doigtsderose

[doigtsderose]

ugh this is so beautifully written 🥹

( 🧾 . . . 최범규 )　　his lips seemed to be coated with stardust. his eyes carried the moon’s glow. his smile was brighter than the fulmination of a supernova.

all of beomgyu’s evocative compliments came oh-so-naturally — he didn’t even think about it, and the sugary words already had rolled from his tongue.

“love you so much it hurts.” he breathed out softly, pulling away from your lips just for a split of second “you’re perfect, in every way. i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

drawing you even closer by the waist, beomgyu cupped your cheek with his free hand and pressed your foreheads together. “i love you.” he repeated, staring attentively at your smile and grinning cheekily to himself.

“i love you.”

⠀ ⠀ SOOV © 2O23

[doigtsderose]

aaaaah I love this 😩😩😩😩 love the structure, like it’s so cool that we kinda have a full circle moment! like I first I was like mc’s kinda heh for asking that but we get the full context and reasoning and I get it like it’s so awful to just be known as an extension of someone else that is more liked than you :( felt bad for both of them and then very very very happy at end even though the denial is endless lmao

like the « you don’t like choi beomgyu » being repeated throughout the story to show evolution is such a nice narrative choice and really ties it all together as you read even though the flashbacks could be confusing or muddle the story (they don’t at all!!!!)

i feel like since it’s also mc trying to convince herself of it rather than actually stating a fact it also makes it such compelling narrative to follow <3

모기 / MOGI — [c.bg].

SYNOPSIS. in which all of your life, you and beomgyu have been stuck together like glue whether you liked it or not. and as much as you want to change that, life seems to have different plans.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment), romance, humor, very light-barely there angst, pining idiots, college! au with flashes to high school, featuring an ensemble of 01z idols. WARNINGS. swearing, many many (fake) death threats, so much secondhand embarrassment, mentions of sex, mentions of blood and gore, the worldly problems of a teenager, mc has anger issues, gossip. WORD COUNT. 14k.

TAGLIST. @matcha-binz @bgomtori @lotties-posts @bearbeom @bbinwrld @beomies-world @baekberrie @20-cms @jenodreamer

NOTE. it is here! alternatively titled: all the reasons you don't like choi beomgyu (but maybe you do). this is just a v quick v fun read (i hope HAHHAHA). parts in past tense and within parenthesis are set in the past! hope you enjoy mosquito gyu and please let me know what you think! begging for crumbs of feedback plspls.

YOU DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. He’s been a thorn in your side for as long as you can remember— a far too nimble mosquito for you to catch and swat away, constantly buzzing around your ears like a mild annoyance. Mild, but annoying all the same.

The problem is, you can’t get rid of him. Not when both your families have been friends before either of you were even born. Not when you’ve been half-living in his house for the better part of your life and he’s been half-living in yours. Not when you’ve always been magically assigned to the same class for twelve god damned years and somehow, you’re now even set out to go to the same university.

It’s like the world just wants to stick the both of you together.

“Hey, fuckface.”

“What do you want, dipshit?”

Unfortunately for the world, you don’t want the same thing.

“Remember when I hauled your ass to the emergency room after you broke your leg at the skatepark in 9th grade?”

Beomgyu lets out a grunt upon hearing your question at the same time as he drops down to the ground with a thunk on the playground seesaw. “Right. That happened.” It’s late at night, the streetlights are dimming, and it’s a week before high school graduation. Not the most appropriate time to be playing around the kid-sized rides tucked in the corner of your apartment complex, but things have been penting up, and there currently seems to be no better way to deal with your physical and emotional exhaustion than by being sprung up to the air, down, and back up again.

“You also said��� whoa!” You glue your feet firmly to the chalky ground before dangling your legs up once more. “You also said you’d do anything I ask after saving your ass. I’m here to collect your debt.”

The next instance, you aren’t see’d or saw’d back up. Beomgyu stays grounded, looking at with an expression you can only describe as oozing of suspicion. It is weird, you have to admit, bringing up a spur of a moment promise he made three years ago, possibly under the influence of anesthetics. You’d be suspicious of yourself, too. “Alright,” he relents after a long moment of thought. Beomgyu leans forward, resting his arms over the seesaw handle and burying his chin into his sleeves. “Spit it out. What do you want? I’ll buy it for you.”

You press your lips together. “It’s not something you can buy.”

Now, that definitely doesn’t help your case. Your crypticness is causing his brows to furrow, and Beomgyu is deep in thought wondering what the hell kind of favor your fucked up head is thinking of (especially after the shrimp incident). You can save him from misery and just spit it out right then and there, but it’s not easy for you to pull out of your mouth either. Once this night is over, your throat will be littered with sores and cuts and it’ll all be self inflicted.

“Wait.” Beomgyu suddenly jolts up and sits straight, causing the seesaw to wobble a little. His ears are peeking out the mess of his hair. It’s already way past the school policy length— a privilege of a graduating student, he says. And despite the shadowed sky cloaking the playground lot, you can clearly see the tinge of red painting the thin skin. What is he thinking? you narrow your eyes at him. The blush has spread all over his neck. "You—you—you’re not trying to ask—”

“Beomgyu,” you cut him off, sparing him from an aneurysm. “We’re starting college next month, right?”

His expression tells you he’s completely missed the mark. “Yeah...?” he sounds out, confusion riddled in his tongue. You bite down yours— an early repentance before finally throwing it out in the air.

“Can you do me a favor?” you squeak out. “Can you pretend like you don’t know me?”

Quiet washes over. You preemptively wince, expecting the impending torrent of swear words from your friend, but he doesn’t say anything. He says nothing for a long while, filling the quiet with tension-filled agony before finally saying, “I don’t understand.”

You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“What are you saying?”

There are uneasy creaks on the hinges of the seesaw set, as if it’s unsure whether to go up or down. The scent of iron seeps into your palms with how tightly you’re holding the handle. “Please pretend like we aren’t friends when we enter university,” you inhale sharply. “Better yet, act like you don’t know me at all, okay? Treat me like I was a ghost and I’ll do the same with you.” 

You don’t have the guts to look Beomgyu in the eye. You train your eyes to the graveled ground and hold in your breath, listening as the creaks of the rusty hinges slowly come to a still. He’s not saying anything. He isn’t saying anything and you’re starting to grow scared.

The seesaw finally stops rocking, and you finally hear Beomgyu’s response—

“Fine.”

—all while your ass gets dropped to the ground with an even louder thunk when Beomgyu gets off the damned thing. You let out a yelp as your body gets jerked back by the sudden recoil. 

“Hey!” you yell out, stumbling to get off the seesaw in a panic because he’s starting to walk. “Choi Beomgyu— wait up!”

“What?” he snaps his head back, and you flinch. He doesn’t look great. He doesn’t look happy at all. Guilt overhauls your entire being with a single, ringing punch and your tongue is weighed down by sand and soot and it’s difficult to swallow without the threat of choking. “I thought you wanted me to pretend like I don’t know you?”

You frown. “I did, but I didn’t mean it to be—”

Words fail when he turns his back to you once again. You can’t say anything. You can’t bring it in you to justify yourself. You can’t even find the shame to call him back. So all you can do is watch as Beomgyu slowly disappears into the evening, leaving behind more things in the playground than just you.

It’s fine, you inhale sharply. You can give him some space tonight and just talk it out on the way to school tomorrow. And it’s not like you didn’t expect him to be mad at you. It just hurt a lot more than you thought it would.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” you yell at his disappearing figure.

It stings, sure. But still. It’s something you feel like you need to do, because you don’t like Choi Beomgyu, and all the things he’s cost you.

#1: YOU DON’T LIKE HIM FOR WASTING SO MUCH OF YOUR TIME. You’re pretty sure at least three years of your lifespan has wilted away into nothingness because of how long it takes for him to answer the door. It takes two rounds of incessant knocking and a yell of his name. Even then, his mom is more likely to answer than the fucker himself.

He’s been like that ever since. Though you can’t exactly pinpoint when that ever since begins— you can’t remember how you met him because his stupid face has always been present in all of your earliest memories.

(Knock, knock, knock!

“Choi Beomgyu!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“Open the door!”

Classes ended early today, and your teachers at the academy are having a seminar so you don’t have to go there today. This was a rare opportunity in your life as a middle schooler— where every day runs from waking up, to eating, to studying, to eating, to studying again, studying some more, and wanting to quit studying. Today you had free time, and you’re going to spend it wisely.

At least that was the plan. But then Beomgyu called your landline while you were watching TV, saying that he had “something super, duper, insanely cool to show you and you’ll regret it if you don’t come over.” 

It’s probably something lame.

You hurried over to the unit right across yours.

But like usual, it took a good five minutes until you heard Beomgyu’s hurried footsteps padding louder and closer and closer. He didn’t give you an opportunity to be annoyed by him— he quickly tugged you into his home and shut the door lock with a kick, running into and out of the living room like it was a racing track, and before you knew it, you were in his room and he was all giddy and excited and it served as a sign that he was up to no good.

“You’re being suspicious,” you leered at him as he dug through his school bag, already taking the liberty to plop down on his bed. “What’s that?”

There was a proud grin on his face when he pulled it out and showed it off to you. You weren’t as impressed. In fact, you were terrified. 

Specifically because of the 18+ label on the CD container he’s holding.

“Why do you have that?!” you screeched. “Holy crap. You idiot. Are you trying to get us into trouble?!”

“We won’t get in trouble as long as you stop freaking out like a little wuss,” he reasoned, already slotting the forbidden CD into his conveniently placed laptop right at the foot of the bed.

Your houses shared an internet line, and most websites have been blocked as per both your parents’ request so it “doesn’t get in the way of your studying,” they say. You thought it was crap. Beomgyu thought  it was crap. So you’d been trying to find ways to subvert that restriction by whatever means you can get your hands on (i.e. going to PC rooms and getting dragged back home by your parents).

But that didn’t mean you were fine with watching a movie you legally weren’t allowed to watch.

This was absurd.

“Yeonjun hyung lent it to me. Hey, stop overreacting. You said you wanted to watch this and wouldn’t quit whining about it the past two weeks. I’m doing you a favor!”

“We’re not allowed to watch this! If our parents find out, they’re gonna—” You made the mistake of letting your eyes wander to the laptop screen. It’s all blood and guts and gore from the very beginning. You were taken. “Whoa. Move over.”

Beomgyu was grinning at his success. The equally bloody CD container found itself tucked underneath his bed, and before you knew it you were both hiding under the blankets, sharing a pair of earphones because there’s too much screaming and squelching from the off-brand slasher film your friend smuggled from a sketchy high schooler. Maybe that was just the right amount of screaming. You wouldn’t know. You’ve never watched anything like this before.)

To be frank, you don’t remember much about the film. You do remember nearly pissing yourself in fear and screaming along to the cries of agony whenever someone was killed on screen. Beomgyu was unfazed though— that freak. How was he not pissing himself when a severed limb flew into the frame?

But he wasn’t as calm when his brother came home early, and your constant screams of terror elicited understandable concern. (“Shut up! You’re going to get us caught,” he hissed, trying to smack his palm over your mouth but you’re already burying your face into his comforter and blindly shoving him off).

Long story short, you both got caught and got grounded for a week.

So much for having free time.

“Congrats on finishing your last exam!”

You grunt, shoving past Heeseung as you exit the classroom, a stack of scratch papers pressed to your chest. He trails behind you with an evident bounce in his step. You’d be just as excited had you not been brutally murdered by midterms week. It’s only your third month of university and you’re already ready to drop out. Why is this normalized? This is structural, systemic violence.

“Jieun and the rest are planning a night out tomorrow,” he mentions. “You coming?”

“No. I’m going to sleep for forty-eight hours and die.”

He tells you you’re no fun and you flip him off. Three months have passed and you feel like you’ve aged thirty years, but Heeseung is still fucking energetic and you’re sure it’s because the girl from computer science he’d been flirting with for the past two weeks finally agreed to go on a date with him. The stupid grin on his face as he’s typing on his phone is annoying you to no end. “What?” he asks, looking up from his phone, still all smiley and irksome. 

“You’re insufferable,” you deadpan. His expression morphs into confusion, then realization, then pity, then circles back into being incredibly annoying again. 

“If you beg, I can set you up with one of my friends.”

“Eat ass.” 

You smack the top of his head with the stack of papers. He is unfazed. “I know a few guys! C’mon! Instead of being bitter, why don’t I help you out? I don’t do this for everyone, you know. I’m only offering because you’re my friend.”

Well, the past three months haven’t been entirely bad. Your freshman batch was fairly easy to get along with— Heeseung specifically, whom you hit off with during the orientation. You’ve also been doing pretty well with all of your classes despite the back-breaking workload. And now that midterms are over, your uni has this policy to cancel classes for a whole week after every major exam (for the students’ “mental health” they say), so now you have the chance to finally fucking rest.

“Beomgyu!”

You flinch upon hearing Heeseung yell out his name. You can’t get used to it.

The space next to you becomes empty as Heeseung excuses himself for a moment to join Beomgyu and the little group he’s appeared with. You take the opportunity to shove the scratch papers you have into your bag, taking a few glimpses here and there— regretting doing that when Beomgyu happens to meet your gaze at one point, and you quickly avert your eyes to the posters on bulletin boards stuck on the hallway wall. E-Sports Fest 2023. Sign up for your respective departments now! 

“Later,” Heeseung waves them off and runs back to you. “Hey. We’re fucked. Beomgyu’s playing in like half of the games next, next week. The ICT fuckers have practically won already. This is too much of a skill gap. This isn’t fair.”

You give him a look. “Okay?”

Heeseung pouts. “At least pretend like you’re interested. Jeongin said yes, but I still have to get Chenle onboard so we can at least get second place, but he says he doesn’t wanna waste our short break so— hey, are you listening?”

No, you’re not. Because you met eyes with Choi Beomgyu once more before he left with his friends, and even if it’s been three months since you’ve last talked to him, there’s still a weird feeling in your gut every time you happen to cross paths.

It’s been easy for him to keep his promise. The both of you have different majors, and though you two share a few mutual friends, Heeseung doesn’t know shit about your history, and nobody seems to suspect anything. 

Still. You can’t completely avoid him. Not when you two are literally still neighbors. 

The both of you moved out since your campus is a two hour commute from your homes, but you also moved into the same apartment building in the city as per your parents’ request. (“Now, I’m more at ease knowing you’re still living next to her, Beomgyu,” your mother remarked the day his dad drove you both to your new building). Your mom didn’t know how not at ease you are with him still floating around you with a seeming permanence, especially after what happened in the playground that night. 

“Anyway, I have to go,” Heeseung tells you, probably off to meet the compsci girl he refuses to tell you the name and identity of. You fear she may be one of your friends. “How about you?”

“Off to have lunch with Sungchan and Minjeong,” you hum. “Have fun. Don’t come crying to me when you eventually get your heart broken.”

“You’re just bitter. Don’t worry. I’ll get you a date to save you from your misery.”

“Go to hell.”

“See you.”

The both of you part ways, and you meet up with the aforementioned two at the campus cafeteria because fast food is outside of your budget after splurging all your allowance on caffeine and energy drinks this week. Your two friends seem to have also been hard fucked by midterms. Lunch was filled with quiet complaints and you immediately took the first bus home after eating.

“You stopped by?” you speak into your phone, wedging the device between your cheek and shoulder as you punch in the code to your unit’s door. “You should’ve told me. I could’ve come home earlier.”

“It’s alright. I just left you some side dishes for the week. They’re in the fridge. Who knows what kind of junk you’re putting into your body without me on the watch.”

“I am eating perfectly well!” you exclaim, shutting your door with a click. You love your mom and her food but she’s as protective as ever. “I just got home. I’ll send photo evidence of me enjoying your kimchi, madam.”

You hear her laugh a little at the end of the line, and you hum out a smile. “I’m hanging up. You must be tired so get some rest.”

“Yeah, alright.” Upon entering the living room, you can see the familiar, reusable blue shopping bag on the open kitchen counter, its unreasonably gigantic size taking up too much of the space. You narrow your eyes and walk towards it. When you take a peek inside, there are still full containers and tupperwares. The rolled omelets look particularly good. “I thought you put them in the fridge,” you say. Without waiting for your mother’s response, you’ve already produced a pair of chopsticks and have pried a box open, stuffing a roll inside your mouth.

“Oh, those are for Beomgyu.” 

The eggs suddenly taste like sand.

“He mentioned on call last time that he was missing some of my home cooked dishes. Why haven’t you been sharing with him? Greedy child. Anyway, drop them off at his place later when he gets back. He wasn’t around when I visited earlier. Okay?”

First of all, why does your mother keep calling Choi Beomgyu behind your back? Second of all, the guilt of eating what is supposed to be Beomgyu’s food shot your appetite back down into oblivion, so you quickly close the container and stuff it back into the bag in a zip. “Okay. I’ll do that.” You throw the chopsticks into the sink. He isn’t gonna notice that one omelet is missing, right?” “Bye.”

“Come back home during your break.”

Then again. Why do you have to waste this perfectly good food on a guy like him?

The line ends. You fall to the floor with an anguished cry. “Ugh,” you groan, forehead hitting the counter body a few too many times that a bruise could form. “The bastard might snitch on me if I don’t do it. Fuck. Fine.”

You feel like a reanimated corpse when you force yourself back on your feet, a series of grunts as you begrudgingly lug the large bag of side dishes that won’t even end up in your stomach. This is fine, you exhale. You can do this. You’re gonna knock on the door, throw the bag to his face, and say goodbye without talking. This is fine. This is easy. 

But with Beomgyu, it’s never easy. The simplicity of the act ends after you’ve left your unit. What came after was the short, dreadful walk across the hallway because shit— in the past three months you’ve moved here, you have never actually gone up to his door. 

Knock, knock, knock.

No answer.

Knock, knock, knock.

Still no answer. This bastard never fucking grows.

“Choi Beomgyu!” Your light knocks quickly transition to a heavy banging. “Choi Beomgyu, open up—”

There’s a click and a creak. Your knuckles don’t land on the familiar hardwood— they land on his chest because the momentum made you keep knocking even after he’d opened the door. “Oh,” he flatly starts. A brow raised and arms crossed, he leans against the door frame and looks at you like you’re an unwelcome guest. “What do we have here?”

He’s insufferable. He’s totally insufferable.

“Who are you again?”

“Cut the crap, Beomgyu,” you grunt, absolutely not in the mood for this. You know that it’s a pretty shitty thing for you to ask him to pretend to be strangers. You really do, so you didn’t hold it against him for being mad at you at first. He’s been doing his end, sure, but you don’t remember him acting like a big fucking bitch to you in private as a part of the deal. 

You thought his anger would subside after three days. It’s been three months and at this point you’re convinced that this relationship is now irreparable, and neither of you are making the effort to resuscitate it. “You’re the one who came to my door. Why are you swearing at me?” he huffs. You grit your teeth, shoving the bag to him and his act of arrogance falters from surprise. You don’t miss how his eyes widen and how his scrunched up brows suddenly disappear under the messy bangs he’s decided to grow out.

“Here. I’ll take back the containers next week. Make sure you’ve washed them by then. Goodbye.”

That, in fact, wasn’t a good bye because you stomp back into your unit without giving him a second look. 

Dammit, dammit, dammit it all. The door is cold against your back when you retreat inside. You hate him. You really do. This would’ve been easier if your lives weren’t so irrevocably tangled— messed up in all sorts of knots and ties that even a fucking boyscout can’t tear it apart. 

You left your phone on the counter when you left and you can see it buzzing and lighting up. There’s a few messages. Hi, dear. How have you been? It’s from his mother. There is no escape to this. Absolutely none.

#2: YOU DON’T LIKE HIM FOR FORCING YOU TO SWALLOW SO MUCH OF YOUR PRIDE. Somehow, he’s always there at the lowest points of your life— moments where you wouldn’t even want any of your family to see you, but he’s there. He always is, and you’d always wish to evaporate along with the rain. 

Maybe he has a signal whenever you’re on the verge of doing something stupid. Or losing face. Or being absolutely dumped. Or all of the above at the same time. Maybe he’s there on purpose so he can have one more thing on his belt of things to hold against you.

(“I like you.”

The words squeezed out of your throat like a choke, more than anything. Maybe it was because of the fact that you sounded so pathetic that Jiwoong couldn’t even reject you properly. Maybe if he were to be frank, he was afraid that you’d end up crying.

“Um, there’s...there’s somewhere I have to be for a moment. You don’t mind waiting for a bit, right?”

But it wasn’t you that ended up in tears. It was the sky. You weren’t sure how long you’d been waiting, frozen still in an abandoned corner behind the school where your pink-stained note had asked him to come— him, your desk partner for the semester that you’d been unfortunately struck by— but it was long enough for the afternoon sky to be inked by gray clouds. Long enough for it to start pouring in on your behalf.

You sniffled. Ah, shit. This is stupid. You said you weren’t going to cry but fuck, your eyes suddenly started to sting, and you’re looking up at the clouds because gravity might help in preventing them from falling, but all it did was pool saltwater in your tearducts and now they’ve overflown, mixing into the raindrops cascading down your face.

“Until when are you going to keep standing there like an idiot?”

Instead of the gray, pouring sky, your vision is cloaked by a jarring electric blue. It was the same obnoxious color as the umbrella Beomgyu brings around. Then again— that was just his voice, too. Your cheeks started burning. That was enough to bring you back to your senses. “Did—did you see—”

“Let’s go home.”

It was one thing to be caught crying by your friend-slash-neighbor-slash-annoyance. It was another thing to be caught getting rejected by him. That was double the shame and embarrassment soiled. But Beomgyu hasn’t made a mention of it throughout your walk back to the building, much to your relief and suspicion. This man would make fun of you to the ends of high hell just for keeping a plushie to bed until you were thirteen— you weren’t sure when he started developing the emotional intelligence to stay in the comfort of silence throughout your walk home.

Of course, you didn’t expect him to hold his tongue for too long. It was an empty road, and the rain was still pouring. Beomgyu held up his umbrella above your head, and started with a low voice, “Want me to beat him up?”

Your steps lagged, faltering a little in mild surprise. “You?” An invisible force started tugging on the corners of your lips. “With your lanky ass and noodle arms? Keep dreaming, loser.”

“Hey—” You had to hold back a snort when you saw his face, an evident look of unbridled offense taking over, and he stopped in his tracks just to passionately defend himself. “You take that back. I’m strong. I’m pretty sure I can lift you up with just one arm. I can beat the shit out of Jiwoong if I wanted to.”

“Sure,” you snickered. “That is if you want to end up in the hospital. You’re all skin and bones, Beomgyu. You’re weak as hell. Remember the last time we arm wrestled? I’m pretty sure it ended up with me as the winner, and you as the— eep!”

You yelped, eyes widening. Suddenly, the ground wasn’t touching your feet anymore, you could feel the rain on your skin, and the bright, blue umbrella was now on the ground. You can see nothing but the fabric of Beomgyu’s dark and drenched uniform blazer and glimpses of the upside down pavement. Your face started to heat up. You could feel his firm grip around your waist and legs.

“That was in sixth grade, doofus. Keep up,” he snorted. 

“What the hell? Put me down!” you let out a grunt and tried to wiggle yourself free, but he’s unyielding— continuing the walk back home while carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “If you don’t put me down, I am going to bite you.”

“Nuh-uh.” The bastard gave your body a rough shake as a warning, and you screamed. “Not until you take back what you said earlier.” You balled your hands into a fist and hit his back. “Wow, you’re so ungrateful. I’m giving you a free ride home yet you decide to assault me. Your mother will be so disappointed when she hears this.”

“Your mother will shave your head if she finds out your haircut received a warning this morning.”

“Oooo—kay. Down you go. Ride over.” The moment Beomgyu settled you back on the ground, you gave him the nastiest glare you could muster. He gave you a grin. “Your hair is a mess.”

“Whose fault is it?” you sneer.

“Jiwoong’s,” he answered, matting down the top of your head with his hands. You winced when his fingers got caught between the wet, tangled strands. Beomgyu’s lips pursed as he tried to unravel them, brows furrowed in concentration. “I’m uninviting him to our game night tomorrow. He can eat shit.”

“He’s gonna talk shit if you do that,” you replied.

“Who cares.” He was finished tinkering with your hair. It was still pouring. “Done. Let’s go home.” You didn’t know if he made it better or worse.

“Okay,” you replied, feeling the top of your head. “But your umbrella ran away. Idiot.”

“Does it matter?” his lips quirked. “We’re already drenched, anyway.”)

The ice in your service water has already melted. You are going to kill a man named Lee Heeseung.

Why isn’t this motherfucker answering your calls? You let out a mental swear. It’s the second Saturday of your one-week break after midterms, and Heeseung organized a blind date for you and his friend today. The problem is, that said friend is nowhere to be seen. The customers next to your table have already changed thrice already. You’re not pathetic. You’re not gonna wait for him.

Right when you muster the willpower to get up, Heeseung finally answers your call. He’s quick to overtake your possible threats by immediately rambling, “Okay. Before you get mad—”

“You’re dead to me.”

“I’m sorry!” he screams-slash-pleads. “Eunseok canceled at the last minute because of this thing with his— nevermind. That’s not important. I’m gonna kick his ass the next time I see him, but please tell me you haven’t left the cafe yet.”

You bite your bottom lip. You want to lie. You want to tell him that you’ve already left thirty minutes ago and are now in your apartment with cozy pajamas and a cucumber face mask. “I’m around the area,” you reply. “Why?”

“Oh, good. Great.”

This is brow raising. The bell above the door entrance rings, catching your attention and you look up. “Why?”

“You’re still going on a date,” he tells you. “I promise you, your time definitely won’t be wasted—”

Heeseung’s voice disappears into the background. Entering the cafe is the person you want to see the least. He’s wearing the hooded sweater you got him for Christmas last year, and around his neck are the headphones you got him for his birthday.

“—so I called another friend. Don’t think of him as just a second option, okay?! I think he’s more your type anyway, and—”

He’s looking around. He still hasn’t noticed you. He’s standing in the middle of the shop and he pulls out his phone. 

“—and he’s headed there right— oh! He says he’s there already!”

Beomgyu has spotted you and you want to kill yourself. Your head drops down and you bite down a scream of agony and despair. “You’ve heard of Choi Beomgyu, right? From BSEMC? I’ve mentioned him a few times. Haha. Anyway. I hope you enjoy your da—”

“Heeseung told me his friend got stood up and needed a backup.” He’s now in front of you. He’s looking down at you from behind the opposite chair. “I didn’t expect that that friend would be you.”

You’re going to kill yourself after you kill Heeseung. Better yet, why not murder Beomgyu as well so you can all rot in bloody fucking hell? 

“Hello?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, trying your best to subtly hide the burning embarrassment on your face without making it obvious that your pride is now in perfectly tattered shambles. Of all people, why him? Why? For the love of god, why? “Just leave. I doubt you even want to be here. Let’s just spare each other the headache, alright?”

Beomgyu stifles a scoff. You watch as his knuckles flex while clutching the back of the chair. “I canceled a game for this.” He pulls it back and plops down on the seat like a petulant child. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your face contorts into an unabashed grimace. You take your bag and stand up. “Okay. Then, I’m leaving.” 

“You could’ve left an hour ago.”

Pause. He looks up at you, arms crossed and confident. Your upper lip twitches. You sit back down. Heeseung has already died twice in your head.

“I guess even someone as heartless as you is desperate for a little romance,” he hums, leaning back against his seat and completely at ease— a stark contrast to your end of the table: hot and bothered for all the wrong, not very sexy reasons. You’re trying to feign calmness, but the sweat dripping down your forehead from the heat of shame is ratting you out. This is the worst. This is the absolute worst.

You’re only able to breathe again when Beomgyu gets up to order something. Maybe you should order something too because your throat is as dry as bone. He returns not long after with a tray in hand. He settles it down on the table, revealing two glasses of iced tea and a plate of matcha tiramisu.

“Quit sulking,” he says. “You’re ugly when you sulk.”

With one hand, you flip him off. With the other, you use to grab one of the forks and dig into the dessert. Beomgyu mirrors your actions (minus the middle finger part), and grimaces after a spoonful lands in his mouth. “How are you eating this?” You hover a hand over your lips, pressing down a laugh. “It tastes like grass. Are you a cow? Is that it?”

Offended, you pull the plate closer to you. “Then why did you buy matcha if you’re just gonna insult it?”

“Because you like it.” Beomgyu reaches an arm over to get another bite, gags, then continues to try again. “Your tastebuds are really fucking weird. You should get them checked. I think they’re broken.”

You settle with an eye roll before taking a sip from the iced tea. This is odd. This feels like you’ve been transported back into time prior to your three-month long cold war. Choi Beomgyu is sitting in front of you and tapping on his phone laid on the table, and you’re sitting in front of him enjoying a nice piece of dessert he bought. There’s an odd cacophony inside your stomach— like butterflies and glass shards fluttering and cracking in a single enclosed space. 

“I heard you’ll be playing for the E-Sports Fest next week,” you mention, trying to dig a deeper hole into this crack that managed to resurface. Beomgyu gives you a weird, insinuating look in response. “Shut your face. I just keep hearing your name being mentioned. Heeseung is obsessed with you, I think.”

“Why are you asking?” he snorts, passing you a napkin. “You want to cheer for me?”

“Ew. Why would I?” you reply, blindly wiping at the corner of your mouth. “We’re not even from the same department.”

Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together, trained on the lower half of your face. “Tch. Then why even bring it up, you—”

Time stops. For some reason, Beomgyu has reached his arm over the table and is now touching your face, thumb pressed against the side of your lip with a napkin, the opposite side of where you were trying to wipe off. 

Your eyes meet. It gets warm.

“Sorry,” he coughs out, retracting his hand to wipe the green-dusted cream off his fingers. Now, you know all of Choi Beomgyu’s tells like the back of your hand— and he’s not hiding those blushing ears from anyone. You’ve caught him. You knew his son of a bitch act was gonna crumble at some point (no, you didn’t. You thought he was gonna stay mad at you forever so now your heart is racing in glee). “If you’re done, let’s go. Come pick up your mom’s containers from my place.”

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Right.”

“I washed them.”

“Congratulations.”

He sneers. “Get up. I’m leaving you.”

The one thing you regret about making the deal with Beomgyu is missing out the opportunity of taking advantage of him and the car his parents’ gifted for graduation. Seriously. Had you known he’d be driving a private vehicle to and from campus everyday, you might have never asked for that favor in the first place. Those three months worth of bus fares could’ve been spent on your daily doses of coffee instead.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds while pulling out of the driveway. You’re mildly impressed and your face isn’t hiding it, and neither is the bashful tint on the tips of his ears. “Quit staring, you weirdo.”

“You can be kind of cool after all.” You give him a thumbs up. He grunts, and now you’re on the road back to your apartment.

It’s a quiet drive— the hum of the engine filling the early evening silence. You steal a few glances here and there, sneaking a few peeks at a new side of your friend(?) that you’ve never witnessed before. Since when was he so good at driving? He’s got only one hand on the steering wheel. It’s weird, you think. You’ve known everything about him for as long as you can remember, and finding out something new for the first time in a while— and not being the first one to find out about it— is making odd twists and turns inside your gut.

When you reach the apartment building, it’s still quiet. And when you ride up the elevator all the way to your floor, walking up the space between both of your doors, silence still permeates the walls and it makes you wonder— has it ever been this quiet between you two? 

“I’ll go get the stuff. Stay here.”

You’re left behind with your messy thoughts in the hallway and before things can get even more tangled up, Beomgyu shows up again with the bright blue shopping bag you dropped off last week. “Tell the madam that her seasoned spinach is perfect as usual.” He returns the bag, a faint smile on his face.

“Go tell her that yourself,” you huff, retrieving it from him. “I’m pretty sure she calls you more often than she calls me.” The tupperwares and containers look clean. You should give him a treat for doing a good job.

“Your mother is constantly worried about her young, impressionable daughter taking her first steps of independence, but doesn’t want to be called overbearing by her only child, so she asks me about you instead.” Beomgyu’s tone is nagging. You shoot him a glare and he simply steps closer to jab a finger into your forehead. “You have no idea how hard it is to make up bullshit about what you’ve been up to. You owe me a lot, dipshit.”

You wince, smacking his hand away. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

The corners of his mouth twitch. His eyes leer away for a moment, and he lets out a huff of air through his nose. “Why? Do I know you?”

Oh god. Here he goes again.

“Why do you keep—” You stop, squeezing your eyes and taking in a deep inhale because for a moment there, you were just about to yell again. “Okay,” you restart. You should do something about your temper. “Okay. I apologize for troubling you, and I’ll tell her to quit bothering you, so—”

It was going well. It was going so well. Only if you had missed the very subtle, very irritating roll of his eyes upon your remark. 

“—so you should quit being an absolute dickhead too, asshole!”

Then maybe you could’ve lived in happy ignorance, and all your progress today wouldn’t have to restart.

“Oh, so I’m the asshole?” he scoffs, incredulous. “You’re the one who told me to distance myself. You’re the one who asked. I’m just doing what you told me to do. Why am I in the wrong?” Your throat tightens, a familiar choke the moment you try to swallow. 

“I never asked you to stop being friends with me, Beomgyu! I just—”

Asked you to keep our friendship hidden because I’m selfish. Because I’m insecure. Because I hate you just as much as you mean the world to me. 

But you can’t tell him any of these things, can’t you?

His disappointment is clear from the look on his face. Beomgyu lets his fingers rake through his hair with a sigh. “Just go home. Thanks for the food.”

There’s something twisting inside your stomach, churning at an uncomfortable pace. It’s gnawing and grating. You’re only able to pinpoint it when Beomgyu turns back to his apartment, prompted by the resounding click of his door lock.

Ah, you realize amid the silence of the now empty hallway. It’s guilt.

#3: YOU DON’T LIKE HOW MUCH OF YOUR IDENTITY HE’S STRIPPED AWAY. You know it’s not on purpose. You know he doesn’t know. But it’s something that’s plagued you until your last few weeks of high school— the time for last chances, and final opportunities. It’s for this reason that you can’t stand him the most.

(“Hey!”

It was an unfamiliar voice that called out your name from behind you in the hallway, so you ignored it assuming that maybe they were calling someone else. It gets repeated, and you stop in front of your locker to retrieve your shoes, paying no mind to it. You’re going home alone today because Beomgyu’s out with his guy friends. “We’re having dinner together at my house later! Don’t forget!” was the last thing he yelled at you before running off. An unconscious smile crawls onto your face at the thought of it.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and heard the same voice that’d been repeating your name. You spin around, and are a little surprised to see the group standing behind you. “Hi!” 

It was Haena, one of your classmates, and she was joined with two more of the girls from your class, and one that you didn’t quite recognize. 

“Oh, sorry,” you bowed a little. “I didn’t know I was the one you were calling. I wasn’t trying to ignore you, sorry.” Your surprise stemmed from the fact that you weren’t really close with Haena or her friends. Not that you were on bad terms. You greeted each other from time to time, but your friend circle really just consisted of Choi Beomgyu, your deskmate Chaeryeong, and Ryunjin from the broadcasting club.

“It’s alright,” she smiled. “Do you…maybe have any plans today?”

You pulled out your shoes from the locker and closed it tightly. “No, not really.”

“Great! There’s a new cafe that opened near the school. Wanna join us?”

Well. This was unexpected. You didn’t have any other plans besides the joint family dinner you had with the Choi’s, so going on a cafe detour wouldn’t hurt. Beomgyu was also out with his other friends right now. Who says you couldn’t do the same? “Sure,” you replied. “I’ll join.”

It was a cute, cat-themed cafe with the only disappointment being that there were no actual cats— just the cat-shaped whipped cream on your strawberry drink, and the cat-shaped tiramisu on your plate. Cats weren’t usually green or pink, but you digress.

The girls were friendly. Conversation ranged from the universities you’ll all be attending, the classes you’re all about to finish, sprinkled with topics on shopping and clothes and the names of the rest of your classmates here and there. You’d started to zone out after a good while, stirring the contents of your half-empty drink as you stared at the glass windows, tinted orange by the sunset sky.

Haena cleared her throat. “So,” she started. You turned your attention back to your companions, and your eyes widened a little when you were met with all their eyes on you. Haena pronounced your name. “I’ve always been curious about something.”

You blinked. “About what?”

She leaned closer, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you and Beomgyu dating?”

You nearly choked on the sweet, strawberry drink. “What? No!” 

“Really?” Seohyun nudged herself closer next to you on the seat.

“Everyone thinks you’re dating him,” said Bora. “You’re always together.”

“Ah, that’s ridiculous! I’m really not dating him!” Your face has started to warm up. Gosh, what was this? What kind of situation was this? A few of them weren’t convinced, you could tell. You pressed your lips together before breathing out, “We’ve known each other since we were like toddlers. There’s no way in hell I’d be dating him. I don’t know where you're getting all these assumptions from.”

There was a glint in Haena’s eyes that you didn’t fail to notice.

“So, you don’t have any feelings for him?” This was getting weird.

“No. No, I don’t.” And even if you did, what the hell would they be interrogating you about it?

Haena visibly brightened. “Really? Then can you set me up with him?”

You were dumbfounded.

“I’m— I’m sorry?”

Things started to click. Senior high school was almost over, and your classmates whom you’ve barely even shared a conversation with for the past three years, were taking their last chance to start something with their crushes, or some shit, under the guise of half-hearted friendliness. You’ve understood now— and you’re nothing less than offended.

“Actually, I’ve liked Beomgyu for a while now,” Haena bashfully admitted. Seohyun inserted that her friend has had a crush on him since the beginning of the year. “I thought there was something going on between the two of you so I never acted on it. But I’m so happy to hear that you two are just friends!”

You shouldn’t be annoyed. But you were. You were very annoyed.

“You’ll help me right?”

Needless to say, you went home that day with your cat tiramisu in a paper box as takeout. The next morning, the three girls greeted your classroom entrance with unabashed glares. You paid no mind and headed over to your seat at the back, where an out of place box of chocolate milk was gingerly resting on the table.

You were mildly suspicious that Choi Beomgyu was the one who put that there, so you held it in your hands with caution, examining the box closer when you took a seat. 

The alleged perpetrator suddenly showed up from behind you. Your head felt heavier. Beomgyu was resting his arms on the top of your head, leaning down all of his weight onto you. “Oh wow,” he started. “Looks like someone has a secret admirer.”

You elbowed him and he let out a sharp yelp. You could see Haena giving you dirty looks from afar. “Go back to your seat,” you scolded him. “Class is starting soon.” Beomgyu listens to you well, but not after messing up your hair even further and greeting Seungmin who had just walked in.

“Are we still going after class?”

Choi Beomgyu was always surrounded by people. This was something you noticed a few months into your second year of middle school. He was like a lamp, flocked by so many buzzing insects in the night— just like right now, his face barely visible from inside the crowd at the middle of the classroom where his seat was. Even your seating assignments placed him at the center. That’s just where he’s meant to be.

“Hey, did you and Haena get into a fight?” 

You looked up to see Chaeryeong barely arriving in time before the bell, pulling her seat back and plopping down right next to you.

“Don’t mind it.” You sunk your face into your arms on the desk, elbow grazing the still unopened chocolate milk on the line dividing yours and your friend’s desk. “Hey,” you let your face peek out a little from your makeshift cocoon. “From an outsider’s perspective...do Beomgyu and I give the impression that we’re, um, dating?”

She snorted. “Haven’t your parents arranged your marriage, already?”

“This is a serious question!”

Honestly, this has never crossed your mind. Not until Haena mentioned it yesterday. It took a while for things to click inside your brain, but if this misunderstanding was really not singular, then that would really explain why you have never received any confession, any valentine’s day chocolate, or love letter, or anything for the past three years of highschool. It was all Beomgyu’s fault. He’s been unknowingly sabotaging your love life and if you end up sad and dying alone, it’s all on him.

Well, I guess it’s not completely ruined. Your cheeks pressed against your arms, looking at the milk carton on your desk. 

When you got up to your desk the next morning, there was another milk carton on your table.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Seungmin hovering in front of your table. “What?”

“Not even a good morning? Beomgyu was right. You do have an attitude.” You rolled your eyes and stuffed the drink into your bag, and Seungmin decided to keep talking. “Anyway, where is he? You two usually arrive at the same time.”

“He slept through his alarm,” you replied. Then you furrowed your brows. “Why are you asking me? Couldn’t you just text him?”

“Well, it would be quicker to just ask you. Anyway, thanks.”

With that, he left. The bell rang, and your teacher arrived. You decide to save the drink until lunch time and when you got back to the classroom from the cafeteria, there was another snack on your table. For the next following days, you would find snacks suddenly spawning on your table. It was starting to get curious.

“Whoa. Holy crap. Someone might actually have a crush on you.”

It was now Friday, the end of the week, and you have accumulated a total of four milk boxes, three melon breads, and one pack of cookies all throughout. You and Beomgyu were staring down at the latest addition: a grape juice box and a packet of chocopie. He started muttering, “Does your admirer know that you snore when you—”

You gave him a kick. Beomgyu matched it with a harsh pull on your bag. He quickly ran away before you could retaliate, the rest of his body having already left, and his head peeking from the door to give you one last message.

“I’m going first! We have a raid in a while. What time is dinner later?”

“I’ll message you.”

“Alright,” he hummed. “See you. Text me if something comes up.”

This must be why people think you were dating. You were tired of it. When you were younger, people paid no mind to how much time and space you two were spending together— now that you’ve gotten a little older, maybe some things couldn’t be perceived as platonic forever.

But you don’t have any feelings for him, and neither does he for you. The only feeling you have for him is a penetrating sense of irritation. You mulled it over as you left the school building, clutching your bag straps as you walked. However, you paused upon seeing a familiar face standing at the edge of the entrance stairs. He looked like he was waiting for someone. 

“Oh! Um,” he suddenly exclaimed upon noticing your approaching presence. A cough stifled out from his throat, followed by a nervous smile. “Hi.”

It was Lim Jimin, one of your classmates and one of the boys that were usually rallying up every afternoon after class to the internet cafe with Beomgyu and Seungmin like a bunch of nerds. “Hey?” you greet back. “Didn’t you guys have a raid or something today? I think they already left.”

“No, I uh, I stayed behind,” he mumbled. “Can we talk for a bit?”

The chocolate milk carton he was holding had not gone unnoticed by you. Your narrowed eyes flitted over to his fidgeting fingers. His nerves were spilling right out. “Have you been the one leaving food on my desk?”

He flinched. “Yeah— well—” A smile curled on your lips. “Damn, this is a little embarrassing. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you hummed. “I enjoyed them. Thanks.”

There was a tinge of pink on his cheeks, a sheepish hand on the back of his neck and it looked as if he was running through a million thoughts in his head at once. “I’ve...I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he finally started after a moment’s silence. “Can you do me a favor?”

Your heart jumped. Holy shit. This is happening, this is actually happening. 

“Y—yeah?”

Your breath hitched inside your throat. Oh my god. You might actually end your curse of lovelessness today. Oh my fucking god.

“Can you convince Beomgyu to help me get to Platinum in League?”

What?

“I—I know this sounds dumb, and it’s kinda pathetic that I had to bribe you with snacks just to get to this— but he’s been refusing to help any of us because he leaves after like three games!” Jimin exclaimed, and, upon noticing the flat look on your face, quickly gathered himself back together. “Ahem. I thought…maybe you could convince him since you’re like, his girlfriend and all.”

Your brain was a loading screen. You blinked but saw nothing but red. Beomgyu goes home after three games because you guys eat dinner at six in the evening. Jimin was giving you food as a bribe. You were not getting a confession.

All at once, the blood rose to your face,

“W-wait— is that a yes? Are you gonna ask him—”

Your shame couldn’t keep you standing there like an idiot for any longer. Every hurried step you took was a testament of your misery, and you left behind in your wake a fucking wave of turmoil and embarrassment. Fuck, your cheeks were burning. Fuck, why did Beomgyu have to entertain that idea and muddled your brain.

“Oh, you’re home?” your mother greeted the moment you kicked open your apartment door and started stomping to your room. “Where’s Beomgyu? Why didn’t you come home toge—”

“Ugh!” you groaned. “Enough about him, please!”

Did you only exist as an extension of him? As a part of him? As Choi Beomgyu’s friend, girlfriend, whatever, as the girl who’s always been around him for the past seventeen years to the point where that was all you’re known for?

You were fucking sick of it.

Your mom was scolding you for yelling at her, but you were far into your emotions to stay behind and say sorry. Your bag was left on the living room floor, and you were once again stomping out of your apartment unit, only to bump your face into Choi Beomgyu. “Whoa,” he remarked, quickly grabbing onto your shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.” You shoved yourself off him.

“Someone’s cranky,” he mused, trailing behind you as you continued bulldozing down the hallway, down the stairs, out the building and on the dim and chalky path towards the playground. Beomgyu kept chattering. “What’s up? Why are you mad? Did you leave something behind in the classroom? Okay, you aren’t talking to me. That’s fine. I was gonna ask you what flowers you wanted for our graduation ceremony, but I guess I’ll just pick and choose whatever I—”

Smack!

You’ve spun around. You’ve got his face smacked in between your palms, promptly shutting him up. His eyes flew open, mouth firmly and tightly closed. “Can you stop talking for a second?” you guttered out.

Beomgyu stared at you, eyes still wide, then nodded once, still sandwiched between your palms. You bit down your bottom lip. Your ribcage was starting to squeeze in on itself. “Sorry,” you mumbled, arms falling back to your sides and you resumed your march towards the playground. 

He stayed silent for the rest of the time, following you on the see-saws and the both of you exchanged ups and downs for a few moments— quiet moments— until you were the one to break it.

“Hey, fuckface,” you called out,

“What do you want, dipshit?” he replied.

“Remember when I hauled your ass to the emergency room after you broke your leg at the skatepark in 9th grade?”)

YOUR MORNING STARTED OFF NICELY. It’s the first day back to uni after your one week break. You woke up before your alarm and had the time to make a really stir-fried rice meal for breakfast (your first breakfast in a week, mind you). Your clothes are fresh from the dryer, mascara unclumpy, and you arrive at the bus stop at the same time as your bus to campus arrives, right on the dot. 

Today is going great. That is until Heeseung shows up at the library after sending you a text that he’s on the way, and ruins everything with one, single statement.

“Did you sleep with Beomgyu the other night?”

The orange juice you’re drinking nearly dribbles out of your mouth.

“What the fuck?”

Your voice is louder than you thought. Heeseung shushes you and sits and pulls out the seat next to yours, ready to explain. “The guys from the coding club blew up the GC last night. A few of them saw you come out of his car and enter his apartment building together last Saturday. I think there were pictures.” Your mouth is agape. You’re speechless. “I didn’t tell them anything! Some of the guys were just around the neighborhood and happened to see you.”

Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no no.

“But, I guess...the blind date went well?”

God, fuck no.

Your worst nightmare has finally come crashing into reality.

“We live in the same building, get your mind out of the gutter!” you hiss, pulling him by the collar. Heeseung is very visibly terrified. You never wanted him to find out about your living situation in the first place because you know that he’d force you to hang out with them whenever he’s crashing at Beomgyu’s. You’re starting to regret hitting up a conversation with him during the orientation. These men are the banes of your existence. “Who is it? Who the fuck is spreading that stupid fucking rumor?”

“Please let go of me,” he squeaks out. You grunt, releasing the fabric of his shirt. He takes in a breath and fixes his clothes. “I’m not a snitch. Sorry.”

Heeseung is avoiding your eyes. He’s twiddling with the top button of his button up, nervously pressing together his lips. You run through the members of their “coding club” (it’s just a cover so they can play games in a cushy campus office). It doesn’t take long for you to come up with a name.

“Yang Jeongin.” Your friend’s panic tells you that you’re on the nail. 

“He only sent the photo!” he quickly exclaims. “He never said that you two were hooking up or anything! Please, spare him, please—”

So much for a perfect morning. It’s not even nine and you’re already fucking drained.

You let out a groan, massaging your temples and balancing yourself with your elbows on the study table. Heeseung is spewing out a million apologies and you’re not taking shit. “You’re not gonna go to our clubroom and destroy our computers, right?”

“Thanks for the idea.”

“You’re a demon,” he grumbles. “What’s the big deal, anyway? You yourself said you and Beomgyu didn’t fuck. But you two went home together and you haven’t complained about him yet. That means your date went really, really—”

“Can you please just quit it?!” 

That’s it. You’ve had enough. You shoot up from your seat, quickly gathering your things before you actually start throwing punches. “I’m sick and tired of hearing his name!” Heeseung gulps. He quickly scoots away to evade your haphazardly swinging bag. “Why the fuck do you all keep mentioning that piece of shit? It’s like everyone’s obsessed with him, it’s like everyone wants a chance to ride on his di—”

The words get cut off. Because when you turned around to make your leave, Choi Beomgyu was right there, behind you, and you bump into him and his blank face of terror.

“Oh.”

Yang Jeongin is also there, looking mildly scared of you.

But you’re more horrified than anyone in this hall.

Hiccup!

Your face flushes, searing hot and visibly enflamed.

“I, uh—” hiccup! “I’m about to leave anyway so you guys can—” hiccup! “—shit, fuck, fucking hell—”

You quickly swerve away, head down, but an arm swooshes over to barricade your exit path. There’s a water bottle in front of your heated face. Your line of sight follows towards the owner of the arm. Beomgyu is looking at you straight in the eye.

“Drink some water first.”

Hiccup!

Fuck, this is so embarrassing.

“Whoa. She’s so fast.”

The three boys watch your speedily retreating figure, pausing once or twice because of a hiccup, but your pace is still abnormally fast as you escape from the premises. There is no trace of you, save for the orange juice container you’d been drinking since earlier.

“There’s this tension between the two of you, you know.” Beomgyu turns his head to Heeseung who made the observation, a single eyebrow raised. “Do you two really live in the same building, or is she just making up an excuse? Seriously. Tell me how it went with you two. I was the one who set you up. I think I have the right to know.”

Beomgyu holds back a snort. He leans closer to Heeseung, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “You wanna know?”

Heeseung’s eyes sparkle. “Dude, I’m dying of curiosi—”

Smack!

“That’s none of your business.”

Beomgyu swipes the juice box from the table and promptly leaves the library despite the protests of his two friends. Out in the hallway, he doubts he could catch up to you after running away like a white collar convict, but who knows? He might get lucky— just like last Saturday.

“Hey, dude, wait up!”

An arm is hooked around his neck, and he gets pulled down with a grunt. He might be unable to catch up to you, but his friends definitely can with him. Now all his chances are gone, slipping out of his fingers like the juice container that he drops when caught between Heeseung and Jeongin shoving each other around, and it’s now completely lost upon the arrival of the people from his major.

“Hey, classes are canceled.”

“What are we having for lunch?”

“Are we having a practice run later for the festival?”

“Wait, I have to update my story— hey, look at the camera!”

They talk, but it’s all white noise. He gets carried off by static for the rest of the day. He hopes to bump into you when he gets home, but Beomgyu doesn’t even know what time you usually get home.

All the years you’ve spent mastering the perfect bitch face have finally come to fruition when you visited the programming club during lunch to make sure none of the bullshit they’re speculated escapes their clubroom doors. They all apologized— apparently Beomgyu also told them to quit their gossiping. 

However not even fear can stop an inherently stupid man. Because the next day, Minjeong suddenly tells you, “hey, I didn’t know you and Choi Beomgyu were a thing!”

Now, which rat managed to slip through the door crack?

“No, we’re not,” you scrunch your nose. “Where did you get that from?”

From a friend of a friend of a friend, she says. Sungchan asked you the same thing earlier. So did some guy from one class whom you don’t even know the name of. Your head is hurting. Crap that blind date was a stupid fucking idea. Seriously, why does no one know how to mind their own business? What is it about Choi Beomgyu that people just can’t keep his name out of their mouths? He’s not even a celebrity. He’s just a freshman with a pretty face and the social skills of an annoyingly loud butterfly.

“I’m going home,” you tell her.

“Why? I thought we were having barbecue with the rest of the guys!”

Not when you’re sure you’re gonna be barraged by another slew of questions about your dumb childhood friend. You bid Minjeong goodbye and exit the campus, hopping on the bus back to your apartment with a dead set agenda in mind. You’re going to fix this. You’r gonna bring things back to normal once and for all. So when you arrive at your floor, you don’t make a left like you usually do— you turn to your right and make three hard knocks on the sturdy door.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Choi Beomgyu.”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Beomgyu, are you ho—”

It gets opened sooner than you’re used to.

“Listen. We need to talk,” you quickly start, ignoring the surprise on his face upon seeing you, ignoring the way he almost shuts the door again right into your face. You hold back a scoff, but a sneer manages to sneak out. “Things have gotten messy since last Saturday. You should’ve kept your clubmates in check. What’s the point of acting like we’re strangers when people I don’t know keep asking me if I’m your fucking girlfriend, and Lee Heeseung keeps badgering me about what’s going on between us, and— oh my fucking god. Heeseung is right there.”

Beomgyu’s body is shielding you from the view of his living room. It’s not doing a good job because Heeseung waves at you from inside. Jeongin is there too. You can’t do this anymore. You’re cursed. You’re cursed with a plague called Choi Beomgyu and his ten million friends.

Your shaking eyes flit over back to Beomgyu. He looks panicked. Your heart is threatening to jump out of your throat and shrivel up like a pathetic dried grape.

“Fuck.”

At this point, running away feels like muscle memory to you now.

“Wait, I— hold on. I’ll be back,” you hear him say right before the door clicks and there’s another pair of pattering footsteps down the hallway right behind yours. The rhythm is familiar— a lag by one step, catching up, then slowing down as if he doesn’t want to overtake you all while you bulldoze through the hallway until you reach the flight of stairs, down three floors, and you’re met with the cold wind of the outside.

It’s only now that you realize your lungs are shaking.

“Hey—”

You smack away his attempt to settle a hand on your shoulder, but you’re far too embarrassed to look up and look him in the eye. Your face is burning. It’s been burnt so many times within the span of two weeks and it’s a miracle it hasn’t been charred. “Go away. Go back upstairs,” you sniffle. All you can see is the cement ground and the worn out slippers on his feet.

He stifles out something sort of a sigh. “No.” There’s a tug on the hem of your shirt. You wobble forward. Beomgyu holds onto your arms. You finally snap your head up and see his face. “You said we needed to talk. Let’s talk.”

It’s a little pathetic how you’re so near to breaking into tears. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to.”

“Is that really what you should be saying after completely screwing yourself over?”

“Shut up.” All the strength you had in your legs has been stripped away. Beomgyu is tugging your limp body to your complex’s gazebo with ease. “How could I have known your friends would be there?” you drawl out, allowing yourself to be dragged under its overhead roof.

He settles you down onto the stairs. “Isn’t Heeseung your friend too?”

“Not anymore.” You plop down on the wood, shoulders slacked, legs outstretched. Beomgyu is standing before you with his arms crossed. “From now on, he is nothing to me.”

There’s a frown on his face. “You should’ve called before deciding to blow up like that. I did my best. You’re the one that ruined your whole stranger agenda.”

“Fuck off, I’m still trying to cope.”

You kick out your foot like a child throwing a tantrum, and Beomgyu definitely doesn’t look impressed. He walks up, signaling you to scoot over, and squeezes right next to you on the narrow stair step of the gazebo. 

Shoulders pressed together, he leans slightly forward, elbows on his lap, and all you can see is the side of his face as you incline backwards so you don’t suffocate from the sudden tightness of air. “Am I like, too lame for you, or something,” he suddenly says. You blink once, failing to comprehend his words the first time. When he cocks his head back, you see the look in his eyes— earnest and raw.

You can’t help but crack out a snort.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” you sputter out. Your plaster your hands over your face, trying to suppress your misplaced chimes. “I just didn’t think you could make that kind of face. Wow, you can be serious too, huh?”

“You’re laughing,” he deadpans. “I’m trying to be serious here and you’re laughing.”

“I said I was sorry! Okay, let’s try again, let’s try again.” You clear your throat, sitting up straight and patting your palms on your lap, but something keeps tugging on the corners of your mouth and it’s hard to sit still. “No, you are not ‘too lame’ for me, Beomgyu. Where did that even come from?”

His expression bitters, unconvinced. “Then are you ashamed of me?”

“No.”

“Did I do anything abhorrently wrong?”

“What? No—”

“Am I not cool enough to be considered your friend?”

“Beomgyu, what are you talking about?” It was funny the first time, but now you’re just concerned. “Would I have stuck around your ass for almost twenty years if I thought any of that? Things haven’t been the best between us lately, but I still think we’re friends, Beomgyu, I—”

There’s a crack in your voice. Your face flushes. He’s looking at you so intently that you instinctively drop your head down before prying out the words that’s been lingering in your throat for months overdue.

“I…I hope we still are,” you mutter. “I really do.”

“Then why did you want to act like we’re not?” 

There it is.

“I didn’t want to keep it up for a long time!” you reason. “I just— I just wanted to keep my distance until I’ve adjusted to uni and until I’ve made a few friends of my own because for most of my life, I’ve only been known as the girl who’s always around you and nothing else.”

It takes a gnaw at your pride to be finally saying this out loud. It’s a bitter taste on your tongue— ugly and unpalatable and you’re glad that you won’t ever have to swallow it ever again. 

When you look up, you see Beomgyu make another new face you never expected from him.

“I doubt you noticed how people would only approach me because of you, but I really don’t blame you for anything. It was an unreasonable request and you had every right to be mad. I might have taken it back had we stayed around on the playground for a little longer.” You take a pause. “But then you started acting like a dick to me so I decided to be a dick to you too.”

You expect him to bite back but he doesn’t and it worries you. Shit, maybe you’ve unhauled too much. Maybe this wasn’t the right time be all vulnerable and crap but Beomgyu isn’t telling you you’re a big fucking idiot, so maybe it’s fine.

Instead, he stays quiet for a little longer, your words simmering in the air. 

“I wasn’t just angry. I was hurt,” he finally says. “Like you said, you’ve been with me for all my life and you suddenly tell me to reverse all of that. How the fuck did you expect me to act like you’re nobody when we both know that at this point I can’t live without you.”

Oh.

“Shit.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t mean— I didn’t want to say—” He’s covering the bottom half of his face with his fist. He’s turning his head away as much as he can but you can still see enough to notice. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that. Forget about it.”

You lean closer. “Beomgyu, are you crying?”

“No. Fuck off.”

His right shoulder is serving as his shield as you try to dig your nose further, completely turning away from you, but you don’t miss it. You can’t miss it. “Oh my god, you’re crying.” Beomgyu leers back at you ever the slightest. There’s red tinting his eyes. You expect him to scurry off back into the building after that— but, no. Instead, pulls you by the forearm, and lets his head fall onto your shoulder, his forehead pressed firmly down. 

“Eat shit and die,” he mutters in between sniffles. After your initial surprise, you lift up the arm he isn’t grabbing onto to give him a few pats on the back, circles over his shoulder blades, and you stay like that for a while, for maybe too long because the sky is now darker than when you first went outside.

“Beomgyu,” you start.

“What do you want?” he muffles, as if he isn’t still draped over you like an oversized rag.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was selfish and inconsiderate.”

You hear him sniffle again. Heeseung wouldn’t believe you if you tell him Choi Beomgyu is actually a big baby. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize the way other people were treating you,” he says. “I can’t help being such a cool guy that you get overshadowed, you know. So I’m not sorry for that— ow! Ow, what the heck!”

You pry him off by the hair. You’re sure a few strands got plucked off, but a realization you didn’t expect to glean from this was the fact that his stupid shaggy hair is actually really soft. “I think this is enough. We should head back.”

In spite of his complaining, Beomgyu trails behind you when you stand up and dust yourself before making your way back inside. It’s still quiet, save for the hisses and grunts and swears whenever Beomgyu would step on your shoes, whenever he’d bump into you and feign innocence, whenever he’d get on your nerves immediately after just reconciling with you. 

It’s annoying. It’s annoying and it’s better than everything that’s been these past three months.

“Are you twelve?” you shoot him a glare, ready to punch in your door code before you get the urge to punch him instead.

“Come inside,” he tells you, nosing at his side of the apartment. “Let’s watch a movie.”

You raise a brow and cross your arms. “All of a sudden?”

“Yeah.” He mimics your pose. “Got a problem with that?”

You roll your eyes, but somehow you’re now a few steps away from your front door, and are now a few steps closer to his. “I do have a problem with it. Your fucking friends are in there.”

“I’ll deal with them.”

“Wow,” you snort. “So reliable.”

Still, you follow. Beomgyu twists his door knob and you’re suddenly nervous for the possible bullshit Heeseung would barrage you about your relationship with Beomgyu, but that doesn’t happen. The moment Beomgyu cracks open the door, his voice bounces around the inside of his apartment’s walls. “Anyone who doesn’t leave after the count of five will be banned from my apartment forever. Five. Four—”

Holy crap. You’re more surprised to see it actually work because Heeseung and Jeongin who’d been laying on the floor and tinkering with their playstation controllers have suddenly catapulted from the ground. “Wait, what about her?!” Heeseung protests as he’s being shoved by Jeongin out the door.

“She’s exempted,” Beomgyu responds. “Three. Two—”

“Whatever’s going on between you two, I take credit! You better spill the beans tomorrow. I can’t stand—”

“One.” 

With that, the door is shut.

Quiet washes over. Beomgyu turns to face you. “Good?” he asks. You give him a pat on the head.

“Good.” He’s like a puppy, you think, and retract your arm before spinning around to look around his living space. “What are we watching?”

It’s your first time inside, and the first thing you notice is how freaking dark it is inside his apartment. The windows are covered by blackout curtains, the television’s blue light and the light bulb from the kitchen island being the only light sources inside. You take the liberty to plop down on the floor in front of the sofa, further welcoming yourself to turn off the game the two were playing to scroll through Netflix.

“Remember the movie we got in trouble for watching?” Beomgyu rouses. He’s in the kitchen and cracking open the cupboards. “It was in eighth grade, I think.”

“The one that our parents thought was porn?” you question. Anyone would have thought it was porn with the word Bodies and the 18+ label on the CD case. “I don’t really recall the plot.”

“Me neither. All I can remember were your pissbaby screams.” 

“I was fourteen!”

He throws you a bag of chips and settles down right next to you. “Yeah, and so was I. Gimme the remote, scaredy cat.”

This guy is a perpetual test on your patience, but you continue to let him test you anyway. Before long, the television is shrouded by the familiar graphic imagery that scared you shitless early into your teenhood, and Beomgyu’s warmth is seeping into your side. His face is outlined by the bright red douses onscreen, melting into the contours of his face. “What are you looking at?” he asks, eyes absentmindedly still on the screen, hand mechanically digging into the bag of chips resting on your lap. “Don’t tell me you’re still scared? Wow, what a baby.”

“Coming from you? Your eyes are still red, Beomgyu. Your big baby tears have stained my shirt.” You swat his hand away. A creak rips out from the speakers. “Maybe you’re the one acting all tough.” Suspenseful music builds up. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your friends and fans that the great Choi Beomgyu is actually— eek!”

There’s a jumpscare. And Beomgyu is laughing his ass off as you unbury your face from his shoulders, ungripping the wrinkled fabric of his shirt with a sharp glare and flushed cheeks. “Not a single word from your whore mouth,” you warn. He’s grinning like crazy as he looks down at you. 

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Neither have you,” you sneer, trying to play off how you flinched at the sudden loud noise from the screen, but he’s probably noticed. How could he not notice every jitter from your bones when your legs are practically tangled together, when he keeps reaching out an arm over you to steal from the chip bag you keep nestled on your side away from him. 

The next moments are filled with nothing but the noise of guts ripping, limps splattering, and blood-curdling screams. 

“Can we watch something else?!”

“No way. Quit being lame and suck it up.”

Yet— in spite of the jumps and squirms and suppressed squeaks from your person— you haven’t felt this comfortable in months.

YOU DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. You don’t like how much of your time he’s wasted. You don’t like how much of your pride he’s forced you to swallow. You don’t like how much of your identity he’s inadvertently stripped away.

You don’t like him for all those things, but here you are— dressed in his department’s colors, carrying a sign with his stupid face printed on, and waiting for the past thirty god damned minutes because he was supposed to be here ages ago for the stupid fucking E-Sports Fest that you’re not even remotely interested in.

If you don’t show up in five, I’m going home, you angrily mash on your phone. You’re risking it all here. If Heeseung sees you in this traitor outfit, he’s going to give you the silent treatment for a week. The bastard still owes you two more weeks of lunch to repent. You can’t lose the upper hand. You can’t lose your leverage.

Your phone buzzes. Had to piss. Be there in a bit, his reply says.

“I don’t need to be informed about your bladder activities, you freak,” you grumble to yourself. Your bright orange ensemble has been catching unwanted attention. That or his face on your sign. Any minute longer, you’re going to bury yourself alive.

“Excuse me.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and see an unfamiliar face. He’s wearing the same shirt color as you. “Are— are you friends with Choi Beomgyu?” he asks. The bastard has collected another fanboy. You feel a throb in the side of your head.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fucking friends with Choi Beomgyu. What about it? What do you want?”

“Whoa, there.” 

The said bastard swoops in and swings an arm over your shoulder and presses you to his side. “Sorry about that,” he tells the guy. Your sneer deepens. Beomgyu gives you a subtle pinch on the arm. “My friend is just grumpy because we lost a game to the engineering department earlier. Anyway, how can I help you?”

Orange number two wanted to ask for a picture with him because he was so cool in the Sudden Attack match earlier. Beomgyu excuses himself for a moment and they take a quick photo. “Tangerines are supposed to look pretty, you know,” your stupid friend announces once he gets back to you. You start making your way to the venue for his next match. It’s in a closed classroom. There’s a projector screen outside to livestream it. “Quit scowling. You’re scaring the kids.”

“That’s the plan,” you tell him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“If you keep acting like that, I might get the wrong idea,” he says. You look at him. There’s a subtle smile on his face and you don’t like it. “It’s like you only want me for yourse— ow! Joking! Joke— it was a joke! Jeez.”

“Go win, or whatever.” You shove him off seeing that you’ve arrived. It’s already pretty crowded. You’re scanning the area for a good spot to squeeze into.

“I better be hearing your cheers from inside the classroom.”

“Don’t bet on it,” you send him off with a smile. “If you lose, I’m unfriending you.”

“Not the first time you’d be doing it.”

“Fuck off. Good luck.”

He nods with a salute and an expression that mirrors yours before disappearing off into the classroom, and you’re left with two dozen bodies uncomfortably wedged in the hallway just to watch him play a game you don’t even know the god damned rules for. 

You don’t like Beomgyu. His face is something you’re sick of seeing after nearly twenty years of being stuck with him.

You don’t like him. Not even when he seems to always pick you despite having a million other options. Not even when he single-mindedly bulldozes straight into you despite having a whole army cheering for him on the sides after he’s won another game for his department, waiting for your praise and the usual swears you spit on his face with a bright smile.

“Congrats, fuckface,” you say, receiving him in your arms as he engulfs you in a tight hug. You give him a few pats on the back for good measure.

“You’re treating me to dinner, dipshit,” he grins, pulling away, but keeping a hold of your shoulders.

“Spoiled brat,” you sneer.

You don’t like him. He keeps buzzing around you like an immortal mosquito that just doesn’t die even after being swatted away tens of thousands of times. 

“Only to you,” he hums, looping an arm around your neck and starting dragging you along forward. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

You don’t like Choi Beomgyu. 

“Where do you wanna eat?”

You don’t. You really don’t.

모기 / MOGI. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[doigtsderose]

c. beomgyu 𓂃 skatepark ! ៹ fluff , friends2lvrs , hs au , written , synopsis : what seemed like an innocent hangout led to the confession of the true feelings which laid within , part of the ( love tower ! ) series © xellino

‘skatepark,’ he announced, slamming his hands on your desk, which gave way to a bang resonating throughout the bricked confines of the classroom. no matter how loud he was, the possibility of him receiving a dirty glance was practically non-existent. it was high-school, after all. 

though his previous act was solely meant to startle you, you weren’t surprised. not even a little. in fact, you were quite used to beomgyu’s various expressive gestures. the lack of words in his announcement didn’t pose any casualty for you, you knew exactly what he was saying. 

‘i thought you didn’t know how to skate,’ you started, closing your notebook shut to look up at him, only for your words to be cut short upon looking into his eyes. through the wide windows lining a single side of the classroom, the afternoon light peered in, illuminating the room in warmth. it also shone perfectly on his brown irises, to the point you had to question whether the placement of the light-rays was just a coincidence. 

‘i don’t. but, it’s ok, we’ll learn together,’ he assured, his self confidence practically radiating. you were quite close to giving in and accepting his invitation, but logic got the better of you, clearing your throat and shaking your head. 

‘an elephant on a tightrope would have better balance than me. give it up, ‘gyu,’ you reasoned, to which he outstretched his arms with a grin. 

‘i’ll catch you if you fall. i mean, i'll try? but don't be scared!’ 

you laughed, but for the wrong reasons. you liked how ironic it sounded. how was he supposed to catch you, prevent you from falling, when you had already fallen? fallen far too deep, and for the longest time ever.

so many times, you'd wished to blurt your true feelings out and hear something similar in return, but how could you ever know if the interaction was to end positively, or end the way you wanted it to end? maybe this thought of yours was meant to remain forever unanswered, and the gnawing sensation of curiosity would while away after you'd grow older (or, so you hoped).

'i guess that means a "yes", right?,' he said, which snapped you back to reality, and you nodded slowly. if he was going to catch you, if he had confirmed that he was responsible for your safety, you didn't see any reason to deny. also, because he looked too good to turn down, but whatever.

'yeah, ok. why not?'

the wind gently whipped against your cheeks, it was almost as if you could taste the cold air. the thick sweater you had on really wasn't helping you stay warm, you could feel the icy breeze travelling up your back to the tips of your nose. you knew it was a bad idea to go skateboarding during november, especially during the evening, but you were the idiot for accepting his offer.

'yn,' he called, and you looked up towards him. he was gliding beside you, but there was a considerable amount of gap between you both.

'hm?'

'you know i like you, right?'

'huh?'

'i mean, it was obvious, yeah? i just didn't know how to say it. i'm never holding bad feelings against you if you don't feel that way, but something in me just .. just couldn't wait any longer, y'know? it was screaming to burst out,' he rambled, his feet hitting the concrete as he pushed to propel himself further on.

'—and i know, i've been acting so.. so off recently, and just not like how i usually am, you know? i think it's because i've been thinking about you? like, "do i like yn as a friend" or, "do i like her as something more, much more, than being just friends?". right now, i don't know how to act around you, and-'

before you knew it, you were running. the sound of your shoes made him turn around, his one foot firmly planted on the ground and the other perched on the board. upon seeing him face towards you, you'd basically thrown yourself into his arms, your hands wrapping around his torso. the impact of both your bodies being flung into each other's made him exhale sharply and stagger off his board, but his hands instantly found themselves around your waist, keeping your safety as his first priority.

you didn't know how long you both stood in each other's embrace. it felt like hours (it was barely a minute, really), plus, your heart beating wildly against your ribcage wasn't helping you calm down, either. for a moment, you regretted throwing yourself onto him like a crazed maniac, but if he truly liked you, he wouldn't give a shit, and you knew that very well.

'jumping into my arms is a nice way to say, "i like you too, 'gyu. we should totally date". and what's this, then?,' he teased, breaking the silence effectively. your grip around his torso gently increased, your face smushing more against his chest. from the corner of your eye, you could notice the orange rays of the setting sun, pouring over each crook and cranny of the various hills and cement-covered ramps.

'you smell nice,' you slowly said, your words coming out muffled. it was the truth; he did smell nice. you couldn't place a finger on his scent, but you knew it wasn't something utterly basic, like axe body spray (even though it did have hints of it). if you analyzed it further, it smelled like the salty whiff of the sea, a cup of coffee, the well-pressed pages of a new book, a batch of fresh laundry – like home, you realized.

'i mean, i do take a bath everyday, unlike you.'

'shut the hell up.'

[doigtsderose]

drunken words, sober thoughts

pairing. — CHOI BEOMGYU x gn! reader genre. — idk angst ? warnings. — mention of alcohol, hope that's all wc. — 451 words.

note — first time posting on tumblr, i'm lit so lost TT, also english isn't my first language so i hope there's no mistakes or stuff!! might (prob will) expand from that cause it's originally part of a longer fic i wrote in french, also srry title is so bad :(

Maybe it was the alcohol in your throat and hand, maybe the weight of it on your shoulders had become too much to bear. Maybe you just wanted to say something that could have been funny because he was making you laugh so much.

The words bubble in your throat, burn your tongue and escape through your lips before you can even think about wether it was a good idea. « You know, it’s funny, I used to have a crush on you back then. Like a year ago, when we were… » 

« closer ? » Beomgyu finishes for you and you nods. You don’t mean it’s funny to have a crush on him because it would be inherently weird. Anyone would have a crush on Choi Beomgyu. It’s just he’s so…  and you’re just you. 

You used to have a crush on him, a stupid crush that you’ve since gotten over. Right ? You were just a kid, a silly girl not believing she could be friend with someone she used to admire so much. 

Truth is, you don’t think you ever really got over it. How else would you explain the way your heart aches and flutters at the same time whenever he’s near. You kept dreaming of him long after you told yourself to stop pinning after him. It’s just that… It’s a lost cause. There’s no chance you could ever end up with him.

« I… I pretty much figured that » he adds, taking another swing of his drink, his gaze evading yours.

Suddenly your drunken confession feels less funny and more humiliating. What does he mean he figured it already ? Were so obvious ? Did you make him uncomfortable ? You part your lips to apologize, but it would make it even more awkward right ? 

God, that’s so you to turn a fun evening sharing drinks with a friend and celebrating into something awkward. The silence is almost deafening as he keeps avoiding looking at you, a pout forming on his face, as if debating speaking again or not.

« Me too. » 

You’re so in your head you don’t even register his words at first. His big eyes you used to drown in search your face, his face tilting ever so slightly in your direction. His hand, warm and big rest on your thigh.

« You too what ? » you chuckle a bit, fearing understanding. 

« I kinda liked you too. Back then. »

Oh. That must explain the signs you thought you were making up. The longing looks, the shared laughs, hands always brushing against each other et so peculiar way he had of draping one arm around your shoulders and pinch your cheeks.

Maybe you weren’t so delusional. 

But it’s too late now. He liked you. Past tense. He doesn’t anymore. 

[doigtsderose]

i just have to kick this sfw blog off with a goodie :>

TXT and the types of cuddles they’d give.

personally I believe beomgyu and soobin like being little spoon

yeonjun just wants to hold you, as long as you’re in his arms he doesn’t care.

Taehyun likes having your head on his chest so he can play with your hair

and kai likes to be completely wrapped up with you, plushies fallen off the bed and your legs all curled together as you hold each other and watch a romcom :(

😭😭 i cry i cry!! 😭😭

txt and the cuddles they’d give ₊ ⊹

warnings! none, just tooth rotting fluff! talk about fem!reader, mentions of butts and boobs lol

yeonjun ꒰১ ໒꒱

he’s so clingy and soft please give him love

will pout and whine like a baby until you hold him!!

likes face-to-face cuddling, so he can kiss all over your face and stare at you w eyes full of love TT (ex: honeymoon hug)

will 100% lay on top of you w all of his weight, squishing you and not letting you up

loves it when you sit in his lap <3

soobin ꒰১ ໒꒱

loves cuddling on the couch >< laying back with you tucked into his side

make him the little spoon!!! wrap your arms and legs around his middle like a koala,, he’d be so endeared TT

cuddling makes him so sleepy!! it wont take long until you hear him snoring in your ear

would like to lay on your chest, esp if you have boobies heehe >< he’d love using you like a pillow!

HOLD HIS HAND!!!!!! I CANT STRESS THIS ENOUGH!!!

beomgyu ꒰১ ໒꒱

likes laying on the couch or the bed with his head in your lap! please please play with his long hair he’d love it so much

 he’d love to wrap his arms around you from behind when your up and about, rest his chin on your shoulder or the top of your head :’(

you’re so right about little spoon gyu TT he’d love you to be his lil backpack!! he’d also love you to sit in between his legs when he’s sitting around, lean back on his chest so he can stick his face in your hair

when beom’s the big spoon,, he’s so warm and cuddly n makes you feel so small ;(

he’s also so demanding for cuddles n love heehee whines until you let him love you

taehyun ꒰১ ໒꒱

i really do see him as being the least touchy out of all of them? i don’t mean he wouldn’t ever cuddle; i just think he’d do it in less touchy ways

like locking legs or touching sides/backs when you sit or lay together, have you prop your feet up on his lap

he’d just want to be near you!!!

oh he’d love you laying on his chest!!! petting your hair while you listen to his heartbeat.. :’(

would like holding your waist or your shoulders all of the time!! just small touches and close proximity are what does it for him

hueningkai ꒰১ ໒꒱

the cuddle king himself.. he’d love to lay perpendicular to you with his head on your tummy or booty lol 🤭

certified big spoon!!! he’d just want to wrap himself entirely around you!! just completely engulfed by him :(

would love you laying on his chest too!!! he would find the weight on him so comforting

he’d just love to be your pillow!!! come and love him TT

you two could cuddle for hours and hours, and by the time you have to get up you can’t tell where you end and huening begins ><

ty for this meal cici… soft txt is soft

[doigtsderose]

telepathy (m) — cbg

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok???)

wc: 11.7k

synopsis: most people would abhor a packed subway car — but beomgyu, telepathist extraordinaire, relishes in it. with a career in the funeral business, he finds his morning commute to be the only thing that keeps him relatively sane. reading the mundane thoughts of mundane people maintains his tether to his humanity, but when he goes to read your mind...oh, things get a whole lot more interesting.

warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, ageless blogs dni!!!, mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), gyu's honestly a little strange + obsessive in this...anyways, dom!gyu, sub!mc, solo male masturbation, on my big cock beomgyu agenda, very brief mentions of daddy/sir/master kinks, explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way (it will all make sense, trust 🙏), degradation, praise, pseudo-fingering (idk how to explain it, f receiving), gyu calls mc: pretty girl, sweetheart, slut, whore, princess, mc calls gyu sir like once...whew! that was a lot, lmk if i should add anything!

note: you know i have a terrible bout of brainrot when the warnings are all nsfw related...yeah. Yeah. *presses post and runs away*

☆ playlist ☆

masterlist

beomgyu’s commute to work is, by all means, uneventful. 

the train is packed as per usual, filled to the brim with businessmen and office workers and other miscellaneous passengers on their way to whatever the hell their destination is. like most days, he finds himself towards the middle of the passenger car, snatching a rare open seat between a stone-faced man adorned in a suit — his head buried in a newspaper — and a slumped over college student nursing a cup of coffee. the poor kid almost looks like death itself, sporting dark under eyes, rumpled clothes, and a prominent slouch to his spine. not that beomgyu could really blame him; he remembers how easily college living (if you could call it living) can chip away at a person’s mental well-being. 

people-watching like this is what keeps him sane, he thinks. being surrounded by corpses all day, every day is more than draining — it sucks the soul out of him, really, being the only person on shift most of the time that he’s working, having to embalm and clean and pretty up all those cold, gray bodies so that their loved ones can say one last goodbye. it’s quiet in their minds and it’s all too quiet in the funeral home, the only sounds being the clanking of the embalming tools he’s been trained to use, his footsteps echoing down the tiled halls, his sighs of contempt when something small goes wrong — yet the living, breathing, warm people on the train provide a sense of normalcy, something to look forward to every day. to hear their thoughts, as prosaic as they are, has become a sort of saving grace from the lifeless, cold building that he finds himself in five out of the seven days of the week. honestly, if he can maintain a little bit of his humanity via strangers among the subway, even if it’s just by hearing their thoughts, then he’ll take what he can get. 

yeah, that’s the thing: beomgyu is a mind-reader, a pretty talented one at that. not that anyone knew, of course — he wouldn’t risk the government finding out. beomgyu is not usually one for promises, but he has promised himself one thing: there’s no way in hell that he will ever become one of the government’s sick little science experiments, even if his life ever hits rock bottom. he has no idea how his powers work — just that they do, and he would like to keep it that way. it’s bad enough that he doesn’t know where he got such abilities; his parents never mentioned anything about it and only ever grew worried whenever he read back their thoughts to them, so obviously the existence of his powers is some statistical anomaly in the universe. normal people can’t read others’ minds. he was forced to learn that at a very young age in order to keep himself safe. 

“how do you know that?” he remembers his mother’s alarmed tone when he first did it unknowingly, repeating back her own thoughts to her without realizing that’s what he had done. he was maybe six at the time — innocent, curious, plagued by voices in his head that he didn’t quite understand. those voices weren’t his. rather, they were his friends’, his family’s, his dentist’s and his doctor’s and his soccer coach’s voices that ricocheted about his mind uncontrollably;it was overwhelming for the young boy’s mind. the day he first admitted that he could hear them was the first day he heard his parents argue, their yelling from downstairs colliding with their internal voices in beomgyu’s mind, their terribly poignant concern for him and this development louder than any of the venomous words that they spat at each other in the living room. all he remembers from that day was himself crying, unable to block out anything that they thought, let alone his own thoughts. too much for his young mind to handle.

he heard their fear when they took him to the doctor for the first time of many, their heartache when the doctor came back and said that he might have psychosis, but more testing was needed. he heard how they started to deny it — their little boy couldn’t have that, could he? no, no he couldn’t. there’s no way he could. 

although beomgyu was young at the time, guilt ate at him. he was the one hurting his parents, he was the one making them worry. despite his official diagnosis when he was seven, something inside him knew that the doctors were wrong. those voices weren’t just the result of the machinations of his mind at work — they were voices of the people he knew, strangers who passed him on the street. what they said wasn’t evil, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. usually, it was quite mundane. at some point, he started to practice with it, trying focus on one certain voice out of the buzzing hive in his mind, blocking out the others, switching and focusing and blocking out until the action was as natural as breathing. it took him about five years before he reached that point, and after nearly two decades of living with his abilities, he’s gotten quite used to it. his mind is usually quiet — besides his own stream of consciousness — unless he allows others in. or, rather, they allow him in, which they always do. he sees it like a set of doors; open one, and you can hear that one person’s thoughts. close it, and he no longer hears them. and none of them are ever locked since no one expects to their thoughts to be read, which simply makes his life that much easier.

if he’s being honest, he didn’t used to read minds as often as he does now, but there isn’t much he can do about that now lest he go insane. beomgyu could admit that his habit was a little creepy…okay scratch that, extremely fucking creepy. these people had no idea that their minds were being infiltrated, their mental walls bypassed and their privacy violated like a computer infected with a malicious virus. it’s borderline depraved, how nonchalantly he robs these strangers of their utmost privacy, sometimes of their deepest, darkest secrets that they would never want anyone to find out about. he could sequester quite a bit of money out of some of these people, now that he thinks about it.

and sure, that may sound immoral, but beomgyu has never considered himself to be of particularly virtuous character.

without a second thought, beomgyu taps into the mind of the kid next to him. he’s thinking about how he’s failing his statistics class because he just bombed his midterm. no, now his mind is full of what he’s going to eat after his 8 a.m. class. he shifts his focus on the businessman to his right. stocks, his cheating wife, how he’s considering leaving with his mistress in the coming days…

”what a prick,” beomgyu thinks to himself, smirking a bit. just a few more stops until he gets off, now. 

he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling aimlessly just to keep his eyes busy. sitting on the opposite side of the college student, an elderly lady walks herself through the stew that she’s going to make for her grandchildren tonight, excitement coloring her words. it’s cute — he loves hearing things like that. wholesome thoughts are not easy to come by nowadays, given the state of the world. exhibit a: a teenager standing on the other side of the train car worries himself into a frenzy over whether the girl that he has a crush on likes him back. exhibit b: a middle aged man contemplates if he should quit his job. for a second, beomgyu thinks that he might be in the same boat as him, before realizing that he has nothing else to fall back on — exhibit c. he could keep going.

a clear, robotic voice overhead announces the subway’s arrival to the next station — his station. sighing, he sits up a little taller, slipping his phone into the pocket of his slacks. a vague sense of dread weighs down his shoulders, knowing that he has a service to set up for the moment he clocks in.

he’s not looking forward to today, and yet the train still slows to a stop, the doors still slide open, and he still grabs his work briefcase from the spot between his feet. like clockwork, beomgyu maneuvers through the crowd, out the doors, and climbs the stairs up to the chilly streets of seoul.

decompressing after a slow-moving shift can take beomgyu’s night in many directions. sometimes, he simply returns home and hops into bed after a long, scalding hot shower that removes the invisible layer of grime that lays heavy on his skin. other times — typically on fridays — he’ll stop by a bar and catch up with his friends, occasionally leaving with a woman hanging off of his arm if he drinks enough to lower his inhibitions. more often than not, however, his excursions at the underground bar that taehyun is partial to end in him stumbling home alone and waking up the next morning with a raging headache. nursing a hangover alone, eating breakfast alone, bathing alone…he has never really become acclimated to it. the monster that festers inside beomgyu’s chest craves for love, for connection, for somebody to hold when the nights are too dark and his thoughts match the shade of the sky. the lack of connection is slowly getting to him. is this what insanity feels like? he wouldn’t know, nor would he like to find out. he’s sane. he’s perfectly sane. 

beomgyu understands that his profession can be off-putting to potential lovers, but it’s not as if he had much of a choice in the matter — not when his one shot at the career of his dreams crumbled below his feet when the company filed bankruptcy, sending him tumbling back down to earth, to the reality that his college degree meant little to nothing to the vast majority of employers nowadays. though he applied to dozens of jobs, the only one he ever heard back from was from the listing titled “mortuary assistant,” and in desperation, he accepted the position without much thought. maybe if he had tried a little harder to find a different company where he could apply his skills, maybe if he had pushed himself to make connections in the industry when he had the resources to do so, maybe if he had pursued music production a little harder, had not given up so readily when things grew difficult…maybe things would be different. 

beomgyu often thinks about the maybes.

this particular night, he finds himself leaned over a bar counter, a glass of amber-hued beer in hand. he half-listens to yeonjun’s slurred account of his dance crew’s latest win while he stares down at the mahogany tabletop. some condensation has gathered on the wood, and he swipes a finger through it. a slap to his shoulder brings his focus back to his surroundings.

“gyu, dude, y’should totally try out,’’ yeonjun pitches as he sloppily swings an arm over beomgyu’s shoulders. “get out of that. that—” he stumbles over his words for a moment, expression warping into a confused grimace. “that gross ass dead people building.”

beomgyu exhales a laugh as yeonjun’s head lolls against his shoulder, quietly whining about how his head hurts. while yeonjun is substantially gone already, beomgyu is only on his second beer. scanning the spacious, dim-lit room, he shakes his head. it’s times like these where he does not feel the need to slip into people’s minds — being surrounded by his friends is enough. “nah, man. i don’t think i could keep up. it’s been a while.”

“sure y’could! you’re like th’second best dancer here!” yeonjun says as his torso slumps down against the table. the bartender eyes him from further down the bar top with concern, but beomgyu sates the employee with an apologetic smile, ensuring that he turns away before setting his attention back on his friend.

beomgyu scoffs. “and i’m assuming you’re the first best?”

“uh, obviously. i literally run th’thing,” yeonjun retorts as he glares at him with a single eye open, an ear now resting on top of his crossed arms on the counter.

“yeonjun’s right,” taehyun butts in from the other side of yeonjun’s collapsed body. though his glazed over eyes give away his inebriated state, taehyun’s tolerance tends to lean much higher than yeonjun’s; this fact is confirmed by the crystal clear enunciation of his words as he continues, “you’ve been acting differently ever since you started working there. it wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

great, even his friends have noticed. exhaling deeply, beomgyu nods.

“yeah, i’ll think about it.” 

as the conversation meanders off into other topics, beomgyu sinks back into his own little world. curse taehyun and his acute perceptiveness. he knows that he’s been acting off, but maybe his friends are right; he once dreamed of being a choreographer, back when he was a teen, before he discovered his love for music production. perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to try.

unintentionally, he meets the gaze of a girl sitting at a booth with her friends. he quickly averts his gaze, and by the time he looks back up, she has been roped into what seems like a shot-taking contest. six other girls circle the table, one joining the first girl in taking rapid-fire shots, four others egging them on, and one laser-focused on her phone, occasionally sipping water through a straw. from what he can gather, she’s likely the group’s designated driver — though it seems her role has morphed into more of a babysitter. she’s pretty, he’ll admit. just his type. if he was on his third or fourth beer, he’d probably be over there trying to strike up a conversation with her, rather than any of her drunk friends. 

as she looks up and throws a cursory glance around the bar, she catches him staring, her kohl-lined eyes meeting his own. an eyebrow raises as her gloss-coated lips twist, as if to say “don’t even try it.”

oh, how terribly he wishes to slip into her mind and let her know that he has no intention to. 

the ear-piercing screech of yeonjun’s barstool to his right tears his gaze away from her. yeonjun now stands, one arm around taehyun and the other around soobin, the latter sporting a borderline disgusted grimace directed at the older boy hanging off of him while kai simply stands behind the trio of men. yeonjun’s head hangs low below his shoulders, chin nearly touching his chest, as he emits a pathetic groan. at least he’s not puking this time.

“we’re about to go grab some food. this one,” taehyun’s head nods to yeonjun’s sagging frame. “definitely needs it. you coming?”

unwilling to allow the night to end quite yet, beomgyu hums, quickly pays his tab, and allows the brief, silent encounter with the woman to fade away into the back of his mind.

the rest of the weekend passes without fanfare, and monday returns to rear its ugly head once again. monday is beomgyu’s least favorite day of the week; it brings a raging headache from his 5 a.m. alarm, a bone-deep fatigue that lingers for the rest of the day. it brings grumpy commuters whose knees and elbows uncomfortably bump against his own. it brings people who think that he should give up his seat, and silently tell him so with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. how selfish, they all think whenever he actually bothers to read their thoughts. what a fucking dick, some of them even snarl within the so-called impenetrable walls of their minds, walls he so easily breaks down. he levels those ones with a half-awake glare, pupils gloomy and lifeless. internally, their uneasy reactions make him want to laugh, hysterically cackle in their faces because wow, is he really that scary? he shouldn’t be, but maybe the dark under eyes are doing something for him.

surprisingly, the subway car he frequents is less crowded than usual. not as many people stand in front of him, and he’s actually able to see directly across the car for the first time in a while. doors shut, and he’s left to look around at the regulars and the new patrons that often don’t show up again. they’re easily less interesting than the regulars. really, what can he say? the daily life updates satisfy his nosy tendencies. 

still, he hates mondays. mondays suck. mondays make him want to crawl into a hole and eventually join the bodies at his workplace. they bring out the worst in his mind. all they do is remind him of the neverending cycle that he has trapped himself in — wake up, work, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.

mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you. 

it’s split-second eye contact. nothing more, nothing less. your eyes grow wide, your lips parting just the slightest bit in surprise. though he has not invaded your mind (yet), he can already tell what you are thinking. fuck, he isn’t blind — he knows that he is handsome.

your eyes shoot downward, your head hanging low with your phone clenched between your fingers. one of his eyebrows raises while a small smirk plays on his lips — you’re new, and even better, you’re cute. his dark, seemingly bored gaze trails over to the earbuds nestled in your ears, then to your crossed legs. you glance up at him again, eyes blowing wide again as your thighs press together just enough for him to notice the movement. his own eyes narrow slightly, evaluating the sight. 

you seem...interesting. prim, proper, sitting in a modest-length skirt and a plain blouse and coat that paint you as an unassuming character, just another random person in this sardine can of a train car. yet there’s this glint in your eyes that tells him there is so, so much more to you than what meets the eye — that the innocent, put-together little front that you display to the world is a complete and utter lie. it’s intriguing. new patrons come and go from this particular subway car every day, but you and your fresh face have caught his interest — and so has your odd behavior. 

then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.

you were there the other night, with those girls at the bar. the one sitting at the end of the table with the small glass of water as you scrolled through your phone. the one who shot a piercing glare at him as you looked out for your inebriated friends. your current behavior is a far cry from the strong front he first encountered that night, small and oh-so meek and lacking the sharp, piercing edge to your gaze that initially piqued his interest in you. the change, for some reason, intrigues him more. what happened to that feisty glare, that confident air to your posture? he wants to know why you seem so meek, so he taps in to your mind and—

“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”

beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?

he’s never had this happen to him before. he’s accidentally stumbled upon the occasional horny thought before, sure, but listening to porn on the subway? that’s a new one. he decides to give you another glance; your lips are pressed together now, eyes pointed towards the floor as you further shrink into yourself. fuck, you’re so cute, but now he knows you’re also awfully perverted — and for some reason, he feels himself getting hard in his trousers at the thought of entering your mind again. 

he should do something about this little development, shouldn’t he?

yeah, he thinks that he should. a sick sort of curiosity wins over the more logical side of his brain, the side that tells him that he should feel guilty for even thinking about what he’s about to do. he can’t, can he? no, he can — he wants to, he really fucking wants to. opportunities like this don’t just present themselves on a silver platter like this on the regular. if he doesn’t take this chance, then he’d be an absolute fool. 

the subway slows to a stop, the weirdly cheery, robotic voice calling out another stop. not his, thank god. he takes this opportunity to open that pesky little door to your mind again, now fully expecting the depravity echoing in your brain — and rather than do anything drastic too quickly, he simply sits there and listens. he listens through an entire audio alongside you, ignoring the twitch of his cock as he listens to the woman be degraded and praised, in missionary and in doggy, her moans mixing with the man's in a cacophony of pleasure — he loves the way you jump when the sound of a hand striking flesh sounds through your mind. your fleeting sigh of “god, i wish that were me,” causes him to bite his lip. you like being treated like a slut, huh? like a stupid little whore only made to take cock? that’s music to his ears, really — because he likes treating girls like that too. 

as sick and disgusting as it is, he continues to listen as if mindlessly tuning in to a podcast, subtly adjusting himself in his pants as he fights off a raging boner. he wants to be the one to do those things to you. he wants to make you scream and sob and beg for mercy as he completely ravages your body, fuck you until you’re brainless, perfect little slut for him. you’d love that, according to the audios you consume for the remainder of his commute — to be fucked so hard you legs give out from under you, to be owned, fully and completely. he likes that sound of that as well.

a few minutes into the second audio, you take another glance at him, eyes squeezing shut right away once you catch his gaze — and suddenly, your thoughts are full of him. he’s encountered countless strangers who can perfectly visualize their streams of consciousness, and you seem to be yet another one of them. images of you on your knees between his thighs and sucking his cock in the middle of this subway car flood his own mind, switching to one of him fucking you from behind against the wall while everyone else watches, then to him finger fucking you with a hand around your throat…what the fuck. what the fuck? how do you just do that? how do you think of such terribly shameless things while looking so pretty and demure, as if you’re a shy little thing rather than some fucking whore? he shifts his briefcase over his lap again. fuck, he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. shit, fuck. 

he should be appalled by you, but fiery, ardent lust is the sole emotion that floods his veins. would it be a bad idea to talk to you? no, you want it. you want it so fucking bad. just look at your mind — and he can make all your dirty little fantasies come true, if you would let him. 

just as he’s about to actually do something about you, the subway slows to a stop once again, the same cheery voice announcing his stop. god dammit. pushing himself up to his feet, he finds that you’re doing the same, wide eyes flitting around nervously as you move towards the door and stop nearly right next to him, those earbuds that hide your biggest secret in plain sight still stuck in your ears. he can still hear those degrading words and moans and slapping sounds that still echo through your mind, loud and clear as if those white earbuds are sitting snug in his own ears. 

the doors slide open, and soon enough, he loses sight of you in the surging crowd. stepping out of the subway, he looks around once, twice. you have completely disappeared; nowhere to be found, your mind has grown too far from his own for him to locate nor access, the tether between the two of you frayed to the point of snapping in half. with a brief purse of his lips, he sets off up the stairs. it’s fine, there’s always another day. it’s fine, he tells himself over and over again. there’s nothing he could have done in such a short time, anyway. 

the sun sits high in the sky today, but the bone-chilling air cuts through his puffy coat like tiny needles puncturing his skin, or millions of scalpels slicing open flesh nearly to the bone, cold and sterile and far from comforting. autumn shouldn’t be this cold, and his slightly soured mood isn’t helping his case right now. he should have done something back there, he should’ve opened up the channel between the two of you and taken the plunge. it wouldn’t have hurt to try, but no. no, he let that opportunity go like every other one he’s had in his life. with his jaw set, he promises himself that it won’t happen again. it won’t, because if he keeps living like this — allowing all these opportunities slip through his fingers like grains of sand — he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

and honestly, beomgyu is no clairvoyant, and he should brush off the tickle in his brain as a stupid, naive hunch…but he has a compelling feeling that he’ll be seeing you again tomorrow. 

when beomgyu returns home, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, he doesn’t unwind like he usually does. today’s shift was a slow one, with no bodies to preen and primp and no services to set up for, so most of his time was taken up with cleaning, filing documents, and sitting around aimlessly. no matter how much he tried to fend them off, thoughts of you bounced around in his brain for the entire eight hours he was on shift. fuck, he doesn’t even know your name, much less anything else about you, yet he wishes he could travel back in time and redo this morning all over again. he’s not sure how it would have panned out, exactly, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve that would’ve made it exciting.

he shakes his head. the current moment presents much more pressing matters than ruminating on this morning’s terrible decisions; the strain in his trousers proves to be a pertinent issue, a tent formed in the black fabric and aching to be touched. now that the public eye no longer holds his gaze, his apartment door locked shut behind him, he allows himself to give in to his most base instincts. a hand comes down to cup his hardness as he imagines his fingers as yours, you on your knees below him, those adorably wide eyes staring up at him in desperation. you’d wait for permission, right? you’d beg so prettily like a good little slut should? fuck yeah, you would. you’d be good, you’d take what he would give you — and you would love it. 

groaning, he crashes onto his couch, head throwing back against the back cushion as he gropes his cock harder. he’s forgone slipping off his dress shoes and has barely even slipped his coat off before he’s giving in to the pulsing ache in his groin that’s nearly unbearable, the white hot need swirling in his stomach that demands his immediate attention. his belt quickly unbuckled and his trousers pulled halfway down his thighs, he slips his cock from his boxers, gasping at how sensitive he has become. 

“oh fuck,” he breathes out into the quiet air, a shuddered sigh following when his thumb swipes over the angry red head, the bead of precum that has gathered there spreading across his skin. he brings his hand up to his lips, gathering some spit beneath his tongue before letting in loll into his palm. bringing it back down, he drags his hand up and down his shaft, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as pleasure rushes through his veins. he pumps his cock steadily, hips rolling up into his hand as if fucking your throat. eyes fluttering closed, his free hand grips the couch, fingernails digging into the worn leather and leaving half-moon indents in their wake. “fuck. god, fuck.”

would you be able to take him? he’s been told he’s big, most women barely able to take him even after extensive prep. he imagines how you’d keen as he enters you, your back arching so prettily and your walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. how you’d choke and gag on his cock if he decided to use your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as you peer up at him pathetically, fingers digging into your thighs as you resist the urge to touch yourself. would you like to be slapped around a little, punished with spankings and little taps to your cheek? 

“focus,” he mumbles to no one. to you. “focus, slut. be good for me.” 

he’s delirious at this point, has dived so deep into his fantasies that he barely registers that he’s fucking his fist and not your mouth or sweet little cunt. that doesn’t stop his fingers from tightening their grip, squeezing the head before gliding back down again, then back up, the rhythm of his hips growing frenzied as his high inches closer. his free hand smooths up his stomach, taking his button-up with it as he clenches it with desperate fingers. he bites down on the fabric, pumping himself once, twice, three times before his high hits him, his cum spurting out in staccato ribbons. he’s making a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care when this is the best orgasm he’s had in months. the shirt falls from his mouth as he moans unabashedly. 

“take it,” he groans, his hips canting upward. “fuckin’— fuckin’ take it. shit. such a perfect little whore for me.”

he cums and he cums, spilling all over himself until he’s milked dry. eyes closed, his contracted muscles melt into the couch, hot pants replacing his moans and groans. a few minutes pass before he fully comes down from his headspace and returns back to earth, only for him to realize just how much he came, staining his clothes and coating his skin in creamy white. he blinks. 

reality crashes down on his head. 

he just…jerked off to you. he just came so hard he saw stars just from the mere thought of you. oh, he’s in deeper than he first thought. too deep, too quickly, he can barely breathe. 

“fuck,” beomgyu murmurs as he stares down at his cum-covered abdomen, his sticky hand. “fuck.”

beomgyu was right: you do come back the next day. and the next. and the next.

over the remainder of the work week, he watches you — well, more so listens to you, but he can’t deny himself the little glimpses he allows himself to take, drinking in how you worry your bottom lip, how the muscles in your throat contract each time you gulp. the poker face that you don crumbles oh so easily whenever he meets your stray gaze. it’s exhilarating, knowing the power he, a complete stranger, has over you. your microscopic slips in expression remain undetected to the rest of the passengers, but he sees every single one. they’re a perfectly entertaining backdrop for your explicit musings. 

he knows he could approach you like a normal human being would, but where’s the fun in that? he’s not quite a normal person in his own right, anyway. instead, he’s decided to keep you in his sights, learning what exactly you enjoy, what you like to hear, preparing for the day where he again gathers the courage to toy with you within the walls of your mind. he’s in deep, and at this point, he’s accepted it if only to justify his sadistic obsession with you. actually, on second thought, he wouldn’t quite call it an obsession, perhaps a morbid curiosity more than anything. yeah, that’s all it can be.

it’s almost as if the universe has sent him a little present in the form of you, an apology for the trials and tribulations that whatever is above has rained down on him this past year or so. of course he’s going to savor it. who wouldn’t? so he sticks to his plan, and keeps watching you, listening to you, observing you, identifying your little quirks and deepest, darkest desires. they’ll be quite useful later, he’s sure. 

over his…research period, he’s found out a lot about you. you like to be bullied, to be called a slut, a whore, but you also enjoy a little praise mixed in: good slut, good whore, pretty girl is so obedient for sir, for daddy, for master. you’re also not too picky in what you listen to, as long as it contains a male dominant in some capacity. couple’s content, threesomes, gangbangs are all on the table, as are solo audios that usually have some sort of plot to them — coworkers to lovers' first date that ends in sex? check. hot librarian who fucks over a table you after closing? that too. he could go on about what he’s heard in just the solo audios you consume, but even that list would be exhaustive. 

by the time friday rolls around, he doesn’t even have to try to search for your mind; call him crazy, but it’s almost as if you, on some subconscious level, know that he wants in and are more than willing to let him. as if you keep the door cracked open just for him. 

at least, he likes to think that you do. 

staying close, but not too close, to you proves to be difficult today. fridays bring with them a surge of new faces that crowd the subway car, which is generally quite annoying, but at the moment, he also finds it to be frustrating. no seats are open when he boards, he can’t even see you through the dense crowd, but you’re there. your mind is there, open and waiting for him to enter.

though he won’t be able to see your cute little reactions, he steps through that mental threshold. 

“it’s okay, baby. shh, don’t cry, you can cum. cum for me, just let go,” a gentle voice coos. aw, you must be having a rough morning, how sad. the only other day you listened to these kinds of audios, you looked absolutely miserable, the corners of your lips pulled down and a deep, pathetic furrow to your brows — it was wednesday, that’s right. two days ago, when you seemed frazzled and completely out of it. a little digging resulted in him learning that you had spilled your coffee all over the concrete on the way here, you thought your hair didn’t look right (even though, to him, it did, it looked perfect — he wished he could’ve told you that), and worst of all, your boss emailed you late the previous night to admonish you for your performance, demanding a meeting first thing that morning. 

still, he wishes he could take care of your boss, eliminate that weight off of your shoulders. if it were up to him, your boss would be sitting in the morgue at his place of work, gray and comatose and unable to admonish you for things that beomgyu is sure you had no control over. because that’s how offices work, right? sink or swim, big fish eat the little ones, blaming those below them for everything they should be taking responsibility for. your boss has to be one of those. he was pig-nosed and donning a constant sneer when you pictured the verbal berating you’d be getting once you got to your workplace. 

that day, he found himself thinking about how he’s become pretty talented with a scalpel. 

“good girl. doing so well for me, pretty girl,” the same voice soothes, soft cries and sniffles from the submissive mixing with the gentle words. he could treat you all sweet too. he could be anything you want, if only you knew him. 

he wants you to know him — needs you to, really.

there’s no clear cut reason for your current sour mood, your thoughts too jumbled together for him to properly decipher. are you picking apart your appearance? did you wake up late? is this all because of your boss again? he might just kill the bastard if that’s the case…if only he could approach you, tell you that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t want to knock down the house of cards he’s spent such precious time building over the course of the week. you’re too special for that. it’s the very reason why he tries to blend into the crowd, why he tries to keep eye contact to a minimum. the last thing he needs is for you to run away from him when you’re one of the only things holding him together.

when the car slows to his and your stop, disappointment nips at the space between his eyebrows. he didn’t even get to see you today, and the end of the work week means that he won’t be seeing you for two entire days. sighing, he falls into his typical routine: move towards the doors, wait for them to open, and follow the other exiting passengers out. where could you be? you’re still here, he knows that much since he’s still connected to you, still hears those soft words and moans, but where the fuck are you? you, as in your body. that you.

with a single cursory glance around, he swears he catches a glimpse of your figure before the crowd swallows you whole. as he’s shoved towards the stairs by the crowd, his chest grows heavy.

friday has just begun, but monday couldn’t come any faster. 

“so, are you gonna try out?”

yeonjun is far more sober compared to last friday night, his eyes lacking that fatigued droop they always get whenever he’s had too much. beomgyu tears his glazed-over gaze away from the television screen to look at the yeonjun, sinking further into the couch below him. he points to himself. “me?”

yeonjun rolls his eyes, a knee swinging over the arm of the armchair he sits in. “who the fuck else would i be talking to?”

scoffing, beomgyu shoots him a glare. “i don’t know, man. y’don’t have to be a dick about it.”

the open bottle of beer in beomgyu’s hand chills his fingertips, so he switches it to his other hand before taking another sip. meanwhile, soobin plops down next to him with an already open bag of chips, offering some to him. he shakes his head, and soobin shrugs, beginning to munch on them by himself. 

“i’m serious though,” yeonjun continues. “you should really try out. there’s not much to it, just dance to one song and you’re done. i’d probably pass you even if you sucked.”

“that’s nepotism,” taehyun chimes in from the floor, eyes trained on the screen as he shoots a player down in the game him and kai are currently obsessed with. the sound of gunfire fills the living room of soobin and yeonjun’s apartment, the murmurs of the two boys a low drone beneath it as they figure out their best strategy to win. 

he almost wishes he lived here with soobin and yeonjun, or with the other two. yeonjun and soobin, taehyun and kai — only beomgyu lives alone. alone doesn’t necessarily mean lonely, but in beomgyu’s case, it does. maybe that’s why he’s latched onto you so hard: to cure his loneliness. he swats that thought away like one would a pesky mosquito. he hasn’t latched onto you, he admonishes himself, he’s simply curious. yeah, curious. 

just a little innocent curiosity. 

disregarding taehyun’s comment, yeonjun raises an eyebrow towards beomgyu. “i know i was drunk when i said that shit last week, but you really have been acting weird since you started at that job. we’ve all noticed.”

“yeah, it’s like you’ve gotten more reserved, or something,” soobin says, words muffled by his chewing. beomgyu grimaces, shifting closer to the arm of the couch. 

“you’re the most introverted one here, you can’t say shit,” kai snorts. soobin throws a chip at his head.

“anyway,” yeonjun butts in with a scalding glare before an argument can begin. soobin and kai blanch, mouths closing. “we’re just…concerned about you.”

“is this some kind of intervention?” beomgyu laughs, disbelief apparent in his tone. he’s fine. he has you now.

“no, we just want you to know that there’s other things you could do that would make you happier than work at a fucking funeral home,” taehyun says, eyes still not straying from the tv. 

“like joining my dance crew,” yeonjun tacks on. 

beomgyu sighs. they’re kind of right, if he’s being honest with himself, but is he ready to put himself out there again? is he ready to face the potential of rejection, of failure? he’s had his life fall apart in front of his eyes once already, what if it happens again?

“...i guess.”

“c’mon.” yeonjun shifts around until he’s leaning on his elbows, focus solely on beomgyu. “tryouts are next saturday. i know how fast you can learn choreography. hell, you could probably learn something in a couple hours and be fine.”

“honestly, you’ll never know if you don’t try,” soobin chimes in. “it might end in something good.”

“yeah,” beomgyu says before taking another large swig of beer. “yeah, i know.”

and so another weekend passes, and monday returns once again. 

soobin’s brief, sage advice plays through his mind again and again. although he understands that soobin meant for it to apply to his current career situation, beomgyu has adopted it for his situation with you instead. he should try, he’s going to try, eventually. 

it might end in something good, he tells himself over and over again. he has to try.

mondays are a bit less excruciating now that you’re around. he has only known you for a week, but it’s been long enough to know that you make his day-to-day routine bearable — hell, he’ll stay at his terrible job as long as you keep showing up each morning. the day that you don’t will be the nail in his coffin — he chuckles at his stupid joke. yeonjun is rubbing off on him too much.

the sky is overcast today, and endless expanse of gray that contrasts the warmth of the changing leaves that line the sidewalk. it might rain soon, he surmises, but he hopes that it won’t. he’s forgone an umbrella today. digging his hands further into his coat pockets, he ducks into the subway station, descending the stairs and weaving through the crowd until he finds his usual platform. when he gets there, you’ve already arrived, ears vacant of those white earbuds, but it’s not a foreign sight to him. you typically put them in once you sit down. the fact that you get on and get off at the same stop as him…he almost likes to think of all of this as fate. 

maybe the universe really is trying to apologize. 

the subway arrives at the platform a few minutes later — minutes in which he tries not to stare at you. he’s not a creep, he swears that he’s not. he’s not a creep, he’s not a creep — he repeats this to himself as he follows behind you into the subway car the two of you frequent, he finds a seat across from you a few feet to your left. he can’t be too obvious.

and most importantly, he’s not a creep. 

you dig around in your bag. ah, here come those infamous earbuds, he’s sure of it — but then they don’t, and then the digging through your bag grows a degree more frantic, your lips parting as you continue shoving whatever is in there aside in search of your most precious possession.

you feel like crying as panic surges through your veins. oh god, you forgot them. how could you have forgotten them? what are you going to do now? 

beomgyu decides to tap into your mind in that moment, finding you in an unbelievably frazzled state. his heart clenches in his chest, he wishes he could help somehow…

wait. he could…oh my god, he could. no, that’s sick, he’s not a creep — well, no, he could. he definitely fucking could, and you’d probably end up liking it…

he could be your temporary replacement for today — no, he could become your constant source, the one you need to get through the day. he could become your audios. he wants to. they’d be far more…interactive, if he did, after all. you’d love what he could do to your pretty fucking body just with access to your mind. reading thoughts isn’t the only thing he can do — and soobin’s right: he’ll never know if he doesn’t try. how could he sit here any longer and not give in to his burning desire to ravage you? you know what? fuck it. this is the perfect opportunity, served up once again on a silver platter, waiting for him to take. he’s not going to let it slip away again — and oh, you just look so devastated right now, how terrible would he be if he didn’t help you?

in a split-second moment, beomgyu decides that today is the day. deep breath. focus. okay, he can do this. one, two, three…

“hello, pretty girl.”

you flinch before you look up and around, only to find no one is looking at you — well, he is, but through his peripherals. wouldn’t want to get caught, would he? suppressing a smirk at your reaction, he shifts in his seat.

“was someone just talking to me?” you ask yourself, brows furrowing as your eyes continue to dart around. your hand comes up to your ear to see if you accidentally remembered your earbuds, your frown deepening when you register that they are, indeed, not in your ears. glancing around again, your eyes skirt over his form. he shivers at the thought of what’s to come, biting his lip as he avoids your gaze. “is this some sort of prank?”

“calm down, sweetheart, this isn’t a prank. now, stop looking around, you’re the only one who heard me.”

your brain flits from thought to thought so quick he can barely keep up, the volume of them rising as you panic. your fingers clench the strap of your purse as if to ground yourself. “am i hallucinating right now? what the fuck? this has to be a prank. should i go to the doctor’s? no, my boss would kill me if i called out, but fuck, i should really go if i’m hearing things—”

beomgyu chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind as well. freezing, your muscles lock up as you look around again. your distressed stream of consciousness stops for a moment, before resuming at a much more rapid pace. “what the fuck, i need to call out right now, where’s my phone—”

sighing, he leans back into his seat and closes his eyes. so cute, how easily you spiral. “quiet that pretty little head of yours, pretty girl. you’re not hallucinating, this is all real. very real.”

a few moments pass before your internal freakout quiets down. for once, silence fills your mind…and rather than him break it, it’s you: “someone’s…talking to me through my mind? this is real?”

“such a smart girl. you figured it out so quickly,” beomgyu taunts, resisting the urge to coo again. adrenaline rushes through his veins, urging him to continue. you need him. he can make you happy. he just needs to hear you say it.

your thighs press together at the praise, fingers digging into the trousers you had chosen to wear. you shouldn’t be feeling like this. this is strange, terribly strange, and even a little frightening, now that you are aware that someone — that a complete stranger, at that — has full reign over your conscious. yet, at the same time, you’re curious to see how this will play out.

“and you can speak to me, too, if you focus hard enough…” his voice trails off. okay, you can do that. allowing your eyelids to flutter shut, you begin to breathe deeply until even the mechanical noises of the subway and the murmurs of passengers vacate your senses. mind empty, you exhale a shaky breath. focus. stay focused. 

“hmm, impressive. you’re a natural at this.” god, he needs to quit praising you like that with his deep voice. by the way he laughs, you know he heard that too. fuck. 

“who are you and why the fuck are you in my brain?” you decide to ask. straight to the point, no fluff to it, it’s reminiscent of your attitude at the bar where he first laid eyes upon you. this is the wall you put up towards strangers and any other threat to your life, but little do you know, beomgyu’s breached that wall already. this is just a little front. “answer me, you fucking asshole—”

“woah, woah, watch the language. why would i tell you who i am? it’s much more exciting this way, don’t you think?” the smile in his voice is unmistakable, but he purses his lips to keep them from curling upward. 

you start to gnaw on your bottom lip, biting hard enough for pain to bloom across your nerve endings. this is stranger you’re talking to right now, a stranger who you’re talking to through your fucking thoughts. this is weird. you never signed up for this. “get the hell out of my mind before— before i—” 

“before you what? can’t kick me out, you don’t know how to do that, pretty girl.”

fuck, he’s right — wait, if he’s in your mind right now, can he also control it? is he going to hurt you? is he going to make you his puppet and go on a murder spree? is he in this car with you, or somewhere else? what if…what if…

beomgyu can almost feel your panic swelling in his own chest. fuck, he needs to put a stop to your spiraling before it gets out of control. if you freak out now, then all of his work over the past week will be for naught. after all, he’s not going to do anything without your permission. the last thing he wishes to do is scare you off completely before he can have his fun. with great urgency, he cuts off your ramblings, “hey, now, relax for me, princess. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m as human as you are, just a bit…different, i guess. and i am in the same car as you right now.”

rather than respond, you look around again, eyeing every single man around you with suspicion, even him. he stares at the floor, maintaining what he hopes to be a neutral, borderline bored, expression. he needs to keep it together. he’s gotten this far, he can’t ruin this. “looking around again, huh? if i were that easy to spot, then this game wouldn’t be very fun, would it?” 

“game? fucking with my mind is a game to you?” 

the corners of his lips twitch up before he’s forcing them back down. this is it, the moment he has been waiting oh so patiently for. keep it together.

“well, not really — i actually have a proposition for you, if you’d hear me out.”

scoffing, you urge him along. “just get on with it.”

“so impatient. that’s okay. i can work with that,” he smirks. “i know what you listen to every morning, you know.”

your heart drops to your stomach. he what? oh god, you think you’re going to be sick. your arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing hard. this is bad, this is really fucking bad. “do you want money, or something? are— are you trying to blackmail me right now? i’ll have you know, i’m actually kinda broke right now. i really don’t wanna end up homeless, can you just. pick someone else to fuck with? there’s like twelve different businessmen in this car, i’m sure they’re rich and corrupt—”

beomgyu’s brows raise imperceptibly. jesus, are you always this flighty? “woah, chill. i’m not here to judge you — or blackmail you, for that matter. i’m not evil. aw, don’t look all shameful now. i told you i’m not here to judge — i actually wanna help you, if you’d let me.”

“help me?” you dumbly echo. “help me how?”

“well,” he starts. “i noticed you forgot your earbuds today, and you just looked so sad and lost without them. how else are you going to get through your commute? and then i thought maybe i could do something about that. y’know, help you out, get you through the morning.”

“so you invaded my privacy just to tell me that you wanna dirty talk to me for the rest of my commute? is that what you mean? ‘cause if so, that’s pretty weird,” you reply, though your stray thoughts that dart around tell him that you’re actually considering his offer — it’s tempting, isn’t it? to give in, to let his deep voice get you all squirmy and needy, knowing he could be anyone in this subway car. still, your words make him laugh, because of course you’re deflecting right now. it’s okay, he hasn’t given you the full story quite yet.

“that’s only part of my offer, princess,” he starts. “i can read minds, yes, but i can also do…other things.”

oh, you’re really considering it now. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him. his voice is nice, and maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of making you horny. after a deep, long breath, you gulp once, then, with curiosity dripping from your tone, you ask, “...like what?”

jackpot.

beomgyu’s high on a mix of adrenaline and dopamine, utterly giddy because he’s got you right where he wants you, where he needs you. he’s played his cards just right, shoved your worries to the side and drew out your curiosity enough that you’ve taken his bait. perfect, oh, this is perfect. he knew you’d be good for him.

“it would be much easier for me to show you.”

“then show me,” you immediately reply, heat flooding your cheeks at the sheer desperation in your voice. god, calm down. he hasn’t even done anything yet.

chuckling at your internal conflict, he decides not to comment. “tell me if you don’t like something. i’ll stop.” he watches as you slightly nod to yourself, a soft “okay,” echoing through your head and into his — thus, he sets his plan into action. 

something warm caresses your calf, but when you look down, there’s nothing there. your eyes widen — was that a hand? it definitely felt like one, the way it creeped up the back of your leg, calloused fingertips pressing into your skin. a shiver races down your spine. that had to have been him. 

“it was,” he confirms, then his voice is growing impossibly deeper, adopting that gruff edge that you love so much. “you want more, princess? i can give you more.”

another phantom hand skirts over your waist, dragging down over your hips to your right thigh, just to stop there. biting your bottom lip, you nod, hoping that whoever is in your head right now sees it, wherever he is. the hand moves to your inner thigh; despite how tightly pressed together they are, it skirts over your skin with ease, seemingly beneath your trousers. “i need words, pretty girl, or i might just stop right now. and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

no, you wouldn’t, not at this point. the unbearable ache currently building in your core makes you want to cry; you haven’t felt this level of desperation in a while, and you need to be touched. you need it so fucking bad. 

“please.” the single word comes out meek, quiet. shame flushes your face, a fiery heat that spreads up to your ears and down your neck. 

you hear the way his breath shudders, causing your own hitch. “fuck, you’re so cute, but i need more than that. beg. beg for me to touch you.”

his voice — fuck, his voice is so deep, so dark and wanton. you wonder what he sounds like when he’s moaning, how he would sound if he fucked you, pounded you into the mattress so hard you saw stars. the image of a faceless stranger fucking you from behind, your back arched behind you and your face buried in the sheets, as he holds your wrists behind your back flits across the big screen of your mind. you shake it away, but the man in your head is already tutting. “use your words, sweetheart, not pictures — though i’d love to do that to you too. you’ve got quite the imagination on you.” 

beomgyu’s cock twitches in his boxers as you whine, frantic pleas bubbling up from the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind once he takes the sensation of his hand away from your thigh. you sound halfway dumb already, begging for his hands, his cock, his tongue — anything. you’ll take anything just, “please, sir. please touch me. need you to touch me so bad.”

you don’t even know who he is, yet you’re being so obedient, calling him sir, begging so sweetly for him — it’s like you’re begging straight into his ear. his heart swells at the thought, as does his cock. you sound so pretty, but he finds himself wishing he could hear these words come from your lips instead. 

“yeah? my little slut needs more?” he prods, laughing meanly when you whimper out a yes. “aw, ‘course she does. desperate whores always need more, don’t they? so greedy.”

you have to swallow down a whimper at that, focusing so intently on keeping quiet that your nails have dug into your palms deep enough to almost break skin. the pain seems to help keep you grounded — that is, until you feel the sting of a palm against your backside. you flinch in your seat, gasping sharply. the man sitting next to you glances over, but you only hang your head and shrink into yourself. he looks away. 

“focus, whore. you’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”

two hands are touching you now. one cupping your pussy, the other wrapped around your throat, pressing into the sides of your neck so you start to grow dizzy. the hand on your throat releases its grip to slide down to your chest, circling around one of your nipples before a thumb swipes over the pebbled flesh. your back arches off of your seat when the sensation morphs into that of lips, plush warmth enveloping your tit before the sharp bite of teeth interrupts. you inhale a shaky breath from your nose as lips return to soothe the sting. despite the hard press of your thighs, the hand on your pussy drags up and down your folds, dipping down to your entrance before dragging up to your clit. a tiny squeak sneaks up your throat before you’re masking it with a cough. 

“aren’t you just a sensitive little thing? so wet too,” he coos, shifting his briefcase over his lap to gain some semblance of friction. his fingertips tingle as if your wetness coats them right now. fuck, he’s hard. if it were up to him, you’d be taking his cock right now, moaning so prettily as he presses you up against the wall and fucks up into you, your legs giving out from under you because he’s just making you feel so good, isn’t he? never mind that, he has a job to do. “how about i just…”

two lithe fingers breach your walls while a thumb continues to slowly circle your clit, barely brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. you feel like you’re going insane, trying your best to hold still as his fingers begin to move inside you, curling up into your walls. searching, he’s searching for that spot inside you that will get you crying—

then he finds it. 

your knee jerks up, your legs falling open slightly before you’re pressing them closed again as he abuses it over and over again, crooking his fingers just right to find it with each thrust. your hips roll up into the sensation, stilling as soon as you realize that you’re squirming too much, being too obvious. people are starting to stare, calm down. calm the fuck down.

god, you don’t think you can. it’s too difficult to keep still with the way he’s finger-fucking you right now. with the way there’s lips suddenly circling your clit, sucking the pearl in so that his tongue can play with it. little kitten licks that make you want to scream and cry and beg for mercy because you don’t know if you can keep up this front of normalcy with the way he’s touching you.

it’s like he’s speaking directly into your ear right now, warm breath fanning over your earlobe, your cheek. “wanna see you fall apart, wanna see you lose it in front of all of these people, baby. bet you wanna cum right now, yeah? just wanna feel good, don’t even care if you quake and cry in public? you’re that fucking desperate for it?” 

you nod to yourself, eyes squeezing shut. you’re so close. oh god, you’re going to cum. you’re going to cum like a brainless whore in the middle of a fucking subway car. you’re sick. you’re fucking sick for enjoying this.

you’re just as bad as him, beomgyu decides. he knew you’d like what he could give you, he knew you needed him. it was just a matter of time before you realized that fact. that’s okay, because he needs you just as badly. it’s a carnal need, white hot in the center of his stomach — fuck, he’s obsessed with you. he wants you to be his forever. 

and beomgyu knows you’re close, but he’s not quite ready to give you what you want. 

“please, oh god. please let me cum. fuckfuckfuck— no, please don’t stop!” you cry as he slows the pace of his fingers. “please no, ‘m so close! no no no—”

“you drive me crazy, it’s only fair if i return the favor. makes it more fun.” ripping the sensation away from you completely, he watches you bottom lip tremble as you blink back tears, your body melting into your seat as the pleasure fades away. “now, now, don’t cry, sweetheart. i have something even better for you.”

a few seconds pass before something breaches your entrance, your walls stretching to their limit, yet the sting of pain never arrives. filled to the brim, you throw your head back against the window behind you. to others, you seem to just be resting your eyes, but the way your mouth falls open is not lost on beomgyu. he knows you can feel him everywhere, knows you can feel the way the head of his cock nearly touches your cervix, how it presses into every single sensitive spot inside you. he knows he’s big, but you take it like a champ, your hips grinding down into the seat, as if to bring him deeper inside you. what a little whore, his little whore. 

“y’feel that, pretty girl? feel my big fucking cock inside you?” he asks as your chest heaves, a feeble attempt in holding yourself together. “calm down, now. i’m gonna start moving, okay?”

he doesn’t wait for your response before he’s spoon-feeding you the sensation of his cock pulling out until nothing but his cockhead remains within your walls. a few seconds pass, then your begging returns. tearful, this time, fucking pathetic. he basks in the power that rushes through his entire being. you need him. you need him in order to feel good, and he loves that you do. he brings a hand down to adjust himself in his pants, hissing quietly at the ache that the action brings. he needs to fuck you right now. physically fuck you, none of this thought manipulation bullshit — but no, he has to be patient. he can be patient as long as it’s you. 

the subway is slowing down again, and he comes to the gross realization that he only has a few minutes before both of you must depart. dammit, he has to make this quick. 

meanwhile, you’re already halfway to your high just at the mere feeling of him inside you. as soon as his cock begins to move again, you’re choking back moans, head hanging low as your muscles tense and your hands press into your lap. you can feel him in your throat each time he thrusts back in, his thrusts growing faster and faster until he’s pounding into you. 

“fuck fuck fuckkkkk!” you wail, encouraging him to continue. in reality, your walls clench around nothing, but your mind paints a different picture. you almost beg for him to cum inside, but you cant find the words, too fucked out to think about anything else but the knot in your stomach that grows tighter with each passing second. “fuck, please. please, fuck i’m, nghh—”

imaginary fingers swipe across your clit, and you’re a goner. 

thighs quaking, your release coats your panties, walls fluttering, but the movement of his cock doesn’t stop until you’re begging for mercy. beomgyu almost cums in his pants at the depraved wails you emit, half-baked sentences pleading for him to “s-slow down, please. i can’t, no, i can’t — shit!”

finally — finally — he grants you reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure. your body slumps into your seat, your eyes shut as you begin to float back down to earth. the clack-clack-clack of the subway slows until it stops completely. the usual robotic voice announces his stop, but you seem so out of it that you don’t even register that you need to get off. 

“good job, baby. you put on quite the show for me,” he praises as he rises to his feet. luckily, he decided on wearing a longer coat today which he uses to cover up his raging hard-on. this has to be fate.

no response. with an excited gleam in his eye, he disconnects from your mind and moves towards you. looming above you, he drinks in the beads of sweat that have formed along your hairline, the wrinkles in your trousers where you gripped the fabric a wee bit too hard, your dreamy eyes and how they blink down at his black loafers before raising to meet his own. concern has painted itself across his features, his head tilting as he holds your bleary gaze.

“are you alright, miss? you look a bit ill.”

you blink once. twice. god, how are you so cute even after getting fucked so hard? he can barely control himself from blurting out who he is.

“what—what stop is this?” you ask him, eyes wide and red-rimmed from your earlier tears. he tells you, and he watches those same eyes widen. “oh shit, this is my stop!”

attempting to stand, you stumble straight into his chest. he catches you with gentle hands before he’s helping you steady yourself. your legs tremble like those of a newborn fawn, sexy yet terribly adorable. he gulps at the image of you unable to walk, legs so sore that you’re forced to let him dote on you, that forms inside his mind. later. that can come later, don’t get too hasty. 

“oh, you’re a bit shaky there,” he murmurs, a hand curling around you elbow when you stumble again. “are you sure you’re alright?”

“i’m f-fine, sorry for the trouble,” you reply with a polite, yet jittery, smile, stepping away from him. he wants to tell you to come closer again, he wants to smell your sweet perfume again, feel your warm skin beneath his fingertips. 

but good things come to those who wait.

“no worries.” with a charming smile, he shuffles beside you, until the two of you have exited with the rest of the crowd. he catches your wrist before you can get too far, and you turn to face him once more. afterglow looks wonderful on you. “it looks like we’re getting off at the same stop today, so would you like me to walk with you until you’re feeling a bit better? i’m sure some fresh air will do you good.”

you pause for a moment, hesitating. have you seen him somewhere before? you feel like you have. “i…that would be great, actually. thank you.”

“of course,” he nods, holding back a smirk. he can’t help the words that escape him next.

“lead the way, then…pretty girl.”

the way you look back at him with alarmed realization — even a hint of fear — causes a grin to split open his lips. you begin to sputter as you back away, but he merely follows with light, casual steps. “w-what, who—who are you—”

his smile grows knife-sharp. the door opens — it always does. 

“aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he coos inside your mind, biting his lip as he watches your knees buckle. “who else could it be?”

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.