always depend on, and one of those things is Haerin’s perpetual typing as she attempts to finish her journalism assignments at the last minute. The incessant clicking of the keyboard gradually becomes soothing, almost therapeutic. You pass out before you can even register any sliver of drowsiness.

And then you wake up to a deafening bang and splinters of your doors ricocheting toward you. 

Reflexively, you flick your wrist, effectively webbing any stray pieces of your door to the ceiling. But you also web your roommate’s face. There are a few seconds of silence as you both just stare at each other.

“Funny how you find me in my Spider-Woman cosplay,” you chuckle awkwardly. “Because I’m not, you know, Spider-Woman.”

Haerin slowly peels the web off her face, face wholly impassive, still menacingly holding the ax. “I’m hungry. Buy me Wingstop.”

It takes you an hour to get the Wingstop back home. Ten minutes was dedicated to a mini meet-and-greet.

“What the fuck, Haerin,” you say with a mouth full of lemon pepper fries. “You broke my door down with an ax.”

“I was hungry,” she replies matter-of-factly, as if that’s a reasonable justification for the insane property damage she just inflicted. “But you were also not responding for sixteen hours.”

“I was out for sixteen hours?”

“A bit of an exaggeration. Maybe around 10.”

“Why do you even have an ax anyway?”

“Look at where we live,” Haerin clicks her tongue. “And you being Spider-Woman just slaps a big target on our backs.”

“Pause,” you raise your hand and stop chewing. “I’m not Spider-Woman. I’m just… a huge fan.”

Haerin’s exasperated eyes flicker to yours.

“I’m serious!”

“Yeah right,” she scoffs. “You make way too many spider puns.”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘I’ll swing by’, or ‘I’m kinda tangled up in something right now’,” she explains with air quotes.

You noisily take a sip of a lemonade you bought from a random stall. “Huh.”

“So,” you chew thoughtfully. “Hypothetically, if I was Spider-Woman, how would you react? Would you tell anyone?”

Haerin scans you, still wearing the Spider-suit, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, ungracefully shoving chicken tenders in your mouth with ranch dribbling down your chin. “I’ve known for, like, three months.”

You almost knock the ranch cup over in shock. “What?”

You swallow the chicken tender too quickly, and have to take a breather because you almost choke on it. “How—I mean, why would you think that?”

“You discarded one of your broken web-shooters in my room.”

“Oh. That’s where it went,” you scratch your cheek. “So… you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Haerin smiles. “Only if you pay for the door.”

You hear the screeching of a chair against the floor, hear the imposing footsteps headed toward your room. You feel something poke you. It’s probably the handle of that stupid ax she’s so attached to.

“You good?”

You respond with an unintelligible noise.

Another poke. “Rent’s due soon, you know.”

You roll over with a groan and pull off your mask. “Spare me some sympathy, I’m dying.”

“No you’re not. You’ve had worse.”

Haerin squats down to your level and dabs a cut on your forehead, leaving a burning sting. “Ow!”

You stay mum as Haerin wipes your face free of grime and blood. It’s rare, but when Haerin patches you up, there’s a tinge of gratefulness that twists your heart, and you know it’s better to leave it unspoken. That’s just how you two are.

You break the silence after a while. “I really need to find a job, don’t I?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Haerin replies. “I think you should start your own business: Spider-Eats.”

“Like… Uber Eats?”

“Exactly,” Haerin nods proudly. “But you don’t need to pay for gas, because you just swing over. And I’m sure people will tip you because you’re Spider-Woman.”

“Huh. That’s actually a really good idea.”

As you shuffle out of your Spider-suit and wince at the way your bloody clothes stick to yourself, you make a mental note to start designing and coding a Spider-Eats app. And to also do laundry again. You languidly stretch your limbs, trying to ignore the aches and pains.

“Thanks, doc,” you grin at Haerin. “I feel better already.”

Haerin nods and walks out to the living room. You hear some faint rustling, and the smell reaches you first: pepperoni pizza. You can practically hear an orchestra of trumpets and horns and trombones sing as Haerin re-enters your room, like an angel from heaven, holding three boxes of pizza. It’s even from the same parlor joint the two of you always loiter around.

“Wait,” you pull a can of grape Fanta out of her hand and toward you with a web. “I’ve always wanted to try something.”

Haerin watches as you dangle from the ceiling upside-down and crack open the can. You bring it to your mouth and attempt to drink it, only for you to choke and spill it on your floor.

“Oops.”

After that sad display, you both find yourselves in a familiar position: sitting cross-legged on the floor across from each other, absolutely devouring the food you’ve chosen to be a victim to your outrageous appetite. It comes with being a superhero.

“Seriously, Haerin,” you sigh in satisfaction. “I love you so much.”

You and Haerin mostly eat in silence and scroll on your phones until all three boxes are demolished. You pack up all the boxes and push them to the side, flopping into a starfish position and feeling bloated already.

“You know,” Haerin starts, her voice surprisingly sincere. “Tomorrow’s the day.”

You slowly exhale. “Yeah.”

She flops down beside you. The two of you stare at the LED strips (set to red and blue) that you both went to hell and back trying to tape on the edges of the ceiling.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

You offer a small smile. “Nah. You know how it is.”

The two of you lie there for a while until you both fall asleep.

Unfortunately, being a superhero is not all glitz and glamor. You find yourself to be quite the average Joe, living an ordinary life. At the end of the day, you’re just an engineering college student with no job. Well, besides the occasional side gig of being a masked vigilante.

You tend to relish the mundane moments these days, and maybe it’s the age. (Haerin would roll her eyes if she heard you say this.) Those fleeting moments where you can bask in the serenity of a night without any pings from the local police database you hacked into, although often only lasting several minutes, are valuable to you. Sitting on rooftops and indulging in the view that is the city skyline at night—you never get sick of it.

You used to hate this—being human, that is. After the bite all those years ago, being Spider-Woman was riveting. The novelty of your superpowers made you feel competent. Made you feel like someone. (Only after you persevered through the beginner's clumsiness.) Of course, there are the not so great parts of still being human. Like attending mandatory labs, dealing with group project partners who go M.I.A., and the exorbitant rental rates. Regardless, you believe the good still outweighs the bad.

But like most good things in your life, they never stay. How foolish of you, to think that your newfound powers could somehow transcend the inevitability of pain and loss. If anything, you face it more now. 

That youthful naivety led to more trouble than you can handle. That night when you swung past that robbery at the bodega, without a care in the world, unwittingly sealing the fate of your aunt. Any last connection you had to your family was violently torn from your grasp.

It was your fault. And nothing can change that. It haunts you every waking hour of the day, manifests itself as a wicked virus, and its suffocating tendrils latch onto you on the nights when you’ve delved too deep into your own thoughts.

You try to block it out now, but the best you can do is repeat to yourself that it’s a reminder. A reminder of who Spider-Woman has to be and what she means to the city. An unwavering hero who stands for justice and protects everyone. A hero who does the right thing.

You hum to yourself as you push the door open with your shoulder, exiting the shop with a bouquet of pale purple forget-me-nots. You shove your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie after adjusting your backpack, slightly shivering at the crisp chill of the early morning.

You greet the local store owners as you pass by, even giving a hand in moving crates or supplies to help set up shop. It would be so much easier to just swing to the cemetery, but there’s a sense of reverence you feel you need to uphold, and the only way to do that is just to visit as yourself. No mask, no secret identity. Just you.

You’ve just crossed the threshold to the cemetery with one step when there’s a prickling sensation on your skin. As you get closer to her grave, the discomfort only grows, and so you swing to the nearest tree and perch yourself there.

And then you see her. In the flesh.

“Danielle?” You whisper to yourself, dumbfounded. What was she doing back here, after all these years?

Danielle stills for a moment, and so do you. She turns around and eyes the surroundings as if she heard your voice. You duck and burrow yourself deeper within the leaves.

You observe her quietly, donning her own bouquet of roses, and you smile wryly at the sight of them. Of course, she remembers her favorite flowers. Danielle sits at the grave for a while, her lips moving as if talking, but the music blasting in your headphones blocks it out. You don’t try to eavesdrop.

She’s dyed her hair blonde now, and you didn’t think it possible, but she stands out even more. The color suits her—it matches her personality, akin to a warm and inviting sunflower. Seeing her treat the grave with such care and tenderness makes your heart pang. You grip the tree branches tighter to try to steel yourself, swallowing the guilt and heartache that arises. You don’t expect anything less from her. She’s still so kind and loving even after what you did.

She takes out a small pouch, eventually settling down and crocheting. You’re surprised for some reason, but you also make yourself comfortable in the tree. Even though you’re a hundred feet apart, being in the same vicinity of her fills your body with a sense of repose. You allow yourself to believe that you’re sitting next to each other, still friends, grieving together, and you think that helps you heal a bit.

Half an hour passes before you feel a droplet hit your face. And then another. You and Danielle look up at the same time, only to see the billowing clouds roll in.

Without a second thought, you slip your mask on and shimmy out of your clothes, fishing an umbrella out of your backpack before webbing it to the tree. You clear your throat as you land behind her, as gently as possible so as to not scare her.

“Need this, Miss?” You forcefully deepen your voice, holding out the umbrella above Danielle’s head.

She turns around, lips slightly parted in shock, and it takes all your willpower to not visibly tremble.

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly. You wonder if she would greet you like this if she knew who you really were. “Let me give you something in return.”

Danielle hands you a crochet ribbed beanie, a bright red just like the roses she brought, with a white pom pom on top.

“This one took me a few days.”

It’s incredibly endearing, but you’re panicking at her presence so you can only express your gratitude with an awkward, “Thanks!”, voice crack included, before slinging to the nearest building. 

You make sure to wear it on the way home.

Haerin notices it as soon as you return.

“What’s with the new look?” She asks, not looking away from her laptop.

You set an iced Americano for her on the coffee table, and then proceed to drape yourself on the sofa, feet nudging Haerin’s side to annoy her. She chooses to ignore you rather than resort to violence only because you bought her coffee. She also chooses to ignore how your suit is still wet from the rain outside, droplets of water permeating the sofa. You take off the beanie, making sure to gently lay it on the table before slipping your mask off.

You rest your head against the arm of the sofa and close your eyes, but all you can think about is Danielle. The sincerity in her eyes as she gifted you the beanie and her saccharine voice rings out in your mind. You lay there and reminisce in silence for a while. You end up falling asleep for a few minutes.

Then Haerin wakes you up.

“Hey.” She slaps your foot. “Answer my question.”

“What—oh.” You mumble in confusion, trying to regain your senses. “I saw… someone at the cemetery.”

She finally turns to give you a deadpan expression. “Be more specific. A ghost? One of your many archnemeses?”

“Worse,” you rub your face tiredly. “Danielle.”

Her typing pauses. “Wait, the childhood best friend you told me about?”

“Yeah.”

“The one you ghosted?”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“The one you pitifully pine over?”

“Well—yeah.”

Haerin lets out a low whistle. “She gave you that?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “She didn’t know it was me.”

“You should keep it that way,” Haerin says. “It’d suck to open up old wounds after so long.”

“I know.” You puff your cheeks out. “And that’s not even the end of it. I spent forty bucks on flowers just to leave it to rot in a backpack in a tree.”

She glances at the wet puddle you created on the couch. “We can go back tomorrow and get it?”

“It’s okay,” you reply, opening your eyes to the pouring rain outside. You hope Danielle made it home okay. “I’m gonna wait for the rain to die out a bit and then head out again to investigate that weird case. I’ll put the flowers where they belong on the way there.”

“Is there a new lead?” You can practically hear Haerin’s ears perk up.

“Yeah, all the reports of the disappearances seem to pop up in the same area. I just checked for a location that shares an equal distance to all of them and came up with an abandoned warehouse.”

Haerin sits in thought for a second before asking, “Can I come with? You know how the college blog always relies on me for Spider-Woman content.”

“Fine.” You begrudgingly acquiesce. “Only if you get a cool shot of me.”

Haerin takes out her camera and snaps a quick photo of you.

“How about this?” She turns the camera around to show you the result.

You scoff in offense. “Seriously?”

“Is it not flattering enough?” Haerin teases, wrestling the camera away from you.

“I look like a wet dog!”

You web the camera to yourself and delete the photo.

“Stop abusing your powers.” Haerin clicks her tongue. “Go web a towel to clean this mess up.”

“What a coincidence,” you cheerfully ignore her. “The rain’s stopped.”

Like a miracle, the rain has cleared out, the darker clouds making way for the sun. You web a towel to dry your suit (but not the couch or floor) and slip your mask back on again.

“Alright,” you step out onto the balcony and turn to Haerin. “You want a ride there? Uber? Spuber…?”

“Let’s just stick to Spider-Eats.”

“Yeah.”

“And, no thanks,” she winces. “You almost swung into a pole last time.”

“Oops,” you say with no sign of regret. “Anyway, I texted you the coords. Meet you there.” 

You hop on the balcony railing and salute Haerin before proceeding to fall backwards with your hands behind your head. The rush as you swing through the city is unmatchable. You savor the wind rushing against you, the boisterous noise of cars honking and mindless chatter zooming in and out of your ears.

You’re back at the cemetery in no time, and after checking if anyone’s around, you stand before your aunt’s grave once again. Danielle’s roses are still lying there. You wipe some raindrops off the headstone before laying your bouquet down. Then, you’re off again. There’ll be time for that later.

The abandoned warehouse is not too far from the docks, a very typical location for people who are up to no good. You perch on the roof of a building opposite it, where Haerin is already squatting and taking photos. You can spot her motorcycle stationed in the parking lot behind the building. She barely flinches as you tap her shoulder.

“How did you get up here?”

“A good journalist never reveals her secrets.”

“Isn’t it ‘sources’?”

Haerin shrugs. “Same thing.”

You squat next to her. “So… did you notice anything before I came?”

“I did some research. Think this warehouse is registered under the name of just Jace.”

“Just Jace? That’s such a sick name.”

Haerin doesn’t bother to correct you.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell though.” You squint and scan the seemingly innocuous warehouse. “And I’m not picking up any heat signals… looks like nobody’s home.”

“How are we getting in?”

“This is a job for Spider-Woman!” 

You leap off the roof and swing around the warehouse, sweeping the perimeter to search for a way in. 

“There’s always an entrance when you can climb walls,” you muse to yourself.

You open up a voice channel as you crawl up the side of the warehouse, eventually reaching the roof where there is a conveniently open skylight. “Bingo!”

“Psst, Haerin,” you say. “There’s an open window on the roof.”

“Awesome,” she replies, although you note that her tone lacks excitement. “Can you get in and open the door for me?”

“The door?” You peer inside the open skylight. “You mean the gigantic sliding doors?”

“Don’t tell me you’re too weak to open those.”

“No,” you huff. “It’s just that… wouldn’t it be too loud?”

Haerin’s response is reluctant. “I guess.”

“You know what that means,” you sing-song. “It’s time for a Spuber ride!”

There’s some silence followed by a long sigh.

“I thought we agreed to not use that anymore,” she grumbles. “Hurry up and get back here.”

Haerin’s pick up and drop off is quick and easy, much to both of your satisfaction. You asked her to give you a five star rating, to which she replied, “That took literally less than thirty seconds.”

Inside the warehouse is dark, with only some dim flickering lights providing you with a shadowed view of the interior. The warehouse is stocked with looming cargo containers.

“Seems pretty filled for an abandoned warehouse,” Haerin muses, her voice echoing in the void. The silence feels foreboding, which makes you glad that Haerin asked to come, not that you would ever admit that.

“There’s gotta be something here,” you run your hand over the undulating surface of the steel containers. “A secret room, or some complicated contraption.”

“What about that?” Haerin points at a scrape mark on the floor in front of one of the containers, which coincidentally matches the circumference of a quarter circle.

“Oh. That was fast.”

You walk over and tug on the latch, before pulling the door open.

“No worries,” you strain out. It’s heavier than you thought. “Leave it all to me.”

“If you say so,” Haerin says with a smug smile on her face, standing there with no care in the world.

Once you finally get it open, inside the container is a set of stairs that lead downwards to an ominous tunnel.

“Totally not creepy,” you laugh nervously and gesture to Haerin. “Ladies first?”

She rolls her eyes before making her way down. The tunnel is fairly well-kept and it’s not long before you find yourselves in the secret room. It’s a lab, wires running hazardously on the ground, bits and pieces of machinery scattered on tables and filling up boxes, and computer screens displaying complex data and research.

“Okay,” you drawl. “Kinda getting evil mastermind vibes.”

You ruffle through some papers lying around. It seems to be sketches of some cylinder machine with cogs and complicated wiring in it. After inspecting the lab for a bit longer, you both come to the same conclusion.

“He’s trying to time travel,” Haerin notes as she snaps some shots of the lab.

You nod. “His experiments are probably what’s causing all those people to disappear into thin air.”

“What were the statements of the witnesses again?”

“Like the victims were just sucked into an invisible portal.”

Haerin pulls up some files on one of the computers. “It makes sense. It looks like he’s trying to time travel to the year his daughter died.”

You both are silent at this information. Until that silence is broken by a screeching sound outside, one that oddly sounds like the gigantic sliding doors opening.

The two of you immediately break out into a sprint and up the stairs. You don’t hesitate to scoop up Haerin once you’re out of the container and soar up to the roof with a web.

“He’ll know someone was here,” Haerin whispers.

“I know,” you sigh. “Hopefully it won’t lead to anything. We’ll have to come back later.”

Like the true neighborhood-friendly Spider-Woman you are, you give Haerin a Spuber ride back to her motorcycle. She revs the engine once to get your attention, then bids you farewell with a teasing “Race you home!” as she accelerates into the distance.

“So not fair!” You shout out at her retreating figure, swinging to catch up. You’re straining your arms to keep up with Haerin’s motorcycle, but a police car passes by with sirens on, and you know what you need to do. At the last second, you snap your left wrist to make a breakneck turn. Haerin will understand.

You can barely keep your eyes open as Minji nudges you with her elbow.

“Late nights playing 2K again?” The image of her stupid grin floats by in your mind.

“Something like that,” you whine, flicking your head up so your lab goggles fall on your nose. “I should’ve skipped today.”

Minji pulls up the DXF files you made for the project and resumes with the task of readjusting the ratio of some gears. “You don’t even need your lab goggles for today.”

“I look smarter with them on.”

“Yeah, right.” Minji peeks at your rough outlines of the gearbox transmission on paper. Some edges are ripped and it’s crinkled under your folded arms. “Damn. When are you gonna digitize that and render it?”

You slump back in your chair and close your eyes. “When I get a good night’s rest.”

“So, never.”

“Yeah.”

“The assignment’s due next week.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate you.” But she doesn’t. Because the two of you have been lab partners ever since you tripped on her lab coat in class a year ago and knocked over a bunch of her circuits and wires, which, to this day, she still blames you for, which is ridiculous, because who on earth owns a lab coat long enough to the point where it spills on the floor? But, you digress. Her lab coat is now properly tailored.

You’re half a second from drooling and snoring when there’s that prickling sensation on your skin again, and the hairs on the back of your neck shoot up, leaving you with that sinking feeling in your stomach. You sit up so abruptly that you almost slam your forehead onto the table.

Minji’s arm flies in front of your chest to steady you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you stammer. “I just… need to go to the bathroom.”

You grab your backpack and sprint out of the lab, navigating yourself to the nearest exit. You’re on the roof of the building in no time, in your suit, and you immediately see what’s wrong. There’s a man in the middle of campus, floating above the ground, and whatever objects are around seem to be gravitating toward him. The objects begin to orbit around him, creating a mini tornado.

You try to call Haerin, but she doesn’t pick up. You try to call Minji too, but no luck. Your stomach coils with anxiety. You don’t have long to dwell on it though.

As objects slam into one another, students begin to file out of class and understandably panic. Campus security is screaming and directing people to emergency exits, but the whirlwind only gets worse and things are smashing into windows and buildings.

“This isn’t good,” you mutter, immediately diving into action. You web benches, bicycles, poles, and trees in all sorts of directions to disrupt their trajectory toward anyone. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a blur of orange amidst green, and hear a very distinct meow.

“Tiko!”

You hurtle yourself toward the flying tree and narrowly shoot through the branches, successfully grabbing Tiko. You were going to plop him down somewhere safe, but it seems he had other plans, because he crawls into your backpack and nestles inside it, sticking his head out.

“Hang tight, Tiko,” you scream, swinging toward the mystery man. “I’m going to stop this!”

The man now stands on a rooftop, the debris around him thrashing against the building which is threatening to fall apart. You land not too far from him.

“Hi!” You yell over the deafening winds.

He whips his head around, raising his palm to hurl a rock at you. “Stay away!”

“Wait!” It narrowly misses you as you skillfully duck just in time. “You’re Just Jace, right?”

“How do you know my name?” He falters for a second, taking a step back. “…And it’s just Jace.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” You mumble to yourself in confusion.

You shake your head to focus on the situation at hand. “Please stop this, Just Jace. You’re hurting others!”

“I… I know!” Jace’s hands tightly grip his hair in frustration. “I don’t know why it’s not working.”

As his ire flames up, so do the winds, dust and small rocks starting to obscure your vision.

“Please, calm down!” You desperately yell, slowly making your way toward him with arms raised as a sign of peace. “Let me help you!”

The sound of police sirens grows louder, and you can hear the whirring of helicopter blades behind you. The police helicopter sways in the midst of the tornado, and you fear for both Jace and the police.

“No, no, no!” You try to wave the police away, knowing their presence would only distress Jace more.

“Police! Hands in the air!”

Police officers begin to rappel down from the helicopter, guns aimed at Jace. He scrambles in fear, sending rubble hurling at them in defense. Bullets fly out immediately after.

The sound of gunshots rings through your ear as you expertly maneuver through the ricochets and try to keep everyone safe. You burst through the combat and tackle Jace whilst he’s busy with the officers, trying to Spuber him to somewhere safe.

He wrestles in your grasp, screaming at you to let him go. Tiko gives him a few smacks in response. As you swing through a window, you release your hold on him, both of you rolling over to catch your balance. 

You lean against the wall, taking a moment to catch your breath. You’re rubbing your head that’s throbbing in pain, not noticing Jace’s sudden silence.

“The police really have the worst timing, am I right?” You awkwardly laugh.

You look up to see Jace stalking toward you, like a predator to prey, a dark intensity in his eyes. Any trace of the Jace you encountered before is gone. You bounce on your feet immediately.

“Jace?” You say hesitantly, walking backward. “We can talk about this…”

“You broke it,” he snarls. That’s when you notice what he’s clasping onto so stiffly. It looks awfully similar to those sketches you and Haerin saw in that secret lab. He lets it go and it clatters on the floor.

“I didn’t mean to,” you try to ameliorate the situation. “I was trying to save you.”

Your pleas don’t seem to reach his ears. He just simply repeats, “You broke it.”

“No need to get so upset,” you laugh sheepishly, hands in the air, discreetly scanning for the nearest exit. “I know a really good tech support guy.”

Your skin tingles. Jace then lunges at you, and out of instinct, you web onto the broken device and you swing it around to slam it into the space between you and him. The device makes contact with the concrete and shatters into pieces, shards of glass flying everywhere. For a moment, you feel as if time has slowed down, and everything sounds muffled, like you’re sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean.

And then everything goes black.

You wake up with a gasp, cold sweat sticking to your body. Haerin steps back, surprised. She’s holding her beloved ax, its handle hovering dangerously close to your cheek.

“You’re awake.”

“What?” You look around frantically, hands squeezing the sofa. “How am I back here?”

“What do you mean?” Haerin frowns. “You fell asleep.”

You stand up and squish your face against the window. The college campus is untouched. “What happened to Just Jace? Is Tiko alright?”

Her eyebrow furrows. “Who’s Just Jace? And Tiko the campus cat?”

You don’t respond, still lost in your own thoughts.

“Did you get a concussion on the way to the cemetery?”

You stop pacing and look down, and sure enough, you’re still in your suit, wet from the rain just like two days ago, and the beanie Danielle crocheted is lying on the table.

Then it dawns on you.

“Oh my god, Haerin.” Your jaw is slack. “I just traveled back in time.”

“What.”

It takes you fifteen minutes to sum everything up.

“But the weird thing is that the device didn’t seem to be done when we were in the secret lab.” You bite your cheek in thought. “I don’t know how he would’ve been able to get it working in the next two days.”

“He probably knew someone was onto him when we left the door open,” Haerin says, searching up ‘If you travel back in time, will you break time and space if you get into contact with someone?’ on Google. Most of the results are fruitless.

“That makes sense,” you nod. “But I wonder why he would end up at our college campus out of all places.”

“Maybe it’s the college his daughter went to?”

“Right,” you nod again. You prop your laptop on your lap as you start scouring through the map of the area around the college. “I need to know where he first appears so I can stop him before he gets to campus.”

Haerin ponders for a second. “You mentioned that there was some research on nuclear fusion, right?”

“Yeah… hold on.” You zoom into a nuclear power plant just a few miles from the college. “The device must need a lot of energy to work. He probably got it from here.”

“So,” Haerin hums. “What’s the plan?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Haerin’s voice is unimpressed over the static. “This was your plan?”

“You know me,” you quip ironically while weaving in between the blasts of energy that Jace is throwing at you. “My plan was to come up with a plan now.”

“And have you thought of one?”

“Not really!” You coolly avoid his punches and slide in between his legs. “I’ll call you back!”

When you manage to catch Jace off guard with a roundhouse kick, he stumbles and you use the opportunity to swoop into a vent to hide. You did not expect this alternate version of Jace to be so hostile. You tried to talk to him, really.

(You lower your web bit by bit as you dangle upside-down behind Jace. His back is facing you, clearly focused on wiring his device to the generator.

You tap his back. “Hey.”

He swivels around so fast he almost loses his balance, but immediately regains it and squares up. “Stay away!”

“No, no.” You plop on the floor. “I’m not here to hurt you. I know you’re trying to time travel. I’m from the future, actually.”

There’s an air of hope in Jace’s voice. “The device worked?”

“About that,” you rub your nape and flash an embarrassed smile under the mask. “I kinda had to smash it onto the ground for it to work. You were kind of trying to kill me. But no biggie, I forgive easily!”

Jace narrows his eyes. You stiffen as you feel dread trickle into your stomach. His fist jerks out and you jump back just in time, feeling the wind from the blow brush against your face.

“What the hell, man?” You pout. “I literally just forgave you.”

He doesn’t waste time and continues with a flurry of punches. “I must’ve been attacking you for a reason.”

You shake your head as you roll to the side. “Don’t say I didn’t try to be nice.”)

“Come out and face me!” Jace yells, his voice reverberating throughout the power plant. “You’re nothing but a pest.”

You silently crawl out of the vent and onto a supporting beam. Once you’re positioned right above him, you web him up, landing a nasty uppercut. You don’t have time to celebrate though, because on the way down, he grabs your ankles and pulls you down back to Earth.

“Oof!”

“This ends now.” He hisses, blood dripping from his mouth. He charges toward you, bearing a metal rod in his hand.

“Really getting into the villain role now, huh?” You joke, voice strained as you leap off the ground and kick him square in the face. “Give me some time to think of a name for you.”

You side step another one of his tackle attempts. “Oh! How about Prime Time?”

The only response you get is Jace surging forward with more punches and kicks. “You could just say you don’t like it!”

Jace doesn’t deign you with an answer. He unexpectedly throws a crate toward you, and just as you duck to avoid it, he gets his revenge with a successful blow to your chest with the metal rod.

You slam against the wall, slumping as the wind is knocked out of you.

“Like I said,” Jace says with heavy breaths, towering over you and looking down with a sneer. “This ends now.”

You can only see his silhouette because of the light shining through from the entrance to the power plant behind him, and this gives you an idea. You muster up any remaining willpower and web onto two pillars, pulling yourself toward it and using the momentum to swing kick Jace.

You both fly through the air and outside the power plant, crashing on the roof of a passing car. You wince as you feel the dent in the car. Jace rolls down to the hood of the car. Logically, the driver starts steering off course because the windshield is blocked and they’re probably freaking out at the fact that there are two injured people on their car.

Your body moves before your mind processes what’s going on—you’re webbing people out of the way of the speeding car, even though you’re still lying on your side. But the car spins out of control too fast for you to react. It ends up ramming into the front of a cafe. The impact of the crash sends you flying into the glass wall and into the cafe. You’re getting deja vu: glass is shattered and people start screaming and running away. 

“Oh no,” you groan, trying to ignore the burning pain. “This will not look good in the press release.”

What’s also burning is the car that you’re pinned under—the heat from the crackling fire licking at you, so hot that you can feel it through the spandex. All you can see is the thick smoke that blankets the cafe. From the shadows emerges Jace.

“Please,” you wheeze, feeling like you’ve been hit by a train. Which actually happened once, an experience you wouldn’t recommend to anyone. “This isn’t what your daughter would’ve wanted.”

“Don’t mention her again.” He digs his boot into the car, forcing pressure on you, and you’re exerting all your muscles in your arms to hold the car up. “And some superhero you are. Look at what’s left of this place.”

You strain your neck to stare at the inside of the cafe, and the sight horrifies you. It’s a complete wreckage. Your eyes zero on blonde hair that peeks out under a table that’s been flipped over. Your blood runs cold and there’s a sharp pain in your gut, like a knife sickly twisting itself over and over again. 

Jace chuckles cruelly at your silence. “What, no more snarky remarks?”

She can’t be dead. It’s all your fault—you were too busy slinging people out of the way to notice where the car was headed. How did she not get out in time?

“No,” you choke out. Your lip trembles pathetically. “Turn back time. Please.”

He follows your gaze and smirks. “See someone you know? I guess now you know how it feels.”

Any empathy you felt for him is overridden by the sheer anger that engulfs you. Your body shakes with rage. What comes out next is guttural and raw.

“I’ll kill you,” you spit. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jace turns around and cackles, and you wonder how everything went to hell so fast. You wonder how he changed so fast. He’s walking out of the cafe, to the college campus probably, and as much as you want to grab him and beat him until he’s blue, there’s something more important. Or rather, someone.

The adrenaline from the rage earlier is still coursing through your veins and you use your remaining strength to push the car off you. (You wanted to hurl it at him too but your arms were failing). You know exactly what you need to do. You sling a web to the device he’s holding loosely, then repeat that same swinging motion that you did the other timeline, slamming it so hard on the ground you almost feel like your arm will rip off.

Time slows again, and you find yourself in a familiar position, deep in the abyss. The world goes black.

It takes you three times before you realize you’re stuck in a time loop. You don’t know why, but you only get sent back a few hours to the nuclear power plant. You try everything, anything to keep Danielle safe. You know it’s selfish, that you should be caring about everyone else too, but you can’t stand the thought of her dying. You’ve already lost her once, back then when you left her. You can’t be the reason for the world losing her.

In the first loop, you spray the wheels of the car with webs to prevent it from crashing in the first place, but the car stopping in the middle of the road only causes another car to veer off the streets and into the cafe. In the second loop, Jace hurls a boulder mid fight and despite you redirecting it to the building next to the cafe, that building ends up collapsing… on top of the cafe. Everytime, you saving other people leads to Danielle dying in some way.

It’s the third loop. You’re at the nuclear power plant again, head in your hands, and Jace hasn’t noticed your presence yet. You want to cry. Nothing is working. Maybe this is karma for ghosting Danielle all those years ago. Being a superhero is all about sacrifices—is this the sacrifice you have to make? You thought you would be better at letting go by now.

Haerin’s voice is soft in your ear. “Have we had this conversation before?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “This is the fourth time.”

“I’m sorry I can’t remember. And that our solutions didn’t work out.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You bite your lip. “And it’s my fault anyway.”

There’s some faint rustling of paper and typing.

“Nuclear fusion,” Haerin says after a while. “Have you tried slamming the device into the generator? The sheer energy might just break the loop.”

“I might as well.” Your voice is thick with fatigue. “I have nothing else to lose.”

You don’t even bother to greet Jace this time, just immediately pulling the device toward you and slamming it onto the generator. The reaction is instantaneous—the device explodes and the generator rumbles, sparks flying. Waves of energy start pulsing out in irregular patterns. It’s so strong that you’re knocked off your feet and your back hits a railing.

You’re knocked out again. Maybe you’re setting a new world record.

Hidden under the knitted quilt, you stir, the thin web of strands barely stifling the bite of the morning cold. Someone is sweetly humming a melody that’s on the tip of your tongue. The constant hum finds its way into you, it softens your bones and eases your heart. The constant hum sings, enveloping you, lulling you back into the solace of the darkness. 

This tranquility is swiftly broken by you remembering. You launch out of bed, blinking your eyes to gain a hold of your surroundings. You’re in a campervan. Nostalgia washes over you as you realize that this is the campervan Danielle’s family used to take on road trips. You wearily eye the photo frame stuck to the rustic fridge. Gleeful smiles and sand-covered faces adorn the frame, reminding you of what you left behind. 

You were known as that quiet kid who had no parents. Any attention you received would consist of pitied stares and hushed whispers. You didn’t mind the loneliness—you were used to it. And your aunt took care of you and showed you love. That was enough. You didn’t think you needed any more love until Danielle moved in next door and changed your life.

She was the first to approach you, holding out a four-leaf clover with a bright smile, saying “Hi! I’m Danielle, you look like you need some good luck!”. It only took you a few months to warm up to her, not that it was hard, because she was so understanding and cheery. She never cared about what other people said at school. She cared about what you had to say, and that’s something you never thought you needed, let alone deserved, until her.

Danielle’s family is equally as sweet, and they welcomed you with open arms. Every few months, they would go on a road trip and you and Danielle would always say farewell with teary eyes and lingering hugs. Until Danielle insisted you tag along, and that’s how it became a tradition.

Lightly caressing miscellaneous decorations as you make your way outside, you take it all in. The gentle twinkle of fairy lights shyly shines through the tinted windows that are littered with stickers and magnets. This caravan was your second home. Inextricably imbued with memories with Danielle, the two of you left no inch of this van unexplored and untouched. Outside, the fresh smell of subdued smoke (bacon and eggs) wafts to you, beckoning you. Your stomach growls. You forget about the ravenous appetite of a superhero.

But you’re not a superhero right now. You’re twelve, not yet bitten, meant to be blissfully unaware of the terrors that await you as you grow up. You run outside to find Danielle. She’s preparing a plate of breakfast for you.

“Danielle!” You rush toward her and tackle her in a hug, tears subconsciously spilling onto your cheeks. She steadies herself so that the plate of food isn’t knocked over.

She gasps out your name, concern etched in her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head and nuzzle her neck, sniffling like a baby. “I’m just glad you’re my best friend.”

Your voice is so high and prepubescent, which makes you burst into laughter out of nowhere. Danielle laughs with you. “I’m glad you’re mine, too.”

“Where’s your parents?”

You lean back as she tilts her head to the barbeque grill a few yards away. “Cooking up their breakfast.”

You eventually let go, quite reluctantly, and take a moment to admire her. You’re smitten. Her hair is brown, bangs slightly ruffled, and she’s sporting a toothy grin. You’re so overwhelmed with love you can’t even speak, but this is soon overshadowed by guilt. This is the girl whose heart you broke.

Nothing about you gets past Danielle, so she immediately notices your wavering.

“You okay?” She intertwines your fingers together “Let’s eat breakfast.”

‘I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling a wave of nausea hit you. “I feel a bit dizzy.”

She quickly sets down the plate of bacon and eggs, her hands instantly finding their place on your waist.

“Maybe you should get some more rest,” she pouts, gently squeezing your waist. You try to suppress the shiver that this causes.

“Yeah,” you agree without a sliver of resistance. “Come with me?”

Danielle sends you a knowing smile. “Okay.”

You both make your way back into the van, ditching breakfast. You climb into the comfort of the bed, lifting the same knitted quilt so that it hugs both of you. Your body relaxes, for the first time in a very long time, and you bask in the heat radiating off Danielle.

As your eyes involuntarily close, you can hear the faint sound of ticking. You’re unsure of what is to come, but the curl in your stomach unfolds and pardons you, allowing you to feel Danielle’s love. For just one more time.

–

There’s a brief moment where you regain a shred of consciousness at the nuclear power plant, but everything is too bright and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. You only feel another wave of energy vibrate against your skin before your vision’s black again. Definitely a world record.

Someone’s playing with your hair. Deft fingers weave through strands of your hair and twirl it, lightly pulling on it before letting go and repeating. You blink your eyes open and are met with Danielle already staring at you. She’s older than the last time-travel episode, but younger than the current her. You’re still smitten.

You’re laying in her bed, in her room, in her house. You surmise it’s probably a sleepover night. She’s wearing those glasses with a clear frame, so it must be midway through senior year. You smile to yourself as you remember that she breaks it just before graduation by sitting on it. (She forgot that she put it on her seat.)

“What are you smiling about?” Danielle pokes your nose. “Are you thinking about how that one kid fell off his chair while falling asleep in class?”

“No,” you giggle as you sit up, nostalgia pervading your chest. “But that was funny though. Thanks for reminding me.”

She’s playing with your fingers now, head tilted with that starry look in her eyes that always leaves you dumbfounded. Your smile slowly fades. You feel like a kid again, even though this was only the two of you from three years ago.

“Danielle,” you say shakily, eyes locked onto your entwined fingers. “Would you believe me if I said I’m from the future?”

She considers your question for a second. “What happens in the future?”

You swallow a lump. Where do you even start? ‘Well, I’m actually gonna ghost you in a few months and we’ll never speak again, but then we meet, well not really—it’s more like I see you, and then you die in a cafe because of me. Oh, and I’m Spider-Woman.’

“You dye your hair blonde,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. You’re holding back tears. “And you go to college overseas to study.”

Danielle’s face shifts into something sadder, half sympathetic. “That doesn’t sound too far-fetched.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” your voice cracks. “I do some really bad things in the future, and I’m really sorry.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Danielle tries to lift the mood. “Can’t be worse than the time when you spilled orange juice all over my biology assignment the morning it was due.”

Your rambling teeters on the line of coherence. “I push you away—and I’m such an asshole. But I had to, you have to believe me. I can’t tell you why because it hasn’t happened yet and it will probably break some rule of time-traveling, but I just want you to know that I’m so–”

“Hey,” she cradles your face like you're something delicate. Like you’re not the person who will leave her behind with no explanation. “It’s okay.”

“I miss you so much, Danielle.” It’s all you can say. “I miss you so much.”

Her thumb tenderly swipes away any tears that fall. “I’m right here.”

But she’s not.

You’re sobbing pathetically into her hand. You can’t remember the last time you cried. It must’ve been at your aunt’s funeral. Your head is pounding and even though you’re in the body of your younger self, you can still feel the phantom repercussions of fights with Jace. Danielle continues softly, “I could never hate you, no matter what. All you need to do is talk to me—the me in your world.”

“I love you,” you hiccup, lip quivering. “I never got to say it in my timeline. I hope you know that.”

“You know I do too,” Danielle smiles, bitter-sweet. “Promise me you’ll say it to the other me.”

You nod, looping your pinky finger with hers.

She seems satisfied. “You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get some rest.” She guides you back onto the pillow and onto your side, nestling behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and clasped on your stomach.

The ticking sounds again, and it slowly floods your mind as your vision fades to black.

“Please tell me it’s over,” you plead weakly as you wake up to the sight of peeling plaster on the ceiling. You force your body up, and you see an unconscious Jace collapsed against the wall. The broken device is just a fingertip away from you. This is the room you Spubered him into while distancing him from the police. You’re back. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tiko hops out of your backpack and rubs his face against yours.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo, scratching his chin. “Thanks for the help. I’ll see you around campus.”

You pick yourself up, shaking stray shards of glass off you. You web Jace against the wall, and make sure to add extra to ensure he doesn’t escape. You briefly notice the wrinkles on his face and his calloused hands.

“Some things we have to let go,” you say softly to him, even though he can’t hear you. “I need to take this to find the missing victims.”

You leave a space in your heart to mourn for Jace’s daughter, and genuinely wish the best for him. Tiko’s already run off somewhere. You take the device and stretch your limbs, preparing for the long journey home. 

Actually, you have two stops before you go home. First stop is a safe place to change out of your suit and temporarily hide the device.

Second stop. You run to find Danielle. You think that this has been a long time coming, considering that you’ve been running away from her for the past three years.

You’re standing like an idiot outside the cafe, hands in your pockets, just staring at Danielle through the glass wall. She seems to feel the weight of your gaze though, because she eventually looks up and her eyes widen at the sight of you. You wave awkwardly, to which she starts packing up her things in a hurry.

You breath hitches as she says your name. It rolls off her tongue in a way that is so familiar.

“Care to join me on a walk?” You rock back and forth on your heels, avoiding eye contact with her.

Her face is passive. It scares you more than it should. But she complies without any questions. “Okay.”

It takes around twenty minutes to reach your aunt’s grave. You pat the space in front of you as a gesture for Danielle to sit down, and she does.

“Before I start,” you say. “I just wanted to say thank you for visiting my aunt. You didn’t have to.”

But she did. Because that’s what she always does—go above and beyond. You take a deep breath before releasing it. “I’m sorry.”

She nods, showing that she’s listening, but doesn’t respond.

“I… was an asshole,” you clench your jaw and close your eyes. “I said some hurtful things.”

(“Are you avoiding me?” Danielle asks, eyebrows furrowed.

It’s another morning of a school day.

“No,” you exhale deeply. You don’t spare her a glance. “I’ve just been really busy.”

“We’ve both been busy for a while,” she counters, frustration laced in her voice. “But the difference is that we still made time for each other.”

You slam your locker door shut. The spider bite thrums with pain. “Take the hint. I don’t have space for you in my life anymore.”)

“And even after I said those things, you still tried to reach out to me.”

(More unread texts from Danielle. Can we talk? I’m sorry about the other day. 

Hey, I’ve been trying to give you space, but I just wanted to check in.

Why are you ignoring me?)

“There’s a reason I ghosted you. Not that I’m trying to justify it, but I just wanted to let you know it wasn’t because of you or anything.”

The other Danielle’s words flash through your mind.

“I love you,” you finally say, and it feels as though there’s this weight lifted off your chest. “I have, for a long time. And I needed to leave you because I love you. Because I was scared.”

Her eyebrows crease in thought. “Because you were scared I didn’t love you back?”

“No—well, not no! Of course I care about that. But that wasn’t my main concern.”

“How do I say this,” you scratch your head. “Oh. You gifted me a beanie the other day. Crocheted by you, red with a white pom pom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Oh.”

You fiddle with the grass that you’re sitting on. “I accepted a long time ago that anyone close to me will be in danger because of, well, who I am. And being Spider-Woman… it’s a responsibility that I have to commit to. I can’t just fall in love.”

A pause. “Who said you can’t?”

“Well,” you stutter. “It’ll put you in danger. And I have to put my Spider responsibilities first.”

She shifts closer to you. “And what if I’m okay with that?”

“You’d… you’d have to actually like me back anyway.”

Danielle punches you on the shoulder.

“Ow!” You frown. “What was that for?”

“For being an asshole.”

“Oh.”

“You should’ve just talked to me.”

“I know,” you admit. “But I just felt like I couldn’t.”

“I never stopped thinking about you all these years,” Danielle shakes her head. “I was a mess. I wanted to hate you so much, but I just couldn’t. And I hated that even more.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Danielle says, and the look in her eyes tells you that she really does mean it.

You hesitantly reach out toward her. She grabs your hand and moves it to her face. It’s your turn to cradle her, making sure that she’s really here and that this is real. Her smile is teary. 

“I love you,” you breathe out. And that’s the only thing you want to say for the rest of your life. To make up for all the times that you didn’t. 

“I love you, too.” Her smile is so enchanting and you want to lean in and kiss her.

But gunshots ring out nearby and there’s shouting. You turn to Danielle, distraught. She grabs your phone from your pocket and adds herself as a contact.

“Go,” she nods softly, handing you back your phone. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll tend to your wounds.”

Your eyes flit over to your aunt’s grave. You hope you’ve become a hero she can be proud of. And you thank her for everything. You slip on your mask and stuff your clothes in a backpack.

Being a superhero isn’t all that easy, but you’re glad you have people you love to lean on to relieve the burden. You leap off the ground with confidence, swinging toward the chaos.

Dedicated to user phamphamz... happy early birthday!

Title is from Autumn by Niki :]

[katakaluptastrophy]

Alecto was the first body John ever made. And G1deon was the second, regrown from just an arm.

And if G1deon is anything to go by, John isn't very good at making bodies:

Unlike the other Lyctors, all of whom skewed hungry, soft men and women of the necromancer build, his frame carried nothing but muscle. He was sinew over bone. He was a walking tendon. He had a raw, stretched look to him like an idiot’s construct, bones that had been slippered in meaty fibrils to keep them moving. A metabolized, contracted striation, without fat, the only curve a hollow tautness from rib to stomach.

John had grown up with G1deon and knew what he looked like. He might even have been able to scrounge up a picture from somewhere. He presumably had time to think about reconstructing his body and was able to take time to do it. And yet, G1deon looks like this:

It was a man who looked like he had been stripped bloody by a wind machine and hadn’t healed up all the way; a wiry, knuckled-up tendon of a man, with the face of someone who had been starved once and burned recently.

If that's what a body he constructed with premeditation and planning and concentration looks like, how does one he made under more pressure look?

I wanted to make you the most beautiful body I could think of. He paused and said: “But I was stressed, okay? I was insane. Most of what had made me John had gone somewhere else. There were a few little thoughts left … a handful of things that made me me … a couple scraps of id. It’s not fair to judge me, right? I didn’t do this thinking … I didn’t do it like art.

John seems to think there's something to apologise for in Alecto's body.

We do get a description of Alecto, from Harrow's memories of her attempted divine murder/suicide at the age of 10:

God’s victory and death was a girl. Maybe a woman. At the time Harrowhark had not known how to tell, and the gender was only a self-interested guess. The corpse lay packed in ice, wearing a white shift, her hands clasping a frost-rimed sword, and she was beautiful. The formation of her muscles was perfect. Each limb was a carved representation of a perfect limb, each bloodless foot the lifeless and high-arched simulacrum of the perfect foot. Each black and frosted lash lay against the cheeks with perfect still blackness, and her nose—it was the pinnacle of what a nose should be. None of this would have broken Harrow’s spirit except that the mouth alone was perfectly imperfect: a little crooked, with a divot in the lower lip as though someone had softly pressed a dent into the bow with the tip of their finger.

Maybe Alecto is the perfect specimen of womanhood. Maybe Harrow was ten and had never seen anyone young and not swathed in vestments before and the bar was very low. Maybe Harrow just has very particular taste in women.

But between G1deon, John's apologies, that "high-arched simulacrum" of a foot, and Kiriona - Gideon, now with Extra Teeth - I have a feeling she doesn't just look like a regular blond lady.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi! I have read through all of your harry metas and I love them!!! And it made me wonder whether you had any personal head-cannons regarding him? Like any unpopular ones that are not mentioned in the books or discussed by the fandom. I found only a precious few posts regarding this matter, so yeah I would like to know yours if u do have any.

Hi, thank you so much! 💕

Honestly, I'm pretty sure I just sprinkled Harry headcanons throughout my various posts but I'll try to comprise a list of some of my headcanons that popped into my head here. As such, these are all my random headcanons about Harry, some have more reasoning behind them than others. So, here are some of them in no particular order:

1. I think Harry is gay (could be demi but I don't think he's interested in women and he is interested in men. Personally, I headcanon him as gay).

I have a whole post about it here, but I don't know how common of an opinion it is since I see mostly bi Harry and not gay ones.

2. I see some fanon Harry's portrayed as very small, but I don't think he is. In my head, he's about 5'11 (by book 7) and in canon, he can lift Mundungus by the throat with one hand so... I think he's pretty fit actually. (Though he's very thin due to malnourishment). He's just always compared to Ron, who is like, ridiculously tall. I also think he was short for his age up until and including book 4. Between books 4 and 5 is when he had his first real growth spurt.

3. I think he was born Master of Death and that a lot of his miraculous survivals are because of that.

4. Harry has ADHD. It's my way to explain his tendency to be very observant of some things and not others, his crazy good selective memory, and his tendency to fail when he starts overthinking. Idk, I have ADHD and I'm getting these vibes from him (or projecting, who knows).

5. In my head, the epilogue isn't canon, so Harry breaks the curse on the DADA position, like, 5 years after the war, and starts teaching it. Until then, McGonagall just made sure to hire teachers only with one year contracts.

6. I headcanon the Potter family had more estate than just the cottage in Godric's Hollow and Harry finds out about them at some point after the war. I mean, they are reasonably rich, have a Wizengamot seat, and had more family members until very recently. They have to have more houses.

7. I think Harry and Kreature actually become friends after the books. I think they could've during the books too, Harry finds Kreature's sense of humor funny even as back as OotP:

“. . . Smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she’s no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my Mistress’s house, oh my poor Mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they’ve let in her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do. . . .” “Hello, Kreacher,” said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap. The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and then gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise. “Kreacher did not see Young Master,” he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, “Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is.” “Sorry?” said George. “Didn’t catch that last bit.” “Kreacher said nothing,” said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, “and there’s its twin, unnatural little beasts they are.” Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or not.

(OotP, 107-108)

I just see a lot of sassy potential in their dynamic.

8. Before he was hit with the killing curse, he and Lily had the same eye color, a deep, bright green. After Halloween 1981, Harry's eyes are always the shade of the killing curse, which is similar to before, just slightly lighter and brighter. It's barely noticeable unless in certain lighting, but Sirius was sure he was hallucinating from exhaustion on a few nights in Grimmauld Place where he looked at Harry, and his eyes shined just a little off, a little too brightly, the wrong color for just a moment.

9. He had at least 1 too sexy dream about Tom Riddle, and he never told and never will tell anyone if it's up to him. He tries to pretend it didn't happen tbh.

10. Same as number 9 about Sirius, honestly...

11. His animagus form would be a Raven. (Although I can see a few other forms as possible as well)

12. Sometimes, when I draw Harry, I add a little white streak of hair from his scar because I think it looks cool. Also, white hair and death connotation, so, yeah. I'd like to think that the white tuft became larger after he died and came back in the forest.

13. I usually imagine his scar going down through his eyebrow to around his right eye, basically I like it when Harry is very obviously and clearly marked by the killing curse. Unfortunately, canon contradicts this by him being able to cover the scar with his hair, and Snatchers in Deathly Hollows believed him to not be Harry Potter when he made shit up, so the scar probably isn't that noticeable. I'd like to think it is larger with very few lines going below his forehead, and just very very pale and almost invisible when Tom isn't angry over something.

14. He's short-sighted. Aka, his glasses are for looking at things far away, and if he wants to read, he can do so without the glasses, assuming he's holding the page close enough to his face. Actually, contrary to fanon opinion, I think Harry can see without his glasses, it's just really hazy, but if you stand close enough he would recognize you without his glasses. His sight isn't that bad.

15. I think throughout the series, his wardrobe slowly becomes more wizardy (and it could be really cool to implement something like that in the TV show). Basically, in year 1, he's always wearing his school robes over Dudley's muggle clothes, but through the years, he ends up buying random wizard clothing artifacts. So, in later years, he occasionally wore jeans under his robes, but sometimes he wore wizarding shirts. Sometimes, in books like 4 or 5, he could wear muggle sneakers with a casual wizarding robe on the weekend. Like, idk, I like the idea of this gradual change in his wardrobe and by book 7 when they are actively on the run from the ministry he's finally really looking the part of a wizard, but he isn't part of their society because of the war. Like, I just like this arc to his fashion that I made up in my head.

16. The one thing I might agree with the epilogue on in my headcanoned future, is that Harry declines going back for 8th year. Except in my head, he doesn't immediately go to Auror training, instead, he tries to take some time to figure his life out after everything, realizes he wants to go back to Hogwarts and that he doesn't know how to just sit down after 17 years of running on adrenalin and he ends up returning to the optional 8th year like 3 months late.

17. Harry's patronus is never going to change. He isn't going to allow that piece of his father to die, so I don't think it would change.

18. Like what I mentioned above about his eyes being just slightly off from Lily's eye color, I think his resemblance to James is like that too (and the books support me on this). In SWM Harry mentions how James has a longer nose than him and a different eye shape, and I think if you looked closely at James and Harry side by side, you'll see more and more of these differences. They look the same when you don't think about it, but once you look, they don't look like carbon copies of each other at all. I think Harry has James' eyebrows and jaw structure though.

19. For some reason, I headcanon Harry was born on the evening. Like, around 7 or 8. I really don't know why.

20. Harry doesn't know it, but he is attractive. I mean, I'm not sure I mentioned it, but girls in books 5 and 6 start looking at him, and sure, he is the Boy-Who-Lived, but if he wasn't attractive there wouldn't be that many attempts to dose him with love potion. Also, he is the son of James and Lily, so the potential there is high.

21. I'd like to think he keeps the ability to speak Parseltongue even after Voldemort dies and the Horcrux is gone. I like to think the Horcrux wasn't the only reason he could speak it. Like, in my headcanon, Lily is a descendant from a Gaunt family squib line and that's why Voldy's soul triggered the Parseltongue gene that was already there. So, in my version of the books in my head, Harry could still speak it even after book 7.

Like, these are the ones I could think of off the top of my head.