#now it is time to sleep and get on a decent schedule !!

[soobnny]

right side of my neck — jeongin x reader ; established relationship (0.6k words)

your touch hater bf just wants to kiss you

happy holidays !!!!!!!!!!!

“Innieeeee.”

He’s falling deaf to your whines, one ear and out the other.

“‘M trying to sleep.” You mumble with sleep-riddled voice, trying to push the boy’s face away from yours.

He isn’t quick to give up.

“And ‘m trying to kiss my girlfriend.”

Jeongin’s someone that rarely craves physical intimacy despite having the most beautiful hands and the most perfect lips.

Not that you minded.

You think it’s endearing how he reserves it for you, in the comfort of baggy clothes and the security of his room.

You can’t help but giggle at him. Your touch-hater boyfriend practically begging to keep kissing you. You should relish in this moment a bit longer.

Because apparently he can’t wait until morning, or at least certainly not when he’ll have to be shaken awake in the early hours of dawn for practices and schedules.

His lips stay attached on your skin, open-mouthed kisses pressed on anywhere he can get access to—cheeks, forehead, lips, chin, neck, lips, shoulder, ear, lips.

“Let me kiss you?” Jeongin leaves a trail just before landing back on your lips, hovering. You don’t know what time it is, but you know it’s past midnight when he’s soft and malleable like this, and begging in slurred vocabulary.

“Please?”

This man is going to kill you one day.

“Okay.”

Your one-word response doesn’t even have time to fizzle out into the air when your boyfriend latches his lips onto yours in an almost neediness.

He’s hazy-eyed, limp-tailed in your arms, and he doesn’t continue down to any more than kissing like he usually does. He knows that you’re tired, so he keeps it at just making out.

It goes on longer than you have the breath for it.

Jeongin allows you the liberty of taking in more air, pulling out to look at the messy plump of your lips, and then your eyes.

He thinks, he should really let you sleep soon.

“One more, promise.”

He whispers, attention span not rich enough to say another word before he’s chasing your lips for the last time. And his hands stay gently at your waist, that it makes you feel warmer than you already do.

Then, when he’s sure he’s kissed you enough to suffice missing your lips during practice, he releases you, and breathes out, “Mkay, you can sleep now. Thanks, baby.”

His fingers hold your body in place that you’re still pressed against him, and it’s really such a delight to witness his droopy eyes and his love-drunk smile and the bashful tint of his cheeks. He dips into your hair, a smile ghosting his lips when he gets a trace of the shampoo he uses.

“Hm, goodnight my Innie.” Your head finds his neck like it’s routine, but he can still hear you mumble against his skin.

“Don’t call me that if you don’t want me to kiss you again.” Jeongin makes a complaining noise, always been weak when you put a possessive determiner before his name.

You can only laugh with your exhaustion.

If any of the boys were to walk in his room, you were sure they’d be surprised at the sight they’d be subjected to. The reminder of their youngest pointedly making attempts to avoid their hugs, just to beg for yours—Han Jisung would throw a tantrum.

(“He must really like her,” Minho says after a chance encounter finding you and Jeongin asleep on the couch.

His hair tickles the skin of your neck at how close he is, and there is a fond smile on Minho’s face at the sight.

“Don’t let Sungie see this.” Felix laughs.)

Jeongin falls asleep before you do. Turns out he wasn’t as awake as you thought he was, but your heart tingles at the thought that he’d spent his last remaining moments of consciousness kissing you.

That, instead of resting to get at least a decent amount of sleep before his schedules, he’d chosen to meet your lips.

“Goodnight, Innie.”

(You let him kiss you again, dumb and needy and soft and knowing, the next evening.)

[acinonyxantidote]

went to sleep at 6pm yesterday. beginning my metamorphosis into jaspers lalonde

[ms-demeanor]

I think the eight alarms thing is usually a maladaptation. You've trained your brain to ignore the eight alarms because you kept avoiding the training of willpower following the first alarm would require. I think some sleep therapy might help?

Hey so first of all fuck you, thanks.

Second: I love it when you read literature on sleep disorders, especially if it's on sleep disorders among folks with ADHD, and you see time and time again "when allowed to sleep on their preferred schedule subjects maintained healthy, normal, restorative sleep cycles" and "effects were not lasting without ongoing intervention; resetting the sleep schedule is a permanent effort."

Like, if I sleep *great* from 6am to 2pm and I wake up feeling rested and alert with no special help but I need to turn off the lights in my house and shut down all electronics at 8pm and beam a spotlight into my face starting at 5am to wake up at seven and feel exhausted all day, I think perhaps it is not actually my sleep cycle that is wrong it is perhaps society that is wrong.

BELIEVE ME, when I find the job that pays well and has decent insurance that lets me exist as a cheerful nighttime ghoul I am jumping on that with both feet. But until then I literally feel better getting six hours of sleep and occasionally sleeping so hard that i can't hear my alarms because of chronic sleep deprivation than I do turning off all the lights in my house and ceasing all activity two and a half hours after I get off of work.

Also: the eight alarms aren't all there to wake me up, it's just that sometimes I *also* sleep through the ones that are supposed to remind me to go sit at my desk and start work. One of the first three usually gets me up, but on a day when I sleep through all three of those I will be sleeping through all eight of them and usually a phone call and someone trying to shake me awake to.

ANYWAY after being treated with melatonin and light therapy and staring listlessly at the ceiling in the dark bored out of my skull with racing thoughts for sleep disorders that I didn't have for like twenty years the single most effective intervention that allowed me to get more sleep as someone with both ADHD and DSPD was to start hanging out and being active in places where it would be easy to fall asleep if the sleep caught me there instead of turning my bedroom into a dark, silent shrine of snoozing. Giving myself permission to fall asleep late instead of laying awake chewing myself up with guilt for not being asleep helped too.

Actually here's some tips for the sleepy bitches in the crowd:

1 - If you're laying down and not falling asleep in half an hour, you're not actually sleepy; read something or get up and do something because you're more likely to get sleepy faster that way than you are staring at the clock going "if I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and forty five minutes of rest when I have to go to work; If I fall asleep now I'll have three hours and twenty minutes of sleep when I have to get up, etc. etc."

2 - Allow yourself to be ambushed by sleep. Fall asleep on your cozy couch. Fall asleep in the comfy chair. Let yourself sleep where you fall asleep instead of dragging yourself to where you're 'supposed' to sleep if doing so will wake you up.

3 - The mythbusters thing. If you just lay down and close your eyes and pretend to rest you will feel more rested when you get up than when you laid down. Laying down to rest is better than nothing, it literally causes cognitive improvements similar to sleep in tests, and knowing that can help take off some of the pressure of not being able to fall asleep and can thus help you fall asleep.

4 - It's okay to "hang out" in the area where you're going to sleep. Read in bed. Play games on your cellphone in bed. If you want to go to sleep put on comfy clothes and bring a chill activity and hang out in your bed to do it so that all you have to do when you start getting sleepy is close your eyes.

5 - It's better to get some sleep than no sleep. Sometimes you look at the clock and it's six AM and whoops, fuck it. Okay, time for bed, don't stress that you're only going to get a few hours, a few hours is better than nothing. Lay down to pretend to rest at least and you'll probably feel okay.

6 - This one sounds silly and might not work for a bunch of people for a bunch of reasons but apparently there's some research suggesting that "well-rested" is a state of mind? I've had a reasonable amount of success with just telling myself "Yeah, I actually feel pretty good," and pushing through the day on a couple of hours of sleep. I don't *recommend* that and you should try to get as much sleep as possible, but yeah the next time you're low on sleep see what happens if you just try to decide to not be tired. It sounded like bullshit to me when I first heard it but I've found some success with it.

7 - This shit is cumulative. If you're doing a couple nights a week on low sleep that's not ideal but you're probably going to be pretty functional and you can work on it. If you overbook and overextend yourself for too long - I'm looking at you college students and new parents - it's going to add up. Try as much as possible to at least keep your sleep deficit nights spread out. (This message brought to you by writing 60k words of fiction in october and completely frying my brain because i wasn't getting enough sleep).

[writersdrug]

I need, need need neeeeed to know who you would picture bar owner price with 😩 picturing bar owner price has me week in the knees. I need more, how would he be around the bar when he was there? Supporting, bossy,silly? The possibilities are endless. 🥰

I'm loving how people are requesting things for the rest of the 141!!

Bar Owner!Price isn't there every day, and most often not during the actual shift. He's there some mornings, already at his desk on the floor above the pub, setting up the next inventory order and dealing out everyone's tips before Simon climbs down from his flat on the third floor. They both grunt at each other, tired and in need of a hot breakfast and some tea.

He helps set up for the shift - he likes being in the kitchen with Soap. He feels bad the man is back there all by himself, even though he says he doesn't mind it. "I get to cuss 'n bitch all I want back 'ere, sir." Still, Price spends a majority of his time back there with him, prepping burger patties and making sure everything is stocked and ready. Gets on his case about updating the menu, but Soap insists the customers like it the way it is.

Price makes an appearance on the floor every now and then, opting to help run food or bartend on the busier nights. He checks in with the regulars, leaning his forearms on the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, laughing and chatting with them and occasionally offering to refill their drinks. Simon grumbles quietly about him being in the way, but Price doesn't take it to heart.

He doesn't stay late. John isn't that old, but he likes to be back at home by a decent hour. One ruined sleep schedule and he's a shot for the rest of the week. He likes to get back to his flat, make himself a sandwich and pour himself some whiskey, and be on on his sofa and reading his book no later than ten in the evening. Routines have always been a part of his military career, and what can he say? Old habits really fo die hard.

Then you came along.

You didn't just rock Simon's world - you'd gotten Price, too. Though introductions could have been smoother (you nearly beat him with a keg when he came in through the back door and scared you), he's grown fond of you. First, as a hard worker and go-getter; then, as a pretty little waitress with a dazzling smile that likes to keep him on his toes. You love poking fun at him, calling him "bossman" or "barmaster" (doesn't make sense to him, since he's hardly behind the bar - but he finds it cute). You tease him for the way he runs your food, then gets stuck at the table for five minutes just chatting up the customers. You ask him things like, "Who do you prefer, Cardi B or Nicki Minaj?" And laugh when he just stares at you with a furrowed brow. He'll happily let you tease him for being an "old" man just to hear your laughter.

Then Simon sent that photo in the group chat, and Price felt something stir in his chest: looking at you, posing all prettily for your picture, working to push your little idea out there and bring in a crowd. He's impressed, but he's also intrigued. He's got his sights on you, and he's dying to figure out more about his waitress.

"'S the post making any headway?" He asks one night, leaning on the bar next to where you sit. Your tips are finished, money waded into the pocket of your apron as you scroll on your phone, sipping on a screwdriver.

"Kinda..." You mumble, a pout on your face, creasing the skin between your eyebrows. "People are seeing it, and there are a few likes, but no one's really engaging. Not sure if this will do well."

Price hums thoughtfully, looking at your lips while you stare at your screen. He's holding back the urge to lean in and take a whiff of your perfume, afraid it might seem just a bit too strange. "Have you tried promoting it?"

You look at him, laying your phone on the bar top. "Well... I could, but..." You wanted to finish with 'it would cost money'. But then, you'd be insinuating that you expected him to pay you. You could boost the post yourself, but you'd rather not spend money on something that might flop.

"'S there a problem?" Price asked, leaning in closer to you.

"I mean... promoting a post costs some money. Like, for it to be advertised to five hundred people, you'd pay around one fifty. And I think, depending on how far you wanted the post to reach - like, literally, how big of a geographic area - that would cost even more."

Price chuckles. "You do realize how much business you've brought in since you've joined the team, hmm?"

That makes your cheeks warm, pressing your lips into a line to avoid grinning like an idiot at the compliment. "I mean... sure..."

"Go upstairs to the office and get my wallet." he says, standing up from his seat at the bar.

You watch with a stupefied expression as he walks to the POS and prints some blank receipt paper. "You- you mean it? Are you sure?"

He sits on a barstool near the kitchen door. "Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. Hurry up- before I change my mind."

You don't need to be told twice. You drop your phone onto the bar and bolt towards the stairs - you stop yourself, running back to where Price sits and hugging him from behind. He lets out a surprise grunt as you do your best to smother him.

"You're the best boss ever!" you squeal. Then, just like that - you're off to the office upstairs. He preens over the compliment as he hears you leaping two steps at a time.

"Be careful." he calls over his shoulder. He sits there a moment, staring at the paper in front of him. He's surprised he hadn't accidentally thrown you off of him purely out of instinct, but he can't say he isn't absolutely delighted by the hug. It lingers in his mind, his chest still remembering your arms around him. He shakes his head, reaching forward to grab a pen from behind the bar.

His eyes meet Simon's - the man is glaring daggers, his head framed by the window in the kitchen door, mask hanging from his ear. His lips are pulled down into quite possibly the angriest frown Price has ever seen. His nostrils flare as he exhales - Price wonders what sort of insults are flying through the bartender's head right now.

He glares right back. If Simon wants something, he'll give it to him. But he'll make him ask for it, like any normal human being. John isn't going to surrender just because Ghost is huffing and puffing, expecting his boss to back away from you just because he's stomping his foot and looking menacing. But how can he be sure that Simon really wants you, more than he thinks Price deserves you, if the lad won't say anything? It's only reasonable, right?

"If you want something, Simon, say something." Price calls out, never backing down from Simon's jealous gaze.

He huffs again and disappears from the kitchen window. Price can hear shuffling and banging, followed by Soap's irritated voice: "Oi, I got it! Get yourself outta my kitchen n' go your own shite, 'fore you break my stuff."

Price sighs, scribbling down some numbers on the paper in front of him. He'll cave, eventually.

[sleeplessdreamer14]

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊

fandom: my hero academia

relationship: tenya iida x reader

summary: you left your jacket in iida’s room.

contains: mutual pining, unresolved romantic tension, fluff, opposites attract, thrifted clothes, like two lines of dialogue

a/n: @thecutestgrotto divider credit goes to

Study sessions hadn’t always been a thing between you and Iida, not until after moving into the dorms. You just lived too far apart to meet up every week like you did now, every Friday to be exact.

Iida had offered to tutor you earlier in the school year, but you always turned him down, wanting to at least try and figure things out on your own. But after you began to live in the same building, you finally accepted his offer and worked out a schedule for the two of you to meet up in the afternoon and go over any material either of you had trouble with.

Eventually, those study sessions began to evolve into hang outs with studying sprinkled in, switching between his room and yours every week. Despite you two having very different tastes in room decor, it look little time for you to grow comfortable in each other’s environments. You quickly learned his organization system and he gradually learned to just leave your clutter be… mostly.

This week’s study meeting was held in Iida’s dorm room, and when you had first walked through the door, you were sporting your iconic letterman jacket which you had gotten from a thrift shop not too long ago. It had become routine for you and your mom to stop by the thrift store when you would spend her days off work together.

Anyway, it wasn’t until about an hour after you had left to start turning in for the night that Iida realized you had left your jacket behind, in a small bundle on the floor near the foot of his bed. He was surprised that it took him this long to notice, considering he had actually watched you walk- or more rush out the door after you realized how late it had gotten. You had taken it off in the middle of studying since the fabric retained heat and you were getting a little warmer than you would have preferred, so he supposed that you must have been so eager to go shower and get to sleep at a somewhat decent hour that you simply forgot.

Iida’s initial idea was to stop by your dorm room to give it back to you, but it was already pretty late and he knew that you tended to lock your door at night. Though he supposed he could simply text you, but you were probably already asleep, or at least drifting off, so he didn’t want to disturb you. It had been a long week and you needed the rest.

So he decided that he would simply return it to you tomorrow morning when he saw you again. And it definitely wasn’t because over the past few weeks, the more time that Tenya spent with you, the more it felt as though your study sessions ended too early and he just wanted to hold onto this piece of you for as long as he could. Of course not.

And that’s why he was lying on his back in the dark, holding the piece of clothing to his chest while staring up and the ceiling with nothing but the low hum of the air conditioner and muffled outside noises to fill the silence.

If he were being honest, Iida loved this jacket. Because despite it being previously owned, it was so uniquely yours. He could still remember the day you returned to the dorms with a skip in your step as you showed off your new duds, talking about how lucky you were to find it right at the front of the shop and have it fit you just right. Coincidentally, it even had the first letter of your surname on the front. There were a lot of things that Tenya had grown to appreciate thanks to you.

Like your piercings. While Tenya previously found them impractical and even a bit unprofessional, he eventually grew to like how they looked on you, especially after you had invited him to go with you to get your most recent one.

And the rings you wore every day, two on your left and one on your right. Honestly, he kind of just liked your hands. Iida had briefly held your hand a couple times before, to help you stand up or when one of you was leading the other somewhere. He wished he could do that more.

Turning over on his side, Iida closed his eyes and lightly tightened his hold on your jacket as his heart drummed in his ears.

No. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, don’t you dare do it.

But he did. Tenya brought the jacket closer to his face and inhaled slowly. Yep, there it was; your natural scent with hints of your shampoo around the back of the collar. It was nice, comforting. Sometimes when he went to bed after your study sessions, he could find faint traces of your smell on his pillow or covers of you had been resting there while working.

Tenya wished he could have more than this. More of you, and for longer. But if this was all he could have, then he could be content with that.

The following morning, Iida folded up your jacket before going to return it to you. While part of him felt a little disappointed at first about having to give it back to you, that feeling was overpowered by the smile on your face when he did. You slipped your jacket on and tucked your hands into the pockets, thanking Iida.

“Don’t worry, it’s no trouble at all.” he replied, hoping that the blush in his face wasn’t too obvious. It really did look perfect on you.

As you went your separate ways, you gently rubbed your arms and took a deep breath in, your face flushing a subtle pink as you picked up faint traces of Tenya’s scent. Looking back over your shoulder in his direction, you chuckled softly as you stared at him as he engaged in conversation with some of your other classmates, blissfully unaware of that fact that-

“You totally left it in his room on purpose, didn’t you?” Mina whispered as she approached you, a Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she quirked an eyebrow at you. You said nothing, only rolling your eyes and lightly shoving her by the shoulder, earning a giggle. You knew that she could see the answer in your face.

Maybe you did, but he didn’t need to know that.

[paxaz535]

SLOW SIMMER - ONE

dallas!paige x privatechef!azzi

note: literally have been thinking of this idea for the longest time, finally decided to write it out

i promise i’m working on the one shots ! it’s just a lot so i like to pre write but i have like 12 drafts lolll

i’m gonna try and keep it a slow burn but idk… enjoy?

————

when azzi got the notification that paige bueckers’ manager had accepted her application for the private chef position, she froze.

she was in the middle of making dinner—steak marinated for hours, asparagus already sizzling in olive oil—when her phone lit up. she wiped her hands on a towel, glanced at the screen, and blinked once. then twice. and then she let out the softest, most shocked, “no fucking way.”

this was real.

she’d applied on a whim. not because she wasn’t serious, but because it felt out of reach. paige bueckers? that was someone who lived on a whole different planet. but now she was packing half her kitchen, wrapping knives in dish towels, sealing up spice jars, trying not to overthink the fact that she’d soon be living in dallas, texas, cooking daily meals for someone who had millions of eyes on her at all times.

azzi had been cooking since she was ten. it wasn’t optional. her mom—katie—ran the house with tight efficiency, and that meant everybody pulled their weight. azzi’s job started with breakfast duty. toast, eggs, bacon, sometimes pancakes on the weekends. by lunch, she was already experimenting. by dinner, she was her mom’s shadow.

when she turned sixteen, katie stepped back. said, “let’s see what you got.” azzi cooked dinner all by herself—chicken thighs with rosemary garlic potatoes and roasted broccoli with lemon zest. her dad and brothers, notoriously picky, cleared their plates.

katie didn’t cook for the rest of that week.

it was her dad who brought it up later. “you ever think about doing this for real?” he asked, sipping sweet tea. “culinary school. chef classes. the whole thing.”

she hadn’t—not seriously. but after that night, she did.

azzi threw herself into it. courses, internships, pop-ups, local gigs. and when she wasn’t in the kitchen, she was filming. posting online. plating food with perfect lighting. her videos blew up. her dms flooded. eventually, one of those messages came from emma. paige’s manager.

and now she was here. duffel bags on the floor. apartment keys in her hand.

—

paige didn’t think she needed a chef.

she could cook—she really could. she had a solid five meals under her belt and a decent sense of seasoning. but with her schedule, cooking just didn’t happen. everything was go-go-go. workouts in the morning, practice mid-day, meetings, press, photoshoots. by the time she got home, she was barely upright.

takeout became the routine. she’d order it on the drive, pick a show to zone out to, and eat on the couch until sleep dragged her under.

it was simple. easy. but it got old.

“i swear if i have to eat one more grain bowl,” she mumbled, tossing the plastic container into the trash.

emma, always two steps ahead, heard the complaint once and took it seriously.

“why don’t you just get someone to cook for you?”

paige frowned. “like… a maid?”

“no,” emma said, already typing. “a chef. a private one.”

paige made a face. “i don’t know. what if they’re weird about it? like—what if they’re just here to say they were in my kitchen?”

“you think too highly of yourself,” emma teased, then laughed. “kidding. kind of. listen, i’ll find someone who’s good. professional. won’t be all in your business. you’ll come home to good food and quiet.”

paige paused. “…okay. but—no men.”

“say less.”

and that was it. emma handled the rest. she sent over a few names, but azzi’s was the one that stood out. her portfolio was clean, impressive, a little artsy but grounded. her food looked good—comforting but elevated. she didn’t try too hard. she wasn’t trying to be a celebrity chef. she just loved cooking.

emma gave the green light. paige shrugged and said fine.

she didn’t know that decision would shift her whole routine.

-

azzi triple-checked the address to make sure she was at the right place. the last thing she needed was to knock on some stranger’s door with a suitcase in one hand and a heavy utensils bag slung over her shoulder.

once she confirmed it, she stepped out of her car and grabbed her things, pausing only to lock the door behind her. paige’s manager had told her to be there by 11:30 on the dot—no earlier, no later. azzi figured paige must’ve had something to do afterwards, and she didn’t want anyone messing with her schedule.

emma had insisted on a proper and quick introduction. just enough to make sure paige felt comfortable with the person who’d be living in her home for… who even knows how long.

azzi took a breath before heading up the short steps to the front door. she’d never done this before—being someone’s private chef. she’d worked events, done in-home dinners, but this was different. this was daily. personal. close.

she was nervous, yeah, but that made sense. and okay, maybe she was also a little intrigued. not in a full-blown crush way—but she wasn’t blind. paige bueckers was beautiful. and more than that, she was her. a champion. an all-american. number one pick. a household name.

basketball was a big deal in azzi’s house. her brothers were obsessed. her dad watched every march madness game like it was life or death. so yeah—she knew who paige was. she also knew she needed to be on her a-game.

when azzi reached the front door, she knocked three times. not too hard, not too soft. she waited, suitcase at her side, adjusting the strap of her utensil bag while she listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.

a moment later, the door opened.

a woman with sharp brown eyes and a warm smile greeted her. brunette, hair clipped up effortlessly in a claw clip, dressed in a dark purple blouse and sleek black pants.

emma.

she matched azzi’s grin almost instantly—because azzi couldn’t help it. her smile always gave her away. wide, bright, those signature bunny teeth front and center.

“azzi, right?”

“yes, ma’am,” she replied, voice steady but kind. “it’s nice to meet you.”

emma stepped aside, holding the door open. “you’re right on time. come on in.”

azzi immediately stepped inside, her eyes scanning the space as she walked in. the apartment smelled like vanilla, soft and warm, with a hint of coconut. maybe even mint, if you sniffed hard enough. it was clean, minimal but lived-in. the kind of place that made you want to sit on the couch and never leave.

floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one entire wall, sunlight spilling through and pooling onto the hardwood floors. the living room was massive. a huge cream-colored sectional sat in the center, facing a mounted tv with books and candles lining the shelves below. outside the window, dallas glittered in the distance.

everything really was bigger in texas, huh.

but then her eyes landed on the kitchen.

and that was it.

her mouth parted slightly. she stepped forward without realizing. the kitchen was nearly as big as the living room—double oven, island in the center, marble counters, a full rack for spices already installed. built-in fridge. gas stove. space.

real space.

the excitement bubbled in her chest like a slow boil. her fingers twitched at her sides.

emma watched her with a quiet smirk, catching the exact moment azzi’s entire demeanor shifted. it wasn’t dramatic, but she could see it—chefs had a way of lighting up in kitchens. like they could already taste what they’d create.

“she’s all yours,” emma said lightly, her voice soft in the background.

azzi was about to respond, a small smile tugging at her lips, but she froze when she heard a second set of footsteps.

lighter, more casual.

she turned toward the hallway just as paige appeared.

the athlete walked in with a half-full water bottle in one hand and her phone in the other. her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and she was wearing a gray tee tucked into black nike shorts. her eyes lifted the second she noticed someone new in the room.

azzi blinked.

paige was… taller than she looked on tv. lean but strong, presence filling the space without even trying. her skin had that natural post-shower glow, and her face was bare, soft and open, blinking slowly as she processed who was standing in her apartment.

emma stepped in, gesturing between the two of them. “paige, this is azzi. your new chef.”

azzi stood a little straighter, smile returning instinctively. “hey. it’s really nice to meet you.”

paige’s brows lifted slightly, clearly caught off guard.

but then, after a beat, she nodded. “oh. yeah. hey.”

her voice was low. smooth. still waking up, maybe.

her eyes dropped briefly to the bags at azzi’s feet, then flicked up again—curious, unreadable.

“welcome,” paige said, stepping forward just enough. “hope you don’t mind dogs.”

emma grinned. azzi’s smile widened.

“not at all,” she said. “what’s their name?”

“ace,” paige answered, tone softer this time. “he’ll probably sniff you for ten minutes straight. don’t take it personal.”

“i’ll consider it a warm welcome.”

emma watched them both, quietly satisfied. the air between them wasn’t stiff—not quite—but it held a quiet tension. the kind that could shift into comfort or chaos. too early to tell.

but she had a feeling.

“this is a really nice place,” azzi said as she set her utensil bag down gently on the ledge by the kitchen, fingers brushing over the marble like she was already claiming it.

paige smiled, small and polite. “thank you.”

azzi nodded once, her gaze drifting again to the tall cabinets and deep sink. then silence fell between them. not exactly awkward, but it had weight. like two people stuck between strangers and we’ll-get-there-eventually.

emma glanced at paige with a look. a full conversation packed into a single expression. say something. do something.

paige blinked back at her, confused. it took a second. then her eyes widened. “oh shit. my bad—let me show you your room.”

azzi let out a soft laugh, stepping back toward her bags. “you’re good. lead the way.”

paige nodded and turned, walking down the hallway barefoot, water bottle swinging in her hand. azzi followed, rolling her suitcase behind her, her bag slung across her shoulder. the hallway was long, framed with framed jerseys and a few candid pictures. she caught glimpses of a dog bed, a pile of basketball shoes by a door, a laundry basket tucked against the wall.

they stopped at the second-to-last door.

paige pushed it open, revealing a guest room that didn’t feel like an afterthought. it was clean, cozy. queen bed with gray sheets, a desk near the window, small bookshelf already stacked with random novels and one dog-eared cookbook.

“emma said you’d probably want a space to unwind when you’re not cooking,” paige said, stepping aside so azzi could enter first. “if anything’s missing, just let me know.”

azzi looked around, letting it sink in. it wasn’t flashy, but it was… intentional. thought-out. it felt like she’d be able to breathe here.

“this is perfect,” she said honestly. “thank you.”

paige gave a little nod, then leaned against the doorframe. “cool. you can settle in—no rush. i’ve got a call in like fifteen, so you probably won’t see me again until lunch.”

“got it.”

a pause. paige looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she gave a small smile and slipped out.

azzi turned back to the room once the door clicked shut.

okay.

this was real.

she dropped her suitcase by the closet, took a slow breath, and grinned to herself.

first impression? not terrible. maybe even promising.

paige walked back toward the front of the apartment, her steps easy but her mind still spinning a little. she rounded the corner and found emma exactly where she’d left her—leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a knowing smile already tugging at her lips.

“so…” emma said, eyes twinkling. “how you liking it so far?”

paige snorted, tossing her water bottle on the counter a little harder than necessary. “it hasn’t even been an hour yet, em.”

emma shrugged, unbothered. “and?”

paige sighed, but her voice softened just a touch. “she seems nice, i guess.”

“you guess?”

“i don’t know,” paige mumbled, dragging a hand through her braid. “she’s quiet. polite. she smiled a lot.”

emma raised a brow. “and that’s a bad thing?”

“no,” paige said quickly. “no. it’s just… weird having someone new in my house. give me like, a week before i form a real opinion.”

emma grinned, grabbing her purse from the barstool. “sure. a week. i’ll check in tomorrow.”

paige rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it. “you’re annoying.”

“and yet, i’m always right,” emma sang as she made her way to the door.

paige followed her halfway, leaning against the arm of the couch.

emma pulled the door open but turned back before stepping out. “for real, though… you’ll get used to her. might even like her. she’s got that… calm energy. feels like the opposite of you.”

“thank you for that,” paige deadpanned.

emma just winked. “you’re welcome.”

and with that, she disappeared, the door clicking shut behind her.

paige stood there for a second, letting the quiet settle back in. the place didn’t feel different exactly—but it didn’t feel the same either.

she glanced toward the hallway where azzi’s room was.

calm energy, huh.

we’ll see.

-

azzi started unpacking, slow but methodical. she always liked to settle in right away—it helped the nerves. helped make things feel real.

she slid her suitcase over to the closet and unzipped it, tugging out her neatly folded clothes. basics, mostly. tees, sweats, leggings, a few button-downs she wore for dinners or when she felt like pretending she had it all together. she started stacking them in the dresser drawers, one by one.

the closet was roomy. one side already had empty hangers waiting, which made her smile a little. she hung a few nicer pieces up, kicking her suitcase off to the side once it was empty.

she opened her utensils bag next, double-checking that nothing had shifted out of place during the flight. her knives were still in their protective rolls, each one labeled. wooden spoons, metal tongs, a small blowtorch. she had her own apron too—black with her name stitched in cursive near the chest. cheesy, but hers.

it was technically her room now. her space. she could do whatever she wanted with it. that fact settled into her slowly.

she opened the small bookshelf near the window and slid in a few of her own cookbooks—well-used, dog-eared, some with splashes of oil or sauce still dried on the pages. she kept one in her hands a second longer: flavors from home. it was her mom’s favorite. she set it in the middle.

once everything was in place, she flopped back onto the bed, arms stretched out, eyes on the ceiling.

the apartment was quiet. like the calm before something.

this was her job now. her home too.

she let the quiet settle before pushing herself up, already itching to check out the kitchen again.

her phone dinged, screen lighting up with the familiar chaos of the family group chat. she smiled before she even read it, already knowing someone was about to say something ridiculous.

mom

you made it there yet?

azzi

yes, just settled into the room she gave me

the apartment’s nice

jon

you have to take a picture with her and send it

azzi

lol not right now jon

jose

i’m happy for you sis

although i will need an autograph sooner or later

azzi

🤦🏾‍♀️

dad

good luck cooking for an athlete

you know they eat 2x as much

azzi

wait

you’re not an athlete though..

jon

ooo burn

katie

😂

tim

watch it fudd

azzi

☺️

katie

alright sweetie

be safe

try not to poison her on your first day

azzi

hahah

no promises

she let the phone fall back on the bed beside her, grin still on her face. god, she loved them.

pulling her apron from her bag, she looped it around her neck and tied it behind her back like it was second nature. she grabbed her utensil bag next, zipped it up, and slung it over her shoulder.

then, with a quiet breath and the smallest pep in her step, she left the bedroom and made her way back down the hall.

azzi strolled into the kitchen, this time without hesitation.

this was her domain now.

and lunch wasn’t going to cook itself.

the moment azzi stepped into the kitchen, everything else faded out.

the sun was still pouring in through the massive windows, casting gold over the countertops. the space was clean, untouched, like it had been waiting for her. she set her bag down gently on the island and unzipped it, pulling out her knives and lining them up like soldiers. each blade had its place. her hands moved without thought—grabbing a cutting board, washing her hands, tucking her apron tighter.

she opened the fridge and gave a soft, approving hum. it was stocked well. fresh greens, fruit, eggs, chicken, salmon, almond milk, protein powders, and of course—a drawer full of random condiments athletes swore by.

she scanned the shelves, then pulled out what she needed.

lemon. garlic. rosemary. chicken thighs.

her mind was already spinning a recipe together. something clean but flavorful. comforting, but not heavy. her go-to lemon rosemary garlic chicken over a warm quinoa salad with roasted veggies sounded like the perfect first meal.

she started with the marinade, squeezing lemon juice into a bowl, adding garlic paste, fresh chopped rosemary, a drizzle of honey, salt, and pepper. she dipped a spoon in, tasted it, nodded. good.

she tossed the chicken in the bowl, coating each piece with her hands, then set it to rest.

next: quinoa.

she rinsed it thoroughly, then got it simmering on the stove in low-sodium veggie broth—extra flavor, no extra effort. while that cooked, she chopped up bell peppers, zucchini, and red onion. her knife moved fast, a smooth rhythm against the board. she laid them out on a tray, drizzled with olive oil, hit them with sea salt, cracked pepper, a pinch of paprika, and tossed them in the oven.

by the time the chicken hit the pan, the kitchen already smelled like home. savory, citrusy, rich.

azzi didn’t realize she was smiling until she glanced at her reflection in the oven door.

she loved this.

being here. doing this.

a job that didn’t feel like one.

paige walked out of her room, barefoot, hair now down and out of the braid, no water bottle this time. just her phone.

she wasn’t thinking much—call had ended early, her brain was foggy, and all she really wanted was to lie on the couch and maybe scroll aimlessly for a while. but halfway through the hallway, she stopped.

her nose twitched.

the smell hit her all at once—warm, garlicky, a little sweet, a little sharp. something roasted. something sizzling. she blinked, her stomach reacting before her brain could even place it.

when she turned the corner into the kitchen, she froze.

azzi was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot with one hand, flipping chicken in a cast iron pan with the other. the oven was glowing behind her, and the whole kitchen looked alive now—vibrant, full, used.

paige leaned against the counter quietly. watched for a second longer than she meant to.

“i didn’t know the kitchen could smell like this,” she muttered, half to herself.

azzi turned her head slightly, smile creeping in. “yeah? good surprise or bad?”

“very good,” paige said, and her voice came out softer than she intended.

azzi went back to her chicken. “hope you’re hungry.”

“i wasn’t five minutes ago, but now i think i might eat the pan too.”

azzi laughed, short and warm. “please don’t.”

paige watched her a beat longer. the way she moved—calm, confident, completely in her element. like this was already her kitchen. like she belonged here.

it was… weirdly kind of hot.

paige cleared her throat and stood up straighter. “need help with anything?”

azzi looked over her shoulder, eyes amused. “you offering out of kindness or guilt?”

“guilt,” paige admitted.

“honest. i like that,” azzi said, flipping the last piece of chicken and turning off the heat.

paige leaned against the counter again, eyes following her. “so… what is this?”

“lemon rosemary chicken. quinoa salad with roasted veggies. easy first day lunch.”

paige blinked. “that’s easy to you?”

azzi shrugged. “yeah.”

paige whistled low. “i’ve been living like a peasant.”

azzi smirked. “not anymore.”

paige grabbed two plates without being asked, sliding them onto the island as azzi finished plating the food.

everything looked… perfect. golden seared chicken, still steaming, nestled next to fluffy quinoa mixed with bright roasted veggies—orange, green, red. there was a light drizzle of some kind of sauce on top, too, glossy and rich-looking.

“damn,” paige muttered, genuinely impressed. “i feel like i should tip you.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “not on the first day, please. i might start expecting it.”

they sat down across from each other at the bar, stools pulled in. paige didn’t wait—she grabbed her fork and took a bite of chicken first. her eyes widened just slightly. “oh shit.”

azzi raised a brow, already chewing. “good?”

paige swallowed, then pointed her fork at her. “so good. i feel like i owe you a bonus already.”

azzi gave a small, modest shrug. “i’ll let emma know.”

they ate in a comfortable kind of silence after that. no small talk. just silverware clinking, drinks being sipped, the occasional low hum of appreciation.

paige leaned back eventually, fork still in hand, plate nearly clean.

“i’m not even exaggerating—i think i might cry,” she said, hand on her chest. “this actually healed something in me.”

azzi smiled, cheeks a little pink. “then i did my job.”

“nah,” paige said, “you bodied your job.”

azzi shook her head, amused. “you’re dramatic.”

“you’ll get used to it.”

azzi leaned her elbows on the counter, her tone light. “so what now? nap? practice?”

“practice,” paige groaned. “which sucks because now i’m full and happy and don’t want to move.”

“want me to make you something for post-practice?”

paige tilted her head. “you do that too?”

“that’s kind of the job, isn’t it?”

paige didn’t say anything right away. just looked at her. really looked.

then nodded, slow and certain. “you’re gonna fit in here just fine, fudd.”

azzi smiled, biting back the way that nickname made her stomach flip.

“we’ll see.”

-

when paige arrived at practice, she barely made it through the doors before two voices hit her from opposite ends of the gym.

“you’re smiling way too much,” dijonai said, hands on her hips, eyebrows lifted.

“she’s glowing,” arike added, tossing a ball up and catching it lazily. “who made you breakfast this morning?”

paige tried to play it cool, adjusting her hoodie and pulling the sleeves up past her elbows. “y’all act like i don’t smile.”

“you don’t,” dijonai shot back. “not like this.”

“mhm,” arike agreed, walking over. “you got that i just ate real good and had someone clean the dishes for me energy. go ahead. spill.”

paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her mouth. “emma got me a private chef.”

dijonai’s jaw dropped. “what?”

“you got it like that now?” arike laughed.

“no—it’s not like that. i was tired of eating frozen meals and chipotle bowls every night. i just—i don’t have time to cook.”

“so you hired someone to live with you?” dijonai asked, now fully invested.

“not hired. emma hired. i just agreed,” paige clarified, then shrugged. “but yeah. she moved in this morning.”

arike raised a brow. “and you’re already smiling like that? what’s her name?”

paige hesitated, then looked down at her shoes for a split second. “…azzi.”

“azzi,” dijonai repeated, dragging out the name like she was trying to taste it. “that sounds like a problem.”

“a pretty problem,” arike added under her breath.

“she’s just a chef,” paige said, defensive but not convincing. “she made lemon rosemary chicken for lunch. and like. quinoa. and roasted veggies. it was insane.”

“mmhmm,” dijonai said, smirking. “and did she cook, or cook cook?”

“what does that even mean—”

“it means you’re not just full, you’re fed. spiritually.”

paige tried to fight the grin again but failed. “okay. maybe.”

arike bumped her shoulder. “you’re in trouble.”

“i’m not,” paige insisted, then sighed, grabbing a ball off the rack. “she’s cool. it’s chill.”

“sure,” dijonai said. “until one day she’s making you post-practice pasta and you’re in love.”

paige just laughed before shaking her head. “i just met her. who knows, she could be a serial killer.”

dijonai raised a brow. “a serial killer who sautés?”

“those are the most dangerous ones,” arike added, dribbling in place now. “you think everything’s fine, next thing you know you’re dead in a house that smells like fresh-baked focaccia.”

paige laughed, hand on her chest. “y’all are actually insane.”

“we’re just saying,” dijonai said, walking backwards toward the baseline. “if she can cook like that and she’s cute—”

“who said she was cute?” paige cut in, too quickly.

both arike and dijonai stopped in their tracks, turning slowly.

“nobody,” arike said, grinning. “you just did.”

paige blinked, lips parting slightly before she scoffed. “whatever. focus on practice, please.”

“you focus on keeping your heart intact,” dijonai teased, then jogged off toward the rest of the team.

paige stood there for a second longer, spinning the ball in her hands.

“not happening,” she mumbled to herself, but even she didn’t believe it.

-

azzi had her hair tied back, an apron snug around her waist, sleeves pushed up. she was in her element—music playing low on her phone, knife tapping rhythmically against the cutting board as she chopped fresh herbs. garlic and shallots were already sizzling on the stove, their aroma filling the space.

the kitchen was warm, sun dipping lower outside the massive windows. she didn’t mind the quiet—she liked this kind of solitude, where she could move how she wanted, experiment a little, taste as she went.

this time it was a creamy tomato-based pasta, something rich but not too heavy. she’d roasted cherry tomatoes earlier, slow and low with olive oil, then blended them into the sauce with basil and a hint of red pepper.

for protein, she marinated some grilled shrimp in citrus and honey—it was cooling now, ready to be reheated just before paige walked in.

azzi looked at the clock: 5:18 p.m.

emma had mentioned paige’s practices usually ended around 5:30, which meant she’d be back soon.

as she stirred the sauce, her phone lit up from where it sat on the counter.

emma

hey, just checking in. everything good so far?

azzi

all good. just cooking dinner now.

she paused before sending another one.

azzi

do you know if she has any allergies or food sensitivities? just to be safe.

emma replied almost instantly.

emma

no allergies. she hates mushrooms though lol

azzi

noted. no mushrooms in this kitchen.

azzi smiled a little to herself, sliding the pasta into a large ceramic bowl.

she wiped her hands on a towel, then leaned back against the counter, letting the music play.

if paige walked in now, dinner would already be ready.

and maybe—maybe that would say enough on its own.

azzi had a feeling she was gonna enjoy being here.

so why did she also feel like it was going to be a problem too?

[daisybvck]

Let’s have a baby!

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel miller x reader

Summary: You and your husband Joel decide to have a baby

Warning: fluff, smut 18+, breeding, domesticity, praise, oral sex (fem receiving), begging. NO SARAH (I love her but she’s not in this)

word count: 5.3k+

A/N: Divider by @uzmacchiato

Joel lets himself into your shared home almost silently, not wanting to ruin his surprise appearance.

After weeks of working relentlessly after-hours, he'd finally made it back home to you at a normal time, keeping you in the dark about it. He had sent you a quick text earlier, saying he wouldn't be home 'til late again as he usually would when working overtime. Though you never complained or expressed your aggravation to him, he just knew how much you were missing him lately. It was the subtle way your smile would drop for only a second after he'd kiss you goodbye in the mornings before heading out, or how you would sometimes ask him when his next day off would be.

Lately, Joel’s been coming home to the sight of you curled up so sweetly on the couch with the blanket the two of you often shared while lounging around. You obviously had tried to stay up, tried to fight off the sleep to be able to greet him, but your attempts never succeeded. His heart hurts a little when he thinks of you sitting around aimlessly waiting just for him to come home night after night. That alone was the main reason he absolutely fucking hates working overtime. The lack of time spent with his loving wife had started to take a toll on him as well as he'd been catching himself slipping at work while thinking of what you could possibly be up to at that very moment and how he just couldn't wait for his schedule to calm down so he could get back to you at a decent hour for once. And now that day has finally come.

As soon as he walks through the door, he picks up on the amazing smell of something cooking. His stomach growls a little, suddenly reminding him that he hadn't eaten since this morning, as he worked through lunch just to get back extra early. He can't help but smile to himself as he silently walks towards the kitchen, you are always finding ways to spoil him and he couldn't be more thankful to have you in his life. He's never had someone care for him the way that you do, no one who's delighted at his simple presence like you. But, he also has realized that before you, he never had caught his heart skipping a beat at the sight of a single person. He had never thought that he was capable of not only being loved but of loving itself. He never imagined a life full of sweet kisses and nights curled up on the couch, giggling about the shitty movie playing on the screen. but he never wants to go back to being alone, back to a life without you.

Joel lets himself just spy on you for a few seconds.

You were at the stove, humming softly to yourself as you stirred whatever was in the pot. Finally deciding to make his presence known, he makes his way over to you, no longer caring about making any noise, and wraps his strong, muscular arms around your waist as he hugs you from behind. He’s body gone softer over thee years, his belly pushing into you softly. A warm laugh leaves his lips as his sudden appearance started you, causing you to gasp.

"Joel? You're home so early!" you turn to face your smirking husband, prepared to ask him a million questions about his early arrival, but he doesn't even let you get the opportunity to ask them as he places his lips on yours.

You close your eyes, immediately kissing him back. You throw your arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss. His hands wrap even tighter around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him, as he just craves to have you near. His lips on yours are a familiar feeling, but you still manage to melt into him each and every time he kisses you. You find yourself a little disappointed as he suddenly pulls away.

"Got off work early today, just wanted to surprise you," Joel smiles, bringing a hand up from your waist to brush a piece of your hair behind your ear.

There was nothing but love and adoration in the man's eyes as he looked at you. For only a brief moment, you see the face of the man you fell in love with all those years back. He's had your heart since the moment you met then and it's his to keep forever.

"And what a lovely surprise," you press a soft kiss to his cheek, "I've missed you a lot lately."

"I've missed you too," he presses his forehead against yours in a loving gesture, "So much."

As if on cue, your mind suddenly reminds you of the food that is likely about to burn on the stove behind you,

"Shit!" you curse, frantically turning around to tend to the dinner you had prepared, which earned yet another chuckle from Joel.

"Go change or something while I take care of this," you wave him off as you focus on trying not to ruin dinner,

"You're distracting me."

He quickly presses another gentle kiss to your cheek, letting out a playful "mhmm," before he starts pressing kisses along your jaw, much softer than before. His lips travel down your neck as you lean more to the side, allowing him better access to your neck. Such a teasing touch that makes you feel as if standing is a chore as your knees grow weak. You let out a soft moan as he sucks gently on your skin. Every part of your body felt as if it were aflame; you were on fire just for him. Your head lays on his shoulder, forgetting the task at hand yet again as your eyes are closed, basking in Joel’s overwhelming presence before it is quickly stripped away. Your eyes immediately flutter open at the lack of his warmth, confused as to where it went.

"Alright, I'll shower real quick," he winks, knowing how flustered he's left you. He loved how within a mere few seconds he can make you completely unable to focus on anything but him.

You huff in annoyance as you desperately try to just simply get your shit together to finish up dinner. Despite forgetting about the food more than once thanks to a certain someone, nothing had actually ended up being burnt to a crisp as you had thought. You let out a sigh of relief, calming yourself down. By the time you’re finally starting to make both your and his plates, Joel returns to the kitchen. Despite being with him for several years at this point, you were practically gawking at him as he walked into the room. He looked more appetizing than the food before you. The way his normally neat curls still a little wet and disheveled and it was undeniably hot in every single way. He had traded in his typical work attire, a shirt, and worn jeans, for a plain white shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You're practically the only one who's ever seen him in such a relaxed state, as he usually strives to be put together all of the time. It's such a silly thing to be amused by, but the fact that you're the only one who gets to see him like this makes your heart flutter every time you think about it. While he always looks handsome, you think that you prefer him like this. Maybe it's the way you imagine that all his worries strip away with the long hours or perhaps it's the fact that you have come to the conclusion that as soon as the tools go away he's all yours. He no longer belongs to his excruciating job, his worries, his stress; simply to you.

You pull yourself out of your daze in order to walk over to the dining table where Joel had already taken a seat and sit your guys' plates down. Up until this moment, both of you had yet to realize how truly hungry you were.

Joel, who usually takes his time to truly savor his meal, has nearly scarfed down half his plate in a matter of what seemed like a few seconds, and you could say the same about yourself. Despite the ravenous nature of you two, you both still managed to have your typical dinner discussion. You asked about his day at work, which he told you that consisted of the usual and that he lucked out today because he simply didn't have to deal with any of Tommy’s nonsense. You tell him of your day and he listens intently as you proceed to tell him about your day of running errands.

"So I went to the store to get everything for dinner and I saw this sweet little girl who couldn't have been older than like five. She looked so sad, Joel. It was clear she was lost," you frown as you recall the way her eyes were slightly puffy and red as she anxiously scanned the aisle looking for someone who wasn't there, "I just had to help her, my heart just hurt looking at her sweet, little face. Luckily we found her mom, but god, she was so cute. I held her little hand in mine and walked with her until we found her mom."

You continue to ramble on about just how cute the child was, but it falls on deaf ears as Joel has found himself unable to focus on your words any longer. His mind was all over the place as he pictured you walking with the kid, little hand in your larger one as you walked around the store. He finds it so easy to picture it, yet he realizes he's envisioning you with a child that has his eyes and your hair color, a perfect combination of both of you. His heart begins to race as he realizes that he craves a family with you, that he needs to get you pregnant.

You're still talking, unknowingly to yourself, while his mind races about what it would be like to hold a baby created not only by him but the two of you together; a perfect combination of you both. How he craves to know what it feels like to have a tiny hand holding onto his much larger fingers and he feels like he could melt into a puddle onto the floor beneath him as he thinks of you with a baby cradled securely in your arms as you hum a soft lullaby, soothing the child with ease. Sure, he had thought about having babies with you one day, it had been discussed. Hell, even Tommy has asked him more than once if there will ever be "little Miller’s" running around soon. But for the very first time, Joel can picture it so vividly in his mind; he finally wants to have a baby with you right now. It's no longer a thought he saves for the future; no longer a simple wish for a later time.

His attention is brought back to you sitting before him gently waving your hand in front of his face, "Baby?," you giggle as you shake your head at the man, "Are you even listening to me right now?"

"(Y/N)," you perk up at hearing your name roll off his tongue while he smiles softly. his dark brown eyes stare into yours as he pushes his chair back, patting his thigh,

"C'mere."

You practically run from your spot across the table from him, trading in your chair for a seat upon his lap. A smile on your lips as you straddle his waist, throwing your arms around his neck. You feel a large hand press against the small of your back, pulling you close as possible. Your chest pressed against his, his touch alone making you feel dizzy. Joel’s other hand comes up to lovingly cup your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch as his thumb begins to stroke your face, his eyes so filled with a look that was undoubtedly full of love as he gazes upon your features. The moment feels so intimate; so many things being said all at once by everything but words. His gentle touch says "You're my everything," his hand pulling you closer whispers "I need you," and the way he looks at you as if you were the most magnificent being he's ever seen absolutely screams "I love you."

"So, wanna tell me what you were thinking about now” One of your hands wanders into his locks as the other moves to his shoulder. He visibly relaxes as you play with his hair.

He blinks a few times, debating how exactly he wants to go about the subject of starting a family. Is it really the time to be discussing this? How would you respond?

"I was thinking about...us," his voice is soft as he speaks.

He swallows as he tries to even think of the right way to put it into words.

"Yeah? What about us?" you giggle as you raise an eyebrow, "That's a little vague there." You take note of his unusual demeanor, but you simply chalk it up to stress from the past couple of weeks. Joel might be great at keeping his emotions to himself, but you've learned to read him like your favorite book.

His heart is racing in his chest as he finally blurts out "! want a baby, (Y/N). What do you think about that?" Okay, so that wasn't how he planned on going about it.

But now that he's put it out there he can't stop the words flying out of his mouth. He's unable to think straight at this point as he rambles on and on. "I can start working less hours, you know. I'm sorry to just spring that on you out there, we don't-" He then was silenced by your lips pressing sweetly against his. In a matter of a few seconds, he closes his eyes, kissing you back just as gently. You love the way your hands roam your back with the softest of touches until you pull away.

"Let's do it. Let's have a baby," His eyes search for any sign of doubt in your answer, but alas he fails to find such. This is real; you want to have a baby just as badly as he does. To think that you were likely struck by the same sweet, domestic dream of starting a family that he had just now seems unbelievably perfect. He smiles so sweetly at your response that you think your heart could burst at the sight. His hand cradles your face with utmost care as he presses his lips on yours gently. The two of you have shared countless sweet kisses, but the absolute love and passion in the way your lips are moving together cannot even be compared to those of the past.

Pure excitement rushes through the both of you at the thought of a little bundle of joy in your lives.

You pull away, taking in the look of what you only can describe as joy upon your husband's face. His eyes search yours for any hint of worry or doubt in yours, but he is unable to find such, only seeing the way your eyes are lit up. "Yeah? You really want this?" he asks, wanting to make sure this entire moment was not a mere figment of his imagination.

You nod your head, reassuring him that this was real. "I want this. Want this more than anything with you," you say with a smile as your hands fiddle with the bottom of his t-shirt.

"I love you so much," he still can't comprehend the fact that he had the privilege of not only calling you his wife but of getting to start a family with you.

"And I love you too. So Joel.." You say with your voice lowering an octave. With a roll of your hips against his crotch, you lean down to whisper right in his ear. "You gonna put a baby in me or what?"

You wish you could take a picture of the way he's looking at you right now. Your words lit a fire in him, driving him absolutely wild. "Fuck yeah I am," he says, and just by the tone of his voice, you knew that he was dead serious.

His lips crash onto yours, much different than any time before this one. His typical smooth, seemingly calculated actions are long gone as he has not a single thought in his head other than giving you exactly what you want, a baby. Joel’s hands wander down to your ass, pulling your hips harshly against his own as he's desperate to feel you against him. The rough and rapid movement of your mouths contrasts the sweet and delicate moment you two had shared merely moments before. His grip on you was firm, making you feel as if every single inch of your body was lit aflame by his mere touch. You let out a pitiful sounding whine when he pulls away.

"Fuck yeah I am," he says, voice raspy as he speaks,

"Gonna fill you up so good, gonna make you a mommy." His lips find their way back to yours, moving in perfect time. He swallows each and every one of the pretty little moans you let out as you grind against his bulge.

There's just something about the thought of you, belly all round with his baby, that has brought some primal urge in him to fuck you until your sweet, sweet pussy is filled to the brim with his load. It's brought out a possessive side of him that neither you nor him have ever seen.

Maybe it's the fact that you, his darling wife, wants his baby. you're all his. His pants tighten at the thought of everyone seeing you pregnant, knowing you're all his and everyone seeing you pregnant, knowing you're all his an that he's all yours.

Soft, wet kisses are littered all over the tender skin of your neck after his hand pushes away any hair blocking his way. The way Joel has every inch of your body committed to memory is evident as his tongue lightly traces over that one spot that drives you wild. A moan escapes you as he continues to ravish your neck, You can't take this anymore, you need him inside you right now.

It takes everything in your being to bring your hands to tug his hair to bring his face out from the crook of your neck to meet your gaze. "Joel. Bedroom. Now."

You can't find even a hint of hesitation to follow your order as he stands from the chair. His arms lift you up whilst holding your ass to support you, and yours are thrown around his neck. The walk from the kitchen to the bedroom resulted in you losing your shirt as it was messily thrown somewhere in between heated kisses. He gropes your ass for what seems to be the thousandth time tonight, tongues moving together in what you'd describe as the most perfect way as he does so. The two of you finally make it to the bed and he lays you down.

Your wandering hands travel down to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it to silently beg him to strip it off. As always, he complies.

No matter how many times he's fucked you senseless, you still feel your face heat up as his eyes look you up and down. He climbs on top of you, nestling himself between your legs. He props his strong arms propping him up on his elbows so that he isn't pressing his full weight on you as he kisses you much softer than he had previously before.

"Wanna give you a baby so bad, (Y/N)." your body shudders at the words, the effect Joel has over you is utterly intoxicating. He shifts his weight into just one of his arms to remove your bra. He can't help but moan at the sight of your gorgeous tits on display for him. His mind wanders to how they'll soon be filled with milk as his mouth latches on your sensitive nipple, sucking gently before pulling away, returning to your other breast to do the exact same. His cock aches in his pants, begging to be inside you at that simple thought. He lets out a groan as he continues his actions and you feel the slick pooling in between your thighs in response.

Anything he says and anything he does has you unable to think, mind clouded by Joel.

A string of saliva connects his mouth to your chest when he finally pulls away, a hazy stare on his face as he looks up at you. He uses the back of his hand to wipe away the wetness on his face and you think you've never seen a sight as lovely as this. After countless nights spent tangled up in the sheets with your husband, you think you've never seen him exactly like this. Something in him had snapped tonight, and you can't bring yourself to say that you didn't enjoy it.

There was something downright pitiful in the way you say "Kiss me. Please," before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, pulling his face back up to yours. His face is now right in front of you, your nose brushing. His kiss swollen lips are just right there, almost taunting you with their proximity.

"God, you're killing me," he sighs breathily before he leans in, finally giving you what you wanted. However, the moment was short-lived as his lips left yours to press soft, wet kisses along your jaw. You mewl underneath and he thinks he could cum in his pants from the noises you make alone. You shiver as his kisses keep trailing down from your jaw to your neck then to your chest and finally he's kissing the right above where you crave him most. Sweet brown eyes keep eye contact with you as he pulls down your shorts in one motion. If you were in your right mind maybe you would be embarrassed at the way your panties were soaked through with your slick. But you're not even able to think about that right now as he kisses your cunt through the fabric, sighing afterward.

Everything inside of him is screaming to lick you clean right there, but he finds restraint. He wants you to beg for it, tease you until you just can't take it anymore.

Joel thinks he could never, ever get enough of the way you get so whiny for him when you're needy.

You squirm waiting for him to just do something. "Be a good girl and stay still for me, yeah?" he says with a quick kiss to your clothed cunt. You instantly nod and spread your legs as much as possible for him. He turns his head to the side to nibble at the skin on your thigh.

His tongue wetting it with the utmost care and affection, and you can barely stop yourself from just taking a handful of his hair and pushing his face to where you needed him most. What a fucking tease.

"Come on, I need to know how bad you want it. You're being awfully quiet."

You throw your head back, frustrated at his teasing. He brings his thumb up against your clit, rubbing it so softly through your panties before trying again. "Be a good girl and tell me what you want." You're turned to absolute mush as you melt, moaning at the slight relief his hand was providing you, but it's not enough.

"Joel, baby, please. Want it so bad. Want your mouth on me. Your mouth, want it." You don't have it in you to speak in full sentences as you keep babbling nonsense upon nonsense. The noise that you let out as he speeds up his movements was something he could only describe as downright sinful.

"You're just too fucking pretty like this. Don't know if I wanna make you come yet, I like this a little too much," he says sweetly, but you huff before spitting out anything and everything to try and convince him to just fuck you with his mouth already. It was almost pure agony waiting for him to finally cave into your needs.

"Please" Tears well up in your eyes as you look down at him, lip quivering a little. He can't bring himself to continue this little game he's got going on when you look at him like that. Who was he to deny you of such?

"I just can't say no to you. Especially when you're asking me so nicely," He says with a wicked smile, and he's finally stripping off your underwear, turning you into a puddle as he tugs the material down your legs. Your legs tremble, eagerly awaiting what's to come next. He admires the sight of your chest rising and falling as you pant. Your clench around absolutely nothing as you're leti just waiting for him to just do something. "So needy for me, darling. Look at you, so wet." His poor baby just needs his cock, but he thinks his tongue will do just fine for the moment. As you're about to start babbling pleas yet again, he's diving straight in between your thighs.

Your hand immediately goes to grasp and pull at his hair as you moan so pretty for him.

His warm tongue drags along your throbbing bud, just how he knows you like it. Now, this is the Joel you know, unlike him just minutes ago, his actions are entirely calculated after years of learning your body even better than you know it. He just lives to fuck you not only well, but what he would describe as properly. He knows exactly what to do to make you come undone by just the movement of his tongue. Everything just feels so good, so amazing when he has you like this. You let out a cry of his name, as he continues. Your hips move with a mind of their own, your promise of staying still is long forgotten at this point. He takes notice of this, strong arms pinning your lower half down with ease. The soft sheets are bunched up in your hands as you struggle to ground yourself, He's practically making out with your cunt, sloppily and it's clear he's enjoying himself as he is relentless.

He moans into your cunt, vibrations sending just that much closer to the edge. You're so close, so close to cumming all over his face, exactly like he wants you to.

"M'so close, gonna cum," You whine and it just spurs him on more so than before. He's devouring absolutely everything you can give him, letting out a moan as he brings you to your high.

You throw your head back with a lewd moan, backing arching off of the mattress as it finally hits you. It's almost violent the way you throw your head back into the pillow, the pleasure was overwhelming. Joel is all that occupies your thoughts as your orgasm takes over.

He’s savoring your sweet taste, unable to get enough of the way you taste on his tongue. You're shameless in the way you moan out for him. He keeps going and going until you're finally pushing him away, unable to handle the overstimulation.

When he looks at you, he believes that there has never been a sight as beautiful as this one. You with sweat glistening on your forehead, hair all sprawled upon the pillow, still trembling from your orgasm. It's what he personally would define as totally fucked out. He doesn't even bother to wipe your cum off his chin before his lips land on yours. You're kissing him back, lazily moving your tongue against his before he leaves you breathless as he sits up from you.

His cock aches painfully in his boxers as he finally is pulling away to remove them and his sweats, the final few layers that are keeping you separated. Your mouth salivates at the sight of him, that gorgeous cock of his has you rubbing your thighs together at the thought of it being inside you. Precome just leaking from the red tip as it twitches just for you.

"I am gonna fuck my baby into you. So perfect for me. You just can't wait for that little cunt of yours to be filled to the brim," he crawls back on top of you, running his tip through your folds as he gives it a few pumps. You let a high-pitched whine out, just wanting him to put it in and give you exactly what you want.

"Gimme your babies, wanna be such a good mommy for you. Just fill me up, please," you whine, wanting him to just stuff his dick inside already. You can't wait any longer now, the thought of him impregnating you was just too much.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll take care of it. There's no way I won't get you pregnant, gonna breed you until there's doubt in my mind that you are," Joel reassures you, kissing your forehead with such affection as he lines himself up with your entrance.

God he's missed being inside you. He swears it's like you were made just for him and him alone, perfectly molded to squeeze his dick just perfectly with your walls. He lets you adjust to his length before finally pushing all the way in, hips beginning to thrust into yours over and over again.

You're chanting his name, saying it just to say it as you can't find it in you to form any form of a coherent sentence. You spread your legs even wider for your husband, gasping as his pace fastens. His face is buried in your neck, nipping at the skin as he continues to fuck into you.

"Shit, (Y/N). I love you so much," He groans out as he goes to look at your fucked out expression. Your eyes hazily stare into his as clench around him. It feels as if you're trying to milk his dick dry with the way you squeeze him so nicely. It just drives him crazy to think about it, hell, you in general right now have him in a trance. No other goal in his mind but to breed his sweet, little wife. Every noise you make sounds like music to his ears as he brings a hand down to rub smooth, gentle circles on your clit.

You feel your body growing tense as your second orgasm of the night draws closer, and you know Joel is too with the way his thrusts have begun to grow sloppy and desperate. It's got you seeing stars with each and every time he slides in and out of your hole.

You hear choked moans leave Joel as he's going faster chasing his high desperately. His hands grab your legs firmly, wrapping them around his waist letting him fuck you even deeper than before. The new angle causes something in you to snap right then and there, and the rapid clenching of your walls around his cock sends Joel’s orgasm rushing through his body. Warm cum fills you up deep inside of you, pumping you full just as you had begged for earlier.

After a few brief moments that consisted of the two of you attempting to calm down and recover, he brings a hand up to gently stroke your cheek with the utmost adoration and care.

"You're really going to be such a great mom, sweetheart.

I love you," He kisses your nose, then both of your cheeks and smiles softly at you, "So much."

[biscuitdolly]

୨ৎ absolute necessities .ᐟ

if you're trying to glow up, get healthier, etc, these are the very basics that you absolutely NEED to follow!

01, WATER .ᐟ

Staying hydrated is crucial for your health and wellbeing. While the recommended daily intake is 8 cups of water, you can gradually increase your consumption over a few weeks if that seems too overwhelming. Drinking enough water provides numerous benefits, from clearing skin and flushing out waste, to boosting exercise performance and supporting weight loss. Despite being the very essence that sustains life, water is often underappreciated.

02, FOOD .ᐟ

I used to skip breakfast, thinking it would help me lose weight. However, studies show that those who eat breakfast tend to lose more weight and keep it off longer. The truth is, food is incredibly important. It's best to regulate your eating habits by consuming at least 3 meals per day, even if they're only small portions. Some food is better than no food. If you want to go on a diet, that's fine! but make sure you research healthy dieting methods. At a minimum, eat one serving of fruits and vegetables daily, and try to increase that to five servings per day if possible. Proper nutrition is key for your overall health.

03, HOBBIES .ᐟ

i have this previous post regarding hobbies you could try! It's so important to find fun activities that you genuinely enjoy and look forward to doing. Hobbies add fun to your life and pose as a nice break from technology and the stress of work and school. They also greatly improve symptoms of depression and anxiety. You could do some physical activity, such as a sport you like, or something more calm and creative, like painting or writing.

04, SLEEP .ᐟ

a lot of people struggle to fall asleep at a decent time. Try getting ready for bed early. Personally, I tend to take off my make up and do my skincare immediately after i come home for school/work so i don't have to worry about it before bed.

Technology is probably your sleeping schedule's worst enemy, as the blue light from the screen keeps your brain awake, so try to pause screen-related activities at least an hour before bed. Also, try not to snack 2 - 4 hours before you go to sleep. This is because lying down makes it harder for your body to digest food, which can result in sleeplessness.

Forcing yourself to go to bed super early isn't helpful either. Like I've mentioned in my other points, take things slow and gradual!

05, SOCIALIZATION .ᐟ

Engaging in simple social interactions, such as conversing with family, seeing friends, or greeting people on the street, is incredibly important. Isolating yourself in your room all day accomplishes nothing.

There was a time when I dreaded spending time with friends, convinced I lacked the energy or mood. However, once I forced myself to make plans, I realized how much I genuinely enjoyed their company. Other people are what make life truly worthwhile. So why not reach out to a friend right now and invite them to hang out tomorrow?

06, ACTIVITY .ᐟ

you don't need an exercise routine if you don't want one, but simple physical activity is still a daily necessity! At least 30 minutes is recommended. Personally, i most enjoy plugging in my headphones and going on a walk around my neighbourhood for an hour or two.

07, SELF TALK .ᐟ

Arguably one of my most important points, quit the self-deprecating talk. You never realize how much it affects you until you quit it. Yes, you can absolutely get that assessment done. Yes, you are a likable and amazing person. Just keep affirming and reminding yourself that you are worthy, and you will attract so many good things. Trust me, it will help you so much in the long run.

[getosbabymuva]

i feel like suguru is definitely the type to immediately recognize your change in behavior and can tell if you’re struggling as much as you try to hide it. he never pesters you about it though, he often just lingers around until you’re ready to open up.

you look through disheveled hair as you tiredly stir around some vegetables in the searing pan in front of you. you sharply exhale. this has probably been the worst week of your year, if not your life. your usual schedule consisted of coming home, being a able to take a long shower, and cooking dinner within a decent amount of time to get enough sleep. but now, with your boss insisting you work overtime for the last week, everything’s been thrown off. to make it worse, your office job is not the most friendly environment and you often have to deal with rude coworkers.

while being lost in thought, the burnt vegetables underneath you start to sizzle violently. you curse under your breath and hurriedly turn down the stove in an attempt to save the edibility of the food. this fails, of course, some smoke wafting from the burning pan.

this was the last straw for you. your grip around the pan handle loosens and you sigh deeply. before tears can threaten to leave your eyes, you sense someone’s presence behind you. strong arms wrap around you firmly, pulling you closer. geto rests his head on top of yours, some of his hair falling over your shoulder. he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. but with the way he sways slowly back and forth with you, your nerves are just a little bit at ease.

[livingmybestfakelife]

Birds Of A Feather

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Annie Moore, Elias “Stack” Moore x Annie Moore (Platonic)

The usual sounds of moaning, cussing, gambling and headboards banging up against the walls were currently being replaced with a Hoover vacuum picking up every crumb, dust and dirt on the Moroccan imported rugs that laid on the first floor of the mansion. A cleaning crew of six went to work as scheduled to freshen up the house. Every Sunday at 8 o’clock on the dot, the men and a few women of Harrison’s Housekeeping had entered L’Étalon to do a deep cleaning of vacuuming, dusting baseboards, sweeping and mopping the hard wood oak floors. Sometimes when bed linens pilled up, they would even take that down to their laundromat and wash them for an extra fee, which was no issue for Miss Annie.

Annie Moore née Walker, had inherited the stunning mansion by her late mother Juanita, who was also a madame. She taught Annie everything she knew on how to run a business like this and how to keep your gigolos and their tricks in check. It wasn’t a career field she’s ever dreamed about, but it’s what she was good at. And the same was said about the Smoke Stack twins. The handsome men and voluptuous woman had all grew up in the gritty Delta that had various ways of survival, and that was either racketeering, hard labor in the fields, scrubbing laundry for rich folks, or turning tricks. And the twins were very good at the first and latter options. Stack especially enjoyed the fucking, that much was obvious, and he thought he might as well get paid for it so why not. That’s when he went into “business” with his dear old friend Annie. Doing four nights in the week, he had a decent amount of frequent customers who paid a generous cut for him to fuck them good into the mattress, it was no surprise that he was one of the fan favorites.

While the rest of the house was being cleaned. Annie was in her en suite soaking in her clawfoot tub. The warm water of the bubble bath heated up her soft skin while the fireplace was beginning to heat up her bedroom. She added some drops of lavender oil within the water, a fragrance she’s loved as long as she could remember. As she scooted herself up, some heavy footsteps made its way behind her. It belonged Stack. He had sat down on a plush cushioned foot stool and began to run his fingers through her hair. She moaned at the feeling, loving the treatment from one of her dear friends. He soon began to separate her hair into sections and took his time to oil her scalp. He never rushed this process, it was one of their bonding moments. He did it for her every other day and she would be the only person he trusted to shave him. Some moments later they began to sing a tune together, it was their song.

“My girl, my girl , don’t lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night, in the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine, I would shiver the whole night through”

He picked up her boars hair brush on the little table next to the tub. It had a sterling silver handle with flowers and vines engraved, a gift from Smoke when they got married. He gently brushed her soft tight coils. The feeling almost made her drift off to sleep. He ended the grooming session with a kiss to her temple and stood up to walk to the mirror in front of the sink to spruce himself up. Today was the only day of the week he got to visit Smoke, the inmates of Haywood Detention Center allowed twice a week visitations and only one person was allowed to come at a time, he used one day and Annie used the other. Stack always liked to look his best, even if it was just to visit a jail. He pulled a little comb out of his sweater pocket and combed his facial hair, he would wait a little while longer for Annie to shave him, liking the slight scruffy look for now. He topped off his own grooming with a few dabs of Florida Water that Annie kept in the mirror cabinet.

“Anything you want me to update him on?”

“No…it’s been slow this week, not much going on”

“It’s because of that new police chief in everyone’s business, scaring off folks from round here”

She sighs at the reminder. Vernon Hanley was steady “cleaning up the streets”, and one of the ways he was doing that was slowly cracking down on the red light district part of Clarksdale. Which was bad for business. He was part of the reason that Smoke was locked up now, though it was unrelated to the hoeing. He got caught up in a racketeering conspiracy which would’ve been five years, but with the help of a smooth talking yankee white lawyer, it was able to be talked down to just a year and four years probation. Which meant Smoke would have to have no parts in his and Stack’s casino business. He was screwed on that part, but it was better than the chain gang and not being able to see his wife and brother everyday

He nods and goes to walk out of the bathroom, but not before turning around and letting her know about the decision he made. Last week Stack had discovered Annie’s emotional affair with one of her workers, Lonnie. He’s been working there for three years and managed to fit in well enough, though Stack never warmed up to him as much as everyone else. Annie tried hard to convince him to leave him be, that she’ll fire him and make him leave town, and most of all, that it never got sexual. But Stack didn’t care about none of that, to him, Lonnie was a threat to the already built in family, he told her that he’d think about it, but that was just to calm her down for a while, he already made up his mind the moment he found out.

“I’m sorry Annie….but he had to go”

She begins to shed some tears, looking at him with the most devastating eyes, deep down inside she already knew what Lonnie’s fate was, but she still wanted some hope, how silly of her.

“Did you make him suffer?”

“Nah, it was quick, don’t worry”

She nods and sniffs and looks in the opposite direction to compose herself, if she saw his face a little bit longer she was bound to get sick.

“Smoke will forgive you, he always did, and always will….I do too, I mean with Smoke been tangled up in this shit you needed a shoulder to cry on, a woman can’t be without her man for too long, it’ll make her crazy”

“Elias, please…”

He walks over and crouches down in front of her, he gently grabs her chin to look at him.

“It was always just us, the three musketeers against the world, you really thought I was gonna let a muthafucka come between us like that Annie?”

“All we did was talk, I was hurting and alone-“

“You come to me then! You talk to me, not an outsider”

He wipes her tears and rests his forehead against hers.

“This whorehouse, the casino, none of this shit makes us Annie, we’re bigger than all of that, whatever temptations that come from it we fight through it, we’re all that matters, okay?”

“Okay, yes alright”

He gives her a forehead kiss and leaves for visitation. Annie hasn’t felt this much guilt in a long time, she felt like she could’ve tried harder to keep Lonnie at a further distance, keeping it more professional, no matter how hard he wanted her attention, she should’ve tried harder, but she couldn’t. It was too little too late to turn back now, Lonnie was probably buried in the woods somewhere, waiting to be consumed by whatever type of nature consumes him.

@sinnersappreciation

@childishgambinaax

@uzumaki-rebellion

@browngirldominion

@tforpresz

[hannie-dul-set]

나비 / NABI — THREE.

SYNOPSIS. in which you’re trying your damned best to willfully ignore your feelings for your friend of over twenty years, but— as always— life seems to have a different plan paved out for you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment) to lovers, romance, humor, hurt/comfort but more on comfort, coming of age, slowburn, college! au, “it’s always been you” trope, pining, tons of denial, somehow also a christmas and new year’s au, beomgyu is the only man ever, featuring a large ensemble of idols from various groups. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, rumors as a plot device, bullying, alcohol consumption, cheesy shit, a few makeout scenes WAHAHHAHA. WORD COUNT. 28k (out of 49k).

NOTE. whoa.....HAHHAHAHA. this was long overdue, so i saved up my yapping for the afterword. anyhow, here it finally is 😭😭😭 my blood, sweat, and tears. mostly tears. enjoy. please let me know what you think, and happy new year to all!

모기 / MOGI — ONE — TWO — THREE

#3: YOU STILL DON’T LIKE HOW MUCH OF YOUR IDENTITY HE’S STRIPPED AWAY. Your title has changed from Choi Beomgyu’s girlfriend to Choi Beomgyu’s cheating girlfriend. Such an upgrade. It’s like you have a sign with that title label hovering and pointing to your head every time you pass through a decently crowded hallway, or enter an occupied area. Like Horangnabi, for example. You’re minding your own business, sipping on your iced mocha, and the people on the next table keep snagging glances at you.

Julie shows up with a loud cough, practically slamming your cinnamon waffle onto the table. The group snaps their eyes off of you and jumps into a sudden conversation. Julie rolls her eyes. “If I hear anyone talking crap, I’m kicking them out of the shop.”

“Are you even allowed to do that?” You’re pretty sure the cafe belongs to the school. And Julie seonbae is still a student here. 

“No one’s ever here to supervise. This is my store now,” is her logical response. She takes a seat in front of you. You’re also pretty sure she’s still on duty. “Anyway, how was your break, pretty? Did you get some rest?”

Last week was the rest week after midterms, so you were able to spend the last six days at home in Daegu. Beomgyu wasn’t able to join you because he and the coding club— and this was hard to believe at first— had decided to join a game development contest hosted by TXT Inc. Shocker, you know. You couldn’t believe your ears after hearing the news from Beomgyu. 

But he crushes your feeling of pride just as quickly as he triggered it. They’re not doing this entirely out of passion and willingness, he said. The extracurriculars office threatened to shut down their club if they fail to show any tangible results before the end of the semester. 

Well, you guess if there’s anything that can get a bunch of boys to actually start properly operating their club, a dissolution threat will work wonders. They scrambled to find something they could do— a proposal to improve the MIS, events, anything. Fortunately for them, the TXT Inc. competition advertisement showed up on Yeonjun’s feed right when they needed it. Unfortunately, the deadline for the contest is mid-December. It’s now the last week of October. They’ve got like two months to cram an entire game from scratch, so for the entirety of the one-week break, they’ve been in a self-imposed isolation in the clubroom. To say that they’re on a tight schedule is an understatement. 

Which is why you’re at Horangnabi right now. To buy a fuckload of coffee for those poor, sleep-deprived chumps. Another barista walks up to your table with a dozen cups of coffee, halved into two takeout containers, and you bid Julie farewell before heading out to make your way to the clubroom.

It’s concerning how they haven’t even locked the door. It’s even more concerning how you’re met with pitch darkness the moment you swing the door open— save for the singular glow of one computer screen on the opposite end of the room.

You flick the lightswitch on. Groans erupt. It’s like you’ve just revived the dead.

“Turn off the sun,” you hear Heeseung groan from below. He’s laid on the worn out couch by the door, shifting around underneath a blanket. Looking around, you see the other corpses strewn about. “Turn it off.”

“What a mess.” Navigating through the sleeping bags on the floor (sleeping bodies included), you notice that it’s littered with a distressing amount of plastic bottles and takeout boxes. You grimace. “I got you guys coffee. Come and get it.”

The first person to be revived is Yeonjun. The sound of the containers set on the table stir him up from the couch, next to Heeseung, and he stumbles over to you, finishing out an americano from the box. “Thanks,” he drawls out, patting you on the head before making a turn towards the door. “Ugh. I need to wash my face.”

“You go do that,” you say. “Everyone, come get your coffee then get out. This place is a biohazard. Go out and get some sunlight while I clean up.”

If they keep working in this environment, you’re pretty sure one or seven of them are gonna catch a disease. After a few more moments of coaxing and physical threats, most of them eventually evacuate from the clubroom. You had to physically kick Heeseung out before locking the door. The only one left is a certain Choi Beomgyu, still curled up on a chair against the half-wall. He’s stuck behind the table, one remaining cup of coffee left behind for him. Poor guy. He looks like absolute shit. You decide to pick up the crap on the floor first before kicking him out.

To get some more light in this damned cave, you pull open the curtains and turn on the lights in the back. Copious amounts of rustling and two full trash bags later, Beomgyu is still knocked out. You’re not surprised. He sleeps like a corpse.

You set the bag aside against the door, spraying some sanitizer into your hands before walking up to him, quietly wedging yourself behind the table because he’s still got his headphones glued to his ears. That can’t be healthy. You try to remove it from his head, sitting down on the chair next to him, carefully placing your hands on the sides of his face, but this stirs him awake.

Beomgyu grumbles and shifts in his seat. And then you hear him mumble out your name with a question mark at the end. “Morning, idiot,” you say, retracting your hands. “I got you coffee.”

“It’s...it’s morning?” he groans, barely coherent.

“It’s five past nine,” you tell him. “What time did you sleep?”

“I don’t know,” he grunts, pulling up his legs to the chair and scrunching himself up even more with a yawn. “I just decided to nap when my eyes couldn’t distinguish the ones from the zeroes anymore.”

You laugh. “Get some more rest,” you say, getting up from the chair. “I’ll close the curtains, hold on—”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re tugged back onto your seat, and you feel Beomgyu drop his head onto your shoulder. “I’m gonna—” he releases another yawn. “I need’ta get up in a bit anyway.”

A breath slips past your lips. His head is so god damned heavy and you struggle to squirm into a comfortable enough position, all while trying to make sure you’re not moving too much to keep his head steady on your abused shoulder. While you’re doing that, you hear a knock from the other side of the clubroom door. Which is weird, because none of those fuckers knock at all. They tend to just barge in whenever they want.

Beomgyu recognizes this anomaly as well. He jolts up, relieving you from his weight. “Ah, shit,” he remarks, and— for some reason— starts...crawling underneath the table? “Can you answer the door? If someone’s looking for me, tell them I’m not here.”

You’re more than a little confused. Beomgyu’s face wrinkles into a grunt when another round of door knocks echo into the space, and he ducks further under the table, shielded from whoever the hell is on the other side of the door in case they walk in. Despite not receiving any answers on an explanation, you do as he says. Opening the door, you’re immediately slapped in the face by a loud, over enthusiastic voice that you don’t recognize.

“Choi Beomgyu, you can’t keep running from us anym—”

The guy cuts himself off, eyes wide at the recognition that you are not his person of interest. You don’t recognize him, but he seems to recognize you, confirmed by how he coughs up your name with so much weariness that it almost feels like he’s wronged you somehow.

“Yes?” you say, brow raised. He gulps. Who is this man, how does he know you, and why is he scared of you?

“Oh, uh— Yeonjun told us Beomgyu would be here…?”

“He’s not,” you reply, crossing your arms and tilting your body to the doorframe, just to give your friend some extra coverage. “But I can send the message. What do you want from him?”

You’re very aware of the amount of attitude you’re expelling right now. “W—well, you know the autumn festival is next month, right?”

“Get to the point.”

He flinches out a nod. “I, uh, I came here to try and convince your boyfriend to join the Battle of the Bands competition for the festival. The ICT department still needs some vacant slots to fill, so...do you think...you can maybe…?”

Ah. Right. There’s that thing. The festival. Your seniors have been sending messages in the group chat about it and Heeseung did mention that off-handedly at one point. They scouted him for your department’s band, too, but he’s still on the fence about it because of the competition deadline they’re trying to catch. That doesn’t answer why Choi Beomgyu is currently hiding under the table though. “Who are you again?” you ask in an attempt to get some hints. This question sends the guy frozen and standing perfectly upright.

“S—sorry, I’m Choi Soobin,” he introduces. “I’m Beomgyu’s senior from the department.”

Your face stiffens. Well, god damn, you’ve just been totally rude to a senior. You clear your throat, brushing your embarrassment aside by inhaling a sharp breath. “I’ll see what I can do,” you simply say before shutting the door. Once the lock clicks, you immediately taunt Beomgyu out of his hiding spot. “You piece of shit, you could’ve at least told me I needed to be respectful!”

“Wow. You’re so brave for talking to someone older than you like that.” He snickers, shuffling out from under the table before grinning at you, now standing at full height. “Your temper has mellowed out lately. I forgot that you’re inherently Satan’s underling whose default setting is to be mean and cranky.”

“Shut it,” you roll your eyes, moving back over to the door to take a peek if Choi Soobin had already left the premises. He has. The hallway is more or less empty. You turn your head back, looking over your shoulder at Beomgyu, who has his hands in his pockets, face scrunched in a yawn. You can’t help but notice the bags underneath his eyes, the gaunt paleness of his skin. A sinking feeling hits you. “C’mon. All your clubmates have left. Let’s get you photosynthesized, fuckface.”

The both of you trek the relatively barren path from the ICT building to the courtyard, planning to circle all the way back because god knows when was the last time this guy had been able to do some exercise. Pace slow, you cock your head to eye Beomgyu. He’s silently sipping on the coffee you got him, the mid-autumn leaves crunching underneath the soles of his feet as more cascade down from the trees lining your path. When your gaze shifts up, Choi Beomgyu still looks as tired as ever underneath the sun. You frown, biting on the straw of your own drink. 

“Why didn’t you want to join the band thing, by the way? You usually say yes to these things.”

Beomgyu looks over at you. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” you start. “Last sem’s E-Sports Fest. The conference thing. Not to mention all throughout highschool, you’d never miss the opportunity to be the center of attention. I’m just a little surprised.”

He lets out a hum. “Well, my priorities have changed.” Beomgyu reaches out for the top of your head with his free hand, plucking out a stray orange leaf from one of the trees above before flicking it away. “I’m already busy with the game dev contest as is. I’d rather focus my time on the important things.”

“Wow. So mature. I’m gonna tell your mom her son is all grown up.” All he does is roll his eyes at you. You laugh.

Despite that conviction of his, however, Choi Beomgyu is pretty quick to change his mind.

The next day, you’re back at the clubroom again with another set of coffee orders. It looks a lot more livable than yesterday. You call out their orders one-by-one, “Heeseung, iced mocha,” and they come up to the table to snatch it from your hands.

“Thanks, dear friend of mine,” Heeseung says, tipping your service with a firm smack on the back.

“I spit in your drink,” you retort back. He ignores your threat and saunters over to his spot next to Beomgyu, who’s busy doing god knows what with the computer, aggressive keyboard noises filling the room. You have no idea what he’s doing, nor do you try to find out. The most help you can offer to these losers is being their coffee intern.

When you finish handing all of them their drinks, ready to disappear and head off to your own business for the day, Hyunjin’s voice perks up your ears. He announces something to the entire club, eyes glued to his phone like he’d just read something very interesting. “Hey,” he starts. “Apparently Jang Seung is the drummer for the econ department’s band. You know. For the festival next month.”

They all stop doing whatever they’re doing— all heads pivoting to Beomgyu’s corner, who has now stopped typing on the keyboard. 

Beomgyu promptly gets up. He marches over to the couch, near where you’re at, and fishes for his phone from the scattered bags on the cushion. “What are you doing?” asks Yeonjun. “I thought you won’t stop coding until nature starts calling the need for you to piss.” Beomgyu simply waves him off, successfully retrieving his phone. You watch as he taps and scrolls and taps and puts the device up to his ear. 

Everyone is looking at him. There’s a moment of silence before he finally says, “Hyung,” into the phone. You eye him curiously. He meets your gaze— a flicker of a second— before turning his head just a centimeter away. “You still haven’t found a singer and guitarist yet, have you?”

Your eyes widen. Holy shit.

“Cool. I’ll see you later.”

Beomgyu throws his phone back onto the pile. “You’ll be in the band?” you manage to quickly get in before he scuttles off into his station again.

He turns to you. A smile. “Yeah?” he says. “You’re gonna cheer for me again, right?”

“But I thought you said you didn’t want to—” you stop yourself. “Nevermind. I will cheer for you as long as I don’t have to wear an ugly tangerine cosplay again. Why do your department colors have to be orange?”

He laughs. “Wear whatever you want.”

The news finally settles into the rest of the club. “Oh my god. Oh my god, holy shit, fuck, wait— I’ll prepare the posters—” Heeseung frazzles. The rest of the idiots start freaking out too. Jeongin says he’s going to design a lightstick. Jesus christ. Beomgyu’s fanclub has greatly diminished since, well, the issue, but you’re amused to see that his biggest fanboys are still standing strong. You bid the coding club farewell as they prepare for their fanchants on top of having a deadline to catch. 

This changing of his mind just made seeing your friend’s face throughout the following weeks a lot more difficult. He gets home late almost everyday, sometimes not even coming home at all. You know this when there’s no invader unlocking your door and sauntering into your home at 11 p.m. just to complain about how tired he is. But he still texts you often. Too often, and he gets cranky when you don’t text him back even though all he sent is just a photo of his forehead with a sad face emoji, and you’re in the middle of taking notes for a class, and he gives you a call not long after to complain about his grievances out loud.

“Are you ignoring me?” You hear him huff over the phone. You’re on the way to leave campus now. Usually, you’d hitch a ride with Choi Beomgyu, but he’s been occupied lately, so it’s the bus for you today. The sun is setting. The moment you walk past the gates, there’s already a bus waiting for you.

“Cut to the chase,” you gripe, hopping onto the vehicle. “What do you want?

“Free up your schedule tonight,” he demands. Wow. Does he think you’re a pushover? “Band practice is finishing up early because of the Lantern Festival downtown. Let’s go check out the night market.”

“Sure,” you say. “If you’re late again, you have to pay for the equivalent of my wasted time.”

“I won’t be late! I promise, I’m gonna rush out as soon as—”

“Yeah, whatever,” you laugh. “See you later.”

Funny guy. Despite his packed schedule, he still manages to squeeze in some time to hang out with you. Whether it’s by knocking at your door at two in the morning for a sudden drive, or this. On holidays and special occasions. The Lantern Festival is celebrated annually in the city, matching the schedule of your own university’s autumn fest. It’s now early-mid November. You freshened up at your apartment before heading back out once the sun had fully set, waiting under the streams of brightly lit posts downtown. 

You look at Beomgyu’s last text saying that they’re finishing up and he’s gonna head out in a bit. That was twenty minutes ago. You begin counting his debt as you walk down the lantered streets lining the path towards Gwanghwamun Night Market, a thousand won every minute he’s late. There are countless stalls and pop-up bars, pitched up tents selling souvenirs and food and trinkets. There’s a lot of things to keep you busy while you wait for him.

Your eyes catch one particular stand upon closing into the area. On the table and display at the far end of the tent are countless second hand, vintage digicams for cheap. You walk up to it, fiddling with the displays before asking the store owner for his recommendations. He hands you a silver, retro looking camera, the Canon logo stamped on it, with its price tag dangling behind. It’s pretty affordable. You make the purchase, carefully storing it inside your tote bag just in time for your phone to buzz. 

A text from Choi Beomgyu. You whip your head around and stop the moment you see him looking lost amidst the crowded square, brows furrowed as he tries and fails to find you. You feel a laugh bubbling. You respond to his text. [eyes ahead, doofus] He follows your instructions, face brightening the moment he sees you. Beomgyu then quickly jogs up to your spot, a little sweaty and breathless and quite frankly disheveled. “Hey!” he calls out. “Sorry, there was traffic and I had to run away from my bandmates. They wanted to have dinner together, and, uh—”

“Thirty minutes.”

Your flat tone causes him to flinch. He presses his lips together, guilty. 

“I waited for thirty minutes,” you tell him. “You owe me thirty thousand won.”

Beomgyu lets out a grunt and an apology and starts towing you away. “Fine,” he whines. “Let’s eat first. I’m starving.” You let him drag you to the lines and lines of street food stalls, quickly finding something to settle your appetite, and before you know it, he’s scammed you into filling his 30k quota on nothing but snacks.

You realize this just as you and he are standing in front of a stall, sticks of fishcakes in hand and you’ve already half chewn yours. “Cheater!” you exclaim the moment it hits you. “You made me use up all your debt in less than an hour!”

He mocks you with a close-mouthed smile, cheeks still filled with fishcakes and he waves his stick at you, taunting.“Cry about it,” he muses. You roll your eyes. “Why? Did you want me to buy you something? I might consider it if you say it nicely.”

The sounds of nighttime festivities fill your ears. It’s very bright for eight in the evening. You buy another two sticks from the vendor. “Yeah. I do,” you reply, handing one of the sticks to Beomgyu. He takes it and starts nibbling. “I wanted you to buy me a turntable.”

And then he coughs on the fishcake. “The fuck?” he leers at you. You cackle and enjoy your own food without choking on it. “That’s— five times more than thirty fucking thousand won. You don’t even own any records? Wait, where did this even come from, you’ve never been interested in this kind of stuff, what the he—”

“I was joking, doofus,” you roll your eyes, but your lips remain smiling. Smiling because he looks so appalled, it’s funny. He doesn’t share your sentiment— the corners of his mouth downturned into a frown with knitted brows, and you snort at his expression. You throw away the empty sticks, ask the vendor how much you both owe, pay the equivalent, and your eyes wander off to the sound of chatting and laughing passing you by, groups of people funneling into the direction of the stream nearby. “Hey,” you tap on Beomgyu’s arm, before taking the liberty to grab a fistful of his sleeve, tugging him closer. “Let’s go check out what’s going on.“

Beomgyu allows himself to be dragged along by you without much protest into the shuffling crowd. You manage to squeeze into a gap, not even being able to turn your head and check on him when the pace of the crowd pushes you forward, moving further away from the bright and warm stringed lights of the night market, now into a dimmer portion of the area that greets your cheeks with cold brushes of the wind.

The crowd fizzles out near the ledge overhanging the stream, allowing you to patter your steps across the pavement, running up to get a better view of what’s underneath with Beomgyu’s still in tow. On the water, you see a line of intricate floats slowly making their way downstream. Historical arches and buildings, dragons and folklore. You can even see a Doraemon float way back in the line if you squint and the air is knocked out of your lungs, from sheer awe and amazement. It’s so pretty. What catches your attention more is further down, there are people releasing their own orbs of light into the water, and some letting the lanterns loose into the sky. 

“Whoa,” you breathe out. “That’s so cool.”

You feel a nudge on your shoulder. You turn to see Beomgyu, engulfed in the cold evening light, and he cocks his head back into the direction of the market. There you see a tent filled with similar looking lanterns that everyone else was releasing, not too far away with people queuing up in rows. Your head snaps back to Beomgyu, eyes sparkling. He huffs out a smile and leads you to the tent, getting in line to have your own.

“Please wait for any available spots by the table to write your wishes down.”

“Thank you,” you smile at the stall attendant, a paper lotus lantern in hand with Beomgyu right next to you, and you take a spot on the table the moment it becomes vacant. 

It doesn’t take you long to ponder your wish. Good health. A fucking boyfriend. The works. Not that you’re superstitious, but it’s a cute idea. You peer over at Beomgyu, who’s still holding an unopened marker with a thoughtful expression. His brows are furrowed, lips pursed, and all of a sudden, he snaps down and quickly scribbles something you can’t see. Wow. He’s serious about this, you laugh a little. “Are you done?” He jolts, a little surprised before looking up at you.

“Oh, yeah.” Beomgyu sets down the marker, picking up the lantern from the table. “Are you?”

The both of you get off to get your lanterns lit up, and the once pink-tinted paper now burns a warm orange in your hands, toasting up your palms in spite of the cold weather. You head off back to the stream, all the way underneath the overhanging bridge to its shore. Carefully, you crouch down near the water, Beomgyu following your lead, and you look at him, the contours of his face tempered by an almost sunset-like glow amidst the frigid glimmer of the moon all around you.

“Do we just...drop them here?” he asks. You blink. You turn your head to the surface of the shimmering stream as it waits for your burning offering.

“I—I guess so,” you cough out. “Should we count?”

“You’re so lame,” he laughs. You glare at him. “Sure. On three. One—”

“Two.”

“Three.”

The lanterns escape from your grasps at the same time, pulled away from you by the current and the breeze. You watch as the two orange orbs slowly float away above the water, bumping into each other, drifting away from each other for a mere moment before colliding again, and remaining at that same proximity as they both follow the same current, pushed by the same breeze. 

You look at Beomgyu, who watches the two lanterns until they fully escape your line of sight. 

“What did you wish for?” you ask. 

His gaze shifts over to you. It’s heavy. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.

“You can’t just ask those kinds of questions,” he jeers, bringing up a hand to your retreating face just to punch your nose. “That’s gonna nullify my wish. Stop trying to sabotage me.”

“I’m not! I was just curious!” You swat his hand away, annoyed. You two are still crouching by the stream, hands resting on your knees. There’s a lot of people around you too, also indulging in the festival tradition. At this point, your lanterns have been completely swallowed by the multitude of other glowing lotuses on the water. You’re pretty sure that the government is just gonna clean it all up come morning and throw them into the dump. So much for lantern wishes. Whimsy destroyed. Romanticism ruined.

Before your nihilism can completely take over, Beomgyu starts speaking again. “The game deadline is nearing,” he suddenly starts. “And the uni autumn festival is like, next week.” For some reason, you can hear a sigh in his voice. Poor idiot. He must be so tired. “I seriously can’t wait for everything to be over. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t even been able to drive you home lately.”

You stare at the water. You feel a knot in your throat which you cough out, bumping your shoulder against his before your arms stretch out, fingers locking and elbows hitting your knees to release the tension in your muscles. “I can get home by myself, you know,” you tell him, allowing your hands to hang languidly in the air.

“I know,” he says, reaching out for your pinky finger, a jolt of warmth running down your spine as he plays around with the contours of the joint, tracing down to the tip of the finger when he continues, “It’s getting colder. We should go.”

Beomgyu pulls you up with him when he stands, fully enclosing his hand with yours.

He drives the both of you home that night. First time in a while, and the last time in an even longer while because he gets even busier. Band practice. Club meetings. Game dev contest on top of your also staggering amount of coursework. Most of your time is spent with Minjeong and Sungchan because Heeseung has also been swallowed by work. Poor pathetic guy number two. He deserves all of his misery.

It’s a weekday, and you’re at the library with Minjeong and Hanbin this time. He’s been liberated from coding duty because he has an exam tomorrow. These two have just been formally acquainted with each other, as far as you know, but while taking a bathroom break with Minjeong for a brief moment, she suddenly tells you, “I like him better than Beomgyu.”

You cock a brow at her through the mirror, shaking your wet hands over the sink. “Hanbin? What’s the point of comparison here?”

“Yeah,” she answers, retouching her lip gloss. “He doesn’t make fun of you and he’s less annoying. You should date him instead.”

A laugh leaves your lips. You walk over to dry your hands and once the restroom is relieved from the echoing whirs of the drying machine, you quip back. “Hanbin is nice, but he’s not my type. Just because I want to date doesn’t mean I’m just gonna try it with every decent guy I know,” you nag as you walk out the restroom and back into the library. “And I think he has eyes on someone else. And quit hating on Beomgyu. He annoys everyone he likes. If you think he’s annoying then you’ve fallen into his trap. Congratulations, you and he are friends.”

On the way back to your table, you notice a group of students eyeing you. While passing, you hear one of them whisper. But it’s too loud of a whisper. Like you were meant to hear it.

“I can’t believe she still has the guts to show her face on campus.”

Minjeong stops in her tracks. “The fuck did you just say?”

“Leave it be,” you sigh, tugging your friend away before she starts a cat fight in the library premises. Yeah. You’ve already been branded as a cheating whore. Maybe you should just give up dating altogether.

“Why do you keep letting these fuckers talk shit about you?! Let me at ‘em—”

It’s less of you being a pushover and more of you not wanting to waste energy, really. You’ve gone through this bullcrap in high school (though at a lighter degree). People believe what they want to believe and it doesn’t matter what you tell them. So, why bother. You have a group of nerds plus Minjeong and Sungchan behind your back, anyway. And of course, Choi Beomgyu, who got into a fight with his friends (former friends, he insists) that were involved with the anonymous post issue. The funny thing is, they all apologized to him with their foreheads scraping the ground not even a day after the event, but none of them even bothered trying to receive your forgiveness— until Beomgyu pointed it out and they eventually, reluctantly, came to your feet to mumble out incoherent sorrys.

It’s whatever. The post got taken down, but you still hear some snide remarks here and there like just now. Again, it’s whatever. It’s not gonna stop you from enjoying your uni life. Which is why you’re here, right now, at the uni autumn festival with a trove of nerds who are all arguably vitamin D deficient, all carrying banners and flags with Choi Beomgyu’s name in one way or another, waiting for the Battle of the Bands to start at the campus courtyard.

“Put this on!” Hyunjin shoves a bright, orange bandana into your hands with bold, white text text BAMTORIS 4 BEOMGYU on it. They came up with a fucking fanclub name. Your head rings. The bandana wrinkles in your hand as you shove it into your coat pocket, never to see the light of day.

“Hey, it’s starting!”

The large, heavy speakers boom through the crowd. Indeed, it is starting, and you already can’t wait to go home. But you persist. You’re going home after Choi Beomgyu’s stage. His text said they’ll be performing fourth, after the economics department. You can handle that much noise and chaos. Your social energy needs to last, else you’d have to coax a sulking dog tomorrow for ditching him. The host screams a welcoming spiel into the mic, and everyone else starts screaming. You wince. Yeah, you can deal with this.

When the performances started, you were actually able to vibe a little with the music. Having Heeseung shaking you around and screaming lyrics into your ear does help a bit. When the third band comes up however, you feel the mood around you shift. The coding club boys are so much louder now. No, they’re not cheering. They’re hell bent on sending an overpowering amount of boos and jeers at Jang Seung the moment he got up on stage.

The guy was so flustered at the non-cheers that he was offbeat for half the song. You’re thoroughly enjoying this. Heeseing continues yelling different iterations of, “Get off the stage! You suck!” until Jang Seung finally does with his bandmates drilling dirty looks at him. You laugh. Absolutely deserved.

The boys’ jeers shift again the moment the host calls out the ICT department onstage. They start cheering. Very loudly. Ferally, almost. You see Beomgyu walk his way into the center, electric guitar hanging from his neck as the lights focus on him. You hear nothing but yelling. Jesus fucking christ. It’s an assault at all fronts with Heeseung, Yeonjun, Jeongin, and Hyunjin surrounding you. Maybe...maybe you shouldn’t have joined these damned nerds.

It hushes down when Beomgyu grabs the mic to give an introduction of the band. Heeseung is still screeching, though. You grow concerned.

“Anyway, sing and dance along if you know the lyrics.”

Beomgyu’s hands grip the microphone as you hear his voice continue through the speakers, staring down at the crowd as if he’s looking for something. Then his eyes land on you. You’re taken aback for a moment. Just a moment, because you manage a smile. Good luck, you mouth, hands cupping your lips. 

He smiles back. “This song— is you.”

The instrumental is familiar. A guitar sings. Drum beats crash. You’ve heard this numerous times from Beomgyu’s playlist before. In his car. Along the streets. On the floor of his apartment at three in the morning after he called you out to do nothing in particular until you fall asleep on the couch. Then his voice resonates in the night, carried by the still familiar melody and you feel your heart thump along with the bass vibrating from the speakers. 

Time and time again, Choi Beomgyu proves to you that he’s always meant for the spotlight. He belongs there, to receive all the attention and adoration of everyone that catches sight of him. Seeing him up there brings an unconscious smile on your face. That is until you feel Heeseung shove his shoulder against you, prying your attention away from the blinding stage lights to the dim glow of your friend’s lightstick. “Hey, lovergirl,” he says, grinning widely. “He says he’s nothing without you.”

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, cheeks stretched by a flurry of heat. “It’s just a song.”

It’s over before you know it. You were able to snag a few shots of your friend at the near end there as per his request for his Instagram feed, but your plan to run away after their performance is ruined because the boys have decided to hold you hostage because, “There’s no way you’re missing tonight’s celebration!” as if the winners have already been announced. There’s like three bands left. Tonight, you suffer.

Still, your waiting and leg aches for standing too long aren’t wasted because when the winners are indeed announced, the ICT department are called as the victors, and the rest of the night is a blur of hoots and yells and many, many bars and clubs all throughout the city. 

Unfortunately for you, this is only the start of your series of night outs leading up to the end of the year. 

After finals, Sungchan dragged you and Minjeong out for another night out to celebrate. When TXT Inc. announced the winners for their game development competition not long after, you’re dragged to another night out since the boys managed to scrape by 3rd place and save their club from the threat of administrative shut-down.

You’re exhausted. Absolutely drained. You sleep the entire car ride home to Daegu with Beomgyu, recharging just enough for the joint Christmas eve dinner with your family and his. Your friend manages to notice your pitiful state and saves you from conversations by answering questions from the parents on your behalf over the meal.

“Ah, I heard from our daughter that you performed at your festival last month? Oh, how was it? You used to sing and dance during our village Christmas parties all the time when you were still in elementary school.”

“He was trying so hard to look cool, dad.” Regardless of your exhaustion, your system always has enough energy to jump at the opportunity to make fun of him. 

Beomgyu glares at you from across the table, and you feel a kick from underneath. “I was cool. We won, if you forgot. Just so you know, I only joined to put that Jang Seung back in his—” You kick him back. Beomgyu jolts, eyes widen. Oops, he sends you an apologetic look. You send him a silent warning in return.

“Who’s Jang Seung?” his mother asks, curious.

“Some annoying guy from our department. He likes to think he’s cooler than me and I needed to give him a reminder,” Beomyu responds. You release a silent sigh and sip on your drink. “Which I am. Proven by my victory during the competition.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”

“Auntie! She’s being mean again!”

By the time you reach your apartment building, the clock at around eleven at night, you are barely alive. The rest are walking ahead of you. You are but a bamboo stick getting brushed along by the wind and Choi Beomgyu’s stops you from falling face flat into the floor because you bump into him.

“Idiot,” he scolds, balancing you by the shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’ll be your navigator up the stairs, you withering stick of bamboo.”

“Wait,” you protest (verbally, because you have no strength left in your body and could not physically stand your ground). Beomgyu eyes you, halting from bodying you all the way up the apartment. You look over his shoulder to yell at your parents up ahead. “You go in first! I’m gonna talk to Beomgyu for a sec!”

“It’s late,” your mom narrows her eyes at you. “Can’t you two talk tomorrow?”

“It’s—it’s important,” you stammer. You look at Beomgyu. He raises a brow, confused and suspicious.

You step on his foot. He gapes his mouth and lets out a silent swear. You make a face. He makes a face back before letting out a defeated grunt, spinning his heels to confirm your initial sentiments. “We won’t be long. Mom, you can toss the keys to me. I’ll lock up.”

Not long after, you and Choi Beomgyu are left alone at the foot of your apartment building. He stuffs his apartment keys into his pockets, swirling around to look at you with a face stoned by disapproval. “What is it?” he gnaws. “You’re about to pass out any second. What could be more important than getting some sleep right now?”

You ignore his nagging. “Come to the playground with me,” is your unrelated response. His face jitters— disapproval churning into a shock of anxiety, but he attempts to brush it off.

“You’re not gonna ask me to do something along the lines of pretending like we don’t know each other, righ—”

“No! Fuck off! I’ll go alone if you don’t want to.”

“I’m coming,” he sternly says, trailing behind your heated steps to a corner of the apartment square, on the way to the playground at the back of the building. “At least tell me what you want to talk about first.”

“It’s—it’s nothing bad.”

“You’re being suspicious.”

“I’m not!”

Your foot stomps over the dirt of the playground, pressing your lips together as you scramble out your phone to check the time. 11:13 p.m. Dammit. Your coat pocket feels heavy, the thing inside snuggled deep and concealed. How do you distract him for forty-seven more minutes? He’s already yawning. Your eyes flicker around— the spring riders catching your attention first. “Come here,” you say stiffly, just as mechanically hopping onto what you assume is a duck on the spring. 

Beomgyu is evidently weirded out by you, but he follows you anyway, unquestioning whenever you lead him from one equipment and ride in the playground to the next— the swings, spinners, monkey bars, tubes, slides, even the fucking climbers that probably can’t handle your weight. It’s not the most appropriate age and weather to be doing this, but you needed something to kill the time.

The only thing left untouched are the seesaws. It’s 11:55. God damn it. You’ve been willfully avoiding this contraption in case it reawakens your moment of shame and weakness, but having been caught in the pattern you’ve started, Beomgyu is already plopping down on one of the ends.

You bite your tongue. You follow and take your spot on the other end, quiet. The both of you see and saw in silence, most likely carrying the same thing in your minds.

The moment your feet hit the ground again, you stay there. You flip open your phone. Three more minutes. Beomgyu springs you up in the air. You’re brought back down.

“Whatever you’re planning on saying—” he starts, from above. “Don’t say it.”

“It’s not what you think!” you argue. Two more minutes. “Stop moving. Hold on a sec.”

You and Beomgyu are on both ends, both on the ground. One more minute. He eyes you suspiciously, maybe even nervously and you don’t blame him. You dig into your coat pocket, feeling the crumple of the smooth fabric of the pouch you pocketed before leaving for dinner earlier, the item hard in your hand.

“Choi Beomgyu, you’ve been working hard all semester.” Your phone alarm rings. Fucking finally. You pull the pouch out of your pocket. “I thought maybe you deserve a treat.”

You toss it at him. He lets go of the seesaw handle to catch it.

“Merry Christmas, fuckface.”

The pouch lands in his hands. He just stares at it for a moment, eyes wide in surprise and your heart rattles. Why are you nervous right now? You begin to palpitate even further when he actually pulls the strings open, revealing the vintage digicam you bought during the lantern festival. From the moment you saw the stall, you knew the sentimental idiot would like one of these. It’s been waiting in your drawer for this occasion. You start to feel even more self conscious every second he takes to examine it.

“I—I know it’s a bit cheap,” you stammer. “But I already spent so much money on your birthday gift, so don’t you even dare—”

Click!

You look up to see the camera in front of Beomgyu’s face. You blink. He puts it down, tinkering with the buttons with a smile on his face. “I like it,” he says, flashing his eyes at you. “It’s pretty.”

Without a second to waste, you jump off the fucking seesaw and Choi Beomgyu’s ass lands on the ground. “Hey, delete that!”

“Nuh-uh! No way!” he fends you off, swatting away your hands as you straddle him on the dirt ground. “You gave it to me so this is mine! I can do whatever I want with it!”

“My portrait rights! You’re violating the law!”

“Ow! That hu— owww! Fine! Okay, fine—”

It’s Christmas, and the both of you are on the dusty ground of your apartment complex’s playground, a little breathless from squabbling. Beomgyu has one forearm shielding himself from your attacks, the other keeping the camera safe to his chest.

“I’ll delete it! I’ll delete it on one condition.”

You slump back, already tired. “What?” you wheeze. 

He grunts and picks himself up, dusting his clothes and you follow not long after once you’ve caught your breath. “Come to my place for a sec.”

This time, you’re the one eyeing him with suspicion. Still, he humored you tonight, so you shall humor him too. You follow him into the building, up the flights of stairs until you reach your floor. Beomgyu grumbles out a few swears under his breath as he puts more effort than necessary to unlock the door to his place. “Need a little help doing simple movements there, buddy?”

“Shut your mouth,” he grunts, finally managing to unlock it. 

Their festive living room greets you upon entry. The rug is different from what you remember. The curtains shielding the interior from the moonlight have gingerbreads and snowmen on them. Beomgyu leads you up to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, painted with tinsel and ornaments and stars. He sits down on the carpet, patting on the spot next to him without looking at you and you gingerly cross your legs down. He digs into the mix of real and fake gift boxes for decoration. You know because some have names, some are blank.

“I didn’t expect you to throw me a gift right at midnight. That was an unprompted attack.” He finally leans back with a pretty big box in hand, setting it down on the floor right in front of you. “Still. I refuse to lose. Here.”

There’s a name on it. Yours. From your pretty and handsome and amazing most favorite person, Choi Beomgyu. You snort.

“Open it,” he nudges.

“Now?”

“Duh.”

He’s annoying, but you let him off. Carefully, you unwrap the ribbon, a pang of nervous anticipation hitting your bones as your hands hover over the box lid. 

You open the present.

You see the gift.

Your hands instinctively jerk back down to fucking close it.

“Choi Beomgyu! I said it was a joke! Why would you—” you hiss out, a quiet scream as you throw your head around to look at him, only for the words to fizzle out your throat upon seeing the expectant look on his face. His eyes are big and sparkly and looking at you with so much expectation. Your face grows hot, the burn even more palpable amidst the December weather, and you suck in a deep breath, looking down in acceptance and defeat. “A fucking turntable. You’re insane. Why would you get me this? You said it yourself that I don’t even own any records or LPs or whatever you use for this. What’s wrong with you?”

“You said you wanted one.” He’s grinning. He’s grinning very proudly. “Merry Christmas, dipshit. Now, we’re even.”

Ah. God damn it. He really is insane.

“He got you a what?”

Within the last week of December, you and Beomgyu return back to Seoul. There’s some crap to do at uni regarding your scheduling and classes, and Jung Sungchan is throwing yet another party to celebrate the incoming new year. Not at his parent’s place this time because he got an earful after the previous party. He’s hosting it in his apartment, so the invitation list is smaller. More bearable, because you and Minjeong are forced to attend again. 

“Girl, you don’t even own any records.” Minejeong’s head pops up from the other side of the clothes rack, looking both appalled and amazed from the information she’d just received from you. “Have you even used it yet?”

“No!” you remark in response. “The thing has been catching dust in my apartment and I’m starting to feel bad. Is it okay if we stop by a record store after this?”

Which is why you and she are out shopping right now to buy a cute new year’s outfit to match Sungchan’s black and gold party theme. You don’t understand why he has to have a theme, but it’s a good excuse to treat yourself to some new clothes. You and your friend have been thrifting and boutique hopping, spending a good chunk of your holiday money for a one-day millionaire spree. 

A few shopping bags in hand, a bell jangles when you push open the door to a vintage record store you saw in passing earlier, in between thrift stores. The scent of rubber, dusty wood, and pressed vinyl hit your senses, along with the dull hum of music from the store’s speakers from the background. You walk in with no plan on what the fuck you should buy, so needless to say you are overwhelmed by the gigantic selection on display.

“Hey, how may I help you?”

The singular employee present in the store has probably noticed your swirling eyeballs trying to take in everything. “Oh, I’m just looking around,” you say with a smile. The store clerk smiles back, telling you to feel free to browse, and you thank him. He’s tall, presumably college-aged with sandy hair, and your mind wanders around the idea that it would be nice to find another part-time job for extra allowance. But your break is almost over. And you’d have to look for somewhere else because it won’t be a great idea to work at Horangnabi again and deal with the rest of the studentry considering your current, uh, reputation.

But you’re not here to dwell on that. You’re here to finally put Choi Beomgyu’s fucking gift to good use. Minjeong stays by the door with her phone while you walk further into the store with the clerk trailing behind you. As you run your hands over a few familiar covers, familiar names and titles, he shoots you a few questions here and there— are you looking for a specific artist? What kind of music do you like? I can give you some recommendations if you’d like? Clearly, there’s something more than customer service going on here. 

As you check out a selection of two records (because holy shit, these are expensive), it dawns on you that it’s almost the end of the year, and you still have yet to find a god damned boyfriend. Granted, you don’t believe doing so will help salvage your image in any way at all, but it kind of sucks to think that you’ll be spending another new year single and lonely.

“Come again any time.”

Well, maybe not too lonely because you won’t have time to think about any nihilistic bullshit at Jung Sungchan’s party. Minjeong scolds you as you walk out the store with a new paper bag and no new number in your contacts. “He was clearly trying to hit on you,” she says.

“He’s not my type,” you deflect back. She clicks her tongue and nags you that every shot you don’t take is a miss, and you simply brush her off with a laugh. But she has a point. Maybe you’re the reason why you’ve been single this entire time. Perhaps the universal false assumption that you and Choi Beomgyu have been dating for the past one-hundred years has nothing to do with it.

Lee Heeseung agrees with this new speculation of yours. “You’re too prickly,” he says over brunch at a local bed-and-breakfast. You and Minjeong meet up with him right after your shopping spree because he just happened to be in the area. “And a little scary. Everyone from the club used to be afraid of you at first because you’re so mean.”

“You nerds are just losers,” Minjeong defends you. 

“Wow. Two bullets in one shot,” you say in between enjoying your bacon, fried rice, and eggs.

“Hey, you have no right to say anything. You’re single too.” Heeseung points his fork at her. “It can’t be helped. This is unsalvageable. It seems like I must share this secret trick I found on TikTok to solve all of your problems.” 

“That source sounds very credible,” you snort.

“I haven’t even said anything yet!” Heeseung proceeds to explain the secret trick: eat twelve grapes under the table within the minutes passing into the new year, and your wish will be granted. You nearly cough out your brunch. Minjeong bursts out laughing right next to you. You can’t even begin to imagine how Heeseung managed to land himself into that side of the app.

“Incredible,” she chortles out. “What do you plan on wishing for, Hee? For you to get back together with—”

“No!” he screeches out. “No way. That era of my life is over now. I’m gonna get accepted at HYBE Inc. for my fucking internship.”

“Wow,” you gape, taking a sip from your iced tea. “You’re maturing.”

“Right? This is crazy.”

Heeseung’s outburst melts down, and the redness slowly starts seeping out from his cheeks. He looks at you, a little proud and rubs a finger under his nose with a grin. “Heh. It’s nothing.”

“You’ve got some rice on your face, Mr. Maturity.” You hear an ‘oh shit,’ from across the table as you look down to your lit up phone from a message notification coming in. Your eyes narrow, letting your utensils clatter on your plate to make a few taps on the phone screen. “You asked Beomgyu to come?” you ask, looking back up at Heeseung. “Why is the idiot telling me he’s on the way here?”

Specifically, it was a shot of him from the eyes up and a bus ceiling with [omw 2 u 🛵🛵] plastered on his forehead. “Oh, he’s coming?” Heeseung responds, unsurprised. “He asked if I wanted to hit the PC room with him. I told him I’m still with you two and sent him my location.”

“Ah, fuck me. Now I have to change seats.” You watch in slight confusion as Minjeong pushes her food over to Heeseung’s side of the table before following suit, leaving the space next to you cold and barren and empty, and your look of confusion muddles into betrayal. “Hey, don’t give me that look. Beomgyu always follows you around like a puppy with severe attachment issues and I don’t really want to be caught in between the both of you.”

“He does not!” you defend, your fist bouncing on the table with a clatter, just in time for your eyes to flicker off to the direction of the restaurant door opening, welcoming a Choi Beomgyu, who’s whipping his head around to look for you three, inside.

“Hey, dude, over here!”

Unfortunately, he proves Minjeong correct. Beomgyu turns his head to you at the recognition of Heeseung’s voice, blank face shifting into an easy smile. His next set of movements are programmed right into his system: he walks up to you, he plops down right next you, and he dips his head down to take a long sip from your iced tea, right before releasing a refreshed lip-smack and sigh with his shit-eating grin, directed right at you. “Thanks for the treat.” His hand meets the top of your head, utterly ruining your hair. 

“Fuck off. No one even invited you here.” You wrestle him off with your elbow. Beomgyu retreats by letting his arm stretch behind your back, causing the cushion of the booth seats to sink down while he calls a waiter for the menu. You feel your throat dry. You reach for the ice tea Choi Beomgyu just drank a third of to rinse down the dryness. Minjeong’s eyes are on you. Heeseung is pressing his mouth together, and his face is pissing you off.

“Do you want me to find another table then? I see you’re almost done with your meals.” The bitch is trying to play victim. You give him a look of aversion. He’s unfazed, looking at Heeseung with a subtle quirk of his lips inching towards victory, because the latter took his bait.

“I’m ordering another meal,” Heeseung announces. “You. Sit. We’re hitting the PC room after this.”

“Sure thing.” All you can do is sigh while Beomgyu sticks his tongue out at you. “Quit grumbling,” he snarks. “And quit acting like you don’t want me around. Didn’t you say it yourself? Should I give you a refresher? Ahem, what makes you think I can’t live without—”

“Moving on!” 

Your face is now hot. Beomgyu is still grinning like a bastard, but he doesn’t finish the statement. You can still see the amusement on the corners of his lips even when he leans down to sip from your iced tea again. “I hate being here,” Minjeong breathes out, gulping down the last of her drink before slamming the glass down onto the table.

Beomgyu’s order arrives. “Why are you two so moody today?” He points a pair of chopsticks at Minjeong before stabbing them into his salad. “Did your shopping trip go badly or some shit?”

“For your information, our day was going great until you showed up,” you glare at him.

“Yeah,” Minjeong doubles down. Heeseung’s second meal also arrives. He ignores the squabbles and starts happily digging in. “Our shopping trip was great. You should see the dress she bought for the party. It’s really pretty.”

At that mention, Beomgyu’s head tilts, eyes flickering over to your direction. “Is it?” 

There’s something in the tone of his voice that forces you to swallow something down. “Mind your own business, buster,” you hiss at him. He shrugs and continues eating. “What the hell is Jung Sungchan thinking dress coding a college party, anyway? It’s not like he’d kick me out if I end up wearing bright green.”

“Is the dress you bought bright green?” Beomgyu chimes in. “Now I’m even more curious.”

You look at him, face scrunched up. “If you want to wear my dress, just say so.”

“Hey, I think I’d body it.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

Indeed, no one gets kicked out for wearing the wrong thing. The moment you walk into Jung Sungchan’s blasted apartment, you see red, pink, purple, maroon amidst the gold foil decorations and fuzzy warping lights. No, Choi Beomgyu did not show up in your dress. He’s in a beige wool blazer, white undershirt, and lazy black trousers with a beer can in hand, waiting for your arrival by the door. “Oh, hey.” You do not recall beige being in the goddamned dress code. At least his pants are black and his necklace is gold. “You’re here.”

“I wish I weren’t,” you grunt, wiggling out of your coat because although it’s currently the cold season, Sungchan’s apartment is humid. Though it’s significantly less people than his house party last summer, it’s still thirty people more than to your liking. You grimace, hanging the garment on your forearm. “Where is he? Where’s the host of this shithole?”

You point up your chin, looking around for Sungchan, but to no avail. Maybe he’s at the balcony, but your friend over here isn’t answering you.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” You whip your head back to Beomgyu. He hasn’t left, no. He’s just standing there, a faint buzz tinting his cheeks. You peer at the drink he’s holding. You click your tongue, waving a hand in front of his face. “Hello?”

Luckily, he isn’t fully checked out yet. He swats your hand away and clears his throat. “I think he’s on the balcony. C’mon.”

Sungchan greets you with a barreling hug and nearly bulldozes you into the floor because he’s a dramatic bastard who hasn’t seen you since finals week. “Now that you’re here, we can officially start the party!” he yells, as if it hadn’t already started, and drags your limp body back to the living room. Right now, it’s around ten in the evening. Minjeong clocks in not long after you and gets roped into the mess of drinking games happening on Sungchan’s carpeted floor, already a few rounds in.

In between all the yelling and the music and the chants to chug, chug, chug it, Heeseung stands up with a microphone in hand. You have no idea where he got that from, but he has it, and has decided that it would be a great idea to start singing your hearts out. 

“Sing or drink! Sing or drink!”

Yeah, no. You’re downing that fucking shot.

“Boo! You’re no fun!” Heeseung jeers at you. You toss him the now red solo cup with the droplets of whatever the fuck they mixed into that, gagging slightly. The microphone eventually gets snatched by a very drunk Yeonjun, who already got his necktie wrapped around his head. This is a big mess. Yeonjun gets his solo moment. He starts singing Through the Fire by Chaka Khan.

“Yeonjun hyung! Yeonjun hyung!”

“Hyung, why do you have to graduate?!”

“Hyung, I’ll miss you!”

You’re definitely not drunk enough for this. By eleven-thirty, you’re already fucking exhausted, so you ready to escape to the kitchen. A lot of people have left, the ones remaining consisting mostly of Sungchan’s close friends. Minjeong sees you escaping and runs after you. “Going down for a bit. I need some fresh fucking air.”

“Don’t die,” you hum, patting her out the door.

“You don’t die.” She nudges back at the directions of the living room, where the boys are gathered in a sudden emotional huddle. Choi Beomgyu included. The year’s coming to an end. Meaning a few of them are gonna be graduating from uni soon like Yeonjun. You swear you can hear someone wailing. “I don’t want to deal with that. Good luck. Hide safe, soldier.”

She salutes you off, marching out the door. You turn back to look at the mess of the apartment. Sungchan’s prettily hung gold foil have either been ripped off, their remnants tattered on the floor, or barely strewn. There’s still music playing, the bass thrumming through the walls. Cups and plastic and confetti and a few pairs of shoes are scattered all over the floor. You grimace and walk over a wet spot, heading over to the kitchen to help yourself with whatever wine’s still left over.

Pouring yourself a glass, you can’t help but notice what’s left on the moderately sized dining table. Jung Sungchan put an effort to drape it with a pretty sheet of fabric stitched with metallic gold, serving as a bed for the display of various round fruits at the center. A single melon. A bowl of oranges and kiwis beside the bed of green and red apples. You huff out a small laugh, teeth clinking against the rim of the wine glass. Even Jung Sungchan is a little superstitious. You’ve heard about the round fruits for good luck on new year’s before. It’s a miracle none of these were massacred. Save maybe for the half-eaten apple abandoned right by the sink.

Your eyes notice the package of untouched shine muscat grapes sitting soundly on the table, still covered in plastic wrap. You check the time on your phone. 11:45 p.m. Heeseung’s dumb voice echoes in your brain. Twelve grapes. Wishes. Good luck. Superstitions. God, this shit has been haunting you since November.

“Hyung! Promise me you’ll still visit the club even after you graduate, okay? Promise that you’ll—”

“Dude, you have to learn to let go! If you love someone, let them go!”

“No! I don’t want to let Yeonjun hyung go!”

Still. Just like the paper lanterns last month. Just like the damned alarm you have on your phone that rings every night when the clock strikes eleven-eleven, you find yourself falling for this bullshit again.

This is fine, right? No harm in humoring the teeniest-tiniest possibility that these affirmations will hold true? Before you know it, you have the grapes in your person, the tablecloth flung open for a glimpse of a second, and ten minutes before the new year, a singular thought runs laps inside the pitch darkness of your head in the form of the question— can you get any more fucking pathetic?

“What...what the hell are you doing?”

You wince, light leaking into your safe space under the dining table, at the same time as the intrusion of Choi Beomgyu’s voice. You look up at him. He has peeled back the tablecloth— your cover— and honestly you’re not even offended by the look of pure and absolute judgment littering his face right now. You’re judging yourself too for listening to Heeseung’s fucking stupid trick, crawling underneath the table at new year’s party for god’s sake, sitting on a dirty ass floor, a bowl of grapes on your lap, a glass of wine next to your folded up legs, and an expression not befitting the holiday spirit because you’re looking up at him like you want to die.

“I’m—I’m manifesting,” you say petulantly with a squeak, cheeks burning and refusing to explain any further for the sake of your shame and pride. It’s eleven-fifty. You hope he’d politely fuck off before midnight so you can do your business in peace.

Your eyes should be sending the message right now. Beomgyu continues to stare at you with a less than amused expression, a contemplative pause that you hope is a sign that he’s going to leave you alone. But, no. Your message does not come across because Beomgyu decides to plop down, cross-legged, right in front of you. 

“That doesn’t explain anything,” he says. Why can’t he just mind his own business? He should leave you and your grapes alone. “Sungchan’s looking for you and before I left the living room, he picked up a megaphone. Tell me what you’re scheming or else I’ll rat you out.”

“You, bitch!”

Eleven fifty-five. Shit. Choi Beomgyu doesn’t seem like he’s going to budge any time soon. His lips are pursed and he’s got the base of his palm holding up his chin. You bite down your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, taking in a sharp inhale before airing out your pathetic desperation in its rawest form.

“Like I said. I’m manifesting.”

His eyes narrow, brows furrowed. “Manifesting what exactly.”

“A fucking boyfriend.”

Whatever. Fuck it. He can make fun of you all he wants.

“Heeseung said if you eat twelve grapes from eleven fifty-nine to twelve o’one on new year’s, your wish will be granted. I—I—I looked it up because it sounded stupid, but—” You pause. You take a half a second glance at Beomgyu’s expression and decide that you are unable to look him in the eye. “Listen, Beomgyu, I’m desperate. I’m grasping at the straws here. I’m sick and tired of being single and misunderstood by all those damned fucking rumors and I know you’re nowhere near responsible, but I’m very annoyed right now, okay? So, if you’re just gonna make fun of me, please leave because there’s only, like three minutes left before twelve, and I really don’t want you deliberately ruining my chances this time, Choi Beomgyu.”

You breathe in. That. That took you an entire minute to say. Maybe you drank a little too much. Maybe you were rattling on like a maniac just now, but you can’t quite decipher Beomgyu’s reaction to your insanity. 

Is he judging you? Is he weirded out? Pitying you? Because you sure are pitying yourself right now, but you don’t fucking know because all he’s doing is looking at you dead in the eye, face unmoving, totally blank expression, and you gulp. What the hell is he getting at?

Two minutes left. You hear the premature hiss of fireworks outside. “Scoot over,” he finally says. “I can’t believe you’re doing something stupid by yourself and leaving me out.”

“Wh—what are you doing?!”

The tablecloth falls. Your vision is darkened. Choi Beomygyu is wedged right next to you underneath Sungchan’s dining table, on the dirty kitchen floor of his apartment, two minutes before the start of a new year. A new point in history. And here you are, with your friend of over twenty years who’s plucked a shiny green grape from the stem, rolling it between his fingers with an unsure look. “Twelve? We have to eat twelve of these?”

“You don’t have to do it if you’re just gonna make fun—”

Beomgyu pops the grape into his mouth. 

“How many minutes do we have again?”

You pause a little, staring into space before coughing out, “Th—three.” You put a handful of grapes into the cup of your palm to toss it all in there in one shot. It’s twelve fifty-fine. “Three minutes. Starting now.”

“Got it.”

Now, you can’t even begin to fathom the absurdity of this scene. You can hear the boys making a ruckus from the other room, yelling into the megaphone, counting down while you continue to shovel the fruit into your mouth. Eight. You have eight left. 

“Woohoo! Happy new year!”

Fireworks are bursting, music is blaring.

“Six! Five!”

Four. Four grapes left in your hands. The juice spurts into your mouth. You glance up at Beomgyu. His brows are knitted together, counting the remaining grapes he has to swallow down before the time is up. 

“Two!”

You seriously can’t believe you two are doing this. You’re about to choke, stuffing the remaining grapes into your cheeks and god forbid your obituary say that you died asphyxiating on round fruit on December 31, 11:59 p.m. Seriously. How did you get so pathetic? You swallow down the last bit of fruit while the rest of your friends are having fun outside. So single, so desperate, so pathetic. You’re never gonna eat another grape again.

“One!”

And the thought hits you 

“Happy new year!”

If you’re so single, so desperate, and so pathetic, then—

“Done!”

Beomgyu’s sudden voice causes you to jump and bump your head against the table. His eyes widen, and firm hands clasp your shoulders to pull you in. “Sorry, are you okay?” he sputters out, little panicked while one hand travels up to the top of your head— where he’d usually ruffle, tousle to ruin your hair and annoy you, but this time Beomgyu’s touch is gentle, checking to see if he’s caused any damage, while your face remains pushed down, eyes trained on the ground where your tight knuckles are pressed into. 

The fireworks haven’t stopped. There’s still a lot of noise outside, but Beomgyu’s soft voice manages to ripple through everything you hear. 

“Nothing hurts, right? You’re good?” 

He guides you to look at him, hands gingerly placed on the sides of your head, and you can feel his index fingers grazing the helix of your ears. You look at him. His former blank, judgemental stare softened with a concern that almost sounds like he’s carrying the weight of the whole universe on his shoulders, as if accidentally causing you to bump your head against the table would endanger the fate of the world.

You’re so single, so desperate, so pathetic, and also so, so stupid because why did you even waste your wishes on that paper lantern, those twelve grapes, and all the countless eleven-elevens these past months when the answer to your wish has been right in fucking front of you this entire time?

“At this point, we should just start dating.”

You gasp.

You cover your mouth, jolting up. Your voice was a little louder than you thought, and your heart sinks down into your stomach as you try to focus your rattled gaze at Beomgyu— at his face, his expression, but you don’t get to do any of that. You don’t get to laugh it off, take it back, say it was just a joke. A joke. Because just as when you open your mouth, the words threatening to jump out of your throat—

“You’re right.”

Beomgyu says something first, and none of it comes out.

“We should just do that.”

You’re not sure what you’re feeling, but it’s like your heart that got dropped right into the pits of your stomach just burst into a million, fluttering pieces.

Your breathing is ragged. Your eyes flit back up to Beomgyu. Your face flushes. Why isn’t he laughing? Why isn’t he saying it’s just a joke?

“Jesus christ—! There you two are! What the hell are you doing— oh my god, were you hooking up under the table?!”

“It’s new year’s, baby! Everyone, get crazy!”

You can’t feel your legs. You’re fished out from down there and into the mess of noises and singing and firecrackers bursting and you never get to clarify anything to Beomgyu, because he’s tugged along by Heeseung and Hyunjin for a group photo with the boys, and Sungchan and Minjeong are asking you a million questions that you can’t hear over the unfamiliar sound of your heartbeat. What...what is this? What the fuck is going on?

“Don’t tell me you actually did Heeseung’s stupid fucking trick.” 

And then it hits you.

Butterflies. There are butterflies in your stomach.

This cannot be normal. You douse them all dead with a shitload of alcohol. 

“Whoa, holy shit, that was half the bottle!”

That ought to kill the fluttering and buzzing insects. Only temporarily because the next morning, you’re hit with a different kind of buzzing.

Your head is ringing— buzzing— brain fuzzy, and when you open your eyes, you’re no longer in the mess of Jung Sungchan’s apartment. You’re in yours. In your bed. Still wearing your dress from last night under the covers. You have no idea how you got here. 

It takes a moment for your mind to settle. You groan, vision swaying when you lean over to the bedside desk to feel around for your phone. You don’t feel it. But you do feel your purse that has your phone in it. What the fuck. Seriously, how did you get home? When you turn it on, you see on your lock screen message notifications from Heeseung and Sungchan, asking if you got home safe, pictures from last night. Some of the events caught on camera, you remember happening. Some, you definitely don’t remember happening and you grow all the more concerned.

One text in particular pulls in the only memory you need to remember, though. It’s from Minjeong, saying [choi beomgyu hauled your ass home in case you’re wondering btw HAHAHHAHA i never saw you drink that much before. jesus christ].

And you freeze, the blood draining from your face as you recall just what happened during the new year’s countdown.

You might have asked out your friend of twenty years.

And he might have said yes.

Your face drops into the plush of your pillow, lurching over to let out a long, distressed scream. That fucking grape trick was more effective than you hoped. Instantaneous. Heeseung should’ve warned you of its effects, what the fuck. Your moment is ruined by the sound of dull knocking, which you can locate coming all the way from your front door. 

You pause, face still muffled into your pillow. The knocking is followed by a short pause. Then the sound of your door code beeping. Then your door unlocking.

Motherfucker, shit, fucking crap.

You throw your covers over yourself. You’re buried underneath. Choi Beomgyu can’t hurt you from down here. Maybe. God damn it, you don’t know what to do, you haven’t had the chance to think yet. The sound of footsteps from outside your room causes you to jitter. It’s still pretty far off, shuffling into the kitchen, you think, and they stop for a moment. Cupboards draw open. The sink turns on then stops. Footsteps resume. They enter your open bedroom door and you bite down a swear. Fuck it all, you’re so fucking fucked.

The desk chair behind you is pulled out, the sound of its legs screeching against the floorboards, ending with a quiet clatter. You hear a second clunk. Then the voice of someone sitting right behind your curled up and pathetic, vulnerable frame.

“I know you’re awake.”

Fuck. Fuck everything.

“C’mon, get up. It’s past two in the afternoon. I can’t believe I woke up earlier than you.”

Begrudgingly, you peel yourself out from under the covers, and just as hesitantly turn yourself around to face the face you aren’t quite ready to see at the moment with squinting eyes from the bright sunlight. You hear Beomgyu let out a sigh. “You drank way too much last night. Or this morning. Whatever.” Instead of looking directly at his face, you choose to look at whatever he’s brought to your desk instead. A tray. A tray with oatmeal, aspirin, and a glass of water. Your stomach is starting to act up again. You’re not sure if it’s whatever the fuck you drank last night, or something else. “How’s your head?”

Not well, thank you very much. You can’t even manage to verbalize your comeback. Shit, just how much have you fallen after just one slip-up. Why isn’t he bringing it up anyway? Why is he acting so normal? You grunt as you sit up from your bed, head still ringing as the aftermath of last night, and set the tray right onto your lap.

You drink your water, eat your meal, and take your medicine in silence. Beomgyu doesn’t do anything to bother you. All he does is watch you with steady eyes, gaze following the movements of your hand especially when you bring the water to your lips, leaned slightly forward as if he’s ready to jump in in case you drop it because your hands are shaking a little. 

Thankfully, you don’t do that. When everything’s done, Beomgyu gets up and ducks down to get the tray off your lap, and— much to the demise of your entire nervous system— you’re forced to look at his face in such a close proximity, that you hiccup and jump back into the headboard.

Beomgyu turns up to look at you, still hunched over you. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Th—thanks?”

His eyes are fixed. His nose scrunches a little before setting the tray back down and returning to his seat. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you, asshole,” you correct, getting riled up. He’s fucking smiling. Seriously, why is he being so normal? “Now, leave. I’m gonna wash up so I look less like shit.”

“Sure,” he laughs. “I’ll come get you at around four?”

You look up. “Why?”

“To take some pretty photos around the city.” He’s up again, tray in his hands to return to the kitchen. 

“Why?” you continue to squint at him.

“Why not? I didn’t bring the camera at the party because some of the guys might’ve used it as a ping pong ball, so I wasn’t able to take any photos for the new year. But it’s still the first day of the year today. Let’s go make the most out of it.”

Cheesy as hell, but you’re already all dressed and ready to go out when he barges into your apartment again. He makes an impressed holler upon seeing you, saying that you look like a human being again, and you land a kick on his shin before locking up your door, Choi Beomgyu trailing behind you with an anguished yelp.

It’s late afternoon, the streets of downtown Seoul are uncharacteristically free. Most are probably still behind the shutters, nursing their post-new year’s hangover. Some are probably back in their hometowns for the holidays. You and Beomgyu trail down the walkway. Your hands are stuffed into your pockets, him holding up the digital camera to his chest while he whips his head around, probably looking for a pretty scene to capture. You laugh, racing up your steps as you walk ahead of him. “Pick up the pace, loser,” you call out, turning half-around to provoke him with a snicker.

Your lips quirk just in time for the sound of a click to stop your backwards walk. Beomgyu has the camera up to his face. He puts it down, grinning. 

“Hey!” You’ve halted in your steps, stomping down a single foot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Like I said.” Beomgyu hums and looks down at the shot he just took, a satisfied look on his face upon inspection before flicking his eyes back up to you. “Taking pretty photos. Let’s go near the crosswalk. I think a shot would be nice there.”

You thought you were just going to accompany him on this excursion but somehow, you got roped into being a subject in the countless photos he’s taking. On the sidewalk. By a tree in the park. In the arcade. In the middle of walking into the facade of a cafe. Most of his shots are taken without warning, causing you to throw a mini-tantrum immediately after the taunting sound of the shutter. But all he does is laugh and shield the camera from you, assuring you that you look fine, that it’s pretty, that you guys should hurry off because the evening is nearing, and you’d just have to huff and and surrender and move on, else he’d notice the warmth on your cheeks and the stirring in your stomach.

“Ah, I want to try the mocha cake.”

“Then order it?”

“Now, I don’t want to because you’re telling me to.”

“You’re ten years old.”

“Nyenye, you’re ten years— hi! We’d like an iced matcha latte, iced americano, and a coffee mocha cake, please. Dine in, yes. Thanks.”

The things he’s always done that seemed so, so natural that you never even put a second thought to them suddenly linger in the forefront of your thoughts. The way he puts his lips on your straw even though you know he hates matcha just to annoy you. The way your hands rest on the table, his fingers tapping on your knuckles while droning on a rant about some game you don’t even know the name of. The way he naturally brushes a crumb off your face, shares a dessert with you, holds up the last bit of cake and icing on the fork in front of your mouth for you to have. Really, nothing has changed. Nothing has, but it feels like your entire life just got turned upside down thanks to the event of last night— of which neither of you are even addressing.

You still show up to each other’s places unannounced. You still go to 7-Eleven ice cream runs at three in the morning. You still shove your face into his arm while watching horror movies and screaming bloody murder, but nothing happens beyond that. 

Not once have you brought up the conversation you had under the table at the strike of the new year. Not even after a month has passed since then. 

It’s now the beginning of February, and you’re on campus to register for your classes next month. While there, you’re forced into the coding club room by the pest named Lee Heeseung. He rattles into your ear on the way there, talking about how they’re currently polishing the game they submitted to TXT Inc. (Which won. He never fails to emphasize that). When you get there, you’re jumped by three more boys wanting you to try out the said winning game. 

“C’mon, just give it a shot!” Hyunjin bulldozes you into the computer corner.

“We’ll walk you through!” Yeonjun chimes in right after. 

“I’m not— I’m not interested in your—” Jeongin sits you down on the seat. Heeseung is covering your path to escape. Yeonjun and Hyunjin are on the other side. God damn it. Where’s Hanbin? Where’s the only normal person here? Heeseung is messing with keyboard and mouse, the screen immediately loading, and you’re greeted by what appears to be a first person shooter game that honestly looks...pretty good? Wow. They actually worked hard on this. 

“What are you guys doing?”

All five of you turn your heads back to the door. It’s Beomgyu. He’s got a backpack on him, which he tosses off to the sofa before walking up to your huddle. “Great! You’re here!” Hyunjin welcomes him in. Beomgyu finds a spot in between Heeseung and Jeongin, curious eyes glancing down at you. “We’re trying to get her to play our game!”

“Oh?” Beomgyu hums, leaning down against the back of your chair. “Sounds fun. Go ahead. I want to see this too.”

Do they enjoy fucking with you this much? Is this their favorite hobby? For some reason, clicking start is making you more nervous than you expected. Your hand is literally shaking on the mouse and you can hear Heeseung snorting at the way your other hand is positioned on the keyboard. “I hate all of you,” you announce, the stage loading. “I really hate all of you.”

“This is gonna be fun,” Jeongin assures from behind you. “The controls are simple. You just—”

“No, let her figure things out by herself.”

“Okay, it’s start—”

“Go, go, go! Run! Start shooting!”

“What?! Shoot what?!”

“The enemies! No, no, you’re going the wrong way don’t—”

“What is this?! What’s going on?!”

“Oh my god, this is hilarious.”

“Am I dead? Is it over?”

“Dude,” Heeseung lurches over, laughing and wheezing. “You’re so bad. You suck.”

Beomgyu is also laughing with them. You give him a side-eye. He immediately shuts up, clearing his throat, but obviously still smiling in avid amusement. “Let’s try that again,” he says. “I’ll help you this time.”

He cracks his knuckles, teiling Jeongin to scoot over so he’s the one directly behind you now. No, you don’t want to try again. You start turning around, but are immediately stopped with a quiet squeak because Beomgyu leans forward, pushing the office chair further into the desk, and you stiffen when his arms stretch out to cage you in. “What—what are you doing?” you sputter. 

“These guys aren’t gonna leave you alone until you finish a level,” he simply says. His hands rest over yours on the keyboard, on the mouse. He’s pressed up against your upper back, your shoulders. He’s way too fucking close. 

“Awh. This is way less fun.”

At this point, your eyes aren’t even registering the screen, and Beomgyu is basically playing the game himself. The shooting noises and fighting sounds from the speakers run dull. Dizzy. You feel dizzy. “Nice! Good job,” he says. His low voice is a rumble right into your ears. “Hey, you’re doing it. Nice shot.”

You shoot up, nearly headbutting him in the process.

“What’s up?”

“Restroom,” you squeak out. “I need to go to the restroom.”

The cold splash of water against your face is very effective. You’re at the restroom, hands gripping the edges of the sink as you stare at your drenched face at the mirror. There are things that you can’t ignore anymore. You two should address what’s up as soon as possible. Otherwise, you’re going to go insane.

“Choi Beomgyu.”

Not now, though. You...you just haven’t gathered enough courage yet to talk to him about it yet.

“Pass me the pillow.”

Right now, you’re on your living room floor, the aftermath of your takeout lunch on the coffee table, and Beomgyu grabs a cushion from behind him on the couch and pats it down onto your laps, eyes glued to your laptop screen, a dog grooming YouTube video playing.

There’s still a little bit less than a month before the semester starts. Beomgyu is supposed to leave for Daegu in a bit. The Chois have a family event back home, and they invited you as well, but you promised to accompany Jung Sungchan for a seminar later this afternoon, so you had to decline. Beomgyu’s brother is in the city, so he doesn’t have to drive or commute all the way there. He’s gonna get picked up in like, thirty minutes, so he decided to wait around and loiter at your place for the time being.

The entire time he’s been here, seemingly unbothered and unchanged even after the new year’s thing, you’ve been trying to get your shit together and just clear the air. What the fuck are you two now? Does he even remember what happened? Or is he just trying to sweep it under the rug? Is he overthinking about it just as much as you are right now? What the hell is going on?

“What are you thinking about?”

The video he’s watching has ended. His attention is now completely on you.

“Uh,” you stammer. “Yeon—Yeonjun seonbae is the only graduating student from the club, right?”

“Ah. Yeah,” he hums in affirmation. He twists his body a bit, crossed-legs slightly turned towards you, and he places an arm on the sofa seat, head resting on the knuckles of his hand. “The guys are planning on throwing a party this weekend to celebrate. To, you know, send him off.”

“He’s probably gonna end up crying again, isn’t he.” You attempt to dissuade your brain for now. 

“Oh, definitely,” he laughs. “We’re gonna set up cameras in the clubroom. He won’t be safe.”

Bzzt bzzt. The both of you look at his vibrating phone on the table, right next to your laptop. Beomgyu grunts in annoyance (and slight back pain), pulling himself up to grab the device. You silently watch while he takes the call. He looks so annoyed. You’d be making fun of him right now if your brain wasn’t in so much of a mess.

“Hyung,” Beomgyu whines into the phone. “What do you mean meet you at the gas station? That’s so inconvenient. Ugh, fine. What time are you gonna be there?” You shoot him a thumbs up. He pushes it down, hand enclosing the back of your fist, and he continues complaining into the phone. “Just text me before you start driving. Yeah, she’s here. Do you wanna say hi?”

He hands you his phone. You clear your throat and put it up to your ear with your free hand. “Hi, hyung, how have you been? Yeah, he’s at my place again. A freeloader— exactly!” Beomgyu squeezes your knuckles at that remark, visibly pouting and offended. You brush him off. “Ah, yeah. Sorry I can’t join you guys. Maybe next time, I’ll be able to—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Beomgyu snatches the phone back. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll wait for you there. Bye, hyung. Later.”

The end of the call signals that you two should maybe start cleaning up. You throw out the boxes, wash the dishes and cups you used and tidy up the living room floor and couch. Beomgyu is grumbling the entire time, asking if you really have to attend the stupid seminar later. “I’m not gonna flake on my friends, Beomgyu.” You lean against the doorway with your arms crossed, seeing him out. He frowns. “You’re gonna be gone for three days right?” 

“Yeah,” he responds, audibly deflated. 

A huff of air blows past your lips. Three days. You should just talk to him once he gets back. “Have you packed already? Need any help?”

“No, I already took care of everything last night.”

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed. “That’s so unlike you. You’re well prepared for once.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond to your jab with the same energy. “I didn’t want to spend the entire morning packing when I can use it to spend a bit more time with you.” 

Instead, he decides to be sweet. Honest. 

You feel your rib cage rattle, your stomach stir. “O—oh,” you rasp out. “Um.”

“What’s with the look?” he laughs a little, taking a step forward. Your back is still pressed against the doorframe. Beomgyu’s arm reaches up further above your head, pushing himself closer. “I thought that much was obvious when I knocked at your door at nine in the morning.”

When you follow his gaze, you can tell that his eyes are tracing the lines on your lips, eyelids heavy. Your breath hitches in your throat. Shit. Oh my god. Is he going to kiss you? Is he leaning it to kiss you? You’re about to freak the fuck out and Beomgyu seems to notice that. He pulls back, allowing the air to circulate back into your lungs, and he lets out a sigh. 

His arm falls down to his side. “You can still take it back,” he says. You look at him, brows furrowed. What? Take what back? Beomgyu waits for you to answer, and when you don’t, he decides that it’s best to be more clear. “We can pretend like what happened on new year’s didn’t happen— uh, remain with what we’re used to if you’re not fine with this. If you think we’re better off as friends like we’ve always been, I don’t mind. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh. Oh. You weren’t ready to talk about this yet. You planned to talk about this three days later, but when did your plans ever work? Never. 

Beomgyu attempts a smile and starts heading back to his apartment. “We can talk more once I get back so you can think about it. I’ll go get my—”

“No, wait.”

You grab hold of his arm. Beomgyu turns back, surprised. 

“I’ve al—already been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking a lot.” Crap. Your throat is dry. You didn’t plan any of this. You weren’t expecting to say this to him right now at all. “What I’m saying is—”

Choi Beomgyu looks a little expectant. You suck in a sharp breath. This feels weird. It’s like there’s something jittering at the base of your stomach. Many things, fluttering all the way up to your ribcage and throat and causing your cheeks to flare up.

“We...we can give it a try.”

There. You said it. You finally fucking said it and you can breathe again. Your gaze focuses on Beomgyu, heart racing, and his expression is yet again indecipherable.

He takes a step towards you. Your nerves jolt when you feel his touch on the arch of your spine, pulling you in even closer. “You sure?” 

You let out a squeak. “Tech—technically, I was the one who asked you out, so shouldn’t I— shouldn’t I take responsibility…?”

Beomgyu takes a moment’s pause at your resolution. You’re nervous. You’re so nervous right now that you might have severely fucked up. He looks at you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to avert your eyes, face flushed from the heat of the moment, only for him to release the tension with a big laugh, fully embracing you by the waist, and dropping his head down onto your shoulder before lifting it back up to look at you with a wide smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you should.”

This time, when he leans in again, doesn’t draw back midway. 

You feel his lips on yours and your eyes flutter wide open, heart rate spiking up and up and up until your lips part, him kissing you deeper, until you can’t keep them open anymore. Beomgyu’s hold around your waist loosens, one hand traveling up to the back of your head before it could collide with the doorframe when you stumble back as you lose the strength in your knees, and before you know it, you’ve got your hands tangled in his hair, dizzy and short-winded and making you think that this— this isn’t so bad.

He draws his lips back with a heavy exhale. “God,” he sighs out as the heat of his breath hits your skin. Your foreheads are pressed together, eyes hazy and cloudy when he leans in again, mumbling into your mouth, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

The reverie ends when a jolt of self-consciousness hits you belatedly. Your hands travel down to his chest, barely pushing off in a surge of sudden panic. Your face is burning, your lips feel fuzzy, and Beomgyu looks both surprised and disappointed which makes the churning in your stomach even worse. “A—a—aren’t you supposed to go now?” you stutter out, still a little breathless. Holy shit. That just happened. 

“You’re right,” Beomgyu responds. “I should go now.” But his body language isn’t showing any signs of leaving. You wait for him to budge. He doesn’t.

Somehow, you manage to push him off you and finally drag him out of the building with his backpack in tow, much to his whines and protests. His brother has been endlessly calling him with all calls left unanswered except for this one. “I’m going! I’m almost there.” He is not. He’s at the bottom steps of the apartment building. 

“Text me when you arrive,” you tell him, ready to head back inside. Beomgyu pockets his phone, looking more alive than ever and it’s annoying you a little.

“Mhm,” he hums in response. His eyes flicker down, debating whether or not to put whatever he’s thinking about with that into action, but decides against it and settles for a rough pat and a ruffle on your head instead, pressing out a small smile. “See you when I get back.” You wave him goodbye as he disappears out into the road. He sends you a text the moment he meets up with his brother.

It’s still a little awkward. You still can’t wrap your mind around this change after being nothing more than just two good friends for two decades. You’re just glad he isn’t trying to rush it. What doesn’t change is his incessantly annoying texts every goddamned hour throughout the three days he’s away. 

And indeed, you do see him when he gets back. He’s supposed to go shopping for the Yeonjun farewell party tomorrow anyway, so you decide to meet him at the station and just proceed to the store immediately after. When he departs from the train and sees you waiting amidst the crowd, he immediately comes rushing over like a puppy. Christ, Minjeong was right. 

Admittedly, you can’t get used to this yet. He’s always been touchy, but they’ve always been subtle. Devouring you into a bone crushing embrace to the point where all you can see and feel with your face is the fur of his jacket isn’t exactly subtle. The sounds of trains zipping, people chatting flood your senses. You quite frankly, cannot breathe. “Hey, chill out. It’s literally been only three days.”

“Bleh, whatever. Chill out, fuck off. Just let me have this.”

Your attempts to wrestle your way out of this good-natured suffocation is fruitless. You used to be able to push him around like nothing back in middle school. How far you have fallen.

“We still have errands to run,” you grunt out, managing to at the very least pop your head out from being smothered into his chest. He looks down at you, bitterly clicking his tongue and loosening his grip a bit. “Jeez, do you like me or something?”

That was supposed to be a joke. Beomgyu doesn’t find it very funny because he suddenly draws back, arms crossed and expression utterly exasperated. “Are you serious? Are you an idiot?”

“I was just pushing your buttons, stupid,” you shoot him a glare, taking advantage of your freedom to start walking ahead and out of the station.

“You’re stupid.”

There isn’t a day where Beomgyu doesn’t decide to irritate the crap out of you. He’s walking behind you. He’s stepping on the back of your shoes and bumping into you like a sixth grader. “Quit it!”

“Make me.”

He’s so annoying. He continues being annoying even at the event supplies stores downtown, where you’re picking up some streamers and party hats for tomorrow. You and he debate between hot pink and baby pink for the color theming. Rock paper scissors declare hot pink the winner and you get paper plates and cups in matching colors. “By the way,” Beomgyu starts, putting in two party poppers into the basket once you’re done loading up the utensils. “I met up with some of the guys from highschool yesterday. You know. Seungmin and Jimin. They were back in town for the holidays as well.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember them,” you respond, not very enthusiastically. The memory still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth like a permanent carpet burn. Beomgyu notices you shooting daggers at the innocent, inflated teddy bear balloon right in front of you. He tugs on your hand and leads you to the checkout counter before you can vent your temper at the poor balloon. “Anyway, how are they? Did you guys hang out?”

“Same old. We hit up the PC room for old times sake,” he hums, waiting as the cashier buzzes your items. “Actually, our high school batch is apparently planning a small reunion or get together of some sorts here in Seoul. They’re asking if we wanted to attend too.”

Well. You don’t exactly want to mingle with a bunch of kids that you weren’t even close with back then. And your social battery is already beyond depleted and has had no chance of ever getting a full recovery after all the events from December to January.

You mull it over while the counter finishes bagging your things. The both of you decide to make a pitstop at a nearby cafe. After ordering, you two pick a table on the outside porch because the weather is nice out. Beomgyu drags the metal chair from across so that he’s sitting next to you. Again, Kim Minjeong might’ve been onto something when she called him a puppy with severe attachment issues. The server comes by with your order. Your caffeine intake has been atrocious so you opted for a lychee drink instead, and he settles with a regular latte. Beomgyu hums out a tune while stirring his coffee, playfully hooking his opposite leg with yours underneath the table.

“About the reunion thing,” you chime up. “Will Chaeryoung be there?” 

“How should I know,” he grimaces after trying out your drink. At this point, you think he’s faking it. “She’s your friend, not mine.”

He just keeps pushing your buttons today. “Hey, jerk.” You snatch back the drink from under his chin, visibly provoked. “Why have you gotten even more annoying now that we’re— we’re. We’re—”

Your initial attitude is immediately gone. You choke on your words, one left unsaid because at this point it’s still a little fucking embarrasing, especially with how Choi Beomgyu’s is eyeing you with a shit eating expression while taking a sip from his coffee.

“Now that we’re what?” he hums in provocation, smiling that annoying smile of his with twinkling eyes. “C’mon. Say it.”

“Fuck you, nevermind—”

“No, I want to hear this! Now what we’re what?” Suddenly, he’s twisting over his chair to directly face you. You groan and quickly jerk away when you notice he’s enjoying this a little too much. You seriously want to sock him in the face. “Do you want me to stop being annoying? Hey! Hey, look at me!”

You let out a squeak when you feel his palms on your warm cheeks, turning your head to face him in bewilderment and you panic and hold onto your chair. “What the hell are you—”

“Tell me,” he interrupts. “What do you want me to do?”

This bastard wants to kill you via heart failure. Any ability to speak coherently has completely left your body.. “I, uh, well—”

“Hm?” he touts even further. “What was that?”

You hate him. You hate him so much. You want to hide and bury your face into the ground, and he’s just visibly laughing at you like a sick freak.

Beomgyu finally releases his hold on your face to snatch both of your hands instead. He pulls them towards his chest, but his eyes remain on you, the sheer amusement never leaving his gaze. “Do you want me to be sweeter?” he hums, tracing his thumbs over your knuckles before pressing a light kiss in between the narrow gap. “I can do that.”

His eyes are still trained on you, almost taunting.

“Baby?”

Then the sun spits on your face and you feel the primal instinct to book it and run away.

“Sweetie?” He tugs you forward, pulling your forearms into his chest, just in time for him to land a peck on your nose. “Darling?”

But you can’t run away. No. Because Choi Beomgyu has you hostage while he attacks you with an onslaught of cringey endearments and butterfly kisses on the face to remind you that he is, in fact, strong now, and you can’t do anything about it. Had you known he was going to torment you like this, you should’ve just taken it all back.

“Ow! Why are you hitting me, I’m just doing what you wanted me to do— ow! Then again, dipshit does suit you better than—ow! This is assault!” 

“You’re assault!” you screech out, finally managing to retrieve your bearings and you immediately cross your arms over the table, next to your barely touched lychee drink, and bury your face, never to see the light of day ever again. You hear Beomgyu having the time of his life next to you, laughing like an asshole. You send a blind kick in his direction. It hits. His cackling stops and he makes another pained noise.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry,” you hear him say. Then you hear the squeak of the chair, a bump on your elbow, and you peek out to see him laying his head on his crossed arms on the table as well, facing you. “I was just happy to see you again.”

You stare at him. How the fuck are you supposed to keep protesting when he’s being like this. “Beomgyu, you were gone for three days.”

“Three days too long,” he whines, muffling himself into his sleeves. “I’m with you every single day. I was suffering from withdrawals especially when my parents and your parents kept asking me why I didn’t bring you this year.” He tosses his head back up, suddenly looking at you with narrowed eyes and petulantly pursed lips. “And to think that when I got back, all I’ve been getting are swears and punches and rejection and— ah, my heart is wounded. I won’t ever recover from this. Never, ever, not even in a million— mmph!”

Choi Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, the tips of his fingers lifted up to his slightly parted mouth after you’d just shot up to shut up his never ending yapping by kissing him. There’s a heavy blush on his cheeks and even though yours are a little warm too, the corner of your lips involuntarily quirk upward. Holy shit. So, this is how it feels to be on the attacking end. Choi Beomgyu, you can eat shit and die. “Hah. Two can play it that game, fuckf—”

“Oh my god?!”

Your victory is cut short. Your blood runs cold. You should’ve remembered that you’re on the outside deck of a cafe right now, where people can just freely pass by and see you. You two are, in fact, seen, not just by any people. 

With the creaks of hesitance in your joints, you turn to the sound of the very appalled, very alarmed, very familiar voice. There, you see Kim Minjeong and Sung Hanbin standing with shopping bags, some of which have fallen on the floor, all of which are for what you assume is Yeonjun’s farewell party. The former looks at you in horror. The latter is just smiling and waving. “What the fuck did I just see?” Minjeong croaks out. “Tell me, what the fuck did I just see?”

“I—I can explain!” you quickly sputter out. You turn to Beomgyu for help, but the fucker is still lost in a lovestruck daze. Oh my god. You want to die.

“Congratulations,” Hanbin happily remarks. You want to die very much. Maybe at the hands of Minjeong because she’s marching up the deck and her eyes are on fire. 

Somehow, you manage to smooth things over. You fill them in with what happened on new year, and Minjeong says she saw this coming but still can’t accept it because you’re way too good for Beomgyu, which snaps him out of it and they get into a squabble. “So you approved of Jang Seung but not me?!” Hanbin is all smiles, though, and he promised to keep it a secret from the rest of the coding club guys for now because you don’t even want to imagine what would happen if they find out. Heeseung especially. Oh god. It’s going to be a disaster.

The disaster comes not even twenty-four hours later, at Yeonjun’s farewell party. 

Most of the morning, you all spend the time to decorate the clubroom and set up all the cameras to record Yeonjun’s inevitable sobfest. Hot pink and white streamers are hung around and about. There are balloons on the wall spelling CONGRATULATIONS, Y3ONJUN! because there weren’t any letter E’s available. The boxes of pizza and chicken arrive. Jeongin walks in with a cake. You’re all decked out in party hats and birthday trumpets while waiting for the man of the hour to arrive.

“Pink or brighter pink?” Beomgyu asks, holding up the two cones for your perusal. You’re both wedged in a corner in the room, slightly detached from the rest of the group scuttling by the door.

“First one,” you hum, and he draws the string down, tapping the cone cap on the crown of your head while he slowly lets go of the string once it’s set underneath your chin. Beomgyu takes a step back, examining his work, before nodding into a satisfied smile and putting his own party hat on himself.

He’s. He’s so dumb. You brush off a smile with the shake of your head, and in doing so you inadvertently lock eyes with Heeseung, who seems to have witnessed the entire exchange and is now squinting at you— like he’s trying to understand something. Clearing your throat, you look away before he can take your eye contact as an invitation to talk, and Heeseung is just about to approach when the clubroom door clatters open, a series of party poppers go off, confetti shoots out, right in time for Yeonjun to step in, eyes wide in half-fear, half-surprise.

“Wh—whoa, what? Hey, what’s going on?”

In a matter of seconds, things escalate. Congratulations are yelled out. Some happy birthdays (whatever makes them happy). The pink graduation cake is released. It takes a moment for Yeonjun to let it all sink in, and when it does, the boys’ predictions are ultimately proven correct because he tries to play it off that he’s definitely, absolutely not crying (he is). 

They laugh at him, make fun of him, and group hugs are shared. It���s all very silly and very cute. You’re on photo taking duty until Hyunjin pulls you into their mess of limbs and yelling and sobs until you’re finally able to wiggle out back into your corner. 

Beomgyu returns to your corner with a slice of cake on a paper plate, two forks, and a dollop of icing on the tip of his nose. 

“Is that a new look you’re trying?” you laugh, taking one of the forks on the plate.

“What are you talking about?” His brows are furrowed. You tap on your nose. Beomgyu mirrors your movement, still confused until he feels the smudge of icing, and he draws his hand away with disgust. “God damn it. Jeongin, that rat.” Despite his desire for revenge, Choi Beomgyu doesn’t leave the corner. He stays there with you, watching all the rest of the boys making a mess as you share your cake, plucking off a crumb from the corner of your mouth while you wheeze at Heeseung trying and failing to pin the tail on the Yeonjun-donkey. 

“Idiot, to your left! Left! That’s not your—”

“Hey, hold still for a sec—”

“Are you directionally— oh!”

Lee Heeseung rips off his blindfold— ready to whine at you— but that intention immediately simmers down to something else when he snaps his head just in time for him to witness Beomgyu touching your face and getting away with it unscathed. You jolt. Heeseung’s eyes are narrowed at you. “Hey, what’s going—”

“We got a noise complaint! ICT publication from next door!”

“Ugh, party poopers.”

“Choi Beomgyu, go deal with it.”

Thank god for that interruption. The man in question doesn’t seem as happy about it, though. “What? Why me?” he groans in protest. You see Heeseung pause mid-stride towards the both of you.

“Because we need someone with charisma to make sure we don’t get in trouble and Yeonjun hyung is useless right now.” Hyunjin reasons. Cut to Yeonjun who’s still sobbing his eyes out at the paper roll of messages you guys wrote for him. He really is useless. Beomgyu sees the waterworks and lets out another grunt.

“Ugh.” Pouting, Beomgyu turns back to you, handing you the plate and finishing it off by messing up your hair. “I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Quit acting like you won’t miss me, meanie.”

You stick your tongue out. Beomgyu rolls his eyes and heads off with Hyunjin outside to deal with the complaint, hooking the latter by the neck with his arm. You’re about to finish up your cake when Heeseung replaces Beomgyu’s spot. You nearly choke on the damn thing when he suddenly bolts up saying, “Hey. Why the fuck are you two acting so weird?”

“Jesus fucking—” you cough. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The look of suspicion never leaves Heeseung’s face. You can feel it— cold sweat breaking. Shit. Is this it? Is this the end of your peace and quiet? “Beomgyu has been all up in your space since we started preparing and at this point, you would’ve sworn at him at least two dozen times already,” he starts. “I haven’t heard your unrecyclable mouth utter even a shit or damn. There hasn’t even been any bickering and it’s freaking me out.”

Of all times, why does he decide to be perceptive now? You can’t even muster up a response. Thank god he’s a yapper because he fills in the silence himself.

“Well, whatever,” Heeseung simply shrugs. “I guess that’s a good thing because my ears are spared from your potty mouth just for today.” 

He’s perceptive but not sharp. Today, you are saved. “Go suck a dick.”

“That’s the spirit. Back to normal.” Your friend grins and gives you a thumbs up. You shoot him a glare and he blocks your punch with his palm. “But did something happen? The vibe between you and he is a little different. How do I put it?” You struggle to remove your fist from the bastard’s grip, but he doesn’t let you budge while he continues to ponder. “It’s like you’re a couple of high schoolers who just started dating or some shit, haha. Something like that.”

You rip your hand away and press it close to your chest.

“Yo, what’s with the face?”

Turns out, your good for nothing friend has been speaking a little too loud that it’s gotten quiet. Quiet in anticipation because everyone in the room is looking at you right now— including Beomgyu, who’d just gotten back with Hyunjin after their successful mission. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asks. You gulp. You look at Beomgyu, who’s a little taken aback by what’s going down. Oh, you’re so fucking screwed.

“Wait, why aren’t you denying it?”

How could you when Choi Beomgyu is looking straight at you? Sure, you don’t want them to find out, but you don’t have the heart to deny it and make Beomgyu upset, either! You remain quiet for five, sixe seconds— several seconds too late because they construe your silence as a yes, and Heeseung’s eyes start beaming, and it gets loud again, and your face is starting to grow way too hot for you to handle

“Oh my god? Oh my fucking god? Oh my god, my biggest wish is finally happening— guys! Guys!”

That’s it. It’s over. It’s all over. The news spreads like wildfire, but it’s all Heeseung’s hearsay until a confirmation comes out from either of you two’s mouths. Heeseung is shaking you by the shoulders. Yeonjun is crying even more. Hanbin is watching everything with a smile and he sends you an assuring thumbs up, but you don’t feel assured at all. From the corner of your eye, you can also see Beomgyu getting assaulted. He’s got Hyunjin and Jeongin yelling at him from both sides. He looks like he’s getting a migraine.

“Is it true?! Did you two really decide to date?”

“No way! Not with how adamantly she’s been against—”

“Wait, this isn’t our business, we shouldn’t—”

“Who asked who out? C’mon, you gotta tell us!”

Despite it all, Beomgyu’s usually loud mouth remains quiet. He says nothing to them. Instead, he meets eyes with you from across the room— a cock of his head, a slight raise of his brow as if to say just give me the signal, what do you want me to do? 

You feel as though you’ve already been asking him for too many favors this year. You suck in a sharp inhale, and, while ignoring Heeseung’s vigorous shaking of your person, answer Hyunjin’s question in his stead. “I did,” you said. “I asked him. On new year’s. Under the table.”

Heeseung suddenly freezes. You squeeze your eyes shut and look down, cheeks burning. Then you hear a scream.

“You?! You?!”

“This is crazy. What the fuck, I don’t believe it.”

“I knew it! I knew something big happened then! Gosh, I fucking knew it!”

“You were barely conscious then, how could you know—”

“About time, really.”

“Hey, I’m so happy for you two,” Yeonjun suddenly saunters up to you, eyes red and threatening to spill again. He sniffles and pulls you into a hug. “I’m just so...so—”

And your shoulder is wet. You give him a few pats on the bag as you watch Beomgyu fed off his rabid fans from jumping him while he attempts to move closer to you. He manages to succeed by announcing that he needs to talk to you in private and then go crazy. He doesn’t succeed as much in prying Yeonjun off of you, though. You’re both suffocated in a group hug and best wishes from the soon-to-graduate club member. 

“Hey, I hope none of you have forgotten who this party is actually for,” you raise in the hopes of dissuading the situation. Which works. Somehow. You’re in no position to question a blessing from the skies.

“Sideshow over! Time to watch the message video—”

“Where’s the cord? Whose laptop are we using again?”

“Hey, nobody leaves until we clean everything up! Jeongin, I’m looking at you.”

Regardless, Heeseung wouldn’t leave you alone until you fess everything up to him. Even after the party, he kept texting and calling you to tell him the how, what, where, and why. Mostly because he wanted to confirm that he has all the credit of introducing you both through that blind date. It was very funny to see his entire world shatter when you told him that you and Beomgyu had known each other since forever. He stopped bothering you after that and decided it’s not fun anymore to tease you.

Unfortunately, the rest of his club members haven’t tired themselves out yet. When Beomgyu told them he wasn’t gonna join their night out this weekend because you guys had the high school reunion thing he mentioned to you the other day, they refused to believe him and that he was just making an excuse to spend time with you. You owe Hwang Hyunjin a punch to the gut. He must’ve forgotten that there was a reason he was scared of you the first time you met.

Anyhow, those headaches are set aside because you have a different headache to deal with— that is, the impending hell of meeting your high school classmates again. You contacted Chaeryoung the other day, asking if she’s also attending and she responded with a sudden call, which turned into a two-hour catching up session. Needless to say, you have no choice but to show up now. 

It’s the day of, and you’re getting ready inside the bedroom apartment. There’s soft music humming through the turntable Beomgyu gave you as a Christmas gift, loaded with the record you bought last month. It’s the same song he played onstage two months ago. The room is dimmed, the bronze ceiling light the only thing illuminating the walls, floor, the bedsheet you’re sinking into and the mess of makeup items scattered about, as well as Choi Beomgyu’s face that’s inches away from yours— a focused look of concentration etched on his pursed lips as he brings up a brush up to your cheekbone.

“Hey, stop that! It tickles!” you laugh, albeit unwillingly, as you swat his hand away. “If you mess up I’m gonna have to wipe my entire face off and start over.” You feel your phone vibrating next to your hand that’s pressed into the mattress. Must be from Chaeryoung. You look down to grab it, but Beomgyu taps on the side of your jaw, lifting your face up to look at him.

“Who cares? We’re already late anyway.” His brows are all knitted up in concentration, wielding your lipstick wand like it’s a scalpel and he’s about to perform open heart surgery. Why is he taking this so seriously? He barged in while you were putting on makeup earlier and bragged that he could actually be pretty good at this, and you egged him on to prove it. So far, he’s been all talk, sweating after tapping on barely any product on your cheeks with your blush brush. “Stay still, dipshit. Unless you want to end up looking like a clown.”

“I’ll kill you if you mess up.”

“Then maybe shut your mouth for a sec.”

“Nyeye, then maybe shut your mouth for a—”

“Shush! I’m concentrating!”

You muffle down a laugh, seeing him try so hard. You can see the sweat bead trailing down his forehead as he lifts up your chin with one hand and now brings a shade of lipstick to your lips with the other. There’s a jitter of hesitation the moment you feel the product brush against your lips— a light press and a pause. You look up at his eyes but he’s not looking at yours. And then you watch as Beomgyu’s takes a deep breath while clumsily applying the product in a rush, mumbling something you can’t quite hear under his breath, and he twists the wand back into its container before tossing it onto your bed.

“What was that?” you ask, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat. You can see him even under this dim light. You can see just how red his ears are. You fight back the urge to laugh and make fun of him outright. You need a different strategy to win against him. “What did you say?”

Beomgyu is still not looking at you. He’s not fighting against your grip, but the heat has traveled down to his neck as he continues to look away. “I said pretty,” he coughs out, then repeats, “your lips are pretty.” Your grip loosens. He takes this as an opportunity to peek at you once more. Which proves to be the wrong move. “No, your entire face is pretty. What the hell? How am I supposed to make fun of you now? This is pissing me off.”

You don’t recall giving him any blush, but Choi Beomgyu is blushing red when he stomps out of your room in a fit. You’re flustered yourself, but your annoyance and confusion overtakes any other emotion as you quickly gather your purse and phone and wallet to catch up to him and his sudden tantrum.

“Now, why the fuck would that piss you off, you dick?!”

You’re both in your living room now. Beomgyu is throwing on his coat when he snarks back, “See! Because it doesn’t match your vulgar mouth and nasty personality!”

“You talk as if you’re any better than me, fuckface.” Somehow, you’re both on your way out now, walking down the hallway and down the stairs to the lobby as your…civilized conversation continues. “In fact, your mouth is way worse than mine.”

“Lies!” he barks back. You’re both out of the building now. “Statistically speaking, you swear exponentially more times than me.”

“You failed our statistics and probability final in ninth grade. Don’t get smart with me. And should I show you the voice recordings Heeseung sends me whenever you two are playing a game? Your mother would cry if she heard them.”

“I can’t believe you’re using my own strategy against me.” Now, you’re walking to the parking lot and even while he’s ranting, Beomgyu manages to lead you right to his car. “And mind you, those are exceptional circumstances. In general and on average, you are the worst offender of all. There isn’t a day where you don’t tell me to fuck off or eat shit, and I’m not the only victim. There’s Heeseung. There’s Sungchan. There’s—”

His throat holds his words hostage. You are being held hostage in between him and his car when he leans in to open the passenger door for you, hand already on the handle, but Beomgyu remains unmoving. His lips are pressed tightly, together and a wrinkle creases the space between his eyebrows.

Then, he breathes out a swear.

“Dammit.”

His grip leaves the door, cups your cheeks, and lunges in for a kiss like a crazy person.

The first moment, you’re shocked and wide-eyed and wondering what the fuck is this idiot trying to pull. The next moment, you find yourself getting swept up in his insanity, wide eyes fluttering close with your arms around his neck, securing another five minutes of tardiness to the event, and the five minutes end with his exhaled breaths warming up your lips amidst the cold evening. “I swear to god, Choi Beomgyu,” you grunt, barely shoving him away. What was the point of his whole make-up guru charade earlier? What was the point if he was gonna smudge it all off anyway? “There’s seriously something wrong with you.”

Your complaint is met by a pout and him retaliating by pulling you in with one arm, and his free hand finding its way to your face. “Is this your way of breaking up with me?”

He’s insufferable. “You wish.”

“No, I don’t,” is his quick reply. It almost made your heart stutter— even more so when he uses his thumb to wipe the corner of your lips with the disappointed click of his tongue. “Sorry I ruined your lipstick. I’ll fix it in the car.”

You smack his hand away, covering your face with the back of your hand. “It was ruined the moment you put it on!” You quickly whisk yourself into the car, finally. Beomgyu follows into the driver’s seat not long after, but not without yelling out his self-defense.

“Hey, I did a pretty good job! I just need a bit more practice!”

Sometime in the middle of the car ride, the argument fizzled out and got replaced by his playlist, and a conversation on when you’d be coming back home to Daegu before the semester starts since your mom wants to show off the new sofa set she bought. It’s very cozy, she says, with the only downside being the fact that it’s too cozy to the point that your dad’s evening naps have become more frequent.

It’s just mindless meandering on the way to the venue— a karaoke room at Grand Hyatt Hotel that you and the rest of your attending batchmates chipped in to book. Of the thirty students from your batch, twenty-three confirmed attendance including Beomgyu and yourself. Of the other twenty-one people, you’re only close with one of them.

Maybe your endless prattling about your mom’s new cushions and throw pillows to distract yourself from why you even volunteered yourself to attend. Maybe you’re just using Chaeryeong as an excuse to validate yourself and witness exactly how much you’ve and everyone else has changed since highschool in spite of your vocalized disinterest. 

“You good?” 

The car engine has stopped humming. The streetlight road has been replaced by a dim hotel parking lot, and you turn to see the dim image of Choi Beomgyu’s blurry face eyeing you in concern. You recall his initial surprise when you voiced out your intent on coming with him this evening. Not that he’d stopped you, but you figure even his dummy self could put your initial reservations, and the confession you dropped a few months ago when you made up after your fight. I’ve only been known as the girl who’s always been around you and nothing else. I doubt you noticed how people would only approach me because of you. 

It still makes you cringe whenever that memory would creep into your brain like a rat at two in the morning when you’re trying to sleep. Sure, things are different now, but you felt that way at a time when your world consisted of nothing more than your town back in Daegu, and eighty percent of your life was spent in high school. You’re stepping back into that world right now, where you’re nothing but Choi Beomgyu’s friend, acquaintance, something— never had been just yourself. 

And you know Beomgyu knows that this is exactly what you’re thinking about right now. Which is why he doesn’t get out of the car yet, and instead asks, “Do you wanna just ditch and go hang out somewhere else?”

You let out a laugh. He’s such a dork. “No way. Chaeryeong’s gonna sulk if I don’t see her today, and I could use a few drinks, you know.” You have no intention of stripping him the opportunity to hang out with his old friends again. You’ve seen how much his phone has been buzzing on the way here. Why does he have so many clingy male friends? You’ll never understand. Choi Beomgyu is just some guy.

That some guy stares at you for a bit as he mulls over your answer. “If you say so. But if you wanna leave early, just tell me.”

Seriously. It’s not like he treats them like this, for them to go crazy over hum. Then again, maybe this guy just has the inherent knack of drawing people in. You’ve been a witness of that phenomenon for the past two decades, and you’re witnessing it again tonight, counting down from the moment you two leave the car and enter the building, enter the karaoke lounge, and despite Choi Beomgyu (and you) interrupting an ongoing performance by Seungmin and Jimin on the machine, the response to his entrance is, quite frankly, a bit over the top.

“Look who’s finally here.”

“Man, what took you so long?”

“Woohoo! Time to get the party started!”

Neon lights are already lighting up the dim room. Beer bottles have already been cracked open on the tables. You watch as he gets whisked away by his old high school friend group, stifling your laughter because maybe Choi Beomgyu has changed because he looks a little overwhelmed and taken aback by the assault of attention. Surprisingly, it’s a very funny sight. He turns back to you while Jiwoong hooks him by the neck and ushers him into the lounge as if he’s asking for help. Which draws attention to you, obviously. His friends turn around. The first one to greet you is Seungmin. “Oh, hey!” he exclaims, leaning in for a quick half-hug. “It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”

“I’ve been stuck at the door for the past few minutes due to the traffic you idiots are causing, thank you very much for asking,” you respond after pulling back, smiling.

“You still have an attitude,” he snarks. “And you two are still joint at the hip. Did you arrive together?”

“Yup. I’m getting sick of him, so I’d appreciate it if you take him away from me now.”

“You can bet on it.”

Before Beomgyu could protest, he’s already been handed the mic and had been fed a shot glass. The rest of the guys follow suit in giving you quick greetings, how are you’s, how have you been’s. You still haven’t seen Chaeryeong around so you shoot her a text. She responds with exclamation marks and the text, [WAIT A SECOND. BATHROOM. BE THERE IN A BIT], and she emerges through the door not long after to greet you with the gift of suffocation. “Oh my god, I missed you so much,” she wheezes out. “Why haven’t we made plans even once since starting uni? I know we talked a bit last time but how have you been? Has Choi Beomgyu been treat—”

You prompt shut her mouth with your hand. You did keep her posted over the phone last time, but you don’t intend on sharing the status update between you and Choi Beomgyu to your whole class that had been under the assumption that you’ve been together, anyway. It’s none of their business— and definitely not the business of the girl that had been staring at you the whole goddamn time since you arrived here.

Among the twenty-one people that came today is Haena. Haena, the girl that invited you to hang out with her friends for coffee around a year ago. Haena, the girl who kept grilling you about your relationship with Beomgyu, just to ask if you could help her get together with him. Haena and her friends, Bora and Seohyun, who’d been drilling holes into the back of your head for the past fifteen or so minutes. Last you’ve heard of her, she’s studying nursing at DSU. 

You’ve never told Beomgyu about the little incident because it never escalated into anything more than dirty looks in the hallway and the classroom and the proliferation of gossip about you and Choi Beomgyu. And since nearly a whole year had passed, you were hoping that that was all water under the bridge now, but apparently it’s not. Jesus, what does she want?

“Okay, okay, let’s stop the singing for now since everyone’s already here and raise our drinks up! To the class of 20XX!”

You’ve no intention of letting that bother the rest of your night. Yet Haena wasn’t the only bitter aftertaste of that period of your life. An hour or so into the evening, you get out of the karaoke lounge to get a breather in the lobby. Choi Beomgyu is still trapped inside thanks to his ten million fanboys-slash-friends. Chaeryeong wanted to come with you but she got roped into a drinking game and has shown no signs of escaping. Which leaves you some time to recharge a bit before the inevitable agenda of reminiscence once everyone’s gotten a bit too drunk and loose-lipped.

On the way to the hotel lobby, you bump into Jiwoong— that guy, ex-crush, who rejected you in the rain two years back, maybe. So much for water under the bridge because just looking at him makes you feel mortified. He greets you with a nod and a smile before walking past you back into the lounge. God, that was an embarrassing moment. You shake your head and race into the hall leading up to the carpeted lobby.

Unfortunately for you, you weren’t the only one with the same idea.

There, sitting defeated and exhausted on one of the plush seats is Lim Jimin. Embarrassing encounter number two. He notices you. You two make eye contact. Fuck. Yes, you two exchanged awkward hello’s earlier, but seeing his face just makes you recount the humiliation you felt when you expected a confession from him.

“O—oh, hi.”

He’s the one that greets you first, and it sounds a lot more agonizing than if you’d been the one to do it. Did Choi Beomgyu say something to this guy? Why does he look just as uncomfortable as you?

“Uh, hey.” You quickly squeeze out a response. “It’s getting stuffy inside, right? Haha, enjoy your alone time. I’ll be doing the same outs—”

“W—wait!” The last thing you expected was for Jimin to say something to you. You preemptively stop walking, and the momentum causes you to jerk a bit, giving him the opportunity to jump off his seat and keep talking. “This…this is a bit long overdue, and this may sound stupid, but I feel like I owe you an apology.” 

An apology? Your brows furrow. You regain your balance, resting a hand on the backrest of the sofa beside you. “For what?”

He struggles a bit. “Um…do you remember when I asked you a favor last year? To convince Beomgyu to help me rank up in League?” You can feel the heat of embarrassment flushing your cheeks again. God dammit, why can’t he be like Jiwoong who just smiled and walked past you like nothing happened? “You stormed off after that, and I couldn’t help but feel really guilty that I did something wrong, but I couldn’t figure out why you’d be angry no matter how much I thought about it.”

Somehow, your hands find themselves covering your face, head down. “Ah,” you exhale a disgruntled breath, then force an inhale. You bring your head up. You look at the boy who’s looking guilty when he shouldn’t be. “You did nothing wrong, Jimin. I was just worked up that day and sort of lost my cool. I should be the one who’s sorry.” This is so ridiculous. At least with this, you think you can finally be over it. “Gosh. I can’t believe you’ve been stressing about that.”

Jimin brings his arms to a cross and rubs his palms against his sleeves, still looking down and sorry. “I felt really bad, okay? I really thought I said something wrong, especially to my friend’s girlfriend.”

You feel a twitch in your temple. Here’s another misunderstanding to clear. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to help you anyway. I wasn’t his girlfriend back then.”

This causes him to jolt his eyes up to look at you. “Huh? Really?” His widened eyes blink rapidly. “Back then? Then does that mean you’re—”

An interruption in the form of your name being called out arrives.

You turn your head back— back into the direction of the hall that led into the karaoke lounge. “Beomgyu,” you acknowledge, padding up to him upon his arrival. You figure he managed to listen in on the last part of that conversation, considering the fact he welcomes your arrival with a snug arm around you. Like Minjeong says, Choi Beomgyu acts like a puppy with attachment issues, but he hasn’t been committing any heinous acts of public affection the entire reunion event. You haven’t even said anything. He knows you a little too well. “What’s up? Got sick of all your friends’ love and attention already?”

“That’s one reason,” he grunts “But the guys wanted to gather everyone around for something. What were you two doing out here?”

The question seems to be pointed at Jimin, and the man in question struggles to come up with a response. You lightly elbow Choi Beomgyu. “We were just clearing up some misunderstandings,” you say, which Jimin echoes, and then you give Beomgyu a whispered reminder. “You know. The fake secret admirer incident last year. Looking back, that was also half your fault for planting ideas in my head.”

“Oh, yeah. That incident,” Beomgyu snorts upon recollection. “Damn. You never fail at being embarrassing.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You elbow him again. Less lightly this time. Telling him about the whole confession misunderstanding on your part will forever be one of the greatest regrets of your life. “Jimin, We’ll head in first.”

“Sure thing. Tell the others I’ll be there in a sec.”

With that, you shuffle back into the hallway, and upon getting closer to the lounge, Beomgyu slowly paces away a considerable distance between the both of you. The last thing he lets go of is his gentle hold on your wrist as he led you down the hallway. He used that same hand to open up the door, announcing your re-arrival— which elicits a different reaction from the first time you two arrived. “Oooh, here they are. The lovebirds are finally here.”

Even though they aren’t misunderstanding your relationship this time around, it still is really fucking annoying.

“C’mon, sit down, sit down! We’ve already started playing truth or dare while you guys were out. Where’s Jimin?”

It doesn’t feel right to deny it. “He’s still out.” But it doesn’t feel right to just let them keep goading you either. “Said he’ll join us later. If you ask any weird questions, I’m out.” 

“Lighten up! We’re all just curious to find out what everyone’s been up to this past year.” The two long tables in the venue have been pressed together to form one big square where everyone is sitting around. With Beomgyu following behind you and seated to your left, you take the spot Chaeryeong has been saving, quickly filling you in with the revelations you’d missed, but it’s hard to keep up with her once the group got the ball rolling again by spinning an empty beer bottle in the middle of the square time after time, round after round. 

You all found out Seungmin was the one who put fake cockroaches in the faculty office. Jimin joined the table after that round. Your poor friend Chaeryeong had to chug down a terrible excuse of a drink for refusing to answer a question. She’s now mumbling incoherencies into your shoulder as you watch the botte spin for the nth time— spinning, spinning, spinning, slowly losing speed until it ultimately stops and points at you.

“Alright, alright! Truth or dare?”

Well, shit.

“Ah. Truth, I guess,” you grant. You’ve already had enough embarrassing moments involving your high school cohort. You need not add another one, and considering how everyone’s interest about you revolves around Choi Beomgyu and Choi Beomgyu only, you figured that the poor idiot next to you should be more scared of the question than you in case his friends want to ask about his deepest, darkest secrets.

“Oh, there’s something I’d like to know!”

The person who decides that you should be the one on the chopping block is Kim Bora, who’s grinning at you from across the table, right in between Haena and Seohyun. Ah. You have a feeling where this is going. You suck in a deep breath and muster up all the patience in the world.

“How did you and Beomgyu manage to stay strong after all these years?”

Unfortunately, that amount of patience is very thin. Very thin indeed. Even more thinned out with the number of voices doubling, tripling it down.

“Oooh, I wanna hear too!”

“Yeah, what’s your secret, man? All my relationships end after three months, I feel like there’s something I’m doing wrong.”

“Tell us your secret!”

“What are you guys—”

That last voice came from Beomgyu, who you promptly stopped with the squeeze of his hand. Don’t say anything, don’t stop them, you say to him with narrowed eyes. He gives you a conflicted look, but he relents anyway, settling back down, but you can tell he’s worked up. Well, you just want to know how far they’re gonna take this. You want to know how much you can bite your tongue. You know you’ve always been prone to outbursts and impulse, but after all the shit you’ve been through these past two semesters, mindless, nose-digging gossip like this is nothing.

More than that, you want to know what this girl Haena is planning with how much she’s been giggling for the past minute and a half.  

“What are you saying, Bora? You’re so silly! Don’t you remember what we talked about with her before? They’ve never dated!”

And there it is.

“Huh?”

Haena’s statement drops a blanket of confused silence over the table. “What are you talking about?” one of your old classmates asks, and you want to echo the same sentiments because what exactly is she trying to achieve with this?

“C’mon,” Haena waves the silence off, still grinning, still sneaking glances at you. “You didn’t know? You guys were all being judgmental for assuming a boy and girl are dating just because they’re really close friends. Well, it’s not like they ever denied it. Oh, well but the truth is they were never dating. You two were never dating, right? Right?”

Ah. This is kind of pissing you off.

“Hey, that’s enough—”

Is this because you wouldn’t set her up with Beomgyu? Jesus, isn’t she over that already? Is she trying to frame you as some attention-seeker who thrived off the misunderstanding that you and your childhood friend have something more going on? Well, too bad. You’ve already been branded as a cheater and a whore. This is so juvenile that it’s starting to prick at the patience you’ve worked so hard to build up.

“Damn, seriously? So I stopped myself from confessing over nothing? If you two weren’t dating, how come neither of you said a thing?”

“That’s what I’m saying! Kinda crazy that they just let everyone misunderstand!” 

“Jesus, why are we even talking about this?” Seungmin attempts to dissuade the conversation, but the misfortune that comes after is Jimin accidentally adding fuel to the fire by letting slip the information you’d shared to him just moments ago.

“Right? Why does it even matter if they were dating or not back then? What’s important is that they’re both happily dating now!”

Another blanket of silence mops the table.

At this point, you just wanna go home.

“Ha!” A noise of disbelief rips out of Haena’s throat as sneers at you from across. “I can’t believe this! You kept saying and acting like you weren’t interested in him when you’d end up taking the opportunity, anyway! Wow, you acted so high and mighty back then, bragging that you didn’t have any feelings for him as if it made you better than the rest of us. If it’d end up like this, you should’ve just hooked up and gone after him ages ag—”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ve heard enough.”

The table rattles. Your eyes widen, snapping up to your left to see Choi Beomgyu who had stood up, who— for the first time in the years you’ve known him— looks mad. Angrier than when you two fought last year. Angrier than you think you’d ever been, even with your horrid short-temper.

His knuckles are tight. He’s seething. You’re too caught off guard to react in time and stop the damage he intends on making.

“Seriously. Why the fuck do you keep running your mouth about something that’s completely out of your business?”

It’s not only you. It seems that everyone is surprised to find the always easygoing, always friendly and outgoing Choi Beomgyu suddenly acting like this— acting like this on your behalf. “So what if we started dating? What’s it to you? What’s it to any of you?” You’re stunned. He draws his fingers to his hair. He shakes it off with an incensed breath. “Jesus christ. If you guys aren’t interested in talking about anything else other than our relationship, then I guess the both of us should just leave so that you can gossip more, yeah? Enjoy the rest of the damned night, assholes.”

When his head drops and his eyes make contact with yours, his gaze immediately softens. Let’s go, he mouths with a smile. You feel a lump in your throat. Beomgyu whisks you away before you can even acknowledge it.

“Whoa, that was scary.”

“Was he always like this?”

“You were the ones who crossed the line. What were you guys thinking?”

At some point, Beomgyu has completely dragged you out of the karaoke lounge, out of the hall, out of the hotel lobby, and into the dimly lit parking lot with nothing but a handful of streetlights illuminating the chalky pavement. You hadn’t even realized you’d been running until he stopped underneath the dancing particles of the ilt-up post, brightening up the empty parking space right next to his car. You hadn’t even realized you’d been catching your breath until he points it out for you

“Seriously, what the hell was wrong with people? Why can’t everyone just mind their own business and leave us—” The tempo of his rant fizzles out immediately. Beomgyu bites down a frown and pulls you in, brushing through the unkempt strands of your hair from the wind. “Sorry, was I running too fast? I just wanted to get you out of there as quickly as I can.”

Choi Beomgyu had confronted your old inhibitions on your behalf. He’d done the same thing with Jang Seung last semester. He’d done the same with his former friends that were talking shit about you and even got into a fight because of it. And it seems like the same thing is going to happen now.

It’s always him who does things for you. He was the one who took the first step in your reconciliation last year. He was the one who’d always put the entirety of his soft, tender feelings into the palm of his hands and handed them off to you without even expecting anything in return. 

Maybe it’s about time for you to do the same.

Maybe it’s about time for you to confront the one thing you’ve been confining in the back of your mind for god knows how long.

“Beomgyu.”

It’s always been there— since you were, what? Fourteen? Sixteen? Since he’d made you watch that stupid scary movie in middle school and your heart jumped out of your ribcage for the first time and all you could do was hold onto him for your dear life while you screamed bloody murder? You don’t know when these kind of thoughts started entering your head, but you never dwelled on them knowing and fearing that even considering them, acknowledging them in any way, shape, or form would open up a pandora’s box of emotions you’d have to sift through and organize alongside the fact that he’s just your friend, your friend for as long as you can remember, and you weren’t ready for it yet— even after what happened under the table on new year.

For your entire life, Choi Beomgyu has been a friend. A neighbor. An annoyance. Someone you care about. Someone you can’t live without.

And experiencing firsthand a life without his annoying presence always hovering around you cemented the fact that you really can’t risk losing him from your life again. And the likelihood of things going wrong, things getting tangled to the point where you’d have to cut each other off is less when he’s just your friend— just a neighbor, just an annoyance— than when he’s someone more than that.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want me to intervene.”

Which is why you feared that if you’d ever admit to yourself that you had feelings for him, that if you’d stopped brushing those feelings away, that risk of losing him would become more than you could handle.

“I just got too angry hearing them talk all that crap.”

But now—

“Ugh. Even thinking about it is making me mad. C’mon, let’s just go.”

You don’t have to keep lying to yourseff anymore. Because who gives a shit about what other people say? Because who gives a shit about risks and fears that are nothing but debris floating around your head?

“Let’s just go home, okay? Let’s head to car, and then—” He stops himself. He lets go of your hand to cup your cheeks, drying up the tears with the warmth of his fingertips. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Nothing is wrong. Because the only thing you give a shit about right now is the fact that the opportunity to love and be loved by Choi Beomgyu only comes once in a lifetime—

“C’mon. You should just forget what Haena and the rest of them said. They’re all nonsense.”

—and spending the entirety of it in denial would just be ridiculous.

“Oh, and now you’re laughing. You’re laughing and crying. Wow, you must’ve gone insane.

Stupid.

“What should I go? Go back? Should I teach them a lesson?”

Pointless.

“Stay here. I’ll go back and—”

Downright impossible.

“Hey, fuckface.”

You tug on his sleeve to stop him from leaving. 

“I’m so fucking in love with you.”

And it feels like air is entering your lungs for the first like, as though twenty years worth of heavy leaden weight has been lifted off your chest. But unlike you, Beomgyo looks like he’s having troube breathing. “Oh,” is all he says, wide-eyed and surprised. Almost as if he’d never been expecting it. Like it had never even crossed his mind that you’d ever say it to him. You, of all people. “W—well—”

“Choi Beomgyu.” You interrupt him befre he could say anything, smacking your palms on both sides of cheeks before the adrenailne leaves your system. Before you could even think twice about anything at all. “I’m sorry I’ve never said it outright before even after we started dating. But you should know that you mean the world to me, you idiot. I’m so in love with you, it makes me stupid. I’m nothing without you.”

This time, it’s him who starts crying.

You let him sink into your arms and bury his face into your shoulder. He drapes himself over while keeping steady around your waist. You hear him sniffle a little. Gross. “Seriously, you’re such a crybaby.”

Beomgyu mumbles an annoyed grunt against your shirt. “And you’re such a meanie for ruining the moment.” He’s glaring at you when he pulls himself up, eyes narrowed and stained red with tears. “Say it again, dipshit.”

“Say what again?”

He frowns. “You know what!”

God. What could you have done in your past life to have been tied together with think punk since the beginning of this one? You roll your eyes and kiss his face. “I’m in love with you, loser. You’re so annoying.”

He grins and lands another one on your lips. “I’m nothing without you, too.”

The streetlight continues to sprinkle its light over the both of you. Choi Beomgyu continues to stay in your life, and he’d keep staying there for as long as this life would let him.

OKAY. MAYBE YOU DO LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. As annoying as he is for wasting your time with how often he calls you up at four in the morning for an impulsive fast food run because he wants some company, for injuring your pride by forcing you to play another one of the games the coding club developed and obliterating your ass in the process, you still like him— beyond understanding or comprehension. 

Even when he’s being such a clingy idiot so early in the morning, in the first day of the semester, after he’d just finished being announcing to the entire campus via the anonymous student board gone un-anonymous that you hadn’t been cheating on him since at that time you weren’t even dating, but you are now, and that you’re in love, and that Jang Seung is just a whiney little bitch who made up rumors because he couldn’t stand being rejected.

“You’re crazy! Why the hell would you do that?!”

Choi Beomgyu rubs his nose while you scold his ears off. When you finish, he simply says. “He made another post about you last night. I think it’s because he saw us on a date the other day. What a loser. Hey, look. That’s him over there.”

Indeed, you do spot Jang Seung while you trace down the hallway, on the way to Horangnabi to spend your vacant period in between your next set of classes.

“Ugh. Just what I needed to make my morning worse.”

He’s with a group, and the group contains Eunseok, the guy you went on a blind date with once and got roped into your whole cheating rumor. He looks greatly uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because Jang Seung is talking shit about you and how the both of them got played by you (you did not) when you’ve been going out with Beomgyu this entire time (you were not). Eunseok knows the truth. You talked it out with him before the semester started and he figured you weren’t that kind of person anyway. 

Poor guy wants to leave already.

But Jang Seung seems determined to paint you as a crazy, cheating, boy-crazy whore. Did ignoring his texts for one night injure his ego that much? And here you thought you were prideful. You know that things have died down and at this point people have either forgotten about the whole thing or just don’t care anymore, but the small crowd Seung managed to collect still seemed to be thriving in all the overinflated gossip.

“I mean, if she wasn’t all that into me, she could’ve said so, you know? Still, can you believe she picked that guy over me or you? And the poor cuck even has the guts to publicly announce their relationship like some idiot after she’d been hooking up with his friends.”

“Damn. How are they still together?”

“Quit spreading lies, dude. ”

“Hey, how can you just trust everything she tells you?”

“I still can’t believe that those two are still together, much less even started dating in the first place.”

Normally, you’d just ignore this. But you’ve gotten a bit sick and tired of biting your tongue and behaving as of late.

You march up to them. Eunseok spurs out a greeting. You give all of them a smile— mostly directed at Jang Seung, who’s been relishing the fact that you never gave him the light of day since the stunt he pulled. Until today, at least.

“Hi,” you start. The guy flinches at your delivery. “As much as it surprises you, yes I’m dating Choi Beomgyu. Yes, we’re fucking together, and I never cheated on him with a some half-baked, second-string loser like this bastard who resorts to high school tactics of spreading gossip because his fragile ego couldn’t handle being left on delivered for one night because I had a hospital emergency. Unfortunately, someone like that isn’t my type at all.”

Jang Seung’s face flushes scarlet. His jaw clenches and he barks out, “Hey, what the fuck—” until Eunseok fixes him on the spot by the shoulder. 

“But just to clarify things. No, I have not been cheating on him and you’d think that if I had, he would say so, wouldn’t he? How the fuck could I have cheated on him last year when he only started dating on January first?” 

Okay. You’re getting a little heated. Jang Seung and his group are now staring at you like you’re a crazy person. Beyond them, other people in the hallway have started to pay attention to the ruckus you’re causing.

Now, when a fuse is lit, it’s not easy to kill it.

So you continue talking. For better or for worse.

“Yes. Yes, I’m now dating Choi Beomgyu— are you all satisfied? Are you happy now? You’ve all been up in my fucking business since the first fucking semester asking if I knew him, if he and I were dating, so here’s your god damned answer! Do you want me to tell you how it happened, too? Give you a play by play of how I met him, knew, him and fell for him because you’re all so fucking curious? Should I do that? In fact, why don’t I keep you guys posted! I should just text every single god damned person who knows not how to mind their business to update you whenever, each and every single time we fucking—”

“Whoa, easy there.”

You’re yanked back by Choi Beomgyu, who has one arm hooked in front of your collar shoulders and safely pressing you close to his torso. His free hand is covering the muffled noises coming out of your mouth as you struggle out of his grip.

Beomgyu simply lets you struggle in vain. He looks ahead, smiling at Jang Seung and the rest of the people in the group. “As much as I wanted to continue listening to her, I don’t really want any more people anonymously talking shit about my girlfriend in the forum just for living her own life and minding her own business.” You’re still squirming in his grip. This fucking bastard. “Anyway, we’re off. Eunseok, see you around.”

It’s only when you two have managed to leave the building that Beomgyu decides it’s time to release you. “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you jerk?” you yell, yanking him down by the backpack strap.

“What do you think? Saving your ass from any more rumors, stupid,” he answers while shaking you off. “We should really work on your temper.”

It’s a pleasant walk to Horangnabi. You haven’t been here again in ages.

“I have been working on it! Today was an exemption, so go fuck yourself off.”

“This is exactly what I mean,” he sighs and shakes his head, opening the cafe door for you to enter first, and he follows immediately after. “Potty mouth and a nasty personality. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Your mother must have had a hard time raising you.”

“Quit bringing up my mother every single time you want to win an argument.”

You two find some empty seats right by the window in the right wing of the store. You sit down and set your things on the empty seats. “I can’t just give up on my cheat code, you know,” Beomgyu hums, smiling insufferably as slides the menu down from the table surface. “So, do I win? What’s my prize?”

“Hey, no PDA within store premises! I’ll blacklist you two!”

The both of you turn your heads to see Heeseung, who’s holding a notepad and wearing the employee apron as a uniform. He started working part-time at Horangnabi sometime last month. Extra pocket money, he says. You know it’s because he started seeing someone from the arts department and needed the date funds. Usually, he’d be happy to see you, but something’s gotten in his panties in a twist today. You snicker, about to egg him on, but to your surprise, someone else answers your curiosities.

“He’s just salty because he got dumped over the break.”

Your eyes brighten. You beam out a smile. “Julie!” 

She arrives with a pat on a grumbling Heeseung’s back as she mirrors your expression. “Hi, pretty girl. How was your break?” She moves on from Heeseung to coddle you with attention, hugging you from behind your chair. Have you considered working for us again? I started missing you more ever since this guy started working with us again.”

“Must be bad at the job,” Beomgyu snorts. Heeseung’s protests are left unheard. “Hey, when are you gonna take our order?”

“Ugh. I set you two up together and this is how you repay me?”

Heeseung takes your orders— an americano for him, a matcha latte for you, and a butterscotch croissant for you two to share. While waiting, Beomgyu takes out some of his notebooks from his bags and starts highlighting the pages based on the syllabus his professor handed them earlier. Wow, he’s become diligent, whereas you’re busying yourself with your phone in the midst of a conversation with Chaeryeong. She was so sorry for passing out in the middle of the reunion incident a few ago, and it was Seungmin who filled her in on what happened. She says gonna treat you to dinner this weekend to make up for it. You smile and text her that you look forward to it.

“Iced americano, matcha latte and butterscotch croissant.”

Hanbin is the one who delivers your orders. You thank him with a smile and he leaves with a pat on your head, telling you to come visit the clubroom later. 

“Stop smiling at him like that.”

You turn your attention back to the person sitting in front of you— Choi Beomgyu, with his arms crossed over the books scattered on his table, coupled with a pout and furrowed brows. “Ew, are you jealous?” you snark, picking up your latte from the table and taking a sip. “Wipe that look off your face. It doesn’t suit you. And Hanbin is way too nice and normal to be my type. Unfortunately, god made me like guys who are the slightest bit insane.”

“I keep your life interesting,” he hums out with a proud grin, satisfied with your answer. You set your drink back down, a thought entering your head. It’s quiet in Horangnabi. You two are the only customers at the moment, and soft music siphons through the speakers.

Ever since that day in the beginning of the year, not much has changed between you and him. He’s still calling you names. He’s still annoyingly hooking your feet underneath the table with his so that you’d have a hard time getting up.

It makes you wonder when exactly did he start seeing you differently.

“Beomgyu,” you start. He perks up, a curious expression on his face. “What if I tell you I’ve sort of already had the idea that you’ve had feelings for me since, I don’t know— when we made up after our fight last year?”

He blinks at you, curious expression replaced by something unreadable. You start to grow a little nervous. Then he drops the bomb.

“What if I tell you these feelings have been around since middle school?”

Well, damn.

“That...that would make a lot of sense.”

He only laughs in response, reorganizing his books and setting them aside. “But if you’ve known since then, then wooow— I can’t believe you’ve been leading me on for that long.” He’s shaking his head and clicking his tongue. You groan and cover your face guiltily. He laughs once more. “I’m kidding. It’s not like I didn’t put any effort into hiding it. I know how uncomfortable you got because of all the people gossiping about our relationship. I’d just make things even harder for you if I suddenly confessed.”

With the table now cleared, he slides down the untouched pastry to your side of the table.

“So, I just decided to try and hide it and wait for the right time. If that time ever would ever come, that is,” he continues. “But since you’ve known, I guess I wasn’t exactly doing a good job in hiding how I feel.” 

Your eyes linger at the crescent roll. You take the fork and knife and reply, “Yeah, you’re not very slick.”

“Hey, it was very hard for me, you know!” he huffs, pouting. You slice into the croissant and stab the smaller piece with the fork. “I felt like dying whenever you mentioned that bastard Seung or Song, or whatever. And you even asked me to set me up with my friends. You’re so mean—”

You reach an arm over the table. Beomgyu stares at your offering— a little surprised, a little flustered, but he clears his throat and leans forward, taking a bite from the pastry before wiping his mouth with a napkin, eyes down, face flushed.

He can be cute sometimes. You set the fork back down on the plate. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“T—tsk. I’m just cool like that, you know?” Still insufferable. You roll your eyes and grab a piece of the pastry yourself, but while the mood is still high, Beomgyu takes the opportunity to speak his own mind too, bringing up one more thing that had been lingering in the back of both of your minds. “That night— you know, on new year’s when you said that we should just start dating— I knew you just said it in the heat of the moment.” The pastry gets stuck in your throat. “And I knew at that moment that you’d end up taking it back as a joke and laugh it all off. I didn’t really want to hear that. So I just...decided to speak before you could take it back.”

Ah. Your face is getting hot. You swipe your drink from the table to swallow your emotions down. But Choi Beomgyu manages to snatch your hand before you could do that.

“And you didn’t take it back.”

Your flustered gaze flashes up at him. His eyes remain on you.

“So you just have no choice but to deal with all of this.”

He presses a kiss onto the back of your palm. You yelp and snatch your hand back, cheeks burning and heart racing. He’s grinning like a madman.

“Stop it! We’re in public. God, I hate you, you’re such a dweeb—”

You say you hate him, but he knows you don’t mean it. You’ve been saying all these years that you don’t like him, that he’s just an annoyance, destined to bother you until the end of time— but he’s come to know that none of that is true.

“No one’s here anyway! Heeseung doesn’t count as a person!”

You don’t have to keep pretending that you don’t like Choi Beomgyu. Because in fact, you kind of, really, do.

AFTERWORD. hello….whoo whee this was quite a ride wasn’t it HAHAHAHHAHA. 49k words of choi beomgyu being the only man ever 😞😞😞 anyhow, i hope you all enjoyed what i believe is my best piece yet!!! writing this was both extremely easy and difficult because hannie-dul-set enjoyers know that my brand is usually silly stupid fics, but the emotional weight of this one did make it a bit difficult for me to write sometimes since i’m a mood writer, even though none of the themes are inherently sad? just very very emotional HHAHAHAHA. two of the most challenging parts too in the planning process was how…i’d be able to depict a change in their relationship after the new year’s scene, while also making sure that beomgyu and mc’s dynamic is still…them, you know? it wouldn’t be them if they just became gross and lovey dovey overnight. it wouldn’t be them if they still didn’t call each other names and swore at each other’s faces despite being horrendously in love. but i think i managed to reconcile these two aspects pretty well in the fic.

the other challenging thing i had to tackle might have been a point of frustration for you guys— making sure that mc’s narration and monologue is completely devoid of any acknowledgement about her feelings for beomgyu and vice versa HAHHAHAHAHHA. but it was necessary because she herself didn’t want to acknowledge, even after they started dating, and the entire thing is written in her pov.

speaking of pov….i think a spin-off written in beomgyu’s pov would be nice after all of this. we only got some bits and pieces of how he’d been feeling all throughout and though i believe the limited information i’ve given is enough to give the idea on how beomgyu was faring all throughout, it would also be interesting to delve into his psyche, all the way from mogi to nabi.

anyhow, those are just empty plans for now HAHAHAHAHAH i hope you enjoyed all three parts of nabi— a sequel i never even intended to write in the first place, but ended up being one of my works that’s closest to my heart. please please do send in your thoughts in the comments, asks, dm’s, wherever!

happy new year! love you all!

나비 / NABI. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[trendywaifus]

astra, miyabi, and caeser domestic fluff

2 hours before i close reqs!!! caesar’s part is the longest. myb. I love my king. cw: none. gn! reader, fluff, small hurt with comfort.

“ astra baby, eve’s calling for transport, we gotta get outta here in fifteen. i’ll apply that eyeliner for you. “

you offered, walking inside of the shared bathroom while the singer does her makeup for the meet n’ greet she’s has to be attend in thirty minutes. astra was supposed to already be at the event an hour early to coordinate with the directors but she overslept. given that astra had a busy schedule this week, you and evelyn allowed her to sleep in. that was probably a mistake because it was hard to get her awake. slobber running down her chin, black tresses ruffled, and she was out of it.

“ yes! “ your girlfriend celebrates, grinning jubilantly at you, “ alright, c’mon! “ she grasps your forearm excitedly, luring you next to her.

amused, you fumble around for her signature eyeliner amongst her makeup items messily strewn about across the bathroom counter. “ i don’t get why you’re always get so excited for me to do your makeup, sunshine. i only do this whenever we gotta get you ready quicker. “

“ oh that’s fine, i don’t care! i just love it when you do my makeup. actually, i’d prefer for you to be my makeup artist! “

you chuckled, finding the star liquid liner and pop it open with ease. “ let’s not go too far, honey. i only learn through tutorials and you to help out. unfortunately, eve had to be my training dummy until i got decent. “

poor evelyn, she volunteered and had to deal with your beginner mistakes. the amount of times you fucked up even under astra’s guide and evelyn’s face looked as if a kid drew on her was insane. astra didn’t even bother to hold back her wheezing laughter and snap just rolled on the floor laughing too—leaving you and evelyn sitting in embarrassment.

“ mm, still don’t care! you and eve are my one and onlys after all~! “

you roll your eyes, resisting to smile ear to ear at her affectionate words. yet, the shy expression on your face says it all. of course, astra notices, her shiny pearl earrings jingles as she tilts her head towards your face, the corner of loving eyes crinkling,

“ aww, flustered? you’re so cute, darling! “ she croons, “ i just wanna kiss you silly—c’mon, gimme a kiss! “

“ astraa, no. we’re on crunch time. now, stand still and close your eyes, i have to do your eyeliner. “

the adorable look of disappointment dawns on her face and she does as instructed. she closes her pretty eyes and straightens her posture. you hold her chin with careful fingers and tilt her head at an angle for you to manage. holding the pen a certain way, you let out a thoughtful hum, scanning her facial features.

“ gonna do the left eye first, ‘kay? “

“ okie. “

using your wrist, you apply the red liquid tip to close to the center of eye and applied the ink outwards, gliding it along her curled lashes in short strokes.

“ alllright. look at the mirror and see if i did it right. “

astra does with excitement.

“ yup! you did it perfectly! can i get a kiss now? “ she looks back at you with hopeful, sparkling eyes. you shake your head, holding her chin once again.

“ no baby, now i gotta do your other eye and we dip. snap is probably gonna come to get us if we take too long. “

“ just one kiss, just one kiss! pleaseee? “

“ no. remember last time you couldn’t hold still while i was trying to trim your bangs, you tried to kiss me and I ended up cutting half your bang, making it terribly uneven? “

“ that time was different! plus, my ‘uneven bang’ isn’t even that bad! i think it fits me! i’m asking for a kiss now instead of trying to do it during this time! “

“ except this time, we have to get your makeup done as quickly as possible so we can leave, astra. i know you want to kiss me but now isn’t the time. i also don’t want to smudge your lipstick. “ you sighed, trying your best to ignore the puppy eyes astra is currently giving you.

the singer argues back, “ but it’s a star product, the type of product that doesn’t smudge!—“

“ nope, close your eyes, astra. the longer you argue back the more late we are. “ you chimed firmly and she does so with a cute pout.

you did the same thing you’ve done earlier with her left eye with practiced ease. studying her closed lids, the liner looks perfect.

“ ok, i’m done. let’s—“

she puckers her lips out, eyes still closed.

“ fine. you better be right with the lipstick not smudging bit. “

you lean in to peck her lips. with lightning speed you didn’t know she had, her palms fly to the fat of your cheeks and she pulls you into a full blown kiss.

“ muwahhhh! “

“ mmhn?! “

poor snap walts in right in time just to see the scene.”

“ ethu na naaaaa! (oh my goshhh, where’s the cameraboo?! oh i am the cameraboo!)“

“ miyabi, break time! “

her fox ears perk up at the sound of your voice. she stops her training, relaxing her sword stance to advert her undivided attention over to you walking across the engawa, holding a melon and a decently sized plate in your hands. she finds herself staring at the captivating smile on your lips as you make your way towards the training area. although her expression doesn’t necessarily change, her heart was swooning. mountains of motivation adds on to the endless motivation that she has to become stronger. everyday you remind of the reason why she needs to.

“ okay. allow me to cut the melon, my love. “

you nod your head happily and tossed the fruit in the air and held out your plate. in a flash, she jumps after the melon to cut it into perfect, triangular pieces in several quick, precise slashes, and lands on the gravel gracefully. not a moment later, the slices of melon drops perfectly onto the plate.

“ 10/10! as expected, you’d be the perfect fruit ninja!”

miyabi flicks her blade to the side, skillfully wiping off the juices from the special metal and sheathes it. she adjusts her kimono, tilting her head to the side with pique interest.

“ fruit ninja? “

“ you know, that game where you slice fruit that’s tossed up in the air and you use your finger to cut them up on your phone. actually, it should be in the arcades now. “ you explained, beckoning her to follow you to sit down the wooden deck to eat the melon slices.

“ i see. that sounds helpful to my training. to obtain the perfect fruit ninja title, i simply have to cut down all of the fruits that are thrown? “

“ yup, that’s right! “ you hand miyabi a melon she gladly accepts. “ we can go there after this if you want. “

“ no, not today. i want stay in with you. we can go to the arcade after i skip my last meeting tomorrow.” miyabi replies blandly and bites into the slice. she releases a satisfied hum.

“ uhhh, let’s not skip your meeting? your meeting is more important than—“

“ it’s not. you’ll always be more important than a pointless meeting. you’re my priority. “

your eyes soften at the determined expression on her face as she casually finishes her melon and grabs another. you giggled, switching your gaze up at the cloudless, blue canvas. “ I don’t know if i should be flustered or worried. i’m going to be expecting a phone call from yanagi tomorrow about your disappearance. “

“ that’s fine. i can just tell her to take my place for me if she wishes. “

“ i’m definitely expecting a phone call. . “

“ caesar, you know you didn’t have to come all the way over to the city, “ you continue with a worried gaze, watching caesar lazily slip off her crop jacket and tossed it on the head of the lounge chair, “ lucy told me you’ve been busy with overlord duties today. i didn’t think you’d be at my doorstep. “

she then blinks at you with prized confusion, “ but lucy told me you’ve been itchin’ to see me so i came? don’t tell me she—“

“ yup. she set us up. “

caesar let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of her head with an awkward smile. “ ahhh, that lucy! i shoulda known when all she said was that you just wanted to see me without telling me when! i thought today! “

“ baby, that’s probably when you should’ve called me for more detes. i guess she also thought you’d come anyways without checking with me first. she read you like a book. “ you chuckled, coming up to her for a warm hug. she accepts with enthusiasm, bringing you into her strong arms.

“ well, i’m pretty much an open book. got nothin’ to hide. you know me, h-hehe. “ your overlord laughs shyly, growing rather shy in the warmth of your embrace, enjoying your signature scent she missed so dearly. she’s content with where she is right now regarding her position and life in the outer ring. but, she feels like something is missing, a spot by her side that she wants to be filled. you’re from the city and she would hate to ask of you to come join her in the outer ring because of course, you have your own life here. the last thing caesar wants is for you to move with her into a new lifestyle you don’t enjoy.

the sons of calydon never stay in one place—they are always on the move. a city folk like yourself can probably have a difficult time getting adjusted to the outer ring hustle.

caesar wants you in the gang (well, with her and the gang, because in her eyes, you’re already a member) so she can see you often. before today, she hasn’t seen you in over two weeks because of so many things had to take of as overlord. caesar hated the phone calls, video chats, she wanted to see her one and only in person. if you were riding by her side in the outer ring, she would see you everyday, introduce you to soo many things; her culture and traditions.

she would show you her freedom.

“ i missed you, (name). . “ she half-laughs, voice starting to crack a little. “ you have noo idea. .”

you pull back a bit to see her teary eyed and cheeks flushed. caesar looked like a sad puppy. you gently glide a tender thumb under her right eye to brush a tear away. “ well now i do, you’re crying. c’mon let’s get you to the couch. “

“ m-mhm. “

guiding her to the couch by the hand, you sat down first and patted your lap.

“ u-um, on your lap? y-you sure? “ caesar sniffles.

“ i’m always, pretty. let me cradle you like a princess in one of those mangas you love to read. “ you joked with a knowing smile.

she wet laughs, appearing more embarrassed, “ i’m cryin’ and you still wanna tease me. pretty mean move by my precious one. “

caesar reluctantly sits on your lap, wrapping her stern arms around your neck, legs stretched across the cushions. your hand slide up and down her back tenderly, she buries her nose into the side of your neck. she’s feel weird being held like this, so vulnerable, yet so loved. is this what feels like to be at the mercy of the person you love?

“ how long you’re staying, caesar? “ you asked softly before pressing a sweet kiss to her temple.

“ pr-probably not for long. i hafta to oversee some meet-up with rival gangs later. “ caesar responds in a uncharacteristically small voice, slowly calming down to her normal self.

“ ohhh, okay. “

momentary silence settles in before she speaks up again.

“ . . yo, babe. .”

“ yes, baby? “

“do you ever thought about riding with us in the outer ring? “ caesar inquires.

“ everyday. i’ll try to find a way to come over there a little more often. i hate that you ride such a long way for me. “ you muttered, idly playing with her pale green hair.

“ as long as i can see your face in person, I don’t mind how long i have to go. . .but i will admit that it’d be nice for you to be join us. the gang—i want you to be ridin’ the roads with us. “

“ it sounds like a fun experience but—“

“ i-i know, you probably can’t, “ she sputters, holding on to your neck a little tighter, “ it was just wishful thinkin’— “

“ caesar, hun, look at me. “

and she does tentatively, looking you in the eyes with a tearful gaze again. you plant a firm kiss on her lips and she wastes no time to reciprocate back. “ you didn’t let me finish. “ you whispered.

“ a-ah. m’sorry. .wh-what were y-you goin’ to say? “

“ i gotta try to see if i can take vacation for a month to see if your lifestyle is for me. if i like it well, i’ll join you and the gang. “

“ h-huh? really?! “ caesar’s face breaks into a toothy grin that stretches ear to ear.

“ yup! probably be in a month or two—woah! “

caesar cheers out of pure excitement, rubbing her cheek against yours. you two laugh wondrously, filling your home with laughter and hope for the upcoming future.

thank you, lucy.

[mitsua]

WAKE UP DAMN IT!

synopsis: on a scale from 1 to 100%, how difficult is it to wake them up? (1.08k)

warnings: contains SPOILERS from lesson 16, mentions of nightmares

lucifer

depends, but most of the times it's 1% since he's a light sleeper, he has to, so his brothers wouldn't burn the house down with any of their antics or so...

depends on the long working nights he pulls out for Diavolo's paperwork pushed on him. In this occasions he may become a 10% difficult to wake up.

his reaction may vary, since he's the one supposed to wake you and the rest of the brothers up, he'd be at first embarrased and surprised.

still, when he recognizes you, he relaxes for a brief moment and mutters a sleepy "thank you MC."

mammon

may be different from time to time.

the morning next to a horror special sleepover may lead to the both of your getting scared, so it's then a 3% difficult fully wake him up and a 10000% scary. why? Mammon would scream from your light touch on his shoulder to wake him and you'd scream because he did. It would go on like this for at least 2 more times in the same morning.

but when it had been a normal night or a casino one, he'd just whine at your attempts and he may have or have not tried more than once to pull you to bed and sleep again as if you were his sleeping pillow... so does it count as a 90% mostly?

leviathan

also depends as you can imagine.

when he, for some reason, does not watch anime or plays videogames 'till the alarm goes off, he may be a 1% difficult to wake. unlike Mammon, he'd get scared almost everytime. that you wake him. squeaking a little, he thanks and tells you he'll be ready in a moment.

although when he does sleep late, you'll find one of two sceneries; the most common of these being him still glued to the screen, headphones on, then you'll just have to take them off and he'll make a little sound surprised but won't budge further. the other one is him being fast asleep on his desk and the computer on, a bit of saliva on the corner of his lips threatening to fall.

those occasions it is recommendable to poke or shake just a little his shoulder and still you'll get a big reaction from him and that's it.

satan

i think he's kind of a heavy sleeper when he gets through the night reading. getting so engrossed on the story he even dreams with it and him being an active participant. then it'd be a 30% difficult to wake him.

your best shot to get him to open his eyes without being scared to dear life? scream from affar something that'd normally pick his interest. here are some examples:

"oh, Lucifer! did you just fall for that? i saw Satan make it! so his plan finally succeeded?!". now that it's a great one but you may have a more difficult time calming him down when you tell him that was a lie. "aww a little stray cat? sir what can I bring to you? oh? you want Satan to feed you? but he's asleep—" well he's not anymore and if it's true that a cat it's at the house's door expect to have a happy Satan for the rest of the day.

when he has a good night sleep, it's 1% difficult, normally he wouldn't miss any of their brothers or your shaking on his shoulder so that'd be enough.

asmodeus

to begin with, being the only one who has a more decent and planned sleep schedule, it's impressive how difficult it can be than his brothers. he's a 50% when sleeping 8 hours straight in the comfiest bed of the Devildom. this is because when he sees you, he starts whining and doing grabby hands to go to sleep with you now. oh, but if it is any of his brothers? "Asmo, you have to wake up, we have school—" "ok, going..."

but if he had a party night, it's a different story.

if he was not drunk and did a night routine at 5 a.m. to be awake at 6 or 7 a.m. it'd be a 20% difficult to get him, because he'd not be able to sleep quickly. so you'll end up hugging him to recharge him for the day. if he in fact, came drunk, it's a 60%, you'd find a semi-naked Asmo barely resting on the bed with make up all over the pastel-pink sheets. you better know if he had one of these night because Lucifer will not allow to bring him smelling like Demonus.

beelzebub

he normally has a good sleep because his work outs exhaust him after a big dinner plate he's a sleeping like a baby. for this he's 15% difficult to wake. light touches do nothing to him so you'd have to fully shake him to stir a reaction from him.

in the nights he has to go for a snack at 3 a.m. it decreases to a 7% because he could not stop thinking about going for another round of food. when he has a nightmare he's most likely to keep thinking about it for a complete day, so those days you'll find him awake by himself. ask him why has he been pacing out and looking really down with a snack on your hands.

belphegor

if he had a nightmare about his family in any way, from them dying, from him being trapped in the attic and fighting with Lucifer through the bars, to the day he killed you... he wouldn't be able to sleep again, so then it'll be a 2% difficult to wake. maybe he'd pout a little but it's his way to bring himself back to reality and see everyone's still alive and he's on his bed in his and Beel's room, so when you're not seeing, he sighs relaxed.

however, when he's having a good dream, it'd be 100% and might have to bring Beel to help you, wether it'd be waking him with his twins trust and playful tactics or carrying him around the house to get him to do something.

BONUS

the first time you're tasked to wake up Beelzebub, as you may have or not screamed when he turned to face you but still he did not open his eyes, you ran to get any other brother to help you.

[ms-demeanor]

So I was taking welbutrin for seven years (it works really well for me!) and I was on two fairly high doses per day and that was peachy EXCEPT that you're not supposed to take two normal doses of welbutrin too close to one another because it increases seizure risk.

I keep my medicine sorter on my nightstand and I take my meds right when I get into bed and right when I wake up; if I do anything other than this, I will forget to take my meds. This works pretty well to keep me taking my meds on a decent schedule, but it caused a problem for my welbutrin because sometimes (a lot of the time) I go to bed about three or five hours before I need to wake up, and three or five hours apart is too close to take two doses of regular release welbutrin, so I would end up skipping my night dose a lot and only taking it in the morning. This meant that I usually missed somewhere between on and three doses a week. This was NOT GREAT.

However, my lovely GP, who got me my first effective RX for ADHD meds, whose spouse and two children have ADHD, prescribed me a single-dose, slow-release prescription of the welbutrin and I think since October I've only missed five or so doses? Something really small, a huge improvement. She also wrote out 90 day refills so I don't have to remember to pick up meds as much. (She REALLY gets ADHD patients, she is so fantastic)

Anyway. I don't know how many people out there might be on welbutrin and might have a really fucked up sleep schedule and might be missing doses to reduce seizure risk because of their sleep schedule but if you're out there and you're reading this and you - like me - were unaware of the slow release pill, hey, now you know! You may want to ask your doctor about it.

[uluvjay]

Unexpected- W. Smith

Will Smith x Hughes! Sister

In which your brothers were not expecting to find a boy in your bed when they came to visit

Warnings?; cursing, anxiety, judgmental brothers, fluff, sorry for any errors!

“Dude just use your key.” Quinn grumbled to Jack as he continued to knock on your apartment door.

“I don’t want to invade her privacy.” Jack huffed.

“She came into our apartment to surprise us that one time.” Luke shrugged reminding his brother of the time they came home to find you on their couch.

“What if she’s like-i don’t know..not decent?” Jack cringed.

“Oh my god-move, I’ll just use mine.” Quinn huffed as he pushed his younger brother out of the way.

The boys had been texting you nonstop attempting to get an answer from you especially after their consistent knocking hadn’t worked and Quinn was tired of waiting.

Jack and Luke played the bruins in two days and having a short gap in his schedule Quinn decided to join his brothers on a surprise visit to their baby sister before he had to return to a hectic season.

Pushing open the sleek door of your apartment they were met with your natural vanilla scent, by the door was your messy shoe rack, umbrellas, coats, your keys on a hook, and hockey sticks-wait, why the hell would you have that many hockey sticks?

“Why does she hav-ow what the?” Luke began but was cut off as his foot came into contact with a hefty hockey bag and he went stumbling forward.

“Umm..why the hell is there usa hockey bag in her entryway?” Jack questioned, looking between his brothers with a raised eyebrow.

“The fuck are you asking us for?” Quinn spoke quietly.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because you dumbass her keys are here, which means she’s probably sleeping still.” Quinn replied.

The boys looked around your apartment a bit more, keeping quiet as they walked through the living room area and kitchen.

Jack and Quinn knew the layout well as this was their graduation gift towards you, they felt unsafe with you living on campus and despite your protests when you opened the box revealing keys, you had been living here since the fall.

“Uh guys..there’s a gold medal on her living room table.” Luke choked.

“What?” Jack asked as he rushed in from the kitchen.

Meeting his brothers in the living room his eyes met the good medal that was in fact sitting pretty in the middle of your coffee table.

“Usa bag, sticks, and a gold medal? Shes dating one of the Bc guys that just won at world juniors. She has to be.” Luke laughed looking up at his older brothers.

Jack was the first to take off down the hall and towards your cracked bedroom door, both defensemen following closely behind him.

Quietly pushing your door open they found you asleep on your back, a Boston college hockey shirt on, thank god Jack thought.

And on your chest was a head of blonde curls, one of your hands resting on the boys shoulder peacefully while one of his arms was thrown around your waist.

Retreating to your living room the three men huddled together.

“He looks familiar.” Jack spoke up.

“His name is will something, he just got drafted.” Luke confirmed remembering his face from the draft.

“It’s Will smith. He went fourth overall to the sharks.” Quinn spoke showing his brothers the boy’s Instagram page.

“What do we do now?” Luke questioned, not sure where they should go from here.

“We wait.” Jack smirked and moved to make himself comfortable on your large sectional.

-

A little over an hour later they heard soft voices coming from your room, quite good mornings and the sound of lips connecting.

“Breakfast?” They heard you question and will confirm with a soft yeah.

Making your way out of your bedroom and down the hall you felt your heart drop into your stomach and a scream escape at the sight of three large figures sat on your couch.

“What the hell are you doing here!?” You shrieked once you realized it was your brothers.

“Came to see you, why? Is there something your hiding from us?” Jack smirked as his eyes dropped from you to gold medal on your table and back to you.

You followed his eyesight and worry filled you as you remembered that your boyfriend, who was fresh out of Sweden had all of his things here, the boyfriend your brothers also have no idea about.

“Shit. J-just give me a second.” You groaned as you turned around and pushed a curious Will back into your room before shutting the door.

“Everything okay?” He questioned as the noticeable worry etched on your face.

“My brothers are here.” You spoke quietly.

“Your brothers? As in all three?” Will asked.

“Yep.” You spoke popping the ‘p’ before continuing.

“Came to surprise me, turns out they were a bit more surprised when they found all of your usa stuff.” You laughed.

“Wh-what uh, what are we going to do?” He coughed.

It’s not that Will was necessarily scared of your brothers, he’d already met your parents and talked to your dad regularly about hockey. But brothers are different, especially your brothers. You four have a bond he’s never seen before and the protectiveness they have over you is strong.

“You’re going to have to come out and meet them.” You shrugged.

“Right now?”

“No tomorrow at four. Yes right now will! They’re literally sitting in my living room waiting.” You spoke.

“Okay.” He breathed.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, let’s do this” he nodded confidently.

“I love you and you know I wont let them kill your right?” You laughed as you took his cheeks into your hands.

“I know, I love you too.” He smiled and you placed a light kiss on his lips before turning around and leading him into your living room.

To say the sight In front of him wasn’t intimidating wouldn’t be a lie, despite being around the same height as all three men their broody stance snd interrogating stares had will feeling a bit nervous.

The three nhl stars were dressed in all black, hoodies, joggers, and beanies as they stood around the living room table looking Will up and down.

“Boys this is my boyfriend Will, Will these are my brothers, Jack, Quinn, and Lukey.” You smiled.

Despite the circumstances you were happy to have your brothers here and it felt good to be back in their presence.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Will smiled as he reached a hand out.

All three looked at his hand but Quinn was the first to move in and shake it, locking wills hand in a tight grip.

The other two followed after Quinn, their grips just as if not tighter around Wills hand. You could see the gears turning in Luke’s head and that soon questions would be flying out left and right, and before you started to answer them you needed food.

“Why don’t we talk over breakfast? There’s an amazing place down the street.” You suggested and thankfully everyone agreed to a nice meal.

-

Forty-five minutes later you were all gathered at a table at the small restaurant down the road, coffees in your brothers hands while you and Will both chose a nice glass of Oj.

“So” Quinn coughed, “how’d you two meet?”

“Izzy is dating his friend Ryan, they introduced us and we hit it off pretty well so we exchanged numbers and went on a few dates. The rest was history after that.” You smiled.

Izzy was your best friend from back home, the boys knew her so well she was practically another sister to them and she was a big contributor to your decision to come to Boston college instead of Umich.

“Hmm, where’d you take her for the first date?” Luke spoke up.

“Mini golf, got my ass kicked though. Didn’t realize someone could be so good at it.” Will laughed at the memory.

“Y/n is an amazing golfer, she does it quite a bit over the summers.” Jack nodded.

“Best in the family i’d say.” You smirked.

“Okay don’t get ahead of yourself now.” Luke scoffed.

“So you’re a sharks prospect right?” Jack asked.

“Uh yeah, they drafted me this past spring.” Will smiled.

The questions kept up until the food came, but they began to get more relaxed and generic after a while. The boys began to asked will more about school and how it was a world juniors and soon they were all sharing laughs.

“You know, that wasn’t really the way I wanted to find out my baby sister had a boyfriend but you’re a cool kid Will.” Quinn smiled.

“Thank you, she’s amazing. Out my league really.” Will blushed as you elbowed him in his side.

“That’s true, but as long as you treat her right and make her happy then we like you.” Jack spoke softly.

“But don’t think we won’t flatten your ass out on the ice if you ever hurt her.” Luke smirked.

Will nodded with a winded expression and and awkward silence crowded the table before the ringing of Quinn’s phone broke through.

“Oh, it’s mom.” He smirked right at Will and it took everything in you to hold down your laugh.

“Hey mom!” He greeted her warmly.

“Hi sweetie, just checking if you got into your sisters.” She spoke.

“Oh yeah we got in, found quite the surprise to.” Jack laughed.

“Oh really? What happened.”

Quinn turned the screen around to show your mother Will and while they were all expecting her to freak out their expressions dropped the second they heard her voice.

“Will! How are you doing honey?” She asked excitedly.

“I’m good Mrs. Hughes, how about you.” Your boyfriend smiled.

“Oh I told you to knock that Mrs. Hughes off! I’m good though honey thank you for asking.” She smiled.

“Let me find Jim really fast, he’ll want to say hi.” Your mother spoke up.

You released a giggle at the shock and confusion that was written on your brother’s faces. Their eyebrows were all pulled together as they shared a look of confusion.

“Will! How are you buddy.” Your father greeted.

“I’m good Jim, how about you?”

“I’m good son, my boys haven’t given you and my girl any trouble have they?”Your father questioned.

“No, it’s been okay.” Will laughed.

The conversation kept up for a moment but your mother ultimately decided to hang up when Jack kept whining about her not telling them you had a boyfriend.

“I can’t believe they knew!” He groaned.

“I told them first, wanted to make sure they liked him.” You shrugged.

“This is unbelievable.” He pouted and that’s how the rest of your day continued until your mom apologized and offered to bake him his favorite homemade goods the next time she visited.

-



[r0ttencandies]

Masky/Tim wright, general and nsfw hc’s!

Tw: gore/blood , stalking, dissociation, degradation, cum.. a lot of cum talk, marking, bdsm pushing, cnc, sexually paise, knife play, just freaky shit.

Tim sfw hc’s:

Definitely a chain smoker, going through atleast a pack a day.. upwards to 3 if incredibly stressed. (He prefers menthol)

Has a slight southern accent.

He’s a decently clean guy, keeping his home minimalist and avoids clutter. Everything neatly tucked away, each item having its own assigned spot.

He primarily listens to grunge music or country, just plain dad rock is his shit though.

He put on a constant ‘strong’ guy act, always taking care of everyone else, especially on mission. He’ll handle all the dirty work, acting like it doesn’t phase him (it does.)

Due to dissociation and forgetting what happens whenever he is masky, he isn’t even aware he works for slenderman /the operator. He’s aware of the man’s existence and hates him, actively trying to go against him.

He gets sick very easily, outside of the operator. Constantly catching colds due to overworking himself, but he recovers quickly as he just takes as much medicine as possible.

He drives in a beat up as suv, the paints chipped and covered in multiple dips.. he doesn’t give a shit.

He loves cooking and is pretty good at it, something he’s passionate about

He loves the fall, hates getting sunburned. (THAT BOY WHITE AS HELL)

He’s definitely a beer guy, he’ll take a coffee sometimes, always adding a bit of cream.

Keeps most mental challenges in his head. He sees a therapist regularly but only tells them the basics just enough to keep himself on medication.

Tim finds it hard to be in relationships, especially when it comes to talking about things that bother him.

Now on the other hand if he’s with a partner who’s understanding and patient he’s a straight lover boy.

He’s constantly buying his partners gifts and always helping them with task, it’s how he shows if love, if not praising and worshipping you lol.

He keeps a schedule, never really breaking it. (If it breaks, he’s not sleeping until everything is in order, though he already struggles with sleeping due to hallucinations and seizures.)

Covered in multiple different scars.. deep ones at that, he’s completely unaware where they came from.

If he does something bad to you as masky (sexual or not) he’s profusely apologizing and trying to make up for it.

Tim NSFW hc’s:

HES COVERED IN HAIR, happy trail, arm hair, chest hair.. he’s just a hairy boy (though he keeps his pubic hair nicely trimmed, keeping it clean.

Yk how I said he’s clean? He definitely isn’t in bed. His favorite thing to do with you is covering you in his cum, whether it’s in you or on.. he doesn’t care, he wants it to drip all down your sensitive skin.

He’s about 7 inches long, whatever you think he’s lacking in inches he’s got in girth, Atleast 4.5 inches around. He’s circumcised, with a bulbous tan tip.

He loves receiving, throat fucking you until he’s covered in drool and your eyes a swollen from crying.

He’s definitely a switch, though he is dominant leaning, enjoying making you squirm and beg, whether if it’s to his fingers, cock or toys he’ll used on you, he doesn’t care. He finds it adorable.

He loves foreplay, making you more needy for him is incredibly attractive to him.

He’s big on consent and always making sure you’re okay with everything.

He loves marking you, claiming you as his. Covering your chest, neck and thighs with bites and kisses.

He has a preference for any position he can see your face in, praising you the entire time.

He hates degrading (when he’s in the masky state this is different)

“You’re so pretty, hun. Taking me so well, aren’t you?”

A soft dom 100% (you always crave to his dominance though.

Thigh guy, but loves everything else.

Bros kinda a masochist when submissive.

He tends to snap out of it after multiple orgasms, noticing the mess and freaking out about it. He’ll rush to grab towels, and throw dirty sheets in the wash. ( almost forgetting about aftercare, that’s how much he’ll panic.)

His way of giving you aftercare is showering you in kisses, making you a warm meal and taking a shower with you, washing your body and hair.

Masky sfw hc’s:

He’s selectively mute in this state.

He’s genuinely so messy it’s not even funny (Tim hates this, thinking someone else did it)

He’s kinda a stalker, breaking into people’s homes in the middle of the night and just stares. (If he’s attracted to you, he’s admiring you, imagining being with you.)

He’s very aggressive and very strong, capable of lifting up to 400 pounds.

Masky is even more isolated in that mask, only being around the other proxies when needed.

Him and Toby have a brotherly relationship despite their differences and disagreements.

Masky never really feels too much physical pain, his brain just learned to numb it (this kicks Tim in the ass later on)

When he’s in this mindset, the word sleep doesn’t exist as he continues to roam around the forest even after mission.

He also doesn’t feel much emotional unless it’s obsession, anger or just plain blood thirsty.

Masky enjoys the act of murder and is fascinated by organs

Sometimes he loses his shit and just starts stabbing trees or throws shit.

He’s very careless with himself, barely eating or drinking.

Masky nsfw hc’s:

Yk how I said he loves to bite as Tim, well it’s worse in this state. He’ll break skin, sucking out a bit of the blood and enjoys the sensation of your muscles tensing and the taste of your sweet red fluid.

His favorite position as masky is doggy, he loves spanking you until your ass is bloodied from the friction and force of his hand.

HE LOVES PULLING YOUR HAIR AS WELL!! Pushing your head up towards him so he can hear your sweet moans closely.

This man’s stamina is crazy, going multiple rounds (definitely out lasting Tim.. )

If he’s doing his daily stalking, and if he’s obsessed with you (he most likely is) he’ll get turned on by your peacefully sleeping form, pawing at his cover length until he’s cumming in his pants.

If your his partner, he’s not asking for permission, he’s taking what he wants (he knows you’ll let him)

Not submissive in the slightest.

He’s a massive sadist, fucking you until you’re complete ruined with tears, your body sore and limp, and covered in blood and bruises.

Foreplay is almost nonexistent, he’ll play with your clit while fucking you though, just to insure you’re a bit cumming for him.

Degrading king

“Such a dirty slut, taking my dick like your life depends on it.”

He gets a sick kick out of placing knifes against your skin, making you fearful for his next more. (Though he’ll never hurt you too bad.)

He’s aggressive, pounding into you with so much force that it hurts sometime, making the whole bed shake.

He’ll just throw you around to be honest.

Back to back creampies, that’s the only way he’ll cum and you honestly have no say in it.

HE’S SO INTO BONDAGE OMFGG.. no seriously though he loves seeing your arms behind your back unable to fight him.

He loves having you gagged, enjoying how helpless you look.

His form of aftercare is cuddling and petting you until you pass out from exhaustion.

(GOD THIS WAS LONG AS FUCK, IM SORRY.. tho I hope you enjoyed :3 )