ellexamor

[ellexamor]

『 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 』 | part 3

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You die. Or at least, you think you do. One minute you're bleeding out alone in an alley, and the next, you're waking up in a warm bed with two men who appearantly are your husbands. You're now stuck in a world where Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto, the most insufferably overbearing men you've ever met, won't leave you alone. Now they have to win your heart all over again. Either that, or you'll find a way to convince them to get a divorce.

w/c: 4.6k | posted on ao3

part i | part ii | part iii | more coming soon | m.list

a/n from @sugurumyshayla on the m.list

The car pulls into a small parking lot attached to a building with whitewashed walls and automatic sliding doors. Suguru cuts the engine off, leaving a hush that feels both expectant and suffocating. You hesitate a beat too long before Satoru opens his door and shoots a quick glance back at you.

You open your own door and step out. Suguru is already rounding the car to join your side. Satoru leads the way, hands casually tucked into his pockets, walking backwards as he talks to Suguru. “Maybe Shoko’ll prescribe you something for being uptight.” He teases, mouth quirked in a cocky grin.

Suguru’s eyes flicker to you briefly, then back to Satoru, his voice dry. “Maybe she’ll prescribe you something to shut your mouth.”

Satoru laughs, bright and easy, sliding closer to Suguru’s side to bump their shoulders together and linger there. “That’s cute, you love my mouth.”

Suguru hums low in his throat, clearly amused despite himself, and gently nudges Satoru away. “Debatable.”

The doors slide open to let you into a reception area that feels both clinical and more homey than it lets on from the outside. You’re greeted by warm lighting, cozy waiting chairs, potted plants, and a few framed certificates on the wall. The soft scent of freshly brewed coffee hangs comfortably in the air.

Behind the small counter, a woman dressed in jeans and a dark t-shirt under a white coat, sits at a messy desk, her chin resting lazily in her palm. A cigarette hangs unlit from her lips as she scrolls boredly through her phone. Her hair’s light brown and straight, cut in a stylish bob.

“Put that away, Shoko, you’re gonna get yourself fired.” Satoru drawls dramatically, waving a hand through the air to disperse non-existent smoke.

“I’m not on shift yet.” She glances up, unimpressed, slipping the cigarette behind her ear. “And it’s unlit, you asshole.”

Suguru steps past Satoru, flashing Shoko a lazy smile. “He’s just looking for attention, as usual.”

Her lips twitch as she gives Suguru a dry stare. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

She leans slightly to glance past the two men, and the moment her eyes land on you, her bored expression softens visibly. “Hey, you. Rough morning, huh?”

The familiarity in her voice jars you, but you try not to let it show. “Something like that.” You answer vaguely.

Shoko raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between you and the men before she cocks an eyebrow slightly at Satoru and Suguru. “What’d you two idiots do now?”

“Hey,” Satoru protests immediately, throwing his hands up in surrender. “We didn’t do anything. She’s just been…” He trails off, eyes flicking towards you carefully, unsure on what to say exactly.

Suguru smoothly steps in. “She’s not feeling well.” He explains simply, voice steady, gaze direct. His eyes meet Shoko’s, serious beneath the casual tone. “We thought you could check her out.”

She stands, stretching slightly, and gestures lazily towards the examination table tucked against the wall. “Hop up, I’ll take a look.” Then she glances sharply at Satoru, jabbing a finger toward him. “And don’t touch my stuff this time. I still haven’t found my good pen.”

Satoru smirks, eyes brightening mischievously. “Suguru stole that one, not me.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “You know he’s lying, right?”

Shoko sighs dramatically, ignoring both men, and steps closer to you, voice softer. “C’mon. Let’s figure out what’s going on with you.”

You hesitate for a second, but something in her eyes, beneath the dry sarcasm, makes it easier to follow her instructions. You settle onto the examination table, gripping the edge a little too tightly, nerves still buzzing beneath your skin.

She watches your tense posture closely before turning toward the men, jerking her thumb toward the door. “Give us some space, will you?”

Suguru shrugs lightly, unbothered. “We’ll wait outside. Call if you need anything.”

Satoru steps toward you briefly, eyes softened with genuine worry despite the teasing demeanour. “Don’t worry. Shoko almost knows what she’s doing.”

Shoko narrows her eyes. “Out.”

Suguru gently grabs Satoru’s wrist, tugging him toward the door with practiced ease, murmuring something low and reassuring you can’t quite catch. They exit quietly, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving you alone with the doctor.

She moves around you with easily, rolling up her sleeves as she pulls a small cart of supplies closer. She checks your vitals quickly, her touch efficient, her movements practiced. Nothing about her says she’s worried yet.

She slips a small thermometer into your mouth, before scribbling some notes onto a clipboard.

“You feel dizzy at all?” She asks, her voice gentle.

You shake your head slightly, the thermometer shifting against your tongue. She hums lightly, pulling it out after the small beep and glancing at the reading.

“Temperature’s normal.” She sets it down and reaches for your wrist, gently pressing two fingers against your pulse point. “Heartbeat’s racing a bit though. You nervous about something?”

You hesitate, biting down on the inside of your cheek. Her eyes narrow just a little, catching the hesitation immediately.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Shoko asks, lowering her voice and stepping slightly closer. Her voice carries a note of concern now that she’s picked up that something’s wrong. “You’re acting weird.”

You exhale shakily, heart hammering harder. This is stupid, you think. You know exactly how this will sound, and you know how she’s going to react. But something about the genuine worry in her eyes and the softness in her voice, breaks past the barrier you’ve carefully constructed around yourself.

“I…” Your voice catches, dropping into something small and thin. You clear your throat and try again. “I know how this is gonna sound. But something… something happened to me last night.”

Shoko pauses, tilting her head slightly, giving you space. “Okay,” she says slowly, “what kind of something?”

You swallow hard. Your palms feel clammy, your voice tight as the words tumble out before you can stop them. “I was walking home from work and it was late so I took this shortcut in an alley, but there was a stupid cat and it started chasing me. I was running away then I tripped over something– a bottle, I think– and I hit my head. And then I felt…” Your voice cracks slightly, breath hitching as you force yourself to finish. “I felt myself… dying.”

The silence that follows your words is deafening.

Shoko’s expression freezes. Her eyes widen just slightly, shock flashing briefly across her face before she quickly masks it with careful composure. But it’s too late, you’ve already seen it.

“You… felt yourself dying?” She repeats, voice quiet, like she can’t quite grasp what you’re saying.

A wave of nausea churns your stomach. You nod slowly, looking away. “Yeah. But then I woke up here. In that house with those two men, Satoru and Suguru.” You hesitate, feeling ridiculous, your heart sinking as because you sound crazy. “I… I don’t know how any of this is happening. I don’t even know how I got here.”

She’s quiet again, visibly processing your words. After a long, tense silence, Shoko gently places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“Okay,” she breathes, her voice carefully even despite the obvious alarm behind her eyes. “Just… let me make sure I’m understanding correctly. You remember clearly what happened in the alley, falling, getting hurt. And then nothing else until waking up this morning?”

You nod again, throat tight. “Yes.”

She takes another slow breath. “Alright… and you don’t remember anything else? Like, anything from before you woke up today? Not even yesterday afternoon, or dinner, or coming home, or anything?”

You hesitate. Because you do remember.

You remember scarfing down greasy takeout on your couch for lunch before heading to work. You remember calling your long-distance friend two nights ago, venting about how exhausted you were and laughing when she threatened to stage an intervention if you didn’t take a day off soon. You remember walking home from the corner store last Tuesday with a bag of snacks swinging from your hand, earbuds in, hoodie pulled tight against the wind.

You remember. Not just yesterday, but weeks ago. Months. All of it. Every mundane, messy, ordinary piece of your life. Your heart sinks deeper, dread pooling heavily in your gut.

You blink hard, forcing the thoughts away, forcing your face to stay neutral. Because there’s no way to explain any of that without sounding completely insane.

“No.” The lie scrapes its way out of your throat. “Nothing. I don’t know those men. Or you.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

Silence falls heavy between you.

Shoko’s face visibly pales. Her jaw tightens, and you can see the slow shift from disbelief to deep, genuine worry as her mind pieces things together.

“You don’t remember me?” She asks, her voice strained, clearly hoping she misheard.

The look on your face answers her question instantly. Shoko stares at you for a few long, silent seconds, in a way that twists something deep in your chest. Finally, she nods slowly, pulling herself together just enough to offer you a gentle, reassuring squeeze on your shoulder.

“Okay.” She says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. Just stay here. I need to talk to them.”

She moves away, casting a glance back at you with lingering worry as she reaches for the door. You don’t say anything else, there’s nothing left to say. The door clicks shut softly behind her.

You fiddle on the examination table, the muffled sound of voices outside barely audible through the walls. Outside, Shoko barely gets halfway through her explanation before a voice behind the door spikes in volume, each word overlapping in urgency.

“What the hell do you mean she doesn’t remember us?!”

You stiffen, pulse hammering harder against your ears as the door swings open suddenly, slamming softly against the wall.

Satoru bursts in, eyes wild, features drawn tight with distress. Suguru follows quickly behind, his expression grim, more composed but no less shaken. Shoko trails after them, a flicker of irritation passing across her face.

“I told you to wait outside.” She snaps, but there’s no real bite to it, just resignation and understanding. She closes the door gently, giving you a brief apologetic glance.

Satoru barely seems to register Shoko’s voice. He’s already stepping toward you, hands half-raised as if he wants to grab your shoulders but thinks better of it at the last second, fingers twitching helplessly in the space between you.

“Babe, what do you mean you don’t remember us?” His voice rises, thin and tight. “That’s bullshit, baby, you have to remember–”

“Satoru.” Suguru interrupts sharply, low voice calm yet firm enough to cut through the rising panic. He steps closer, reaching out to briefly touch Satoru’s elbow, grounding him. “Let her breathe.”

Satoru ignores him, though he visibly flinched at Suguru’s tone. His gaze locks onto yours, blue eyes raw and desperate. “You– you’re just kidding, right? This isn’t funny.”

You draw back instinctively, heart racing, anxiety creeping into your throat. Their reactions are suffocating, their panic pressing in from every side. You feel trapped.

“I–” You falter, unable to form a full sentence, suddenly overwhelmed. How can you possibly explain something you don’t even fully understand yourself?

Shoko steps forward, arms crossed defensively in front of her chest. “Guys, she needs space right now.” She warns. “Crowding her isn’t helping.”

Satoru turns sharply, frustration bleeding into his voice. “How can she just–” He stops, shoulders sagging, voice catching. “How could she just forget us?”

The accusation hits the air like a physical blow, sharp and painful. You flinch, guilt tightening around your chest even though none of this is your fault. But they’re looking at you like it is.

“Satoru…” Suguru says again, softer now, clearly sensing the tension radiating off of you. He places a steadying hand on Satoru’s waist, squeezing gently. “Calm down–”

Satoru turns his head slightly toward Suguru, jaw clenching. “Calm down?” He repeats incredulously, voice strained. “She’s our wife, Suguru. How am I supposed to calm down?”

Your chest tightens uncomfortably at the heavy burden placed on you without your consent. Suguru’s amethyst eyes find you, and there’s something shattered in them. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his jaw clenches, the flicker of hurt rippling across his features, it hits you harder than you expect.

He’s more composed than Satoru, but the pain is there, deeply rooted, and it’s worse somehow because he’s trying so hard to keep it buried.

Shoko lets out a slow breath, stepping slightly between you and them, trying to create some semblance of distance. “I know this is fucked up. But I think she might have amnesia.” She explains gently, her eyes steady but emphatic. “It would explain–”

“Amnesia?” Satoru interrupts, disbelieving. “She didn’t even hit her head! She was perfectly fine last night, wasn’t she?”

Suguru nods slowly. “She didn’t fall or anything. How can it just happen overnight?”

Shoko exhales, obviously trying hard to remain patient. “It can happen without an obvious trigger. Stress, trauma, there are plenty of explanations.”

Satoru drags a hand roughly through his hair. “But this– this isn’t right.”

You silently voice your agreement.

Shoko sighs, her expression shifting carefully into a calm, professional mask you imagine she wears often. Turning toward her desk, she grabs a sleek tablet and switches it on, scrolling briefly before glancing back at the three of you.

“Look, I get it.” She says finally. “This is hard for all of you. But if we’re going off symptoms; sudden, unexplained loss of autobiographical memory, no head trauma, no substance involvement, then dissociative amnesia fits.”

“Dissociative…?” Suguru echoes, eyebrows drawing together.

Shoko nods. “It’s usually triggered by severe emotional or psychological stress. It’s rare, but it happens.” She pauses, her gaze shifting to you, before going back to Satoru and Suguru. “Her brain might’ve just… shut down certain memories as a way of protecting itself.”

Satoru drags his hand roughly down his face, shaking his head. “Protect itself from what? That doesn’t even make sense. She was fine, Shoko.”

Shoko meets his eyes. “Sometimes it’s delayed. People can seem perfectly fine right until they’re not.”

You sit frozen, listening as they discuss you as if you’re not even here, each word a reminder of how little control you have in this world.

Suguru takes a slow breath, clearly struggling to process it all. His voice softens as he asks, “So, what’s next? How do we help her?”

“There’s no magic fix.” Shoko exhales slowly, leaning back slightly against the desk, tablet forgotten in her hand for a moment. “First, we have to officially diagnose it. I’ll refer her to a neurologist and a psychologist to rule out any physical or neurological causes. They’ll run some tests, just to be sure.”

She taps the tablet lightly before continuing. “The best approach is to avoid overwhelming her. Stick to familiar surroundings and routines. Try gentle memory cues, photos, objects, conversations. Therapy is usually recommended.”

“And how long?” Satoru speaks up, his voice tight. The desperation is quieter now, compressed into something small and wounded. “How long does it take for her to remember?”

Suguru reaches instinctively for his hand, threading their fingers together in quiet reassurance.

Shoko’s gaze turns hesitant. “It’s impossible to say. Some people regain memories within days or weeks.” She pauses, hesitating. “Others take months, even years. And sometimes memories just don’t fully return.”

The silence that follows her words is thick, oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Suguru breathes out quietly, his hand gently squeezing Satoru’s. “We’ll figure it out.” He murmurs, voice soothing. He glances toward you, eyes steady and soft despite the turmoil within. “It’ll be okay.”

You’re not sure who he’s reassuring more, you or Satoru.

Shoko clears her throat gently, setting the tablet aside and looking at you. “I’ll set up the appointments tomorrow. For now, just... go home. Give yourselves time to process everything.”

You nod slowly, feeling distant, detached, like you’re watching your own life unravel from afar.

Satoru’s eyes find yours again, still raw, pleading, but slightly more controlled. “You okay with going home?” He asks almost hesitantly, like he’s afraid your answer might break him, as if giving you the illusion of choice might somehow help.

You give a small nod, sliding slowly off the examination table. Your legs feel unsteady, but you force yourself upright anyway, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.

Suguru exhales softly. “Okay.” He murmurs. “Let’s go.”

Shoko watches the three of you, brows creasing in a quiet worry she tries to conceal behind professionalism. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She says. “Keep an eye on her. If anything changes or worsens, you let me know immediately.”

Satoru and Suguru nod, thanking her before leading you towards the door.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵���‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

They tried to turn it into a little game.

After returning from Shoko’s clinic earlier that morning, you’d spent most of the day drifting numbly from room to room, trying to adjust to a life that still felt foreign. Eventually, as the evening crept in, Satoru suggested turning your confusion into something lighter, less overwhelming.

“A Q&A session.” He’d proposed cheerfully, flashing a smile brighter than it had any right to be. “We’ll tell you anything you want to know. And we can ask you some easy stuff, too.”

You’d reluctantly agreed, mostly because you didn’t have the energy to argue, and also because you needed answers. Now, several rounds in, you’re perched stiffly on the plush living room sofa. On the opposite side, Satoru lounges with an exaggerated casualness that feels slightly forced, one hand absently toying with Suguru’s fingers. Beside him, Suguru sits straighter, more composed, but you still catch the restless bounce in his leg.

Suguru had placed a bowl of strawberries in front of you on the coffee table earlier, fresh, perfectly rinsed, still a little cool from the fridge, murmuring softly about how they were your favourite. Or at least, they used to be, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Their questions come softly, gently probing, like they’re attempting to slowly rebuild a bridge back to you. Favourite colour, movies you like, places you might want to visit. You keep your answers vague, distant, careful not to give away too much of yourself.

“Favorite food?” Suguru asks, voice gentle but noticeably strained beneath the casual surface.

You shrug lightly. “I don’t really have one.”

Satoru makes a small, dramatic sound of disbelief, though the playful tone barely masks his underlying anxiety. “Impossible. Everyone has a favourite.”

You force a faint smile, more for their sake than yours. “I guess I like sweets?”

His expression lights up slightly, relief flickering briefly in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably, redirecting quickly. “Do I… have a job? Part-time or anything?”

Satoru shakes his head. “Not really. You didn’t need one. We’re, uh… kind of good on the money front.” He gestures vaguely to the luxurious room like it explains everything.

Suguru adds, “But you do babysit. Just here and there when Toji needs help.”

You blink, curiosity getting the better of you. “Toji?”

“He’s a friend.” Suguru answers, rising from his seat and disappearing briefly into another room. When he returns, he’s holding a phone. He swipes through a few screens, then turns it to face you.

On the screen is a toddler with dark, messy hair and a serious expression far beyond his age, bundled in a navy sweater. Suguru swipes through the photos. There’s one of him nestled against your chest, your arms wrapped around him protectively, one at the park, at the grocery store, one where he’s using your leg as a pillow while watching a movie.

“That’s Megumi.” Satoru offers softly. “Cute little guy, huh? He’s always so grumpy but you’re his favourite.”

You look away from the screen quickly, discomfort tightening your chest at these snippets of connections you never made. The two men share a glance, before Suguru pockets his phone.

Eventually, the conversation drifts back and forth, their careful attempts at playful flirting growing softer as your questions remain serious and distant. Finally, you work up the nerve to ask the question burning at the back of your mind.

“How long… have we been married?”

Your words land as the air in the room shifts as they both still to look at you.

Suguru’s the one who answers after a brief pause, voice quiet and careful. “Almost a year. But we’ve all been together since high school.”

High school sweethearts. Something about that detail unsettles you deeply, digging into memories of your own past, painful, complicated relationships, betrayals, heartbreaks that left you determined never to rely on anyone again.

Satoru leans forward slightly, eyes brightening faintly, though there’s an edge to his tone. “We’ve been through everything together. Prom, graduation…” He laughs nervously.

Your silence lingers a beat too long, tension thickening in the air. Suguru softly clears his throat, clearly sensing your discomfort, but he tries again. “We have a lot of photos. Do you want to see some from the wedding?”

“No.” Your reaction is too sharp, too immediate. You catch yourself quickly, softening your voice with effort. “I mean, maybe later. I’m pretty tired.”

They both pause, blinking in surprise, the fragile cheerfulness from earlier fading away. Satoru recovers first, forcing a careful, strained smile. “Uh, yeah, sure. We can go to bed early.”

Your pulse spikes. “Actually, could I… maybe sleep somewhere else tonight?”

The room falls painfully silent. Satoru visibly flinches, eyes widening with a raw, unguarded hurt he barely manages to mask. Suguru’s jaw tightens slightly, but he quickly smooths his expression.

“Sure.” Suguru says. “There’s a guest room down the hall.”

You nod slowly, avoiding their eyes as you rise from the couch. Neither of them moves immediately, clearly struggling with your quiet rejection. But eventually Suguru leads the way, shoulders slightly slumped, and Satoru trails behind, silent.

When you reach the guest room, Suguru opens the door quietly, stepping back to give you space. “If you need anything, we’re just across the hall.”

You nod again, the weight of their disappointment pressing down uncomfortably. “Thanks.” You whisper.

As you gently close the door behind yourself, you hear their footsteps, soft and muffled, lingering anxiously in the hallway before eventually fading away.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Sleep doesn’t come

You’ve been tossing around for what feels like hours, turning again and again beneath sheets that never feel right. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, but too wired to rest. Your mind loops through endless questions, faces, and impossible realities until your chest feels tight enough to burst.

You roll onto your back, staring blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling. With a quiet sigh, you push yourself upright, running both hands through your hair. There’s no point trying to force yourself to sleep when your mind won’t shut off.

You slip out from beneath the covers, shivering as your feet touch the cool wooden floor. The house beyond the guest room is silent now, every hallway wrapped in the hush of night.

Satoru and Suguru must be asleep, tucked away in the bed that you’d woken up in earlier that morning, tangled together, probably holding each other as they try not to dwell on how distant you’ve become.

The thought stings, but you push it down.

Quietly, you move through the dark hallway. Your hand lightly brushes along the wall for balance as you make your way toward the wide, arched door at the end of the corridor, the one that leads to the upstairs balcony.

You hesitate briefly before pushing it open.

The air outside is crisp and cool, rushing across your skin and pulling goosebumps to the surface. The wide balcony stretches out before you, overlooking a garden cloaked in deep shadows. Soft moonlight washes everything in shades of silver and blue It’s beautiful, unnervingly serene. Like a painting.

You step out barefoot, arms curling around yourself as the door drifts shut behind you. The night presses in around your shoulders. Your breath hitches, and comes in in a shudder. And then, without warning, the tears break free.

The sob hits before you even realize it’s coming. You sink down onto one of the seats set up at the edge of the balcony, burying your face in your hands as everything you’ve held in all day crashes through you like a wave.

You cry. Really cry. Ugly, full-body sobs, gasping and bitter, spilling out like they’ve been waiting for a crack in your armour. You’re angry and tired and scared. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know who you’re supposed to be. The people in this house look at you like you’re everything, but you’re nothing like her. You’re not their wife. You’re not anyone.

A soft noise makes you jerk upright, eyes wide and tear-blurred, heart hammering.

The cat is perched on the balcony rails, green eyes glowing faintly in the shadows, its greyish fur almost silver in the moonlight. It tilts its head slightly, observing you with calm curiosity.

“Oh, great.” You glare, swiping your sleeves roughly at your wet cheeks. “It’s you.”

He blinks at you.

You hiccup out a weak breath, eyes still wet. “This is all your fault, you know.” You whisper harshly. “If you hadn’t chased me down that stupid alley, none of this would’ve happened. I’d be home.”

The cat just sits there, staring at you silently.

You sniff, voice shaky and tight with emotion. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t even care, do you? You’re just some dumb, stupid animal that ruined my whole life.”

Your scoff out a bitter laugh, but your lower lip trembles as fresh tears well up. You bury your face back into your hands, shoulders shaking again.

A few seconds pass and then you feel a gentle pressure against your lower leg. You tense, glancing down through blurry eyes. The cat’s now at your feet, gently pawing at your shin. You let out a small huff, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move away.

Instead, he pounces, paws clinging onto the fabric at your knee, before hauling itself up onto your lap. You freeze, too stunned to do anything as he stretches, circles once, then settles down with a small huff, tail curling around its body.

Despite yourself, you reach out a hand and run your fingers through its fur. The cat leans into your touch, purring softly. Your breath comes a little easier, slowly calming to match the gentle vibrations beneath your palm.

“You’re not even sorry.” You murmur, though your voice is softer now, exhaustion replacing the earlier anger.

The cat simply closes his eyes, continuing to purr softly, totally unconcerned with the world around him.

You stay like that for a long while, curled on the seat with the cat nestled in your lap, the night wrapping around you like a blanket. Eventually, when the cold starts to settle into your bare feet and your eyelids grow heavy, you lift the cat into your arms and stand, returning quietly inside.

You wander slowly to the living room, the pale glow of the moon illuminating just enough to guide your steps. The couch is welcoming, soft cushions and a throw blanket draped over the back. You sink down onto it gratefully. The cat joins without hesitation, pressing himself against your cheek as you pull the blanket around you both.

Your let your eyelids drift to a close, and for the first time all day, your feel at ease. You fall asleep like that, pressed against a living, purring thing that doesn’t expect anything from you at all.

Tomorrow can come later.

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[ellexamor]

rendezvous

summary: sylus has realised he's real, but everything around him isn't. but what happens when he decides to kidnap you from the real world?

a/n: as promised here's the long ass second and last part. honestly writing smth as long as this is fun and all, but rechecking it is a pain in the ass. so please ignore any errors. i hope you like reading it as much as i loved writing it. once again thankyou @tofufairy for this wonderful idea! <3

word count: 7.7k

genre: sylus, sylus smut, smut, love and deepspace, sexual tensions, slight stalking, cunnilingus, oral (female receiving), p in v, creampie, sexual content, nsfw. MINORS DNI!

The last bite of chocolate lingered on your tongue as your gaze drifted to the exposed skin of Sylus' throat. The undone buttons of his shirt revealed the sharp cut of his collarbone, the smooth plane of his chest, and you caught yourself wondering if he’d taste like the wine they’d shared or something darker, something just his own.

Then his fingers flexed around his fork, and you realized that he’d noticed.

You jerked your eyes away, clearing your throat nervously. "You promised you'd answer all my questions," you said, gripping the edge of the table like an anchor.

Sylus set his fork down slowly. Then, without a word, he rose and crossed the room to an old record player tucked in the corner. The vinyl hissed as the needle dropped, and a slow, sultry melody filled the air.

He turned back to you, hand outstretched.

"Dance with me," he said, voice rough, "and I will."

Your pulse stuttered.

For a breath, you hesitated. Did you want answers or did you just want him? The way his fingers twitched, impatient, told you he already knew.

You took his hand.

His palm was warm, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him. One hand settled at the small of your back, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. The other tangled with yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles.

"Where are we?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed locked onto yours, intense, unreadable, as if weighing how much truth you could handle. The music swelled around you, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

Finally, he spoke.

"You could say I brought you with me inside the game," he murmured, fingers tightening on your waist.

It seemed as if those words shattered your world. Because that wasn’t an answer, it was a confession.

And you weren’t sure you cared. Not when his lips were so close, not when the hand on your back slid lower.

The game had never felt like this.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to go back.

The music still played, his arms still held you close, but everything felt suddenly too sharp, too real. The warmth of his hands, the scent of him, the weight of his confession hanging between you.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulder, nails digging in just slightly, as if testing whether he’d flinch. He didn’t.

"Why?" you demanded, voice trembling. "Why bring me here?"

Sylus didn’t hesitate. "Because you’re real." His thumb stroked the curve of your hip, slow, deliberate. "And none of this is."

A shudder ran through you. "How did you even leave the game? How is any of this possible?"

"For you," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your breath hitched. "Millions of people play this game. If you could just, just step out of it, why didn’t anyone notice you were gone? Why only come to me?"

He laughed then, low and dark, the sound curling around you like smoke. "You really don’t know?" His grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer until your chest brushed his with every breath. "I wanted you with me. I wanted something real to live for in this miserable world."

The admission should have thrilled you. Instead, it made your stomach twist.

"But-" You faltered, voice trembling. "You don’t even know me. You like the game’s protagonist. Not... not me."

Sylus went utterly still.

Then, abruptly, he stopped dancing. His hands dropped from your waist, and he stepped back, his expression hardening into something unreadable. For a long moment, he just stared at you, crimson eyes burning with an intensity that made a shiver run down your spine.

"You think," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "after everything I’ve done, after tearing myself out of that godforsaken code, reshaping this world just to hold you, that I don’t know exactly who you are?"

You opened your mouth to protest, to demand more, but he cut you off with a sharp gesture.

"You’re not listening," he said, voice dangerously quiet. "I didn’t bring the protagonist here. I brought you."

The implication hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

He’d chosen you. Not the game. Not the story. You.

And suddenly, the truth of it was terrifying.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and laced with disbelief.

"Wait, so you did this out of greed?" You took a step back, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin like a brand. "You were... lonely, so you just dragged me here?"*

Sylus froze. His brows furrowed slightly, lips parting as if he’d been struck. For the first time since you’d met him in the game, in this impossible place, he looked lost.

"You don’t even love me," you continued, voice cracking under the weight of the realization. "You love her. The protagonist. The MC. The one written into your story, the one you’ve always smiled at, always fought for. Am I just– what, a replacement? Because you wanted something real to hold onto?"

The air between you grew heavy, suffocating. The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your uneven breaths.

Sylus didn’t move.

Then, slowly, something in his expression shifted. His sharp features softened, the usual smirk gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. His crimson eyes, always so calculating, so knowing, glistened under the dim light, as if your words had carved something out of him.

"You think," he began, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, "that I don’t know the difference?"

You swallowed hard.

He took a step forward, then another, until you could see the flecks of crimson in his irises, the faint tremor in his jaw. "You think I spent months watching you, learning the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh at something stupid, the way you always pick the selfless choices even when it costs you, just to replace you with some scripted fantasy?"

"You think," he began, voice rough, "that I could love a script? A few lines of code designed to make players like you fall for me?" He took a step closer, and you swore you could hear his heartbeat or maybe it was yours, pounding in your ears. "Every word I said to her was for you. Every smile, every touch. Yours."

His hand lifted, hovering near your cheek as if afraid to touch. "You called my name through a screen. You stayed up late just to hear my voice. You-" His voice broke. His eyes were glistening. "You made me real. Not her. Never her."

A tear slipped free, yours or his, you couldn’t tell. His thumb caught it before it could fall, his touch achingly gentle.

"So tell me," he whispered, "who else was I supposed to love?"

Your chest ached.

"I don’t love her," he murmured, his hand lifting, hovering near your face as if afraid to touch. "I never did. Because she isn’t real. But you-" His thumb brushed your cheek, so gently it made your breath catch. "You’re the most real thing I’ve ever known."

The confession hung between you, fragile and terrifying.

You wanted to believe him.

But the doubt still clawed at your ribs. "Then why didn’t you just talk to me? In the real world? Why this?" 

You gestured around at the prison he’d built.

Sylus exhaled, long and slow. "Because out there, I don’t exist." His fingers curled into a fist at his side. "And in here? I can be someone worth loving."

The raw honesty in his voice shattered something inside you. Because now, finally, you understood.

He hadn’t taken you out of selfishness.

He’d done it out of hope.

And tha was so much worse.

Your vision blurred as hot tears welled up, spilling over before you could stop them. You took a shaky step back, the warmth of his touch still seared into your skin. "Sylus, this isn't right..." The words came out broken, barely above a whisper.

The moment they left your lips, something in his face shattered.

"Why are you blaming me for being real?" His voice cracked like ice under pressure. "For having feelings? For loving you?" Each word landed like a blow, his usually composed features twisted in anguish you'd never seen before. Not in the game, not in all your time here.

You shook your head, another tear tracing down your cheek. "You don't love me, Sylus-"

"I saw you in her. Always." He closed the distance between you in one swift movement, his hands coming up to cradle your face with surprising gentleness despite their trembling. "I've always loved you." His thumbs brushed away your tears, the leather of his gloves surprisingly soft against your skin. The scent of winter mint and something uniquely him.

"How do I make you believe me, sweetie?" His voice dropped to a whisper, his forehead nearly touching yours. "I wish I could show you what lengths I'm willing to go for you."

Your breath hitched as memories flashed through your mind. The library with its impossibly rare books, the bedroom crafted to your exact tastes down to the smallest detail, the way he'd remembered your favorite shade of pink. The way his eyes lit up when you laughed, the care he took in preparing every meal, the piano music drifting through the halls.

But then the darker thoughts crept in. The way he'd taken you from your world without asking. The way he'd watched you for months through a screen. 

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, see the desperate hope in those crimson eyes that usually held nothing but cool confidence. The realization hit you like a physical blow, he was terrified. Terrified you'd reject him. Terrified that after everything, it still wouldn't be enough.

The conflict tore at you. Part of you wanted to melt into his touch, to believe every word. Another part screamed that none of this was normal, that love shouldn't come with kidnapping.

But when his thumb brushed your lower lip so gently it made your knees weak, when you saw the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. Eyes you'd stared at through a screen for so many lonely nights. You couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

Because the most terrifying realization of all?

Part of you wanted to stay.

The moment stretched between you.You could see the intention in Sylus’ eyes as he leaned in, the way his lashes lowered slightly, the way his breath hitched just before he closed that final inch of distance. His lips were parted ever so slightly, and you caught the faintest scent of the dark coffee he’d been drinking earlier, mingled with something warmer, something him.

But at the last second, you turned your face away.

His lips brushed your cheek instead, so soft it might have been imagined. He froze. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. You could feel the heat of him so close, the tension in his body, the way his fingers flexed against your jaw as if fighting the urge to pull you back.

Then, slowly, he straightened.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Your pulse roared in your ears, your skin still tingling where he’d almost kissed you. You wanted it. God, you wanted it. But the weight of everything. The mansion, the game, the way he’d taken you here, sat heavy in your chest, a knot of fear and longing tangled together so tightly you couldn’t separate them.

Sylus didn’t move.

You could feel his gaze on you, burning, waiting. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t try to convince you again. He just stood there, his presence a silent question, his hands now limp at his sides.

A floorboard creaked somewhere in the mansion, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. The scent of the candles, vanilla and something smokier, like sandalwood, clung to the air, suddenly overwhelming. Your fingers trembled at your sides, and you clenched them into fists, nails biting into your palms.

Still, you didn’t speak. Still, you didn’t look at him.

And then a quiet exhale. The barest rustle of fabric as he stepped back.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you heard his footsteps retreating, measured and slow, as if giving you every possible chance to call him back. The distance between you grew, the warmth of his body fading, leaving you cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps completely disappeared did you finally lift your head.

The dining room was empty.

The candles still flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the untouched dishes. The record had long since ended, the needle stuck in a silent, endless loop. Your reflection in the polished tabletop looked pale, wide-eyed, a stranger staring back at you.

You sank into the nearest chair, your legs suddenly unsteady.

What had you just done?

Part of you ached to run after him, to take back the unspoken rejection. You remembered the way his voice had cracked when he’d said I’ve always loved you, the rawness in his eyes when he’d realized you didn’t believe him. He’d spent his entire existence in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by characters who weren’t real, loving a protagonist who wasn’t real, until he’d seen you.

And you’d turned him away.

Your fingers traced the edge of the table, the wood smooth beneath your touch. The mansion was so quiet now. No distant piano music, no footsteps, no low murmur of his voice. Just the oppressive silence.

You thought of the library, of the way he’d watched you as you’d pulled books from the shelves, his expression soft in a way the game had never shown. You thought of your bedroom, of every little detail he’d remembered, every trinket he’d placed there just to see you smile. You thought of the way he’d looked at you tonight, like you were the only real thing in his world.

And you’d walked away.

A sound escaped you, half laugh, half sob, as you pressed your palms into your eyes. You were such a coward. You wanted him. You ached for him. But the fear, the fear of what it meant, of what he’d done to bring you here, of the fact that none of this should be possible, had won.

The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, each second stretching into an eternity.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, staring at the untouched glass of wine in front of you, the liquid long gone still. The candles burned lower, their glow dimming as wax pooled at their bases.

And Sylus didn’t return.

Eventually, you pushed yourself up, your body heavy with exhaustion. The halls of the mansion stretched before you, dark and empty. Your footsteps echoed as you made your way back to your room, the door clicking shut behind you.

The bed was still perfectly made, the pillows fluffed, the blankets turned down, as if waiting for you. As if he’d known you’d come back here alone.

You curled into yourself beneath the covers, staring at the canopy above.

Somewhere, in this impossible house, in this impossible world, Sylus was alone too.

And for the first time since you’d arrived, you wondered which of you was more trapped.

The hours stretched endlessly as you lay there, the plush comforter beneath you suddenly feeling too soft, too suffocating. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, painting silver streaks across the ceiling. You traced them with your eyes, your mind racing through every moment since you'd arrived in this impossible place.

Your favorite fictional character had somehow stepped out of the game. For you.

The thought alone should have thrilled you. It had, at first. The library with its rare books, the bedroom crafted to your exact tastes, the way he'd remembered every little detail about you, your favorite color, the way you took your coffee, the anime merch you'd never been able to afford. He'd given you everything you'd ever wanted, everything you'd daydreamed about during lonely nights scrolling through your phone.

And now?

Now you'd pushed him away.

You rolled onto your side, fingers clutching the pillow beneath your head. Had you ruined everything? The way he'd looked at you, like you were the only real thing in his world, flashed behind your eyes. The rawness in his voice when he'd said I've always loved you. The way he'd stopped when you turned away, even though he could have easily forced the kiss, could have made you stay.

But he hadn't.

Because despite everything, despite the fact that he'd taken you here, he'd still given you a choice. A shaky breath escaped you.

Even if you wanted to go back now, you'd need his help. The realization settled heavily in your chest. You had no idea how this world worked, no idea how to return to your own. The thought should have terrified you, and it did, a little. But beneath the fear, there was something else.

Did you even want to go back?

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Right now, all you wanted was to see him. To talk to him. To feel him, the warmth of his hands, the solidness of his chest beneath your palms, the way his breath hitched when you got too close.

Your gaze flicked to the ornate clock on the nightstand. 3:17 AM.

What was he doing right now?

Was he lying awake too, staring at some ceiling of his own, thinking of you? Was he in that grand library, fingers trailing over the spines of books he'd collected just for you? Or was he at the piano again, playing that same melancholy melody, his silver hair catching the moonlight like frost?

The thought of him alone, hurting because of you, made your chest ache.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you pushed back the covers and stood. The floor was cool beneath your bare feet as you treaded to the door, your pulse thrumming in your throat.

You had to find him. You needed to.

The hallway stretched before you, dark and silent. Somewhere in this mansion, Sylus was waiting. And this time, you wouldn't turn away.

***

Sylus sat on the edge of his bed, his body rigid, his hands clenched into tight fists on his knees. The room around him was dark, the only light coming from the pale moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He just stared blankly at the opposite wall, as if he could erase the last few hours from existence if he focused hard enough.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The way you had looked at him, like he was something terrifying, something wrong. The way you had turned your face away when he’d tried to kiss you. The way your voice had trembled when you’d accused him of being greedy, of dragging you into his world without a second thought for what you wanted.

And you had been right.

A hot tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. Then another. He didn’t wipe them away. He just let them fall, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Pathetic.

He had spent so long watching you from behind the screen, memorizing every little thing that made you smile, every detail that made you you. He had built this entire world for you, crafted every room, every book, every piece of clothing to perfection, all because he had been lonely. Because he had wanted you to look at him the way you’d looked at the screen.

But he had never stopped to think about what you might feel.

He had been selfish. Desperate. Greedy.

A broken laugh escaped him, harsh and humorless. He had spent his entire existence inside a game, surrounded by scripted lines and predetermined choices, and yet this was the first time he had ever truly felt real. And now he had ruined it.

Sylus leaned back against the headboard, pressing his palms against his eyes. He didn’t want to think about you. Didn’t want to imagine the fear in your expression, the way you had flinched away from him.

But he couldn’t help it. Because even now, even after everything, he still loved you, still wanted you.

And that was the worst part.

***

Your bare feet tingled across the cold marble floors as you stepped through the darkened halls. The mansion felt too vast, too silent, every corner and empty room a reminder of the distance you'd put between you.

You checked the library first, nothing. The piano in the garden sat untouched, its keys cold. Even the kitchen, where he'd prepared every meal with such care, stood empty.

Then, at last, you pushed open the door to what must have been his bedroom.

Oh. Shit.

You froze, one foot still hovering over the threshold. You should have knocked. What if he..

But then you saw him.

Sylus lay half-propped against the headboard, his silver-white hair messed up from restless fingers, his lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks. Moonlight spilled across him, gilding the sharp angles of his face, the curve of his parted lips. He looked younger like this, softer. The usual sharpness in his features was smoothed by sleep.

You held your breath as you crept closer, the plush carpet muffling your steps. For a moment, you just stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as you crawled toward him.

He didn't stir.

Up close, you could see the faint furrow between his brows, the way his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets. Had he cried himself to sleep? The thought sent an ache through your chest.

Slowly, so slowly, you reached out.

Your fingertips brushed his cheek first, warm, so warm, the stubble rough against your skin. He exhaled softly at the contact but didn't wake. Emboldened, you traced the bridge of his nose, the curve of his bottom lip, marveling at the reality of him. The game had never captured the way his breath hitched when you touched him, the way his skin flushed slightly under your fingers.

Real. He was real.

And in this moment, with the moonlight painting him in shades of silver and blue, with the quiet intimacy of his sleeping form beneath your hands, you couldn't remember why you'd ever pushed him away.

Your thumb brushed over his lip one last time and crimson eyes flicked open.

You froze.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then Sylus's hand came up, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. Not pulling away. Just holding.

"Still doubting I'm real?" he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Your breath hitched as crimson eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, panic spiked through you. Why did he have to wake up right now? You jerked your hand back, but his grip on your wrist stayed firm, not tight enough to trap you, but enough to make your pulse stutter.

You looked away first, your face burning. The room suddenly felt too small, the moonlight too bright, the silence between you too loud. What were you even supposed to say? Sorry I was creeping on you while you slept? Sorry I pushed you away earlier?

When you dared to glance back, Sylus was still watching you, his head tilted slightly, that infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. He didn’t speak. Just waited.

So you took a shaky breath and let the words spill out.

"Sylus, I’m sorry." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I-I don’t know what you must have been going through all this time. Trapped in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by people who weren’t real. And then I... I acted like you were the one who didn’t understand." You swallowed hard. "Maybe I was being too hesitant. Too scared."

Still, he said nothing. Just listened, his thumb absently stroking the inside of your wrist, sending little shocks of warmth up your arm.

"It’s just-" You huffed a frustrated laugh, your free hand gesturing vaguely. "None of this is supposed to be possible. You’re not supposed to be real. And yet here you are, and you… you know me. Better than anyone. And that’s terrifying."

Your voice cracked. "Because what if I’m not who you think I am? What if you’re disappointed?" The words hung between you, raw and vulnerable.

Sylus didn’t immediately respond. He just studied you, his gaze tracing every flicker of emotion on your face. Then, slowly, he tugged you closer, until your knees brushed against his thigh.

"Sweetie," he murmured, his voice rough with something that made your chest tighten. "Do you really think I’d go through all this trouble for someone I didn’t know?"

His free hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. "You’re not a character in a game. You’re messy. You’re stubborn. You overthink everything." His lips quirked. "And I like that. All of it."

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders dropping. "So... you’re not mad?"

"Oh, I’m furious," he responded. Then, softer, "But not at you."

His fingers slid into your hair, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I should’ve given you time. Should’ve asked instead of just taking you." His thumb traced your bottom lip. "But I’m selfish. And impatient. And I wanted you here."

The admission should have scared you. Instead, it just made your heart ache.

"I’m still scared," you admitted quietly.

Sylus hummed, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "Good," he murmured. "So am I."

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths mingling in the narrow space between your lips. His exhales were warm and uneven, fanning over your mouth in a way that made your skin prickle with anticipation. Without thinking, your tongue darted out to wet your suddenly dry lips and his grip on the back of your head tightened ever so slightly in response.

Sylus leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But when his lips were just a hair's breadth from yours, he paused, crimson eyes searching yours one last time.

Permission. He was asking.

Something inside you melted at the realization.

Instead of answering with words, you closed the distance yourself.

Your lips met his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, testing. His mouth was warmer than you'd imagined, the faint taste of coffee and something uniquely him lingering on your tongue. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you back with a tenderness that contradicted everything you knew about him.

Then his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a quiet gasp from you that he swallowed hungrily. Every point of contact between you burned, his chest pressed against yours, his thigh between your knees, his fingers tightening in your hair just enough to make your pulse spike.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless.

Sylus didn't let you go far. His forehead came to rest against yours again, his breathing ragged. 

"Convinced yet?" he murmured, voice rough with want.

You huffed a laugh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I think I need more evidence."

His answering smirk was all the warning you got before he claimed your lips again.

The moment your lips met again, any remaining hesitation burned away in the heat between you. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his tongue sliding past your lips in a claiming sweep that made your toes curl. You moaned into the kiss, fingers tangling in his silver-white hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a growl from deep in his throat.

Sylus didn’t just kiss you, he devoured you.

Every slide of his tongue was a challenge, every nip of his teeth a demand. You met him stroke for stroke, your thighs clenching together as wetness pooled in your panties. His hands roamed your back, pressing you impossibly closer until you could feel the hard planes of his body against every inch of yours.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, you were met with an unexpected sight.

A rosy blush staining Sylus’ sharp cheekbones, his lips swollen from your kisses.

You couldn’t help the breathless chuckle that escaped you. "Sylus," you teased, thumb brushing over his heated skin, "are you blushing?"

His crimson eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous and utterly delighted passing through them. His hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers pressing possessively into your flesh as he leaned in, his voice a low, rough purr against your ear.

"Do you see what you do to me, kitten?"

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he captured your lips again.

In one swift motion, Sylus pulled you up into his lap, your legs straddling his waist as he claimed your mouth again in a searing kiss. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp, a sound he swallowed with a satisfied hum.

His lips left yours only to trail down the column of your throat, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point before sucking a mark into your skin. You arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair as a breathy moan escaped you.

"Sylus-"

His name on your lips seemed to unravel him. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, and what you saw in his crimson eyes stole your breath. Raw, unfiltered desire, a hunger so deep it made your stomach flip.

"Am I being too greedy," you whispered, your thumb brushing his cheekbone, "if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me?"

A low, rough laugh rumbled in his chest. "You always had that right." His hands slid up your sides, possessive. "Which means you can be even greedier." He nipped at your jaw. "Do you want it, kitten?"

"Yes." The word left you in a rush, barely more than a breath.

Sylus groaned, his lips finding your neck again, then your jaw, then the shell of your ear, each kiss hotter than the last. "I’m hoping yes is still your answer," he murmured, voice thick with need, "because I just can’t hold back anymore."

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he stood from the bed, your legs locking around his waist. You barely had time to register the movement before your back met the softness of the mattress, Sylus hovering above you, his silver hair framing his face like a halo in the moonlight.

"Last chance to say no," he breathed, though the way his hands trembled against your skin told you how much the words cost him.

You answered by pulling him down to you, sealing your lips against his in a kiss that held no hesitation, no fear, just want.

His mouth crashed into yours like a drowning man gasping for air, hot, desperate, and utterly consuming. You could taste the hunger in every searing kiss, the way his teeth nipped at your bottom lip before his tongue swept in to soothe the sting.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he gripped the fabric of your sleeve between his teeth and tugged it down your shoulder with deliberate slowness, his crimson eyes locked onto yours the entire time. The cool air hit your exposed skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you whole.

His lips left yours to trail down your jaw, your neck, your newly bared shoulder, each kiss searing a brand into your skin. You arched into him with a gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he worked his way lower, his teeth grazing your collarbone just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

He didn’t stop there.

His mouth traced a slow, torturous path down your arm, kissing, nipping, licking, until he reached your wrist. Then, with a final, lingering press of his lips to your palm, he turned your hand over and met your gaze again, his breath hot against your skin.

"Still with me, kitten?" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

The moment his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a shiver raced down your spine. His fingers trailed down your back, finding the hidden zipper of your dress with practiced ease. As the fabric loosened, sliding down your shoulders, you caught the flicker of his gaze, dark with desire, but with a faint blush creeping up his neck.

He was blushing.

The realization sent a thrill through you. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked them open one by one. His breath hitched when your palms skimmed over his toned abs, tracing them with slow, teasing strokes.

When your hand drifted lower, brushing over the hardness straining against his jeans, his entire body tensed. But before you could go further, his fingers closed around your wrist, stopping you.

"Let me make you feel good tonight, kitten," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.

His thumb brushed over your pulse point, his crimson eyes burning into yours. "Just you."

Then his mouth was on your neck again, his free hand sliding up your bare thigh.

His fingers traced slow, teasing paths up your bare thighs, the calloused pads of his fingertips dragging just hard enough to make your breath hitch. When he reached the damp lace of your panties, he paused, his thumb brushing over the soaked fabric with a low hum.

"Fuck, kitten," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Already this wet for me?"

You whimpered as his fingers pressed harder, circling the aching bundle of nerves through the thin material. Your hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more friction, but he tutted, his grip tightening on your thigh to hold you still.

"Patience," he hummed, though the dark hunger in his crimson eyes betrayed his own restraint.

With deliberate slowness, he peeled your dress the rest of the way off, letting it pool around your waist before his hands moved to the clasp of your bra. The second it came undone, his mouth was on you, hot and greedy. His tongue swirled around one peaked nipple, then the other, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed.

"Sylus-!" Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as pleasure coiled tight in your core.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending another jolt of heat straight between your legs. "Love the way you say my name," he murmured before nipping lightly at the soft underside of your breast.

His lips trailed lower, kissing a searing path down your stomach, his tongue dipping into the hollow of your navel. You squirmed beneath him, your thighs trembling as he reached the waistband of your panties, but instead of removing them, he hooked his fingers into the lace and dragged them to the side, exposing you completely.

His breath hitched.

"Perfect," he growled.

Then his mouth was on you.

The first lick was light as a feather, just a teasing swipe of his tongue over your clit that had you gasping. The second was firmer, more deliberate, and by the third, he was devouring you like a man starved. His lips closed around your clit, sucking hard before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud in rapid, relentless circles.

"Oh, god-!" Your back arched, your hands fisting in the sheets as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "You taste even better than I imagined,kitten," he rasped before diving back in with renewed hunger.

His fingers joined his mouth, two slipping inside you with ease, curling just right to stroke that sweet spot that made your vision blur. Your hips rocked against his face, chasing the building pressure, but he held you down with his free hand, his grip unyielding.

"That's it, kitten," he murmured between licks. "Let go for me.”

And when you finally shattered, his name on your lips and his tongue drawing out every last shuddering wave of pleasure, he didn't stop, not until you were limp and trembling beneath him, oversensitive and utterly spent.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his gaze locked onto yours with dark satisfaction.

"Mine," he breathed, like it was the only truth that mattered.

Your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath as you watched him unbuckle his belt with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding free. His jeans fell to the floor, and your gaze dropped.

Oh.

A dark, wet patch stained the front of his boxers, the fabric clinging to the thick outline of his cock beneath. He palmed himself through the material with a rough groan, his head tilting back, the muscles in

his neck straining. The sight of him so desperate, so needy, made your mouth water and panties wetter.

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed his boxers down, freeing himself.

Your breath caught.

He was big, thick and flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He wrapped his hand around his length, giving himself a slow stroke, his hips jerking slightly into the touch. His crimson eyes locked onto yours as he bit out, "Fuck, sweetie. You’re watching me like you want to taste."

You did.

But before you could move, he was on the bed, hovering over you. His fingers slid between your thighs, gathering the slick arousal coating your folds, then dragging up to circle your clit, making you gasp. He didn't stop there. His wet fingers wrapped around his cock, spreading your wetness over his length as he stroked himself again, his groan vibrating through you.

Then he was pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, rubbing slow, teasing circles. "Is this what you want, kitten?" he gritted out, his voice wrecked.

You could only nod, your hips lifting toward him in silent pleas.

He smirked , that infuriating, perfect smirk, and finally pushed inside.

The moment he entered you, your breath caught in your throat, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as you arched your back in delicious surrender. His thick, throbbing length stretched you exquisitely, filling you so completely that your inner walls instinctively clenched around him, desperate to keep him buried deep inside. He paused, letting you adjust, his dark eyes burning with hunger as he watched your face twist in pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growled, his voice rough with need.

You could feel every inch of him, every vein, the way his cock pulsed inside you, the way your body yielded to him so perfectly. And then he moved slow at first, a torturous drag of his shaft against your sensitive walls, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the rhythm growing faster, harder, until you were both lost in the primal heat.

Your nails raked down his back as he pounded into you, his hips pistoning with relentless fervor. The heat between your bodies was unbearable, sweat glistening on your skin as you writhed beneath him. Every snap of his hips sent shockwaves through you, your moans growing louder, more desperate.

Then your eyes fluttered open, drawn to the mirror above. The sight was breathtaking, his sculpted body moving over yours, his back muscles flexing with each deep thrust, his cock disappearing into your slick, willing clit over and over again. The visual was intoxicating, and you whimpered, your arousal spiking at the sheer sight of it.

He noticed your gaze and smirked, his fingers tightening on your hips before he suddenly pulled out completely, leaving you empty and aching.

"Come here, sweetie," he commanded, patting his lap.

You didn't hesitate, straddling him eagerly, your wetness coating his thighs as you sank down onto him in one smooth, delicious motion. His groan was deep, guttural, as your tight warmth enveloped him again. Leaning back against the headrest, he gave you full view in the mirror, his thick cock buried inside you, your body taking him so perfectly.

His hands found your breasts, palming and kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples until you were whimpering. Then he leaned forward, capturing one peak between his lips, sucking hard before grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. You cried out, your hips rolling instinctively, grinding down on him as pleasure shot through you.

“That's it, ride me like a good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements.

You obeyed, lifting yourself almost all the way off before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. The friction was divine, his cock rubbing against every sweet spot inside you. The mirror reflected your desperate movements, your breasts bouncing, your body glistening with sweat, his thick length glistening with your arousal as you rode him harder, faster.

You could feel your climax building, coiling tight in your core, your walls fluttering around him. "Sylus, I'm... I'm going to-” you panted, your voice breaking as pleasure threatened to consume you.

And he knew. With a wicked grin, he thrust up into you with renewed force, his fingers digging into your hips as he drove you toward the edge. The sounds of your bodies colliding were filthy, wet, obscene, moans mingling, the slick sound of his cock plunging into your dripping pussy.

Just as you were about to shatter, he pulled out again, leaving you trembling on the brink. A whimper of protest escaped your lips, but before you could beg, he spun you around, bending you over the edge of the bed. His hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you down as he positioned himself behind you.

One powerful thrust, and he was inside you again, deeper than before, his cock stretching you impossibly wide. You screamed, the fullness overwhelming as he began pounding into you with brutal, unrelenting force.

"Fuck, you take me so well," he growled, his voice dark with desire.

Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through you, his pelvis slamming against your ass, the sound lewd and intoxicating. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every pulse of his arousal as he fucked you with wild abandon. His fingers dug into your hips, his grip possessive, claiming.

"You're mine," he snarled, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing ragged.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, your body convulsing around him as pleasure ripped through you in violent waves. Your walls clenched, milking his cock as you cried out, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Feeling you tighten around him, he lost control, slamming into you one final time before burying himself to the hilt. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as he came, his hot seed flooding your depths in thick, pulsing ropes. You could feel him twitching inside you, his release endless as he held you tightly against him, both of you trembling from the force of your climax.

He collapsed over you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggled to come down from the high. 

His lips found your shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss there before murmuring, "Fuck, you're perfect." 

And you lay there, still connected, still throbbing from the pleasure.

He pulled out slowly, careful not to jostle you too much, and you exhaled, a long, trembling breath, as he leaned over you, pushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead. His fingers were warm against your skin, brushing gently, as if memorizing the way your lashes fluttered against flushed cheeks. He kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment, his lips soft and reassuring.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, voice rough but tender, and you nodded, boneless in his hands.

He left you just long enough to run the bath. You heard the rush of water, the quiet clink of the faucet as he adjusted the temperature. 

When he returned, he gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and you melted against his chest, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. The bathroom was already hazy with steam, the air thick with the scent of lavender from the oil he’d added to the water.

He lowered you into the tub with infinite care, one hand braced against the small of your back, the other guiding your legs in. The heat was perfect, sinking into your muscles, winding off the last of the tension coiled in your limbs. 

You sighed, tipping your head back as his hands glided over your skin, smoothing soap along your arms, your collarbones, the dip of your waist. He was thorough but unhurried, washing away the sweat and the lingering heat of your bodies.

When the water cooled, he helped you out, wrapping you in a towel so large it swallowed you whole. He patted you dry with the same slow attention, dabbing at your shoulders, the backs of your knees, the delicate skin of your wrists, before turning his focus to your hair. 

The towel was soft as he gathered the damp strands, squeezing out the excess water before combing his fingers through the lengths, untangling the knots with a patience that made your chest ache.

You were drowsy by the time he finished, your eyelids heavy, your body loose with warmth and contentment. He chuckled, low and fond, and lifted you again, carrying you back to the bedroom where the sheets had already been changed, fresh and cool against your skin as he tucked you in.

"Wait," you mumbled, catching his wrist as he moved to pull away.

He hesitated, still half-dressed, still damp from the bath, but you tugged, insistent, and he complied, sliding in beside you. You curled into him immediately, your head pillowed on his chest, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. 

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

"Sleep. I’ve got you," he whispered, pressing his lips to your hair.

another cute gif

tags: @harbingers-lullaby, @crimsonsylus, @theshadowsdragon, @dummiebunny, @nm4565natty, @robotinvenus, @librarydame, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @myeagleexpert, @seventeen-x, @randomness39, @amiamango, @fangbangerghoul

[ellexamor]

Aircraft Marshalling blobbu so Pilot Blobbu can land home safely ✈️✈️✈️

[ellexamor]

I've always wantedd to draw caleb :>>>>

[ellexamor]

Mc being a sailor guardian and protecting Rafayel😂

[ellexamor]

Veiled Secrets

art is by @3-aem they're insanely talented 🥹

pairings- emperor! gojo x arranged empress! reader

summary -you've been set to marry the new emperor Satoru Gojo, but he wants nothing to do with all of that, he doesn't even come to your first meeting - rude! No, he must bathe with his concubines, but when he sees you for the first time and doesn't even know you're his wife? Everything shifts, but it turns out he doesn't know that you're not happy to be here either. Leaving your past love behind and everything you know for a foreign country, just to be unwanted by your new 'husband' is almost enough to break you. You're ready to go through the motions, play your role, but do you really know who Emperor Gojo is?

contents/warnings - heavy angst, depression, enemies to lovers, longing, mutual pining, explicit smut, back and forth games, court tactics, Satoru being a hoe, reader missing her lover Suguru, a fuck ton of drama and games, he falls hard. This chap - oral (m and f receiving), fingering, angst and jealousy, Satoru kinda being a dick but also a consent king, masturbation (m), mentions of sex with others- 11k WC - based on emperor! gojo headcanons

This one the poll as the thank you for 20k followers!! Thank you all sm 💗 If you enjoy, rbs and comments are so appreciated!

Part One

The pretty, intricate tea cup swirls with amber liquid, you’re gently spinning your little gold spoon in it, as you wonder at the time. It’s your second cup of tea, as you wait for him - your husband to be, the Emperor Gojo. You don’t know anything about him aside from tales of his military exploits, and you have heard he’s very young still. Some say he’s handsome, but you can’t say you care.

The memories of the love you left, the family you left behind, to now be surrounded by strangers, was brutal, lingering pain mixing with the terror of being in a new country. You are trying to understand their customs, their cultures, luckily you know their language, but you miss your home terribly. You miss feeling safe in the castle you grew up in.

Mostly, you miss him - your guard, the man you’d just finally started to kiss, he’d started to explore your body when you two had the briefest of moments. You thought you’d run away with him, only to be dragged here, without a chance to do more than leave him a letter of farewell, and now you’re waiting for a man for - it must have been an hour - sipping on your third cup of tea.

Everything is immaculate in this place, your chambers, the pavilion itself, covered in blues and whites, the colors of the Gojo family. You were greeted friendly enough, shown your new ladies in waiting, as yours were not allowed to come, the palace itself was under constant high security. They didn’t welcome outsiders, and you can tell they don’t welcome you.

Having been whispered about, talked about as you walked through the lively pavilions, passing many workers and ladies who bow to you, before whispering behind your back. It’s as if everyone smiles to your face, then starts gossiping - and god do you hear all of it, even now, the three ladies standing behind you murmur to each other behind their fans.

He’s an hour late, he’s not coming!

What an insult… he’s probably with his favorite concubine!

Concubine Lola, it must be.

What if we worked for her - her pavilion-

“Could you all please stop?” Your words have the three girls gasping, you don’t even look back at them, tracing your fingers along the pretty rose patterns of your tea cup, of the little dish under it. You scoop some of the honey in a little dish, watching it roll gently into the tea, still steaming up with puffs of condensation.

They quiet down, or their whispers are quieter you should say, as you sit there in your immaculate gowns, the highest of fashion. You were done up with make up, your hair piled high in the latest fashion with the prettiest blue pin that had been bestowed upon you from him - from Gojo - through a servant of his.

Yet, here you are, alone.

Your mind drifts as you wait, as you eye the elaborate tarts that the cook has whipped up, sitting there untouched, your tummy hurting from the nausea rolling over you in waves. How could you just leave Suguru behind? Did he get your letter? He always knew there wasn’t much hope, but you were the one littered with wild ideas, the hopeful one.

He kissed your neck the last time you saw him, toying with you under your skirts - the style back home was many voluminous ones, and he had no problem finding your clit under them. He’d drank in your quiet little whimpers as his violet eyes looked down at you, his other hand at the nape of your neck when you’d said it - I love you.

He had kissed you quiet, having you cum for the first time, the memories make you heat up and blush. You’d both had to separate, and that’s the night you found out you had to leave your home forever. Not just another territory or land, no - an entire country, a five day trip on ship and two days on land to get here. A man who clearly has no interest to even show up.

Suddenly, a beautiful woman with long white locks comes in, smiling kindly at you, she has brilliant blue eyes - so blue they’re enchanting. You quickly recover your thoughts, standing as well, palms just a little sweaty as you bow your head, and she does as well, decked in the color blue, her hair falling just a bit in front of a beautiful face.

“Former Empress Gojo,” she greets then, she comes over to kindly take your hands, you smile nervously. “I’m so sorry, my son is… occupied… and will not make the meeting.”

“Oh, I see,” you are seething - can he not walk a few steps to greet you after the week it took? But you hold it all in, keeping your composure and smiling, as her ladies whisper behind her to your ladies - god the court is gossipy. “Is he well, your majesty?”

“Don’t be so formal, I’ll be your mother in law soon.” She kindly smiles, but you hear the whispers.

He’s with all of them?

At once? Scandalous!

Do they get along that well?

“Ladies,” his mother chides them, like a sweet mother duck, and they instantly quiet, she looks at you, tilting her head. “You are most beautiful.”

“Oh, thank you Lady Gojo.” You bow your head again.

“And such manners, you’ll do well.” You wish her words made you feel better, but they don’t.

You just want to fucking go home.

But you put on your fake smile, you’ve done it your entire life as a princess, you’re truly just moving from one gilded cage to another, that’s all your home was - despite the love and friends you built. You had no freedom, and you won’t have any here, where at least your parents were doting, they used you as a political pawn, such is what happens to women.

You thought you could really run away, how foolish a thought. It sinks in your mind like a cruel joke, as the former Empress Gojo goes on, she’s so kind, you can feel it’s not fake. It seems genuine, her understanding, like she’s been here before - clearly from some different land judging by her unique looks. You wonder what she thought when she had to go through this.

“I will have our attendant Ijichi show you around, he’s very knowledgeable about everything here, moreso than even my son, don’t tell him I said so.” She laughs a bit at that, you give her a perfunctory smile.

“You are most gracious, Lady Gojo.”

Soon a tired looking man walks in, but he seems sweet and kind, smiling and bowing his head. He wears a little monocle on one eye, wearing the traditional dark blue robes you’ve seen other attendants and guards wear. He takes your hand and bows over it, some inky black locks falling over his brow.

“My lady,” his voice is quiet and calm. Aside from Lady Gojo, this may be the only other person you have had a decent sense of character from. “It’s an honor.”

“Hello, Mr. Ijichi, I’m excited to learn more about the palace.” You smile and he nods his head a bit.

“I’ll show you around so you know where to go, I’m so sorry his majesty… was… occupied.” The snickering of the six girls earns Gojo’s mother’s scowl, and they quickly hush, but you see a blush on Ijichi’s face, a frown.

“It’s quite understandable, he must be busy. I look forward to meeting him,” you’re lying through your teeth, but you know it’s the correct move, as he smiles with an exhale of relief. It wasn’t his fault his Emperor was seemingly a man whore. “I’d love a tour.”

“Then let us go.” You say your farewells, and Ijichi walks you outside, his hands together under his large sleeves, and you notice many onlookers whispering.

She’s so beautiful.

She is, but can she catch his attention?

He’s clearly not interested, despite her beauty.

Emperor Gojo is about more than looks.

He is quite quirky.

“Do they always gossip like this?” Your question earns a surprised laugh from Ijichi, he seems stoic but his smile is sweet.

“They never stop.”

“God!”

He chuckles again, and you find yourself comfortable with him - when you learn he’s twenty seven however, you have to wonder how hard Gojo works this poor man. Five years older than you and he seems much older, perhaps Gojo was every bit the tough ruler he was rumored to be.

“This is the bathhouse, if you wish you can bathe here instead of your chambers, it is renowned to be one of the best.” You look curiously, remembering the last time you bathed was before you came here, you’d die for one right now.

“Are they?”

“Indeed, they are. Here is one of the temples,” he’s pointing as you two walk, you incline your head at passersby, all while walking right next to him. “This one is a sacred temple from many centuries ago.”

“It’s quite beautiful,” you eye it, truly majestic in front of you, with its gorgeous architecture quite different from many. “Can I go there?”

“Unfortunately only men can enter,” he blushes then. “I’m sorry my lady.”

“No, that’s quite alright.”

“This temple,” he points to another distant one, as the sun warms you over the thick silk brocade of your yukata, and a few pretty butterflies flutter by. You focus on where he’s pointing, a large dark green building with curved roofs in the distance. “You could enter with your future husband, however.”

“Ah,” nice, you could enter a temple with the man you don’t know, the one too good to meet you for tea. “And this building?”

“It’s the sapphire pavilion,” he trails off again, clearing his throat. “It’s Concubine Lola’s pavilion.”

“I see.” You remember hearing earlier, she’s his favorite, her pavilion is perhaps more opulent than any of the others you’ve seen, second only to yours.

“Yes, it is quite lovely I suppose.” He seems unimpressed, eyeing you then. “I believe Emperor Gojo will… enjoy your pavilion, if that’s not too bold to say.”

It’s your turn to blush, looking down now, hands in front of you as you two walk along the soft grassy knowl, and he lays one of his outer robes down for you to sit. You smile and thank him. “I don’t know if I agree.”

“I have known Master Gojo my entire life, I do believe it’s true,” his soft words make you relax just a bit. “Master Gojo is young and… difficult at times.”

“Perhaps I wish I’d have you for a fiance.”

“My lady!”

“You’re very sweet.” You’re giggling behind your hand as he blushes.

“I’m no Emperor Gojo, but thank you for the kind words.”

“Ah, well I don’t know him yet. I know no one here,” your words get trapped in your throat, you watch the hustle of the servants as they work, cleaning or gardening, the merchants taking down their carts across the way in a little circular shop, while a butterfly lands on your knee. “Oh look.”

“They say it’s good luck, my lady.” He smiles kindly again, reaching a finger out for the butterfly to go to.

“He likes you.” He laughs a bit, sighing.

“Insects do.”

“They’re good judges of character.”

“He will like you, I know it,” you’re unconvinced, it’s as if Ijichi feels sorry and is trying to cheer you up, but you nod a bit to appease him. He stands and holds out a hand, helping you up. You brush yourself off and hand him his now crumbled robe, which he folds over an arm. “Let us go back.”

You miss him already when he leaves, the kindness of him was so welcome in this place of deceit, of fakeness, of lies. Everyone seemed out for something, you suppose home wasn’t much different, but to the extent the ladies gossiped it was utterly ridiculous.

“I’d like to go to the bathhouse, Miwa would you take me?” You ask one of the girls, she’s a little quieter than the other two, a little more friendly.

“Of course I can, my lady, but also you could have a bath run?”

“I hear they’re very nice, and I’d love a chance to see.” She nods, grabbing a gown for you, as the other two whisper again, earning your eye roll. “I brought some hair soap, let me fetch it.”

“What’s hair soap?” She asks, you show her now and she seems curious. 

“I have several if you’d like to try.”

“If it makes my hair that beautiful, yes!” She’s smiling warmly at you, now you feel just a little more comfortable, as she walks you through the massive doors, it’s dusk now, the sky alit with purples and oranges. “Emperor Gojo is the most handsome man in the land.”

“Is he now,” you really don’t give a fuck, to be quite honest. Suguru was a beautiful man, his violet eyes, his little lazy smile, elegant fingers that would hold your hand in secret any chance he got. Gojo may be gorgeous, but you had him in your head, the man who loved you.

Well, you think he did?

He never got a chance to say if he did back or not, kissing you in that moment, the last moment you had. The nightmares over and over on the trip were enough to make you sick, you kept writing letters and burning them, not knowing how the fuck you’d ever get one to him in secret. Your parents were fond of him but never enough to match your station.

“What’s wrong, my lady?” You realize you’ve quit walking then, just standing there as the pain echoes.

“I’m sorry, I’m a little tired, Miwa.” She nods, and you enter the enormous bathhouse now, fragrant steam already pricking your nose as you two enter a room with several women changing.

You blush just a bit, things were more open here than back home, the girls are more friendly as they smile, and walk off, leaving you to have Miwa start undoing your obi, the delicate bands of silk. She’s slowly untying you until you’re bare, and then steps in front of you, holding the thin white shift out.

“We wear this?” 

“You will, yes, attendants don’t bathe here, we go to a different area of the bathhouse.” She’s slipping it over your head, like a whisper of silk as it dances across your body, while Satoru is on the other side, being fed grapes and lavished on by his favorite girls, in lieu of meeting you.

Satoru Gojo’s kissing his favorite, Lola, her pretty lips dewy from the baths, as his other girls are brushing their hands all across his body. He’s chuckling a bit, trying to kiss every single one of the four girls now, they’re all touching him, massaging him, littering kisses on his body. The warm waters undulate against his skin, lapping around his chest as he sighs, his eyes shutting.

It’s almost good enough to forget the endless responsibilities he never fucking wanted, all the sweet scents and practiced touches of his concubines. If Satoru could say anything was a perk, it was the beautiful, voluptuous fucking concubines, as if they were all tailored to perfection. Their giggles get louder when he sucks one of their tits in his mouth, over the thin white material, the others clamoring over who got it next.

Even for an emperor, Satoru Gojo was bold.

Emperors did not lay with more than one concubine at once, it was not a harem after all, though in his travels he’d seen several of those. Now that seemed the way to do it, have a house full of beautiful girls that only fuck him, only want him. Utterly devoted, though these girls were in their own way, he also knew their power plays.

They all wanted one thing, Satoru to put babies in them, and well… he had not made that happen yet. Just two years into it, and young, it was normal, but Satoru made sure he didn’t have babies, pulling out strategically without them noticing, because he just wasn’t ready yet for more responsibility. Plus, once you had one heir, you needed a spare, and more and more with how fragile that could be.

He wanted to have a little more fun, but also he hates tradition, hates the duty disposed on him. War and battle were something he was inherently good at, but running things politically was outright boring. Much of that fun was coming to an end, with this mysterious fucking wife he was to marry in a few weeks time.

He knows he irritated his mother not showing up, but being fed grapes and having his dick sucked? Much better time spent in his opinion, than some meek little princess from far away. She'd likely be some perfectly trained airhead, all the broken betrothal before were just that, but apparently this one they would have no argument of.

He's not really curious about her, he supposes he'll have to see her soon, perhaps lay with her, then he'll come back to his other girls. Life is mostly good for him when he loses himself in them, in drinks and throwing elaborate parties, in forgetting the overwhelming duties that lie ahead. 

Suddenly, the doors to the baths open, certain high ranking ladies could also come in, so he curiously looks over, to a sight that makes his heart pound in his fucking chest. She's beautiful, surely but he shouldn't be so affected, when her eyes catch his and he's dying to know just what's behind them.

Satoru just doesn't think that way.

You catch sight of him as Miwa undoes your hair fully, letting it fall and brush against bare shoulders, you feel exposed then, to his insanely bright eyes. He is as beautiful as they say, perhaps even moreso, the glimpses of the hard lines of his face, as the soft lanterns cast a glow above.

Surrounded by four beautiful women, but he's staring right at you instead. You figure he's curious who you are, and brush off the feeling. Miwa dampens your hair and proceeds to massage it in your scalp, you sigh at how good it feels, head falling back a bit, eyes fluttering shut.

Satoru can't take not knowing who you are one more moment.

“Who is she?” He asks Lola then, and she blinks a bit, tilting her head, her dark locks falling over a shoulder.

“I’ve never seen her, Gojo,” she looks at her scrutinizingly. “She is… perhaps going to fill Concubine Ana’s place?”

“I heard someone would be soon,” says Concubine Lara now. “She’s very beautiful.”

“She doesn’t look like she’s from here, however,” Lola says curiously. “Her attendant also looks unfamiliar.”

“Hmm.” He’s eyeing you carefully, as you step down into the waters, you dip your head back and then stand up, and that’s when he sees your entire body from that soaked, thin white material. It clings to every delicate line and curve of a body that makes him ache.

You’re so lovely, though you’re not even looking in his direction, leaning back against the wall and sighing, your breasts gently rising and falling, as if begging for his mouth, for his hands. He can’t help but be drawn to you, looking like some beautiful painting, serene and ever so precious, the need to cup your face was as big as his want to cup your tits.

He’s a lover of all beauty, he has four gorgeous concubines kissing all over him right now, but there’s something about you that leaves him breathless. God, he should feel truly sorry for whoever his wife would be with you here as well, another beauty but one that’s so perfect he can’t fucking speak or think.

His wife truly wouldn’t have a chance if he got you.

He steps away then, much to their displeasure, their pretty pouts, he smiles down at them. “Never fear, I want to find out who she is.”

“Of course, your majesty.” They all incline their heads, none of them were really jealous, though they all pouted a bit that he gave Lola some more attention.

It wasn't that Lola was more beautiful, she was very smart and enjoyed playing chess with him. So he tended to just be there more to hang out with her, having the nicest pavilion wasn't really him either, Lola just decorated the shit out of things and had everything immaculate with her staff.

Aside from that they all got along extremely well, and knew he'd marry. They were a little worried he'd spread his time between five of them, but they know he's proficient at managing them all.

Now, eyes locked on your perfect frame, he walks through the warm waters, feeling them softly ripple as he pushes through the water, until you feel his movements, opening your eyes.

Your eyes, the way they look at him, unreadable and so beautiful, he puts on a charm, a smile, but you just blink, water droplets falling from them as you straighten up, running your hands through silken strands. “I’m emperor Gojo.”

You just eye him further, saying nothing, as he blinks in confusion at you. You turn a bit, sighing, the sadness he hadn’t noticed now prevalent on your face, before your eyes return to his. “An honor, your majesty.”

“Please don’t be formal.” Maybe he is like his mother a bit you muse, taking in the beautiful blue eyes even closer, far too blue, like the sky but with a myriad of shades, some you’ve never seen, framed by thick snowy lashes.

He is a beautiful man, by far, but one that has no interest to you. He seems content with his four concubines, who are whispering right now about you behind his back. “Emperor, then?”

“Call me Gojo, are you… here to fill one of the new concubine positions?” You smile a bit at that, a mean quirk of your lips.

Is this what held him up from tea, fucking four women in the baths? Even for royalty this was quite too much. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“God, what a shame,” he steps closer, until his fingers brush against your cheeks, the sensation feels better than you wished it did. You wished it felt horrible, a betrayal of your love, but the touch makes you tremble, and you can’t lie and say its with disgust.

Satoru is enamored when he touches you under the water then, big hand on the small of your back pressing just so, taking it over as he steps closer, so tall and imposing in the water. Your breasts brush against his abdomen, as your breaths quicken, a mix of irritation and something more you don't want to admit, your nipples pressing on his skin as clear arousal happens from his proximity.

You look down shyly, studying his chest, seeing scars scattered across it. You've heard a lot of his military prowess, but didn’t expect him to be that involved. You almost trace a finger across one of them, raised up and pink, before trailing your gaze back to his eyes, so intense to look at it’s difficult, but it’s also impossible to look away once they’ve caught you.

You both stay there for a moment in the quiet, saying nothing and just looking at each other, when he leans down, pressing you along the warmth of the hard wall behind you. One of his long thighs presses against your heat, and you hate how your body reacts, how your cunt pulses around nothing, tummy clenching then, you know the feeling of desire, so you can’t even lie to yourself.

 It feels like such a betrayal of the one you loved, of Suguru, what was he doing now? You cannot be like this, and for a man who doesn't want to even know you, couldn’t even meet you. He made you look so stupid to everyone, and to what, be fed grapes by naked women? An action he can accomplish anytime.

You bite back a sigh, mind swirling, the steam of the water rising and entering your lungs, your heart fucking hammering. Satoru leans down further, too close, far too close, an arm on either side of you, strong arms bulging with muscles, veins raised under his pale white skin, shades of blue and green that you want to trail your fingertips across.

You must remember who you are, where you are.

There are no friends here, there is no love, lest you be so foolish, lest you be so enamored by pretty eyes, as if your love didn’t have those too. It’s one thing to do your duty, but your heart cannot fall prey to such tactics, he clearly is expert at them, every touch and look feels calculated, like a play unfolding, with the prettiest actor.

“Your majesty…” you trail off, this wasn’t appropriate behavior for him, was it? Perhaps it was, the man wants anything but his bride to be.

“Gojo,” he corrects, a soft chuckle then as he assesses your face at this angle, so tall over you. Satoru was taller than anyone, so it’s how he is, bigger, imposing, but it makes you feel even more fragile in his hold, the thoughts making his cock ache. “So fucking pretty, god.” He murmurs then, and earns your blush.

The outward praise and the lewd way he says it is too much, he chuckles as he sees it, flushed color on your cheeks, when his lips hover over yours now. You think for some insane moment he’ll kiss you. Your hands go to his chest, as if to stop him, when you feel his steady heart beat under your palm, his warm skin even hotter than the water.

“Can you at least tell me your name, mysterious girl?” He asks, and that’s when you snap out of it, for just a moment.

When you say it he immediately recognizes the name, faltering and stepping back, eyes wide, his lips parted as if he means to say something, but nothing comes out. You can’t help but smile, it’s a mean little smile, batting your lashes as you tilt your head, as if you’re stating something so casual, not the fact that you’re the very bride he’s avoiding.

“Indeed, it was such a shame you couldn't meet me for tea, your majesty.” His jaw clenches at that, as you watch him try to save face.

You can’t be his bride, you can’t be…

He knows then, the clear hurt on your face, the sound in your voice, that he did indeed say fuck tradition and miss meeting you to fuck his four girls instead. He didn’t think he’d care how you felt, he didn’t think it would affect him until he saw the lip you’re biting, the anger flashing in your eyes.

“I… well, I…” he’s trailing off, him, the emperor of the nation, lost to an angry little brat in the waters, one clearly relishing in this one moment. He glares now, feeling himself harder as you scowl, why are you so pretty like that!? “I was otherwise occupied.”

“Yes, indeed, I see you were otherwise occupied,” you eye the girls behind his shoulders, whispering to each other wildly, when you push him back, hands on his chest. “It's rude not to even meet me after I got dragged on a five day journey by ship, you know.”

He is eyeing your hands on his chest that he now pins there for a moment, gripping your delicate wrist with long fingers. It feels too good then, his hold on you, doing things to your body you don’t want to even try to comprehend. Your eyes lock again, as he speaks. “You're my... you can't be... you…”

A sigh escapes your lips, as you tug your hands back from his firm hold, before your dumb brain thinks about those long fingers one more moment. You lick your lips, feeling your throat has suddenly gone dry, nodding. “Yes, I'm your betrothed, I suppose this is our first meeting.”

“I suppose it is…” He trails off, brushing back strands of that silken white hair, looking down now at your body again, in a way that feels like he’s fucking touching you. Part of you wants to shrink back, but the other makes you stand firm, tilting your chin up and keeping eye contact.

“I'll leave you to your pretty concubines, I'm afraid I don't intend on becoming one.” You turn and climb up those steps, the slip forming to you like a goddess, as you turn him down.

No one has ever turned Emperor Gojo down, and not because of his power, his wealth, no everyone wanted him for so much more. His prowess in bed, his body, his face, his entire aura, yet here you are, turning and giving him a little smile as your attendant hands you a towel.

He repeats your name softly, you look back at him, smiling again, that mean little one he’d love to kiss off you, a thought that makes no fucking sense. He watches as those droplets fall from your curves, the material rippling and clinging to every part of you, fucking him up to distraction.

“Perhaps you'll make it to the wedding, your majesty,” you say, wrapping yourself up with the towel, and bowing - a mocking fucking bow that makes him glare right at you as you walk off.

He doesn’t even go back to the four girls waiting, he is so confused by what just happened, instead drying off and then sitting in the sauna, leaning his head back on one of the wooden benches. As if the steam and heat will just fucking sap whatever the fuck you just did to him away.

*****

It’s the day of your wedding to Emperor Gojo.

You’ve not seen him since that fateful meeting in the baths, and you’ve avoided him actively when you’ve run into him, every time you see him you either duck behind a pillar, a fruit stand, something. Once you couldn’t so you just inclined your head in a bow and continued, infuriating the living fuck out of him. He’s seen you hiding and ducking like a foolish child.

He doesn’t actively seek you out however, he doesn’t make any of the three meetings you’re supposed to have before marriage. So it’s both of you just avoiding each other like a plague, he’s laughing with that booming sound of his, throwing his head back as he walks arm in arm with his girls. You stay alone, just your attendants walking behind you.

People are spreading rumors about his clear lack of interest, and Satoru hears them frequently. When one of his concubines says something to the other about how he must not find you to his liking, he almost wants to laugh, because that sure the fuck wasn’t the case. If it were looks alone, you were the epitome of everything he finds attractive, but it’s more than that.

For the past few days his mind keeps fucking drifting to you, he can’t stand it truly, when he was getting his cock sucked by Lola and had to shut his eyes, wondering what it’d be like between your plush lips. He was so frustrated he couldn’t even keep it hard - and that has never happened to Emperor Gojo, notorious in fact for round after round.

Lola had been as perplexed by him at this development, but now when he walks past you and inhales your sweet scent, his cock is hard from that. Absolutely infuriating, he wonders if your country is one of witches truly, and you’re here to just fuck with him, ignoring him on top of it. Your chin up in the air, stubborn and rude as you walk by in those pretty robes.

It’s an agonizing few days, for Satoru, and a dreadful few days for you. All you can think of is Suguru, you keep writing and writing, knowing he’ll never see it, until your tears soak the ink on the paper. You’d hug your pillow in that huge bed, in that lonely room, hating yourself for even finding Satoru attractive, forcing those thoughts out of your head, so you can remember.

He didn’t want this anymore than you did.

The thoughts of that reign supreme now, that it wasn’t as if Satoru wanted this marriage, and in that way perhaps you two could find some common ground, some agreement that keeps the contact minimal. You’re knowledgeable about what your role is as a wife, how to serve him sexually and domestically, so you hope that will help you separate it all.

The only experience you had was Suguru, his loving kisses and his desperate tugs at your bodice, he’d slip a nipple into his mouth while hidden in the corners, behind the curtains, wherever he could get a moment. Brief, beautiful moments, where you fell deeper each time, that can’t just fade, it can’t just disappear.

To know you’ll watch your husband with several women, that he’ll not just sleep with them, but spend time with them, have babies with them, and you can’t even write the man you love is an even more bitter pill to swallow. You know it’s a man’s world, of course it is, but the cruelty there is a joke, at least back home men tried to keep their mistresses hidden.

You know Suguru would have never been that way.

You try to push past the hurt as you enter the immaculate hall where you are to bind yourself forever to a stranger. You walk quietly, looking at the man who doesn’t want to be here any more than you did, truly, eyeing the tall white haired man wearing his thick dark blue sokutai. It was not a traditional one, the robes altered to reveal far too much of his muscled chest, as Satoru liked to do you noticed.

He seemed to relish in how attractive everyone found him, a trait that just turned you off more truly, but you suppose none of it matters, this is all for political gain, for a show. There will be nothing between you two, even though with each step bringing you closer, you feel the pressure eating at you, you feel the walls closing the fuck in until you almost can’t move.

The eyes on you, the whispers, and now Satoru’s blue eyes drinking you in, you actually for one moment tremble, before putting on your fake fucking smile, the one that you practiced in the mirror. Making gracious head movements as your robes trail, whispers of silk and satin along the laid out rug you’re walking across, meeting his gaze finally.

Satoru’s heart hammers in his fucking chest as you come closer, as all of you enters his field of vision. To say you were beautiful before seems an understatement, now looking at you leaves him speechless, throat dry as you wear that beautiful sky blue ceremonial juunihitoe, layers of blue and white, embossed with silver flowers just flowing from your body. 

His pulse races so badly he can hear the blood flow in his ears, swallowing nervously as you clutch your hands together until you’re in front of him. He tentatively takes your hand, swallowing it in his huge grip, fingers wrapping around your own, not saying anything, but looking at you so intensely. You see none of his concubines attended, perhaps they do not join such festivities.

You wonder if he can’t wait to go back, and you wonder if it bothers you either way, as the ceremony begins. It’s long and tiring, as they say the words that you both scarcely pay attention to, as they bond you together in a contract that is iron clan, that will never be something you can get out of. You feel your freedom - did you ever have it?- slip away with every word.

Satoru is surprisingly quiet, you’re not sure what you expected, something mocking or some sort of boredom, but he’s frowning, eyeing you over and over, as if searching for something. You wonder if he’s trying to find a flaw, or if he’s just trying to find something he might like about you enough to handle the times he would have to spend.

In the first month, he would have to spend all his time in this pavilion, not to say he would not go off and do things, but husbands - even emperors - were supposed to spend some time devoted to their new brides. You imagine he wouldn’t like it anymore than you would.

There is music playing, and beautiful dancers waving their fans, when you both sip on each of the three cups of sake, as is tradition, speaking the words. Satoru places his lips on one end of the little ceramic dish, then hands it to you, eyeing the red painted on your lips.

He notices how it shimmers, that your makeup has been done clearly, there's color under your eyes, a pinkish hue that makes them appear even prettier. He catches sight of the blush along your precious cheeks - precious, why did he think that? The thought irritates him, along with not being able to rip his fucking eyes off you, when you two continue the ceremony. 

Eventually it’s well past night time, and he's prepared in just a thin Kimono from his attendant, loosely tied. “Master Gojo…”

“Yes, Ijichi?” He’s very close with him, Ijichi has been serving Gojo since he was a teen himself, he eyes the tired man, who sighs a bit, tightening the sash.

“I think your new bride is…”

“Speak it, you’re allowed.”

“She’s lovely,” Satoru blinks in surprise then, Ijichi has never said that about a single one of the ladies here, to the point Satoru assumed maybe he didn’t even like women. “It’s bold.”

“You think a lady is pretty? That’s new.” Satoru teases, and Ijichi stands back, serious look as always on his face, but he’s also shifting a bit, nervously.

“I think many women are pretty, I suppose I meant her… not just her outer appearance.” Satoru tilts his head in confusion now.

“Not just appearance?”

“She’s caring, funny, and intelligent. She was very kind to me as well…” Satoru could swear he sees a blush for the first time on Ijichi’s cheeks, is it possible your witchcraft has even affected his butler?

“I see, you like her.”

“Very much so, I just wonder if you might too, I know you’re against this marriage, but you never know.” Satoru looks away then, sighing a bit.

“Not sure she’s fond of me.”

“You did miss tea-”

“Are you on her side!? You serve me.”

“Yes, Master Gojo.” He’s all quiet again, as everyone in the fucking kingdom is offended for you at this point it seemed, from the lowest servant to his attendant, to his damn mother.

“I appreciate your thoughts, I’m sorry. I’m tired.” Satoru explains, and Ijichi nods, clearing his throat now.

“Shall you go to her chambers?”

“That’s what I must do.”

Satoru won’t admit he’s nervous, that his hands are sweating, walking over to your chambers now and entering them. Ijichi bows at you, while you’re sitting in front of the vanity, your attendant brushing out your hair. You look at them both in surprise, as if you didn’t expect him to come, even on your wedding night.

“My lady, congratulations on your wedding.” Ijichi says, and Satoru watches you soften, a sweet little fucking smile that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get from you, one that lights up your beautiful face and stops his heart.

“Thank you so kindly, Mr. Ijichi.” You smile again as he blushes, turning away and disappearing down one of the halls quietly, leaving Satoru with you. He inhales the sweetness of your scent, mixing with the incense you've lit, looking at the attendant then, who is blushing as well.

“You may leave,” Satoru orders Miwa out then, she curtseys and runs off, leaving you alone with a stranger, an emperor. He eyes you curiously, tilting his head as he studies your robes, light blue, your breasts exposed down the center, showcasing much of your skin. “Stand up.”

“Of course, your majesty,” his jaw tenses as you speak, as you stand slowly and his blue eyes drink the sight of you in. “Surprised you weren’t too busy to come.”

“You’re awfully angry about tea, hmm?” He steps closer now, long strides with his impossibly long legs, towering over you when he’s close, so close. You swallow nervously, but put on a brave face, a fake smile.

“Perhaps we should get on with things quickly, so we can have an heir.”

“What now?” His thin brows lower over his eyes, which narrow.

“Indeed, the quicker you put your seed in me, the quicker we can be done, at least one would look good for the kingdom.” Your words fucking baffle him, when you step back, undoing the knot of your robe then.

“What are…” He trails off, blushing when you’re naked, his cheeks burning as he sees your beautiful body, the one he’d jerked off to just the fucking outline of the other day.

He doesn’t jerk off, he has women for that, but he couldn’t stop himself, cumming more in his hand from the looks of you than with any of his women. He can’t help but look at your pretty breasts, they sway just a bit as they’re released, and you shift just a bit, hands knotted together in front of you, as if you’re preparing for an inspection, seemingly calm.

“What are you going on about?” His eyes slip lower, across the soft curve of your hip and stomach, even lower, to your cunt just there tempting him between the plush of your thighs that are pressed together.

“An heir, it’ll make things easier for us both,” he chuckles then, a mean smile on those vermillion lips. “Should I prepare you, your majesty?”

Satoru’s about to fucking lose it, his fists clench at his sides, trying to look in your eyes and not those beautiful fucking tits just begging for his hands. He pulls it together, snorting as if he finds you amusing and not heartbreakingly beautiful. “As if you know what to do.”

You step closer now, hips swaying as if to torture him with each undulation, all bold just like in those baths, you’re not the shy and practiced girl, you’re not the one giggling and teasing. You’re not the girl he expected, not even fucking close, how your fingertips brush the cool silk of his robe over his overheated skin.

Satoru was used to being the one in control, just what the fuck was this, how you’re acting, what you’re doing!? He is furiously blushing now at your proximity, annoyed you have whatever odd effect this is, when you speak - “I can make this at least enjoyable for you.”

“Tch, 'you think you're adequate at it?” You smile just a bit, it’s not that cute one you gave Ijichi, it's evil and making him harder.

“I've had instructions on how to please my future husband, there are many books that show it, I was given them to read.” Satoru laughs, trying to play it off, when he undoes the tie finally, as his robes land on the floor at a pool of his feet. He’s just in a fundoshi, a thin strip of material showcasing a straining erection.

“Let's see it, then.” He says, all cocky, until you're on your fucking knees before him, slipping down his fundoshi ever so carefully like some professional. He’s sputtering, unsure what to think - maybe you've done this before, but why should that bother him!? Why does that thought make him infuriated, as you have him whimpering from your breath on his inner thigh.

You have his cock free, it is so heavy that after slapping his stomach it just hangs there, thick and already hard from just seeing you. You bite your lip as the cool stone floor hurts your knees, just a bit. You take your hand carefully, stroking him slowly, from the base where he has tufts of white hair, to his pink tip leaking milky drops, admiring the veins that wrap it.

You could swear you hear a whimper, but your heart is pounding in your ears so much it’s hard to know. You swallow nervously and put on your act, running your thumb over his tip and smiling up at the man, his entire body carved and chiseled to such perfection.

“I thought I'd have to get you in this state, how curious since I hadn’t even touched you yet? the books didn't mention it being ready…” Satoru glares now, you're insulting him without even knowing it!? You’re casually calling out his desperation for you, that he’s hard when he just sees you.

He struggles to handle your insolence, your question appears innocent but he doesn’t buy it, not with you. He entangles a hand in your hair then, pulling it firmly as you lap at his tip, almost making him cum from that, while he wraps your hair around his fist, the sight of you enough he could bust ropes all over your pretty face.

“All right, let's see what you've learned, hmm?” He taunts, but you just nod a bit, stroking him then, little hand up and down in gentle twists. He’s tense now, as it feels even better, when you suck him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around it and tonguing out the salty precum. “Fuck…”

He hopes that whisper was quiet enough, as you take more of him, every inch deeper and deeper from each stroke and movement of his cock in your mouth, while you just look at him like that. Like you want to end him with your pretty eyes and demon mouth, it shouldn’t even feel this good, but his eyes roll back in his head as he fucks your hot mouth, faster and faster.

He’s gasping out, he has never felt anything better even from the most practiced girls, no you have the perfect suction, the way your tongue swirls is obscene, as he fucks your throat and feels you taking so much. He almost thinks you could fucking take it all, seeing the slobber glisten on his cock, moaning at the sight of how your eyes flutter shut when he thrusts his hips inside.

God you feel too good, you have him losing his mind with your little gasps and gags on his cock. “Slutty fucking throat,” he whispers, you pull back just a bit, glaring at him, only for him to whimper, and cry out - “You’re doing s'good, sweetheart…”

Sweetheart?

Slut?

What a conundrum of a man you think, you feel him pulsing in your mouth, but also you feel your tummy clenching, something you didn't expect. You didn’t expect to enjoy this part of sex truly, you didn’t expect to enjoy anything without love, but something about his snowy lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, about his sweet cries, it does something to you.

Your nails are pressing on his muscled thighs, leaving marks on that perfect pale skin when he rips you off him then, saliva dripping from your mouth along with his precum. You’re pulling back to sit on your heels, as he lets go of your hair, and you wipe away some of the drool that’s gathered.

“Um… was I not adequate?” You hate that you actually care if you were, but then Satoru Gojo laughs without humor, standing you up now unceremoniously.

“Not adequate?”' He is lifting you like it’s nothing, your feet dangling off the fucking floor then, when Satoru Gojo slams his lips on yours, shocking you as you cling to him tightly, not to hold him but not to fall. He’s got your thighs on his hips, as he kisses you desperately, tongue devouring your mouth, every corner of it.

You’re lost for a moment, feeling your cunt leak arousal on his tummy, as his huge hands are on your ass, squeezing while he’s tasting himself on your lips. You’re kissing him back without fully realizing it, maybe it’s the surprise, maybe it’s something more that you don’t want to think of, and you get no chance to, when he’s carrying you across the room.

You find yourself thrown right on your enormous bed, decorated in more blues, the color of the Gojo clan, the colors of his eyes - some of them at least, for when he’s hovering over you, saliva string dissipating between your mouths, they’re some dark shade you can’t fathom. His pupils are so blown out it seems like they’re black, his breaths heavy and loud in your ears.

You didn’t think he’d kiss you.

Satoru Gojo’s elegant long fingers slip down your body as he feels it tremble, slipping down further, until his fingers find your slick cunt then. You gasp at the sensation of it, the delicious swipe right up and down, as his plump lips kiss down one of the soft globes of your breasts, sucking a nipple in his mouth. You’re biting back your own moan as he toys with your clit, it twitches under his touch.

“Soaking wet, from sucking my cock, slutty.” He taunts, dangerous voice, even while he’s rutting his cock on the silk blankets, sucking on another pretty nipple as you cry out. The sounds of you end him.

“Y-your majesty, you don't need to do all of that,” you tug at his hair, pulling him off, closing your thighs on his hand now, just trapping him as if he won’t keep rolling those circles. “Ah! Just... get it done, okay?”

You can’t like this.

You can’t betray the memory. And for what, a man who’s doing what he must do tonight, then will run to his favorites? You can’t.

Your words make the emperor pause, looking up and seeing you then, your plump lips are swollen from his kisses, your skin flushed, eyes glittering as your breaths come quicker and quicker. He stops his fingers for a moment, god he’s dying to be inside of you, he wants your cunt to know the shape of him, fuck only him, a maddening thought raging with another.

Your words to get it done, they make sense, they were what he was going to do, until you stunned him again. His eyes trail across your face, seeing the apprehension mixed with clear desire, before trailing down your body ever so slowly. All of the concubines wanted Satoru, all of the women he’s ever been with have begged for him, and here you were, 'doing your duty'.

Something gnaws at him, he leans up and pulls his fingers off, as you look at him curiously, blinking rapidly as if to right yourself. “Do I need to suck you more?” You ask softly, and he shakes his head, clearing his throat then, as he sees the confusion making your brows knit together.

“No, you don’t need to suck me more, you sure liked it hmm?”

“Um, I could just touch you?” He grips your wrist as you try to do so, trailing a hand down his hard abdomen, pinning it before it touches his cock, aching to bury itself inside you.

“Tonight, we will not consummate the marriage.”

The words hurt you deeply, the sense of rejection making your throat close up, you have to at least fulfill your duty here, it’s all you’ve ever even been trained for, and he’s shutting it down.

“Oh, um… did I displease you?” Your voice isn’t confident like earlier, no it’s shy and unsure, he frowns a bit, wondering what the layers of you would be like, to peel them off slowly like your robes.

The thought of a woman not wanting him, especially you, infuriates him. “No, you did not displease me, foolish girl.”

You glare at that, how foolish you are he thinks to himself, do you not see how clearly he desires you, how much he was affected by your naked form, what your moth did to him? He picks you up by your hips, and shoves you up the bed then, making you blink in confusion at the change. “Emperor…”

“So formal, naked in front of me, after I fucked your throat?” He taunts in a whisper, kissing down your tummy with hot brushes of his mouth on your skin. He watches it tense as he dreams of making it bulge with his cock, seeing you tremble under his caress. “Answer me.”

“Fine, Gojo then,” you manage, it’s not as if it’s his first name after all. You’re trying not to cry out as his hands press into your hips, but you fail, head sinking back into the soft satin of the sky blue pillows under your head.

“Are you untouched?” His words earn another blush, averting your eyes from the man settling between your thighs now, thighs that tense on either side as he shoves them apart with his shoulders. “Can’t use your words?”

“I have not lain with a man, no, but I am not untouched.” Satoru's furious that anyone saw your pretty body, but he makes no comment at your honest answer.

Truly, he absolutely hates tradition and wouldn't care if you were or were not a virgin, in fact he prefers experience with his women, but for some fucking reason that thought irritates him, to picture you cumming for someone. Did you smile at them pretty and sweet, or the cruel little sexy look you gave him instead?

Did they drink your cunt, like he’s dying to at this moment? When he sees your pretty pussy, glistening and soaked, he moans softly. He parts your puffy lips then, as you bite your lower lip nervously, thighs trembling on either side of his head, while your slick pools from your little hole. He’s marveling at how wet it is, while his breath ghosts over it, making you jerk.

“Y-your majesty, that's not - ah- in the books!? Mnh what are you - oh!” You’re lost for words, when Gojo has his tongue slipping up your slit, hot and wet lapping a stripe right up it. You’ve never felt something like that, fingers felt great but what the fuck was his demonic tongue delving between your folds? “What are you doing!?”

He’s smirking against your cunt at your cute, cut off little question, seeing your mouth is wide in a slutty O, fuck you’re pretty. “Not everything is in your books, sweetheart,” he teases softly, and he laps up your slit again, making you whine out loud this time, your little fingers are gripping his shoulders, your nails pressing in and just making him harder.

“You’re… doing…” You’re done with speech apparently, not when Satoru’s lapping the juices pouring from your hole, his nose bumping your clit, your hands pressing deeper, feeling the muscles of his biceps as your breaths come quicker and quicker, desire washing over you. “You don’t have to do that!?”

“I'll have you cum on my face tonight,” his words are now muffled as he buries his face in your sweetness, letting the juices drown him and the heady desire consume him, pressing his cock on that mattress and almost cumming from it. “Over and over.”

He’s whispered those last words against your cunt, you’re lost in the sensations then, crying out in desperate little sobs as he works your body. He feels you tense, feels your cunt pulsing around his tongue when he fucks into your gummy walls that grip him so fucking good. He shoves your thighs apart further, dragging you impossibly closer to his face.

You're lost in how good it feels, no longer pulling him off, but tugging him closer without realizing it, pleasure overtaking your mind as your cries mix with his filthy suction, drinking all the liquid just fucking pouring. He’s moaning and rutting his cock, blue eyes looking up between the valley of your breasts, and it’s too intimate, it’s too fucking much.

You've cum before with your lover, but never have you done this, this intimacy of his mouth on you. You’ve never felt this, so intense, so much pressure in your tummy just building, the heat spreading throughout your body further with every vibration of his mouth on you, sending you closer to the edge.

You're screaming out, hips arching as he makes filthy sounds with your squelching cunt, he’s so close to cumming from just this, lost in every sensation of your body. Fuck, he's never enjoyed this so much, and he loves to please - but never was he about to bust his seed all over blankets while he fucking did it, and god he can't help but pay attention to every little thing.

Every movement, every twitch, every pretty cry while your hips arch up for more, until you’re using him, until you’re riding his face so sexy, he doesn’t think you know you are, but he’s fucking you deeper with his tongue. You yank on his hair, as if to tug him off, earning his chuckle as he just clamps down then, sucking your twitchy little clit into his mouth.

That’s when it’s too fucking much.

“Ah!” You’re screaming out, shameless now, while he lavishes every part of your cunt with his tongue, you swear nothing is fucking left unexplored, and now your clit, so sensitive, so stimulated. “Sensitive - mnh!”

“Good,” he’s smirking with his chin coated in you, sucking your clit into his mouth again as you’re screaming out for him. God, he wants you to call him Satoru, he can't say it though, that’s madness. Your cunt is madness, in how he wants to drown in it, how he wants your thighs to suffocate him. “Cum. Now.”

He devours devours your pussy after his clear fucking order, Tongue flicking on your clit as he hums on it, teeth just barely grazing it until you shatter for him. There are no words, just filthy, messy sounds, slurping and squishing echoing in your brand new chambers, while you cum all over your new husband's face, and fuck if you’ve never felt anything like it.

Your eyes are rolled back in your skull, shaking violently as the waves just rush through you, brain short circuiting with how much pleasure he’s rushed through you with his wicked mouth. You're shaking as you come down, as the orgasm leaves aftershocks, pulsing around nothing at all, craving things you shouldn’t, wanting impossibly more.

The pleasure is so intense you’re dizzy, barely able to fucking see, as you’re trying to gain your senses, orient yourself, looking down as Satoru presses one more kiss on your pretty cunt. He’s leaning up then, smirking down at you, pressing a kiss to your lips, when you taste yourself you're a blushing mess.

“You’re yummy, aren’t you? Do you like tasting it?” His voice is husky, his heavy cock brushing your thigh, hot and twitchy, leaking that sticky substance as you’re struggling to form a fucking word.

“I… you… we…” He’s chuckling, you’d scowl at his audacity, but your brain is altogether too fucked out.

“All that talk, all those books you read, it’s cute,” he brushes your hair back and smirks. “But I don't think you're ready f'me yet, sweetheart.”

You’re opening your mouth to say anything, trying to catch your breath as he stands up, bending down to snatch up his robe, lazily tying it over his body as if he’s casually chatting, not fucking your brain up. You sit up and look at him then, at the man you barely know, his eyes linger across your body as he swipes his chin, and you see it’s glistening, coated with your slick.

“You’re messy, tsk.” He smirks again, you’d like to smack that smirk off his face if you could form a thought!? You finally tug the blanket over you, he chuckles, murmuring - cute - like you’re amusing to him then.

“So where will you go, Emperor Gojo, will you go to your concubines to cum?' he chuckles then again, fucking infuriating. He leans down low, tilting your chin up as you look at him.

“Maybe I will, would that bother you, sweetheart?” You shake your head, it can't bother you, and you won’t fucking let it. No way, this will be your life now, you can’t let one interaction distract you, make you forget everything.

“Why would I care, you’ll be doing that all of our marriage, won’t you?” Your question makes him tense. “If roles were reversed, would you care?”

“What nonsense is that?” He’s scowling, and your mean little smile is back, he’d have to fuck that look off you one day.

“It would not bother me, it’s expected.”

“Ah,” he shakes his head, caressing your cheek almost tenderly, you feel foolish fucking thinking it. “You're not the best liar, that won't help you play the court, you know, you’ll have to get a better poker face.”

The mother fucker turns and walks away then, leaving you alone after he’d just licked your cunt, every inch to be precise, after he’d kissed you, looked at you in ways that bother you. The guilt sets in, hot and heavy, you’re crying for the first time in so fucking long, remembering your other vows, the ones that you promised to Suguru.

And now these are your fucking vows.

Just who was Satoru Gojo, and did you care more than you’d like to? No way, you shake that off, trying to process just what the fuck happened, as you tug at the pillows and sob into them. You miss home, you miss Suguru, and now instead of consummating it, you could handle that, you did something worse.

You enjoyed it all.

*****

Satoru doesn't go to his concubines that night, sure he let you think that, but how the fuck could he after he'd just tasted the sweetest nectar that exists right from your cunt? When he'd had your throat constricting his cock, those eyes looking up at him under those lashes?

How could he go try and be with one of them when he just wants to go back in there and sink inside your perfect cunt? Wreck your thoughts of him, rearrange your brain and your guts with his cock? Show you things you never did with whoever was on your mind, make sure you'd only think of him.

He held back for two reasons, one, you were fucking him for duty. Something about it just felt wrong, as a man who hates tradition and duty, but also as a man who needs to be desired in all aspects. The slight fear and nerves in your eyes were enough to make him realize he can't do his ‘duty’ like this, not this way.

He's throbbing when he's back in his chambers, staring at the high ceilings and intricate patterns along it, taking several breaths. He shuts his eyes and all he can see is you lying under him, he can still feel your sticky wetness on his fingers, taste you on his tongue.

He quickly stomps in long strides to grab a caffer of wine, pouring it into one of the silver goblets on his elaborately carved wood night stand. He downs it as quick as he can, hoping he can get drunk enough to sleep after that, to not run back in your room and take you for the first time, fuck he'd take you in every way.

He's soon grabbing his cock, he could have let you suck him off, but something about that when you didn't truly want to, just using knowledge from books, also made him feel wrong to do so. Instead, he could have any girl in the fucking palace please him, but he's stroking his cock like a boy in leading strings, not like the Emperor Gojo at all.

He's laying back on his bed, the overhanging curtains around the four posts closed as if he could hide from even himself what he's doing, stroking his sensitive cock and picturing only one person. Maddening, insanity, he doesn't want a wife, you don't want a husband, but all he can see is how your tits jiggle, while you jerked in his hold, while you whined out and gasped.

He can feel the sting of you yanking his locks as his hand strokes his cock up and down, achingly slow, a maddening pace. He's whimpering again, just like you made him do with your damn demon mouth. Maybe you're some witch, to have him stroking his veiny length, spitting on his cock and wishing it was your juices making him slick instead.

As he jerks himself, touching his tip, he leans back against the giant wood headboard, crying out your name before he can stop himself. Cheeks flush, lashes flutter, while his cock is twitching in his hand, the sounds lewd in his empty chambers, just breathy cries, whispers, and the sound of his hand moving up and down his glistening cock.

He finally cums, cursing and moaning - ‘f-fuuckk’ - while his cum pours all over his hand, an embarrassing amount that he'd like to explain away as not having cum today, as being edged by your throat, but the sight of so much milky seed all over his hand says much more than he'll admit. He's never seen so much, still pulsing out of his pretty pink tip.

“Fuck…” he quickly cleans up, stripping down to nothing and staring at the looking glass in his room. He's got a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, shaking his head as he looks at his own dilated eyes, wondering…

Just who is his new bride?

Well this is gonna be longer than I thought lol! Hope you all enjoyed <3

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[ellexamor]

(2) even when there was rain, sunshine came

pairing. caleb x fem! childhood friend! non mc! reader (x childhood bsf! zayne)

synopsis. caleb planted a seed in your heart when you were both young, nurturing it without meaning to until it sprouted and blossomed. it shouldn't have grown this much, not when you knew you could never have him.

genres/aus. angst, fluff, f2l, unrequited love, childhood f2l

warnings. slight ooc caleb (i have not read homecoming or wtv that chapter is called BC my laptop died on me. but maybe ill get to it today since i got it on my bros pc HELP), NOT canon compliant oops (no higher being placing a curse on zayne, no experimentation done on mc and caleb bc josephine is a good person this time BYEEEE), mentions/descriptions of crying, a kiss YUCK, caleb himself is a warning tbh. if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!

rating. sfw but make it lowk very angsty but fluffy ish at the same time.

wc. 4 k

a/n. not proof read, we die like redacted i mean what who said that. posts this rn bc i dont want to wait till midnight to post haha #lolsies also, i feel like the mood just progressively gets worse for yn 😭 like i give yn brief happiness and then BAM im like her opp, someone needs to take me out bc why am i doing this to her 💔 sorry yn i swear i love you 💔 happy early update bc im going to be busy w hw this weekend ❤️‍🔥

winter blues seep into your skin when you’re thirteen and alone during your winter break.

mc, caleb, and granny josephine went on a vacation outside linkon city, your mom has been working night shifts at the hospital as of late, your dad is in skyhaven, and zayne won’t be coming back this break.

in fact, he hasn’t once visited during his breaks from school since he started college.

you sit at the living room’s window, watching outside the glass as white specks fall from the sky.

snow.

despite being inside the comfort of your home, shielded from the biting cold of winter, you feel like your whole body is frozen over.

it’s so cold.

and caleb isn’t there to keep you warm.

a soft chime comes from your phone that sits on the empty space of the large couch you’re on. the phone was a gift from your dad after you told him that you’d like to talk to him and zayne more often. the screen turns on, and you stare at the notification.

zayne li: Hello.

the screen dims for a second before brightening again.

zayne li: I would like to say something.

there’s a knock on the door.

you reach out, your fingers wrapping around the device. you’re getting ready to type a response when another knock is heard, then another one.

and another one.

and another one.

with a sigh, you place it back down and head towards the front door. you don't even bother to check through the peephole beforehand and just open it.

“you’re here.” you gape at the older boy standing on your porch. zayne is taller now, his hair the slightest bit longer, his features a little sharper, but his hazel gaze is still warm and gentle. he stands in front of you, a suitcase to his left, and he wears a scarf around his neck along with a black trench coat.

the corners of his lips are curved upwards into a small smile. “i’m here.”

you want to hug him, but instead you open the door wider. he walks in and his body acts like clockwork whenever he’s over: he takes off his shoes and places them neatly next to yours, he hangs his coat if he has one with him at the moment, he takes a step forwards and turns around, always looking back at you to follow.

you fling yourself at him, and he catches you with ease. the tension you held melts away with his touch. your feet are in the air as he holds you tightly, and it makes you laugh. he was always taller than you, but not this tall. zayne’s cheek is next to yours, and you’re suddenly aware that despite standing outside in the biting cold, he’s actually quite…

“you’re—”

“warm.” you mumble, nuzzling closer to his neck.

zayne hums. “so are you.” you feel his smile.

like always—before he left—you take him to your room where you both end up talking and talking until the sky is dark, both of you on your bed.

“zayne, you still haven't made any friends?”

zayne looks away from you. “have you made any friends?”

you stay silent, and he continues with a quick glance at you. “he’s still distant?”

“yes…”

caleb’s been distant ever since the start of eighth grade.

you no longer study for tests with him because she needs help, and it's not like you need to study anyways because you’re so smart. while there is truth in his words, you always study with him because you like being with him.

you’re alone at lunch because he wants to keep her company—not that she needs it since she already has a group of friends.

honestly, you saw this coming from a mile away. the perfect excuse came in the shape and form of mc. you knew he regretted it, knew that he would act like nothing happened while slowly distancing himself from you.

it was the only solution he had after what happened that night.

in the beginning of june, you come to realize that there’s been a weird tension since you gifted each other the necklace. you don't know how you didn’t notice it sooner: the way he hovers closer to you, how his hands ghost your skin when he brushes against you, how his eyes linger on you for a beat longer than usual.

he titters over the fine line that is your friendship, crossing it for a second before retreating back.

you tried, you really did try, but he makes it so easy; it’s so easy to love him.

“what’s the occasion?”

you glance to the side and find caleb peering over your shoulder with ease, the silver chain of his necklace glimmering as it dangles against your shoulder, his eyes staring at the steam wafting into the air from the apple pie, his gaze flickering over to you. his lips curl upwards, his boyish smile making you tense slightly before relaxing. you focus on the pie. “just wanted to bake one.”

“*just ‘*cause you wanted to?” his tone has a teasing lilt, but you know that underneath it lies curiosity and skepticism. he doesn’t believe you. there must be a reason because why else would you bake a pie so late? why would you invite him over in the evening and ask him to stay?

so you tell him half the truth. “i haven’t baked one in a while,” you mummer, “and…”

“and?”

you love him. you love his stupid smile and the stupid freckles on his skin.

you take a quick look at him. the yellow light above the stove casts shadows over his face from his hair as he looks down at you. he’s grown too tall and now you stand right at his shoulders, his shoulders have gotten wider. his features from his childhood are starting to grow sharper. he’s no longer the eight-year-old boy with big, round eyes; he’s a soon to be fourteen-year-old with a sharp gaze.

dang it.

you love caleb. you love caleb’s stupid laugh and his stupid personality.

you slowly breathe in. “i’m leaving tomorrow noon, so… i wanted to be the first.”

he hums. “the first to what?”

“to wish you a happy birthday.”

at this, he snorts. “my birthday is tomorrow.”

“actually,” you point at the digital clock of the stove, the green numbers reading midnight. “it’s right now.”

he remains silent as you open a drawer, fishing out a lone candle and a lighter. carefully placing the candle onto the pie, you light it and turn around, forcing caleb to take a few steps back. he blinks once and then twice, staring a the burning candle. his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, barely noticeable to the naked eye had you not been so close to him. and his eyes, a light shade of amethyst, have golden specks in them that flicker.

“happy birthday to you.” you quietly sing, a smile present on your lips. you watch as his gaze snaps to you, how he stares intently at you. “happy birthday, dear cal, happy birthday to you…” you pause before quietly adding, “make a wish.”

caleb doesn’t say anything. he looks at you for a beat longer before lowering his head and closing his eyes, pursing his lips and then blowing out the candle. he stays like that, with his eyes closed, for a few seconds. then, his eyes slowly flutter open, staring at you immediately. heat blossoms on your neck and crawls up to your cheeks. you abruptly turn and place the pie down on the counter, fumbling around in search of a knife.

“what did you wish for?” you laugh nervously, your heart skipping a beat because you can still feel his gaze on you.

he doesn’t say anything.

“cal?” you turn around, your breath hitching in your throat, eyes widening at the sudden proximity. your heart hammers inside your chest. no, it isn’t from the close proximity, it’s from his eyes. they stare at you with an intensity you have never seen directed at you.

only at her.

his pupils are dilated, his amethyst gaze flickering down before going back to your eyes. “i wished for something only you,” he pauses, licking his lips, “can grant.”

“and what would that be?” your voice is barely above that of a whisper. you tremble as he gets closer, and your back meets the rough edges of the counter. your hands grab onto it to steady yourself, and his hands rest on your hips, strong and calm.

caleb crosses the line.

he leans in closer and closer until your noses are touching, your lips almost connecting. his eyes don’t stray again and remain on yours. “do you trust me?”

“of course, i do.” you breathe out. “more than anyone.”

“then… please grant me my wish.”

and he closes his eyes, the sliver of space separating each other no longer doing so. his lips are on yours, and your eyes are shut tight. it’s brief, the kiss, and caleb pulls back. his breathing comes out heavy and unsteady before he’s diving back in, the next kiss now intense and burning.

he hums. “you’re shivering… am i making you nervous?”

of course he is.

you love him.

the words are right at the tip of your tongue.

“…screw you.” you huff, feeling embarrassed.

you love him.

caleb pulls away just the slightest bit, the corner of his lip lifting into a lazy grin. “maybe in the future, yeah.”

maybe…

“caleb xia!” you hiss, releasing a hand from its tight grip on the counter to smack his arm. “what is wrong with you?”

“a lot of things,” he sighs, resting his forehead on your own. “but you know how to deal with that.”

maybe he loves you, too. maybe he loved you all along.

“shut up.”

his grin is now soft against your lips. “whatever you say, pipsqueak.”

you freeze.

pipsqueak.

and just like that his touch is gone and he’s already a good distance away from you, almost as if you burnt him. tears prickle at your eyes, and they want to fall down your cheek. you will yourself to not cry, to not let him ever have the right to see you cry. he only stares at you with horror swimming in his purple irises.

caleb fucking xia was thinking about her while kissing you.

pipsqueak.

pipsqueak.

her.

her.

HER.

it's always her.

never you.

the warmth he showed you was never truly for you. was he projecting his desires on you all this time? in his mind, was he seeing her in you?

dang it.

how could you do this to yourself? how could you forget?

he will never be yours.

“i—”

“this never happened,” you say, harshly wiping away the stray tear that managed to fall. your voice is wobbly, but you try to remain calm as you twist around and stare down at the stupid apple pie.

“y/n—”

you hate him.

you hate him.

you hate yourself.

“it’s late,” you mumble. “i have to wake up early for my trip to verona… you should go now.”

you know that caleb has been distant since then, feigning that everything is alright in front of mc when you returned a week before the start of the new school year.

now look at where you are.

the necklace that hangs around your neck is heavy and cold to the touch.

“what’s that?”

“hm?” you look down at what he’s eyeing. “oh. cal gave this to me.” you lift it with a finger.

“…caleb gave that to you?” he asks.

“uh-huh.”

he pinches his brows together. “you wear that despite how he’s acting towards you?”

you shrug, though you don't look at him. “he still—”

cares? he still what? what are you trying to say? who are you even trying to fool: zayne or yourself?

zayne says your name, his voice low. “you put far more effort into this friendship than he does. it should be the same.”

you tense up. zayne is right; you put too much effort into a friendship that won't last much longer, the fire that once burned so brightly in the beginning now dying. it’s only a matter of time before embers are all that is left.

but caleb is the sun to you, and you’re like the moon. so close yet so far, forced to only see and feel it for a brief amount of time. has your time run out with the sun? are you going back to the shadow of the earth?

and to caleb, she is like the sun. he is mercury, the closest planet to it. a planet that yearns to get closer to her even when he is right there, willing to be consumed by the sun’s fire.

“have you thought about what the principal said?”

before the winter break started, the principal of your school asked you if you’d like to skip grades. much like zayne, you were far smarter than the kids in school. according to the principal, you could graduate early like your best friend.

the front door bell rings, echoing in the silent house. you get off the bed, mumbling, “i’ll be right back.”

you head down the stairs and open the door, blinking in surprise at the girl.

“we’re back!” she grins, and holds a bag in her hands up to her eyes. “i come bearing gifts!"

“you must be freezing,” you step to the side and let her in as she laughs.

“i am! it’s pretty cold outside.” the girl slips a glove off one of her hands, pressing it against your cheek. she giggles when you flinch at her cold skin.

weird. zayne was so warm even after standing outside for who knows how long before you let him in.

she takes a step inside and slightly bounces on her feet. “i won’t take long! gran is almost done with dinner.” she quickly takes off her other glove.

“did you just come back?” you ask, closing the door.

“an hour ago!” the girl says. “i wanted to play in the park first since it's snowing, you know! caleb got too tired afterwards so he went back inside to take a nap.”

“oh.”

she doesn't seem to notice the disappointment in your voice, instead opening the bag. she takes out a box, a snow globe inside. the crystal ball holds a close replica to the night sky, and when you shake it, white specks fly. “i had it custom made! i remember that you said you liked winter and the sky when it’s nighttime because the deepspace tunnel isn't noticeable.”

“you remember?”

“of course, i do! you know, i asked caleb for advice on what to get you. he said something small would be fine, but i wanted to make it really special for you. for you two being best friends and all, he has terrible memory when it comes to what you like!” she huffs through her nose, shaking her head. “he was so surprised when i decided on a snow globe and told the old man how i’d like it to look.”

he forgot about what you like while you remember every single little detail about him. of course, he doesn't remember.

you aren't her.

“there’s a little switch at the bottom that lights the bottom up. i asked the old man if he could make the base like one of those nightlights that cast different shapes on the walls, and…” with a pause, she grabs your hands and continues, “i really hope you like it.”

you put the snow globe gently down on the nearest surface, and take hold of the girl’s hands, squeezing them. “i love it. thank you so much, mc.”

she lets out a sigh of relief, squeezing your hands back. “i’m so glad! really, i’m so happy you like it. i wanted to show you my gratitude for not treating me differently since the incident.”

“anyone could tell that you didn't like being treated like you were a frail flower.”

“caleb didn’t.”

you’re about to say something when a glint catches your eye. you look down and see a silver chain around her neck. “what’s that?” you ask.

the girl beams and takes out a necklace that was neatly tucked inside her shirt.

your heart sinks to the floor and shatters.

“isn’t it cute?” she holds the chain out, a small, silver sun hanging from it. the purple gem in the middle glimmers in the lighting of the living room. “i found this hidden in caleb’s things and he gave it to me, said he was planning on giving it to me because he said i’m like the sun.”

you’re a blind fool.

you were so blind to that fact that you’re a moth and caleb’s a flame. you got too close to the fire and now you’re left in pain.

the worse part is that you knew—you knew, and yet you still decided to get close, to delude yourself into believing that there was more to what meets the eye.

you actually accept the truth you didn’t want to: caleb can never and will never be yours.

it’s time for the sun to set in your sky.

you never imagined to experience your first and last winter break of high school when you’re fourteen. you always imagined that you’d be eighteen alongside caleb, that you’d graduate together after four years of rivalry for the valedictorian spot of your graduating class. you thought that you’d get to see him tryout for the basketball team and watch him make it, that you’d cheer him on during his games and even go to the ones at different schools. maybe you’d find a sport that you liked and try out for the team, and caleb would be there every step of the way because you know he’d say something stupid along the lines of him claiming to be your hype man. on exam weeks, you imagined that he’d somehow find a way for you to help him study and then you’d barely review a single thing because caleb would drag you to the park to hangout instead. you thought that you’d see each other apply to the academy and watch each other getting in.

your first and last year of high school couldn’t have been more different.

your goals are to reach the sky, to move to skyhaven and attend the aerospace academy, to get into the DAA afterwards and work alongside your dad in his fleet. you and caleb used to walk on the same path, yet now you walk it alone. you study alone, you work alone, you persevere alone.

caleb doesn't.

he studies with friends because she tells you about it whenever she texts you, or sometimes you happen to pass by the library and see him inside with a group of people. he works with friends, and you see it firsthand when you hurry past the gym and happen to catch a glimpse of him and group of people together. he perseveres with friends because she tells you about how caleb is always doing a group project with his classmates.

he isn’t alone.

even now during winter, you see him head out almost everyday. she tells you that sometimes it's because he’s hanging out with friends, other times he tells her it's a secret. if it's a secret, then he's probably planning a surprise for her.

and you’re proven right when you decide to scroll down the moments page, your finger hovering over a picture she had uploaded. it’s slightly blurry, but you can tell that she holds a necklace to the camera with a bright grin, caleb’s lips matching hers from behind. the caption read: caleb got me a necklace for my birthday! and it’s a pretty thing—the chain is a vibrant gold, a beautiful charm in the form of a sun hanging from it with a pink gem at the venter. it is pretty, unlike the necklace he had gifted you. the silver chain has lost its color, now sporting random splotches of bronze, and the beads have scratches on them, the color chipping off little by little.

it is a replacement; or rather, it is meant to finally get rid of the one you gifted him that he gave to her. maybe he thought it was a bothersome stain that he desperately wanted to get rid of, to finally be free of his last attachment to you.

you click on caleb’s profile and block him.

you need to uproot the already grown plant in your heart, you need to yank it and toss it out.

“earth to little star~”

little star, a nickname your dad gave you shortly after you were born. you asked him why he calls you that one time, and he told you that it’s because you likes to think you’re one of the stars he sees in the sky when he’s far from home.

you look up to find your dad standing over you, smiling.

“you were so focused you didn’t even hear me knock on your door,” he says, sitting down next to you on your bed. “what's troubling you?” his lips curl upwards into a mischievous smile. “are you sulking because zayne hasn't texted you yet?”

and just like that, caleb no longer haunts your mind—the sadness, however, clings to you. that won't leave.

you purse your lips and huff. “i do not sulk while i wait for him to respond to my texts.”

you want to tell your dad that you sulk because you prefer talking to zayne in person. you miss seeing him in front of you. but you won't tell him; you know that he’ll tease you and then tell your mom and then she’ll tell zayne’s mom and then zayne will know.

your dad cocks an eyebrow at you. “are you sure about that?”

“yes.”

“uh-huh,” he slowly says, “whatever you say then.”

you fall backwards onto your bed and squint your eyes at the older man. your dad doesn’t have his uniform on; instead, he wears his pjs. it makes you realize that you almost never see him this… free. he doesn’t wear what ties him down to the fleet. and yet… something is plaguing his mind, weighing down on his shoulders so that it slumps.

“something on your mind?” you ask.

he slowly smiles, his middle and index finger pinching your nose softly. “what would you say if i decided to retire from the fleet?”

you shoot up, eyes wide. “what?”

your dad sighs, his smile still there. “well, i’ve been thinking a lot. my little star is fourteen and she’s set to graduate this may. you’re growing up so fast, and i haven’t been there. shouldn’t it be time that i stay home to watch you keep growing?”

“…is that what you want?” you finally say. you tilt your head to the side and eye your dad, gauging his expression.

he looks content.

“yeah,” he breathes out, slow and steady. “that’s what i want.”

your dad’s shoulders are relaxed, and you think that like him, you’d like to watch him grow older with your mom.

it’s a shame that doesn't happen.

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[ellexamor]

cuteness aggression

[ellexamor]

cold, cursed city (part 1)

part 1 / part 2

summary: You wish your best friend would just leave your budding relationship alone.

pairings: beomgyu x fem!reader, soobin x fem!reader

word count: 25.1k

tags: angst, smut (MDNI), best friend and roommate!beomgyu, reader has a crush on soobin, chaewon is reader’s other bestie, so much possessiveness and jealousy, beomgyu is extremely clingy, manipulation, lying, arguments, a lot of crying, guilt

smut tags: multiple smut scenes lol (2 in this part), switch!gyu, switch!reader, guided & mutual masturbation, dry humping, praise, little bit of degradation, nipple play, very desperate gyu, fingering, overstimulation, oral (f rec), dacryphilia?, pet names (angel, pretty girl, baby, etc)

notes: finally releasing this monster from its prison cell (my google docs). been working on this for a month because whiny possessive best friend gyu has been haunting me every day… anyway i hope u guys enjoy, and lmk what u think!

You hated the walk back to your apartment in the winter. It’s always so cold, and certain paths are always so icy. But you have no choice, and you’re fortunate enough that your job is only a ten minute walk away. It’s snowing today, though, hard enough to make you take each step with caution.

The wind whips across your face, making you squint to protect your eyes. You make it all of two minutes before giving up and going into the nearest public establishment you walk by, which happens to be your city’s library. You catch your breath as soon as you enter the building, taking off your jacket and folding it in your arms. You walk around slowly, looking for a comfortable chair to rest on. It’s unsurprisingly very quiet in the building. All you can hear is people typing on keyboards and hushed conversations every now and then. Everyone looks busy here.

You find a secluded area in the back corner of the library with three lounge chairs. You rush to take a seat there, letting out a sigh of relief as you sink into it. It’s right next to a heater, too. The yellow lights are soft and warm above you. You look out the window, watching the snow rage on. Now that you’re able to see clearly, you notice how there’s a good four inches on the ground. There’s a few people passing by here and there, but the streets are mostly empty. Even the cars are few and far between.

You fish your phone out of the pocket of your abandoned jacket to call Beomgyu. He should probably know that you’ll be back later than usual. By the looks of it, you could be waiting in this library for another hour.

“Hiii,” he says. You can hear his smile in his voice, and it makes you light up.

“Hi Gyu. Did you see the storm outside?” you ask, voice hushed so as to not disturb anyone. You don’t think he had work today, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed home all day, unaware of the weather.

“Yeah, we’re supposed to get six inches or something. Are you on your way back?”

You groan, “I was, but the wind is ridiculous right now. I had to take shelter in some library.”

He laughs at you. “Should I pick you up?”

“I don’t think you should be driving right now honestly,” you answer.

“It’s gonna get dark if you wait it out though,” he reasons. “I’ll pick you up, I don’t mind.” You hear the jingle of his car keys when he grabs them.

“No, don’t, you can just pick me up once all the roads are safe,” you offer instead. “You know you’re not a good enough driver to handle this weather.”

“Wow. I’m gonna drive through it just to prove I can now,” he says.

“Then the next time I see your face will be in some news article explaining the crash,” you snide.

“No, it’ll be an article about all the sick wheelies and 360s I did despite the storm.”

“Yeah right,” you laugh. “How are you even gonna do that with your shitbox?” You realize you’ve been talking a little loud when you see someone’s head whip over at you. You sink into your seat in mild embarrassment.

“I’m so good I could figure out a way to make this car fly.” You roll your eyes even though he can’t see it.

“Oh I’m sure,” you say. “Alright, I’ll call you back when you can pick me up. I’m just gonna chill here ‘til then.”

“Okay. Hope they plow the roads so my shitty driving doesn’t kill us,” he says, and you know he’s doing that stupid sarcastic pout.

“You’re such a drama queen,” you reply.

“You love it.”

“I guess I wouldn’t put up with it for so long if I didn’t.” You take another look out the window to check the weather. The wind calmed down a little, but not enough to go back out. Plus, you’re comfortable right now. “Well, I’ll see you, Gyu.”

“See ya.”

As soon as the call ends, you relax further into the lounge chair. Your posture is horrid, with your back being more on the seat than it is on the back of the chair, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Work was awful today: your boss scolded you about missing paperwork, a potential partnership with another company fell through, and your coworker wouldn’t stop talking about her family problems on your lunch break. Thank God tomorrow’s Friday.

You’re scrolling through Instagram when you notice a tall figure coming into your field of vision from over your phone screen. You look up and realize he’s coming closer to you. Your eyes widen for a second in panic, and you scramble to straighten your back out and look more presentable. You worry that perhaps this is a worker about to kick you out. Why? You don’t know. Maybe you’re about to find out.

You look innocently up at the man as he finishes crossing the few steps it takes to reach you. You try to ignore how cute he is. And tall. And sexy. And really, really tall—did you say tall? He’s so attractive and so your type.

“Hey, I’m sorry, could I sit here?” he ends up asking. He points to the chair furthest from you, since you took the right-most chair of the three. You’re a little stunned for a second, then you remember you have to talk.

“Yeah, of course,” you say, nodding quickly.

“Thank you. All the tables were taken,” he explains quietly, putting a bag down beside his chair.

“I know, it’s weird to see a library so full,” you say. He takes his laptop out of his bag and opens it on his lap. You think you might be watching him too closely, so you snap your head in another direction. There really is no empty table, you note as you look at all the people in the library.

“Normally it’s not. It must be because of the weather,” the man explains. You look back at him when he speaks, and a small smile finds its way onto your face when you see his bunny-like features. You’re never the type to ogle at someone like this, but he’s seriously so pretty. You can’t help it.

“I mean, I’m only in here because of the weather, so I believe it,” you say. The man smiles. You swoon.

“Makes sense. I’d remember if I’d seen you before.”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

The man looks down at his laptop, as if he can’t look you in the eye when he speaks next. “Ah, no reason. I-I’m normally good with faces.”

He’s adorable. You figure this is how you can pass time until the storm is over.

“So you come here a lot?” you ask. You hope you’re not annoying him with all the conversation, but he seems happy to respond.

“I do my work here pretty much every day. I like it better than doing it from my home,” he answers.

“Oh wow, you work remotely?”

“Yep, and I get to choose my hours too. It’s a perk of the job.” He starts typing something on his laptop. You watch his diligent fingers fly across the keyboard. He has big hands. Your head is reeling a little.

“I wish my job was like that,” you say. “Well, I’ll let you work now. I don’t want to distract you.” You relax back into your chair, not realizing how close you’ve been leaning in during the conversation.

“No, I honestly like the conversation! It makes the time go by faster,” he rushes to say. You perk back up and can’t control how you beam. You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t exactly what you wanted to hear.

“I’ll make sure to keep talking in that case,” you giggle. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Soobin,” he introduces, looking into your eyes kindly.

You tell him your name. “Nice to meet you,” you say.

“Nice to meet you too.”

“So, what exactly do you do for work?” you ask. You’re surprised at how well he can focus on the conversation and on his work. It’s impossible for you to multitask like that.

“I do software engineering for an insurance company. We just finished a major project a couple days ago, so there’s not a ton to do for the rest of the week.”

“Damn, sounds like there’s money in that.”

He laughs, “I guess so.”

“My job’s a lot less interesting than that,” you start, going on to explain your position, then about the mess of today at work, and your conversation with Soobin flows from anything to everything until you remember that Beomgyu’s waiting to pick you up. You look out the window to monitor the weather. It looks like the snow has long since stopped. The streets are plowed, only illuminated by the streetlights since it’s gotten so dark. You find yourself disappointed to have to cut the evening so short.

“Are you leaving already?” Soobin asks.

“Yeah, my friend’s gonna pick me up.” When you unlock your phone, you find that Beomgyu’s already texted you a couple times. You also find that it’s been an hour and a half since you last called him. Holy shit, the time really did fly. You open his messages to read what he sent.

[Beomgyu] are u readyyyyy

[Beomgyu] ANSWER ME WHERED U GO

You call him, and he picks up after only the first ring.

“Finally,” he said. “You had me thinking you started going back on your own or something and died.”

“Pfft, you think so lowly of my survival skills,” you respond. “You should head out now before I lose any beauty sleep.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” he jokes. You hear him grab his stuff and shut the door behind him. “I hate parallel parking so just wait for me in front of the building, I’ll pull up.”

“Okay. Thanks, Gyu~” you say sweetly.

“Mhm, see you,” he says.

“See you.”

The drive is only a few minutes. You should probably head out front now. You look back to Soobin.

“Hey, thanks for the conversation,” you say. “Made my shitty day a little better.”

“Same here,” Soobin agrees. He watches you put on your coat, getting ready to leave. You don’t think he has it in him to make the next move, so you do it instead.

“You know, it would be a shame if I had to leave right now without your number…” You blush as you say it, looking off meekly for just a second, then back to him to see him giggling. (You? Make him? Giggle? Fucking score!!!)

He motions for your phone with his hand. You can’t wipe the grin off your face as you open a new contact page. You watch him insert his information.

“Let’s meet again soon,” he suggests when he hands his phone back to you.

You nod. “I’ll be in contact,” you say and wave your phone in your hand. Perhaps you’ll be making more stops to the library now.

You seem to exit the library at the same time Beomgyu arrives. You get into his car quickly to avoid the cold weather, shivering once you enter the car.

“Why isn’t your heater on?” you ask, fiddling with the buttons on the dash to turn on the heat.

“My heater barely works. It won’t even kick in before we get back home,” he explains, shutting the heat off again. You make a face at him.

“Then drive, I’m freezing,” you insist.

“I’m on it boss.” He gives you a salute.

His music plays quietly in the background of the ride. He has a nice taste in music, the type fitting for night drives.

“What’d you do today?” you ask him.

“Play League,” he says. You laugh at him, and he looks away from the road for a second to smile at you. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Why do you always make me decide?” you complain.

“Cause I don’t know what I want.”

“I don’t know what you want either, you always reject my choices.”

It’s a short drive to your apartment complex, so you arrive quickly. You rush to get inside once Beomgyu’s car is parked. The moment you open the door to your apartment, you fall flat onto the couch. You don’t care how your face digs into the cushion, it just feels nice to alleviate the day’s stress.

Beomgyu follows behind not long after. “Damn, you ran here,” he remarks. He stays at the door for a minute, probably putting all his stuff away, before he approaches you. You feel him taking your boots off your feet, which you forgot to do in your haste.

“Thanks,” you murmur into the couch cushion.

“You’re welcome.” He leaves you for a moment to put your shoes on the shoe rack by the door. When he comes back to you, he’s sliding your jacket off your arms. He folds it sloppily and plops it on the coffee table.

You turn your head so it’s facing him instead of being pressed into the couch. “What’d you decide for dinner?” you ask him.

He laughs. “Wasn’t that your job?”

“No.” You sit up with great effort. He sits on the other side of the couch and extends his legs out. You freak out when he rests his feet on you. “Nasty!!”

“I got socks on!” he exclaims in defense. You slap his feet away until he gives up and tucks his legs into his body.

“What time is it?” you ask.

Beomgyu checks his phone. “Seven.”

“I’m too tired to cook anything,” you say.

“I think we have leftovers we can just heat up,” he says, then gets up to look in the fridge and make sure. He holds a container out to you. “You want?”

Looks good enough. “Yeah,” you answer. He closes the fridge and grabs two plates.

“I’m so nice, cooking for you,” he says, portioning the food between your plates. “How long do I nuke it for?”

“Try two minutes.”

The rest of the night follows like any other: you eat dinner with Beomgyu, you watch a little TV, you get ready for bed, then you sleep. You hope a certain tall, attractive man visits you in your dreams tonight.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

When you walk back home from work the next day, it’s considerably better in terms of weather. Your eyes linger on the library as you pass it by, and your hand twitches around your phone. Soobin still hasn’t texted you. You’re a little disappointed, honestly. Every notification you received throughout the day made you light up, thinking it might be him. You might just put your pride aside and text him yourself at this point. You even think about walking back and waiting in the library for him, but then you’d just look weird.

When you get back home, Beomgyu isn’t there. His work schedule is so inconsistent, you never know when to expect him. He’s not a 9-5 worker like you, so you suppose that’s where the difference in flexibility comes in.

You lean against the kitchen counter and find Soobin’s contact on your phone. You open a new conversation with him, excited to talk again. You don’t think too much about your messages before you send them.

Hiiii

It’s the girl from the library

You shut your phone off after, not expecting an answer for a while. You turn on your playlist and busy yourself with getting undressed, wiping off your makeup, and showering. You go back to the kitchen once you’re finished to figure out what you’re gonna make yourself for dinner. As you’re gathering a list of ingredients in your head, your phone vibrates on the counter. You grin as you rush to look at the messages, making sure not to open the chat immediately though.

[Soobin] Hi! I’m glad you didn’t forget about me

You find yourself giggling at the message. You’ll respond in a few minutes, not wanting to seem desperate by opening it right away. You pass the time by taking out some ingredients for the meal you’ll make tonight. As you wait for your veggies to steam, you decide that now you can answer Soobin.

Forget you? How could I?

Hehehe

Wyd??

You’re in a very chipper mood, swaying around as you stir your vegetables and decide they’ve softened enough. You hum the tune of a song while you add noodles into a pot of boiling water. Your phone buzzes when you’re in the middle of making the sauce, so you try to hasten your movements. You finish pouring everything in, giving it a quick stir and making sure the heat is on low before running to your phone.

[Soobin] Drinking and watching TV lol

[Soobin] How about you?

You take a picture of your stovetop, sending your work in progress to him.

Working on my culinary creations

You’re done making your meal when he replies to that.

[Soobin] Looks yummy

You laugh and open your camera, taking a picture to send of the plated meal. You type your response immediately, not caring about waiting a few minutes between anymore.

Tastes decent

It seems he doesn’t care to wait to respond to you either, cause his next text is immediate.

[Soobin] Woah five stars

Your conversation fizzles out not long after, but you feel satisfied with it. Even as you clean your dishes, your smile doesn’t leave your face. You almost forgot how exciting it is to have a crush.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

The next time you see Soobin is Monday after work at the library. You offered to hang out with him as he works, and he seemed more than happy to accept. He even asked for your coffee order so that he could bring you a cup. You need the caffeine after such a tiring day at work, you don’t care if it keeps you up until midnight. The coffee’s still hot, but not scalding, when you arrive. You take a seat in the same chair you sat in when you first met.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you say, using the disposable cup to warm your hands. Your face still burns from how cold the walk here was.

“Of course,” he replies. “How was work today?”

You shrug. “Not much to do. I almost fell asleep at my desk. What’s on your agenda for the day?”

You pretend to understand the techy language he spews back at you when he answers. You take a sip of your coffee, humming in appreciation at the taste.

“Where do you get your coffee from? This place does it so good,” you ask, trying to look at the cup for a logo.

“Actually, I get it from a cat cafe near where I live,” he answers. You gasp and look at him in awe.

“What?! Is it new? How have I never heard of it?” You always wanted to go to a cat cafe. Their delicious coffee is just a bonus.

“I don’t think it’s new, but it’s kind of secluded, and the sign is small, so it’s easy to miss.”

“You have to bring me sometime,” you insist.

“Noted,” he laughs.

It gets quiet when Soobin starts focusing on his work, which you don’t mind. You look around the library, taking in the atmosphere. Soobin was right, there are way less people here today than there were on the night of the storm. The library is warm and nice and never loses power, so it’s not a bad place to turn to, you suppose.

You turn on your phone and find a text notification from Beomgyu. You open it.

[Beomgyu] are u on ur way back

You usually tell him when you won’t be back after work, but you guess you forgot to this time. It’s reasonable for him to ask, since you’d be back home by now on a regular day. You explain yourself in a text message back.

No lol

I’m out with somebody rn

I’ll be back for dinner

[Beomgyu] nooo don’t make me cook

You snicker at his response.

Okay I’ll pick up something on my way back

[Beomgyu] muahahaha yessss

[Beomgyu] who are u with?

You think for a moment on how to answer the question. You don’t want to tell Beomgyu about a guy you’re only just starting to see. He’ll flood you with questions that you don’t want to deal with if this ends up going nowhere.

A friend you don’t know lol

You put your phone down when Soobin starts talking to you again. It’s so easy to sink into conversation with him. You find yourself asking most of the questions, liking his eagerness to explain little things about himself. You talk about yourself here and there too.

Time flies yet again, and you realize that you should be heading back home now. You remember promising Beomgyu to pick up dinner on the way back, but you’re not sure where to go. You look over at Soobin.

“Do you know any good spots for food nearby? I still gotta grab dinner,” you ask.

“Yeah, there’s a restaurant that does really good fried chicken, it’s not too far from here,” he answers, then tells you the name of the place. You commit it to memory. You’re about to thank him before he starts up again, “I’ll come with you. I haven't eaten much today.” He starts logging off and shutting down his laptop. You’re so excited at the prospect that you don’t turn him down, even though it means Beomgyu will have to wait a little longer for his food.

The walk to the restaurant is quick and filled with small talk. You get him to laugh hard at one of your jokes, and it feels better than scratching a winning ticket. At the restaurant, you sit across from him in a comfortable booth.

“This one is really good,” Soobin says, pointing to one of the options on the menu. You purse your lips and nod.

“Sounds interesting,” you say. “Normally I go for spicy chicken though.”

“The sauce is so good on it. At least try some of mine,” he insists.

The waiter comes and you order your food. As you wait for it to arrive, you figure you should ask Beomgyu what he wants from here. You send him the link to the menu online.

Lmk what you want

[Beomgyu] omgggg that place looks so good

You feel even happier with your choice to go here now. Hopefully Beomgyu won’t feel bad that you ate without him. You don’t linger on the worry, though, not when Soobin starts telling you about how his first job was at a restaurant that reminds him of this one. You lean into your palm, staring at his handsome face with a dopey smile. Maybe it’s just you, but today just feels like more proof that there’s a lot of potential between you two.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Visiting Soobin at the library becomes a common post-work habit for you. You see him another three times in the next week. There’s something about him that won’t let your heart sit still, fluttering at each little thought of the man.

Your coworkers noticed you had some more pep in your step, and you wonder if having a crush is really giving you a glow. You were just excited to get out of work and go to the library. Even Beomgyu says something when you get back home.

“Someone looks happy,” he says from the couch as you walk into your apartment. You didn’t notice how hard you were still cheesing until he mentioned it. You take off your shoes and jacket.

“Maybe a little,” you giggle. Beomgyu follows you when you walk into your room. It’s normal for him to accompany you while you get unready. He sits on your bed, and you sit at your vanity.

“What are you so smiley for?” he asks. You guess your happiness is contagious, cause when you look at him through your mirror, he’s smiling too.

“Oh, nothing…” you say, building up the anticipation. Truthfully, ever since you left Soobin today, you were planning on how you should tell Beomgyu about him. You’re excited; you haven’t had a real relationship since high school, and you feel it coming up on you now. Any day now, you’ll get the courage to ask him out. Everything has been friendly so far, but you can feel the undertone of romance behind it all.

“What? Tell me!” he exclaims. He walks over to you, standing right by you as you clean your face. “Did you get a promotion?”

You laugh, “I wish.”

“Then what?” he asks. “Is it your new friend?” You shrug and sigh girlishly. You see his smile falter a little in the mirror.

He stops guessing and just watches you take off your makeup. He stays stood next to you, entertaining himself with the little trinkets on your vanity. His silence is a little weird, but you don’t break it with conversation either.

You finish taking care of your face and get up to pull some comfier clothes from your dresser. You throw them on your bed and look over at Beomgyu. He takes the hint and turns to the wall so that you can take off your work clothes.

“Did you see the group chat?” he asks as you slide a loose shirt on. You hum in confirmation. Your friend group is planning to go out together to a nice bar tomorrow night. You even mentioned it to Soobin, gauging his reaction to see if he’d potentially come. “Did you wanna go?”

Something in your heart urges you to spill your secret now. You want to try to sound casual about it, even though you feel like you could talk on and on about Soobin. You don’t let yourself pause too long, deciding to just speak without thinking too much about it.

“Yeah, I’m thinking I’ll invite the guy I’ve been talking to recently,” you say. You’re not prepared for how Beomgyu whips his head around and looks at you like you said something insane. You finish pulling up your sweatpants quickly, but you don’t think he even notices.

“What?! What guy you’re talking to?” he asks, and you’re taken aback by how appalled he sounds.

You put your hands up. “Woah. Chill.”

“No. What are you talking about??” he pushes.

“I’ve already been talking to him for like, two weeks, it’s fine.” You figure he must be upset because he’s cautious of you being with men you barely know. That’s fair, you’re weary when your girl friends bring up new men sometimes too.

He’s quiet for a moment, and you think he’s dropped the case until he starts back up, “Is this the same person you’ve been seeing after work?”

“Yeah, he’s a really nice guy,” you answer.

“You said you were with a friend.” There’s something accusatory in his voice. You tense up as defensiveness flows through you.

“Because I was?” you say incredulously.

“Don’t tell me that’s why you came home so smitten today. I had a feeling.” He looks at you like he’s disgusted, but you can’t figure out why. It’s not like you did something wrong.

“You’re not happy for me?” you ask. He looks away and huffs out a laugh. His arms are crossed over his chest, and you’re baffled as to why he’s taking so much offense to this.

“No, I don’t know this guy,” he says.

“That’s why I’d be bringing him tomorrow.”

“Why? It’s just supposed to be us.” You sit on your bed, and he doesn’t follow. He doesn’t even move from the spot he’s standing.

“Just give him a chance. I think you guys could be friends,” you suggest.

“Fat fucking chance. No way,” he refuses. Now you’re getting upset, cause why the hell can’t he at least try to hang out with the guy you just said you’re interested in? As your best friend, he should be in full support of you finding love.

“Well, I’ll talk to the others about it and see what they think.” You pull your blankets up and go on your phone, not paying Beomgyu any more attention. You hear him scoff and leave the room.

You lay on your side and replay the argument in your head. Did you bring it up wrong? Maybe you introduced the idea at the wrong moment. Maybe Beomgyu had a bad day, and he’s just lashing out at you. He never does that though, why would he start now? You’re so frustrated. You wish you knew why Beomgyu cares so much.

Whenever you see him with girls, you don’t make a big deal. You help him with what little gestures to do to make her feel special. You always give him advice. His relationships never last, though, and he hasn’t seen anyone since you two moved together over a year ago.

Throughout the three years you and Beomgyu have been friends, you haven’t dated a single person. You guess you were wrong to assume that he’d be happy to see you finally do so. Did he want you to tell him sooner? It’s only been a couple weeks, though. That’s pretty soon.

You regret saying anything now. Beomgyu might not even go to the get-together if you ruined his mood that much. Maybe you shouldn’t go. All your friends might get pissed at you the way Beomgyu did. You don’t know what the right way is to introduce Soobin.

You throw an arm over your eyes and scowl at yourself. Why are you wallowing in self-pity? Beomgyu had no right to react like that! He forgets that you can do whatever you want with your life!

The smaller voice in your head reminds you that Beomgyu has always been a good friend to you. He rarely gets upset at you, and whenever he has, he was within his right. But this time? Really? Was it justified? You almost groan in frustration. You don’t know. All you know is that you’re in dire need of talking to another girl now. You unlock your phone and open your chat with Chaewon.

Heyyy you’re going to the bar with us tomorrow right??

[Chaewon] YES!!!!

You smile at her response. You love her bubbliness. It’s impossible to feel sad when you’re talking to her.

Thank god

We should get ready together at your place

I’ll just head there right after work

You hope she takes up your offer. It would be a huge stress relief for you. It would also be a good time to gauge her reaction on Soobin, as well as her thoughts on Beomgyu’s reaction. Debriefing life—even the bad moments—is never dull with her. It’s like she always knows what to say, and she’s always got what you need to hear.

A smaller part of this is motivated by the urge to avoid another argument with Beomgyu tomorrow. If he ends up coming, great. If he doesn’t, hopefully it won’t weigh on your mind so much. You don’t want to ruin your mood right before hanging out with all your friends.

[Chaewon] Omg yes please

[Chaewon] I have the cutest dress for you

You giggle and kick your feet in the air. Maybe you should ditch Soobin and let Chaewon carry you on her arm tomorrow night instead. She’s your hero right now.

I literally love you

[Chaewon] I LOVE YOU MORE

[Chaewon] IM SO EXCITED

ME TOO!!!!

Your shoulders feel less heavy after that. You shut your phone off and let out a sigh of relief. You find yourself excited for tomorrow to come now.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Luckily for you, your work day passes quickly. You speed walk the whole way to Chaewon’s place, not wanting to waste a single moment. You’re excited for tonight, thankful that everyone said they’d be able to come. You try to push back the worry that Beomgyu might not go.

You’re out of breath when you knock on Chaewon’s door. She doesn’t leave you waiting long, swinging it open with a squeal and hugging you immediately.

“How are you?” she asks as she ushers you in and shuts the door. She takes your jacket for you as you slide off your shoes. She hangs it on a cute little coat rack.

“I’m good now that I’m with you!” you say, beaming. She takes your hand and drags you to her bedroom.

“Let’s not waste any time, we gotta look hot before the hour’s up!” In her bedroom, she already has two small bins of makeup products on the floor. She gives you her makeup mirror and uses a smaller handheld one for herself.

“Oh, I already did my makeup,” you say, trying to hand the mirror back to her. She raises an eyebrow at you.

“You mean your work makeup?”

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask, looking in the mirror to check it. Looks fine to you.

“It’s cute, but it’s so modest. You need to look sexy,” she responds. You nod and point at her like she made a great argument.

“You’re right, let me see what you got in these,” you say as you dig through her bins. You pull out the palettes and glosses that intrigue you. She also picks some products out for you, telling you how good they’d look on you. You grab a few of your own products from your purse.

As you both start applying, you think back to Soobin. You wonder how he’ll react seeing you in non-work attire. You bite back a smile at the thought. You still have to ask Chaewon about bringing him, though. You hope that Soobin kept his schedule free for this, but also that he won’t be disappointed if you don’t end up inviting him in the case that Chaewon thinks you shouldn’t.

“I got a surprise announcement,” you start, immediately grabbing Chaewon’s attention. She looks at you with wide eyes.

“I’m scared. Please don’t be pregnant,” she says.

“Well, there’s this guy…” You can’t even finish your sentence before Chaewon starts screaming. You burst out laughing, and she smacks the ground in amusement.

“Okay, okay, tell me more,” she pries once she calms down.

“His name is Soobin. He’s really cute, but also so hot. Like, Chaewon. I swear. I was drooling when I first saw him.” Her jaw is dropped open as she hears that.

“How'd you meet?” she asks.

“We met at the library a week ago and have been talking every day since,” you explain. “And girl… he does tech for an insurance company. That sounds like money to me.”

“Bring me to his mansion when you get married,” she jokes.

“Oh for sure. Imagine though,” you say.

“That’s so good for you. I could actually cry for you. You needed this.”

“Right?! See, at least you get it.”

“I mean, who wouldn’t? He sounds so good.” You pause doing your makeup to give her a pointed look. You emit an exaggerated groan and lean your head back.

“Don’t get me started,” you say.

“Well now I have to hear.”

“When I brought it up to Beomgyu, he completely freaked out. I mentioned bringing Soobin with me tonight and he just lost it.”

Chaewon scoffs. “Screw him, I wanna meet the guy! Who cares what Beomgyu thinks?!”

“I care, I don’t want him to be pissed at me,” you say, and Chaewon frowns.

“He’s just mad cause you’ll be getting it and he’ll be watching from the sidelines,” she says. You push at her shoulder and she laughs.

“You should try to set him up with someone so he gets off my ass,” you suggest, only half-joking.

“As if he’ll ever look at someone besides you.” You tilt your head upon hearing that response, not knowing what she means. She senses your confusion and continues, “I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

You rush to deny the claim, but your heart picks up in some weird sense of panic and shock. “That’s not it at all,” you say. You shake your hand frantically in denial.

“Keep telling yourself that. Why else would he freak out like that?” she asks.

“Oh my gosh… I’m not even hearing this one out,” you dismiss, locking this conversation away to never think about it again. “So, you think I should tell Soobin to come?”

“Yes! One million percent. I have got to see this handsome stranger,” she answers.

“Okay, I’ll text him once I’m done with this.”

“I haven’t been this excited in so long!” Chaewon squeals. Honestly? You either.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

The moment you find your friends’ table at the bar, you notice Beomgyu’s absence. Your heart sits heavy in your chest upon realizing that. Chaewon grabs your hand, and you wonder if you were wearing your guilt on your face. Her reminded presence is reassuring. You sit next to her at the table and greet all your friends.

“Did anyone pregame?” Aeri asks. “Cause I totally did.”

“Girl, I hope you Ubered here then,” Chaewon says.

“I drank a little, but only enough to feel a buzz,” Julie answers.

“Ayy,” Aeri cheers while high-fiving Julie.

“Meanwhile we were too busy scrambling into these dresses to think about drinking,” you say, pointing between yourself and Chaewon.

“You look hot, it was worth it,” Julie says.

“Is Beomgyu not coming?” Yeonjun asks, looking at you.

“I’m not sure. I thought he was,” you answer.

“He better,” Julie says. “The whole group hasn’t gotten together in so long!”

“Speaking of, there’s gonna be an addition to the group tonight,” Chaewon announces, shimmying her shoulders and looking at you. You roll your eyes at her with a fond smile.

“I asked this guy I’m seeing to come by tonight,” you inform, and the table erupts at the news.

“When’s he coming? I’ll give you my brutally honest opinion after seeing him,” Aeri says.

“Oh, you’ll love him,” you say. “Don’t flirt too hard, I can’t have you stealing him from me.”

“So a little flirting is okay?” she jokes. You lean over the table to swat her shoulder.

“He kinda gives shy vibes, so don’t be surprised if he’s not as energetic as us,” you say.

“Let’s just get him super drunk then,” Yeonjun suggests. The table bursts into a chorus of ‘yeahhhh’s.

“Oh hey, look who came,” Chaewon says, putting a hand on your shoulder and pointing her chin to Beomgyu walking towards your table. You hope your smile doesn’t look forced and awkward, but it feels it as he comes closer. Your eyes dart from Chaewon, to your other friends, to your hands on the table, then back to Beomgyu. Your heart pounds in fear that Beomgyu might still be mad at you. He wouldn’t come if he was that upset still, right?

He sits next to Yeonjun, and you’re holding your breath as you gauge the look on his face. He looks… happy. You release your breath slowly. He holds no anger in his eyes when he meets your gaze. A weight lifts from your shoulders.

Yeonjun slaps a hand onto Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Finally!” he exclaims.

“Hey, you think I’d miss a chance to drink with you guys?” Beomgyu responds.

“Okay, let’s get started. Should we each just open our own tab?” Julie asks.

“Yeah, that works,” you answer.

“Wait, I have no money, who wants to be my sugar mommy for the night,” Aeri says.

“You can put yours on mine,” Chaewon offers. Aeri wraps her arms around her for a quick hug in thanks.

“I will pay you back in double when I get my next paycheck,” Aeri promises.

“Ahh come on, don’t worry about that, let’s just have fun,” she responds. Chaewon pulls you up with her to go over to the bartender. Aeri follows along with the two of you. The other three probably split off on their own to figure out their orders.

The three of you take a shot for good luck first, then you work on your own drinks. You’re all giggling as you head back to your table with your drinks. Beomgyu and Yeonjun are back with their own beers, and Julie is nowhere to be seen.

“You think Julie’s drunk already?” Aeri asks the table.

“Oh, she’s been drunk. When she says she’s a little buzzed, that means she’s fucking wasted,” Chaewon says. Everyone laughs because it’s true.

You don’t know how much time passes where you guys just catch up on life and joke around, but at some point you feel your phone vibrate from a text notification. It’s Soobin.

[Soobin] I’ll be there in a minute! Please wait for me at the front so I can find you

“Guys, I gotta go grab Soobin, I’ll be right back,” you say. Everyone’s still caught up in conversation and doesn’t pay much mind to your announcement—everyone except Beomgyu. His eyebrows are upturned, eyes wide as they follow you when you stand.

You pat his head. “I’ll be back,” you reassure.

You don’t wait long by the bar door. Soobin finds you as soon as he walks in, greeting you with a hug. It takes your breath away for a second. It’s fleeting, and it’s over before you know it, but it makes your heart race.

“How have you been?” he asks. You’re standing so close that you have to bend your neck to look up at him.

“Good, better now that you’re here,” you say. He turns his head away to laugh. It’s unbearably cute. You have to stop yourself from squeezing his face in your hands.

“Do your friends know I’m coming?”

“Of course,” you answer. “They can’t wait.”

“Oh gosh,” he says, following you as you lead him to your table. It seems like Julie came back in the time you were gone, cause everyone’s there when you get back. All the girls squeal upon seeing Soobin. You give them a knowing grin.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Yeonjun greets. “Sit, sit.” He motions to the chairs on the opposite side of the table from him. You sit next to Julie, and Soobin sits next to you. Right across from you is Beomgyu. You tighten your lips when you see him looking off as if uninterested. You pray he can be amicable.

“Yeah, so, this is the boy,” you say.

“I’m Soobin,” he introduces with an air of awkwardness. It endears you.

The next few minutes are filled with your friends getting to know Soobin. They make good conversation, and Soobin responds well. Yeonjun even grabs a drink for Soobin at some point—“Be careful, he’s got plans to get you super drunk,” Julie joked—and it seems to loosen him up a bit. You just can’t help but notice how quiet Beomgyu is, though.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you announce, patting Soobin’s back as you get up.

You seat yourself on a barstool, tapping your fingers against the bar as you wait for the bartender to come to you. You hum along to the song playing.

“Hello again,” the bartender greets. You shoot your head up and smile. “Same as before?” You’re surprised he remembers your order when there’s so many people here tonight. You guess he’s just good at his job.

“Yes, please,” you say. You go back to humming and tapping to the beat of whatever song the bar is playing. You look back at your table for a second. Everyone looks like they’re enjoying themselves. It makes you happy to see your friends get along with Soobin.

You check your phone for any important messages, but all you received was a bunch of meaningless notifications from various apps. You shove your phone into your purse so you stop looking at it. You’re here to socialize.

A hand lands on your shoulder, prompting you to look back. You were expecting it to be Soobin, but you’re not surprised when you see that it’s Beomgyu. You give him a smile as he takes the stool next to you. You look back at the bartender, and Beomgyu looks behind the two of you at the rest of the people here. Beomgyu’s arm stays slumped around you.

When your drink is handed off to you, you turn your full attention to your friend. “What’s up?” you ask. You swivel your seat so you can face him directly, forcing his arm off you. He leans into the bar, getting—probably too—comfortable.

“I just wanted to see you,” he answers.

“How’s your night going?” You take a sip of your drink, licking your lips after. His eyes follow the movement.

“Alright, I guess,” he says. He looks out to the crowd again.

“You should go dance,” you suggest.

He shakes his head. “I only like dancing with you.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” you tease. He matches your smile before stealing your drink and taking a sip from it. “Oh my god, you and your big ass gulps, all the time,” you reprimand jokingly.

“I barely drank any of it,” he defends with a pout. You laugh and pat his head to summon his lips back upward. It works immediately, of course.

“How’s everyone doing at the table?” you ask.

He shrugs. “They’re having a good time. Soobin talks a lot.” Soobin wasn’t talking that much when you were at the table, so you’re surprised to hear that. Maybe the alcohol started really coursing through his system in the short time you were gone.

“That’s good,” you respond.

“Are you going home with him?” he asks, looking at you with big round eyes. Usually Beomgyu mellows down and laughs a lot when he drinks, but this time he’s a little different.

“With Soobin?” you clarify. He nods. “Probably not. I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Beomgyu says quickly. You laugh.

“Why good?”

“Don’t want him stealing you from me.”

“You’re such a child,” you chuckle. He holds your hand over the table when you let go of your glass. It’s not abnormal for him to be touchy with you, so you don’t question it. He brings your interlocked hands up to his face and leans into them. His face feels warm on the back of your hand.

“Let me know when you wanna head to ours,” Beomgyu says. He’s being cute right now, you can’t help it when you let go of his hand so you can poke his nose. He beams at you.

“Let’s go back to the table,” you say, grabbing your drink and getting out of your seat.

“No, stay here with me.” He’s so needy. You look him up and down, assessing him.

“How much did you drink?” you ask. You swear he only had a couple beers. He ushers you back into your seat with a gentle hand on your hip. “Gyu, I can’t just leave Soobin for the rest of the night.”

“He’s having fun. Don’t mind him.”

“I brought him here though,” you reason.

He sighs, and his eyes lose their sparkle. He turns his head so he’s not facing you anymore. “Fine,” he says.

“You can’t seriously be upset with me for this?”

He still doesn’t look at you. “I’m not.”

You bite your tongue and decide to leave it at that, even though you know he’s lying. He’s jealous for no reason; it’s not like you’re going to abandon your best friend all because you might have a man in your life. Soobin and you aren’t even anything more than friends right now. You wish you could talk some sense into him, but you don’t want to do that in public.

Beomgyu will wallow alone for the rest of the night if you leave him now. The choice is on you: abandon Soobin at the table, or abandon Beomgyu right here. It’s not like there’s a correct option.

You look at your table. Soobin’s intently listening to Yeonjun as he rambles on about something, while the girls seem to be in a conversation of their own. Does Soobin need you right now? He seems like he’s holding his own. Your eyes fall back to the boy that definitely does.

“Beomgyu,” you call, shaking his shoulder so he’ll look at you. He does. “Let’s go home.” His smile returns immediately.

You already start thinking of what excuse you’ll text Soobin later.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You wake up feeling suffocated by both the tight dress you’re still wearing and by half of Beomgyu’s body weight being sprawled on top of you. Curse him for insisting on watching a movie with you last night—not only is he crushing you now, but your laptop fell off the bed sometime during the night. He better pray it survived the landing. Neither of you even finished the damn movie.

You push him off of you, not caring how hard you do it because of how much of a heavy sleeper he is after he drinks. You sit up and look at yourself in your mirror. Your makeup’s a little smudged, but you don’t look totally crazy. You let yourself wake up for a minute more before sliding off the bed to check on your laptop. The screen lights up with the title card of the movie you watched. Phew. You close the device and stuff it back in the drawer of your nightstand.

You change into comfier clothes and wipe away the mess on your face. You carry on with your morning routine as usual, then lounge on the couch as you wait for Beomgyu to wake up.

The first thing you see on your phone is Soobin’s response to your text from last night. You ended up telling him that Beomgyu wasn’t feeling well, and you had to take him home. That’s not a lie, is it? Beomgyu was definitely not going to be okay if you carried on the night without him. You shake the thought and open Soobin’s text.

[Soobin] Don’t worry about it :) I had a feeling something happened

You didn’t doubt that he’d be understanding. He really is a good person.

You pass the day alongside Beomgyu once he wakes up, hanging with him in his room for most of the day. He plays his games while you go on your phone. You make dinner for the two of you, and Beomgyu cleans the dishes.

You watch him scrub at your plates from your spot at the table. You want to ask him about Soobin, but you’re nervous about him reacting poorly. You don’t want to argue again.

Beomgyu couldn’t be that immature about it though, right? If you just ask him for his opinion on Soobin, it’s not like he can really take offense to that. You’re genuinely curious, and you obviously want his approval on the guy you’re talking to. You bite the bullet and just go for it.

“So, what’d you think of Soobin?” you ask. You’re eager to hear his review, albeit a little nervous. He gives a short laugh in distaste, and your brows scrunch in confusion. “Did you not like him?”

He shuts off the sink and dries his hands after cleaning the last dish, then leans his back on the counter and stares at you with an unreadable expression, which is weird because you can normally tell exactly what he’s thinking.

When he finally responds, his face is just as indecipherable. “I don’t think he’s the right guy for you.”

“Why?” You’re genuinely curious. Maybe you’re wearing rose-tinted glasses, and Beomgyu could see something that you couldn’t.

He sighs, “He was just… giving me bad vibes.”

“How come?” you ask.

“Just a feeling,” he explains. You groan. What a non-answer.

“Well, I think he’s super charming.” He scrunches up his face like you said something disgusting. “Stop being like that,” you scold.

“I can’t help it. It’s gross,” he says.

“Yeah okay. I didn’t say it was gross when I was helping you get a new girl every week,” you mention.

“That was years ago!” Beomgyu whines.

“Still happened.”

“That’s not a fair comparison,” he complains. “And it wasn’t every week.”

“So it’s wrong when I find one guy I like and want to be with?” you question. He groans and crosses his arms.

“Why do you even need a boyfriend right now?” he retorts. “What’s wrong with what we have?”

You pause. What the hell is he on about? Having a friend is very different from having a boyfriend. He’s completely serious, too; his face is stone.

“Um, nothing? I don’t know what that has to do with this…” you answer, unsure. He sighs and makes his way over to you, but never gives you a response.

He picks up your hand and helps you out of your chair. Is this seriously where he’s gonna end the conversation? No, you want a real answer. You’re only being left with more and more questions.

“Don’t bring me back to your room, I want to talk about this,” you say.

“There’s no point,” he responds. He might be right, but you still want to know why he’s acting like this. You take your hand back from his grasp.

“Why don’t you like Soobin?” you ask, more demanding now. You harden your stare on him, but he’s not budging. You cross your arms as you wait for an answer. “Well?”

“Why does the reason matter so much?” he asks back.

“Beomgyu, what the fuck are you saying? Why are you being so secretive?” Anger starts filling your words, you can’t help it. It’s not fair for him to shit on Soobin nonstop without telling you why. If something happened that made him form this opinion, then you want to know.

“Calm down,” he says, and it only serves to upset you further. Before you can bark at him, he continues, “I just don’t think you need to be seeing anyone right now.”

“Why?” you demand.

“Cause you have me!” he exclaims like it’s obvious.

“That’s different!”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says. You tilt your head and look at him incredulously.

“What does that even mean?” you groan.

“What do you want from him? I can give it to you instead,” he pleads. Something’s changing in the air of this conversation, something you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind for your own sanity. Chaewon’s words from yesterday rattle in the cage you mentally locked them in. You push them back, not letting them escape. That’s an impossible and crazy thought.

“Stuff that best friends don’t do with each other,” you answer plainly.

“Why not? We can. Nothing has to change,” he says.

Your head is spinning and you want to sit down. You rub your temples and close your eyes. Everything in your mind is flying by too fast for you to make sense of it. Beomgyu holds one of your shoulders, and you back away instantly.

“I think I’m gonna spend the night at Chaewon’s,” you say, defeated. You feel a serious headache coming on.

“Don’t, please,” he begs. “I’ll talk, I promise.” His eyes are watery now, and it only fuels your stress more. How did you manage to make him cry? What is going on?

“I need to collect my thoughts.” You just want to get out of this now. Beomgyu was right: this conversation was pointless. Now you’re left with more confusion than you know how to deal with.

He quickly gets on his knees in front of you, big eyes pleading to you, hands clasped over his heart. He’s going too far for this right now.

“What is wrong with you?!” you exclaim, half-frightened at the sight of your best friend acting so different in front of you. “What in the world has gotten into you?!”

You try backing away, but he wails immediately and stops you. “No!” he yelps, clinging onto your legs to keep you from moving any further. He leans his tear-soaked face onto your thigh. His skin is warm against yours, and you suddenly regret wearing such tiny shorts. You try moving away again, but your back hits the kitchen counter, and you realize you’re cornered.

“I was here first,” Beomgyu says with conviction, like that justifies his whole argument, like you’ll stop seeing Soobin just because of that.

“Can we talk about this like adults?” you ask. He looks up at you with those watery wide eyes, and you can’t help but feel your heart ache a little. You soothe him with your touch, running a hand through his hair and down his face, collecting his tears. He leans into your touch and wears the most pitiful frown you’ve ever seen.

“Please,” he begs quietly. “You don’t need anyone else, you have me.”

“Gyu, get up,” you say, trying to keep your voice authoritative but gentle.

He doesn’t, of course. “Tell me what to do,” he insists instead.

“I just did.”

He scowls at that and nips at the flesh of your thigh. You jolt in surprise and pull his head back by his hair. He winces in pain for a second, then looks up at you like a puppy.

“Behave,” you warn, and he smiles like he’s getting what he wants.

“I will, I’ll be good, tell me what to do,” he pleads again. He looks delirious off of this. It twists your stomach and makes you release your hold on his hair. He immediately goes back to your thighs, licking a short stripe up it, reaching the hem of your shorts. You gasp as your legs twitch, and he looks up at you with a grin.

“I can’t be doing this,” you say, and Beomgyu rolls his eyes in annoyance. You get another nip to the thigh, harsher this time. “Enough with that,” you tell him, swatting at his head.

“So you get a boyfriend and suddenly I can’t be close to you anymore?” he spits bitterly, angrier now. He stands back up, crowding you with his proximity. You hate how you immediately feel like you have less power. A part of you wants him back on his knees.

“We are still close.”

He scoffs at that. “Yeah right. It’ll be different now and you know it.”

“Well now it’s gonna different, since you put on that whole fucking show!” you argue, swinging an arm out in disbelief.

His brows are drawn together, and he looks at you furiously. “I can’t just sit back and watch another man have you in whatever way he pleases.”

“We’re friends, Beomgyu! That’s it!” you exclaim. You don’t bother correcting his assumption about Soobin ‘having’ you. “No amount of confessions is gonna erase Soobin from my life just like that.”

He clenches his jaw and stares at you silently for a few long seconds. The tension is so palpable and thick, you don’t even dare to breathe. He grabs your wrist and brings you down the hall, into your room. He lays you on your bed with a gentleness that doesn’t match the anger on his face. You know where this is going, you’re not stupid. You should stop this. You need to stop this.

Words get caught in your throat. You should speak, you should yell at him. You should shove him away and put him in his place. This is too far, too much.

You don’t stop him when he crawls onto the bed with you. You don’t stop him when you see the hunger in his eyes as he scans your frame. You wouldn’t stop him no matter what he does right now, your guilty conscience snides.

Your core clenches when Beomgyu brings himself down to hover over you. He remains wordless, just examining your every feature. You’re scared you’ll give away too much and let him in on your desire, but a darker part of your mind hopes that he catches it. Fire builds in your stomach as the moment drags on.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispers. He’s so close that you feel his breath on your face. You stay quiet. He traces up your jaw with the tip of his nose, smiling when your breathing stutters.

He pulls away a bit, just enough to stare at where your hips almost meet. You’d just have to push forward a few inches to close the gap, but you hold back. His hand finds your hip, thumb rubbing you comfortingly.

“Tell me what you need,” he tries again. You bite back a whimper at the deepness of his voice. He laughs at how you still don’t respond. “You this quiet with Soobin too?”

That pisses you off and brings you out of your haze. “No, I give him whatever he wants.” It’s a lie, but you mostly say it to piss him off, and clearly you’ve struck a nerve judging by how he grits his teeth.

“I’m trying to be good for you,” Beomgyu says. He grips onto your waist tight. “I’m showing you I’d do anything for you.”

“Soobin does that just fine,” you say pointedly. Neither of you are amused, and the moment is laced with venom from both sides now.

You gasp when Beomgyu suddenly takes your thighs and pulls them up toward your body, exposing your clothed pussy to him. You try to shut your legs, but Beomgyu’s hold is too strong and doesn’t budge. He smirks when his eyes land on the damp spot over your core.

“Does Soobin make you soak through your shorts like this too?” he taunts. Before you can even think of a smart reply, he’s bending you even further, bringing your knees to the sides of your head. He has you folded firmly in half, and it feels so demeaning, but it makes you so wet. He laughs at the sight of you, slack-jawed and speechless.

You’re fully-clothed but feel so exposed. Your heart is beating erratically. You’re starting to shake from how worked up you are; you ache for him to do something.

“No, he doesn’t, does he?” he continues, and you whine. “You can pretend all you want that he’s the man of your dreams, but you know he’ll never compare to me. Isn’t that right?”

You don’t respond to that. You’re too far gone in your lust to trust yourself to talk; you’ll end up saying something you regret. Beomgyu finally releases his grip on your legs, and you feel all your arousal leaking out of you as soon as your hips fall back on the bed.

“You don’t wanna tell me what to do? That’s fine. I can read you like a book. I know what you want,” Beomgyu says before grabbing your hand and placing it over your cunt. You immediately grind into it, losing yourself in the stimulation. He smiles deliriously at the sight, running his hands soothingly up your sides. “That’s it, now you’ve got it. Now you’re being good.”

One of his hands leaves you, the other helping to keep your legs spread. When you focus your attention back on him, you see him pulling his dick out and stroking himself. He spits in his hand before wrapping it around his length again, and you moan at the sight. He looks delicious.

His eyes are wild as they try to take in every part of you. It’s hard to keep yours open, but you want to watch him as much as you can. Something like this can never happen again, so you need to take it in.

You work your hand faster over yourself when you see him tug at his length with more fervor. His mouth drops open when he moans. He looks so pretty, making a mess out of himself. The sight is addicting, him panting and kneeling over you. You never thought about him like this before, but now thoughts this lewd will plague you.

“Gyu,” you whine, trying to find the perfect rhythm to get yourself off, but you need more. He senses your urgency and gets his hand off his dick in favor of grabbing your wrist. He plunges your hand past your shorts and panties, guiding it to your core. You gasp at how crude the action is. He bites his lip as he takes your two middle fingers and forces them into your fluttering hole. You moan at the intrusion, which was made so easy thanks to how embarrassingly wet you are. The slick sounds of your cunt fill the air, loud and filthy.

Beomgyu wraps his hand around your wrist again to control your movements, pacing the way you fuck yourself. It feels so scandalous and so hot, you find yourself getting worked up quickly. He makes you fuck yourself with vigor, and the way your palm meets your clit with each thrust has your mouth falling open. You stay in the rhythm he set even as he pulls away to fuck his fist again. His grunts and moans are shameless, and they’re like music to your ears.

“Fuck, you’re so dirty, you’re a dream,” he rambles, clearly teetering on the edge. He squeezes the meat of your thigh, then your hips, then palms your ass. “Are you gonna cum, my angel? Are you gonna let me see how pretty you look when you fall apart?”

“Yes, please,” you answer breathlessly, back arching into the feeling. Beomgyu bites down his smirk and runs his hand down the outside of your thigh.

“Wanna see it so bad, fucking dreamed of this.” You can feel the mattress shake from how hard he’s fucking his fist. His grip is bruising on your thigh, and he moans when he feels you jolt in pleasure. “Yeah, keep fucking yourself like that. So perfect.”

You moan out as you finally cum, clenching down on your fingers and throwing your head back as the sensation takes over you. You hear him whine, and it makes you tighten even more around your fingers, dying to hear it again.

“So good, so good for me,” Beomgyu praises in a shaky voice. You can tell his high is approaching. “Look so b-beautiful.”

“Cum for me, Gyu, let go,” you urge, making him moan out again. You slip your fingers out of your cunt but keep your hand over it, fingers ghosting over your clit as you watch Beomgyu lose himself. The slight overstimulation is delicious, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering at the feeling.

“Have I been good to you?” Beomgyu asks, out of breath as he squeezes the base of his cock. He strokes himself slowly once he regains his composure.

“So good, felt so nice,” you answer, feeling blissful after your orgasm.

“Yeah? Better than Soobin?” he asks, increasing his speed again. You can’t even scold him before his motor mouth starts running again. “Could fuck that little pussy so much better than him. Make you feel so good. Make you forget about him.”

He pushes your shirt up with his free hand, and before you can even react to that, he’s pushing up your bra too. “Oh my god, Beomgyu!” you exclaim, pulling your hand from your pussy to cover your tits. Beomgyu yanks your arm away and brings your fingers to his mouth. You stare at him in shock as he sucks your juices from your digits, diligently swirling his tongue around them. He’s moaning around your fingers, and a second later he’s spilling his load onto your stomach and breasts. Your mouth drops open. He’s got a lot of nerve doing all that; unfortunately for you, it was the hottest thing you have ever seen.

He takes your hand out of his mouth once he’s cleaned your fingers off, whimpering as he rides out the last of his high. He looks down hungrily at your body, taking in the ropes of his cum splayed on your skin. Like the horny freak he is, he sticks his fingers in the mess and smears it all over your torso.

“Gross,” you laugh. He ignores that. He tugs at your nipples with his cum-coated fingers. You yelp at the sensation, and he coos at you. He does it again, and again, until he’s had enough of his fun. He stares into your eyes, and you wish you could crawl away from his heated gaze, it’s that intense. His thumbs return to tease your nipples, but he doesn’t pull his eyes away from your own.

“You’re mine. Never see him again,” Beomgyu declares like it’s final.

“We’re meeting tomorrow,” you respond. He pinches your nipple harshly for that.

“Why? Cancel. Just stay with me,” he offers instead. You try to get up onto your elbows, but Beomgyu pushes you back down against the bed. He continues absentmindedly playing with your tits. He’s practically sitting in your lap to do so.

“…Can you wipe your cum off of me?” you ask, ignoring the conversation at hand.

“But I’m having so much fun.” He pouts. He’s cute like this.

“I let you have enough fun today,” you say with no real bite. He sighs like it will kill him to do so before getting off the bed and leaving for the bathroom. He comes back a minute later with a wet towel, and it’s peacefully quiet as he wipes you down.

“He’s not even really my boyfriend, you know,” you mention, watching his focused face as he rids you of the mess he made.

“Sure,” he laughs bitterly. “Tell him that.”

“We never made anything official,” you say.

“Then why’s he parading around telling everyone how you’re his girl?” Beomgyu asks, giving you a hard stare. You pull your bra and shirt back down once he finishes cleaning you, trying to feel a little more decent. He throws the used towel on the floor and crawls in bed next to you.

You perk up at that. “He is? How do you know?”

He stares straight ahead instead of at you. “You don’t gotta sound so excited.”

“I’m just curious,” you defend.

“Right,” he says, not believing you. “Yesterday at the bar he said it. Multiple times.” Did he? You hold in your gasps and squeals and suppress the urge to kick your feet. Maybe you were too drunk to remember, or maybe Soobin was saying it while you were away from the table. Or maybe Beomgyu’s just psychotic and putting words in Soobin’s mouth.

“Wow,” you say as nonchalantly as you can.

A few silent moments pass where you find yourself filling the time by trying to ignore Beomgyu’s stare on you. He turned to his side at some point and seems to find you to be the most interesting thing in the room. You try to focus on your nails, the walls of your room, your disorganized vanity, but nothing lifts his stare from you. You give in and turn your head to him, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Well?” you prompt.

“What now?” he asks.

“Now… you get out of my room,” you say, holding eye contact and keeping your expression still. His face falters immediately.

“Are you joking?” he asks incredulously, backing away from you with a scoff, propping himself up on his elbows.

“This shouldn’t have happened, Gyu,” you say with a sigh. You know it hurts him—it hurts you, too—but you can’t do this while you’re seeing Soobin. You’ve already crossed the line.

Beomgyu is silent and unmoving. After a minute, it becomes clear he’s not leaving. You don’t know if it’s out of stubbornness or desperation. He lays back down and curls himself into you, tucking his face in your neck and holding you tight.

“Beomgyu,” you warn, but to no avail. He stays there and nuzzles further into you, and you’re so pathetic that you just let him. A stronger woman than you would have put her foot down, but that kind of power doesn’t find you in this moment.

Another long minute passes, consisting of you staring straight at the ceiling, listening to your combined breathing. You think of how Soobin would feel if he found out about this. How are you going to look him in the eye tomorrow? Do you tell him about this? Is it wrong to keep it a secret?

You try to pull away from Beomgyu, but he doesn’t let you move. “Please, Beom—“

“Stop,” he murmurs, putting his hand over your mouth just long enough to get you to stop talking. “Let me have this one night. He gets you every other time.”

You can’t help but feel a little aggravated at that. “Because he’s the one I’m seeing! This is wrong!”

“What’s wrong is you looking for other men when I’m right here,” he says with finality. When you don’t respond, he continues, “So let’s just go to sleep.”

You decide to let him win this time, telling yourself that this will never happen again. Sleep doesn’t find you easily with the guilt eating you alive, but it does feel kind of nice to have Beomgyu hugging you like this again.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

When you wake up, Beomgyu’s already gone. You let out a sigh of relief. You feel bad for not wanting to see him, but you know that last night changed things. There’s a conversation that needs to be had that you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You sit up and stretch, then check the time and notice that it’s already nearly 10. Your eyes go wide, horrified—you’re supposed to see Soobin at 10! You have less than twenty minutes to get ready!

You leap out of bed and run to your closet, looking for a cute dress to throw on cause you have no time to curate an outfit. Once you have the dress selected, you hold it in front of you in the mirror. The fabric is super soft and looks casual enough while still being pretty. The light color of it looks great on you, too.

You don’t have enough time to linger on your options, so you go with it. You fold the dress and run to the bathroom to finish freshening up and getting ready. You need to take the quickest shower of your life.

You’re rushing out the door once everything’s complete, cursing at yourself as you check the time. It’s already ten minutes past. You shoot him a text as you scramble down your apartment’s stairs.

Hey! I’m gonna be a bit late, leaving now

Forgot to set an alarm, my bad

Wait for meeee

You shove your phone in your jacket pocket and speed walk down the street. You’re lucky enough to live near the heart of the city, so everything is at walking distance. You’re halfway to the cafe when you feel your phone buzz with a response.

[Soobin] No worries. I’m waiting :)

[Soobin] Gives your coffee some time to cool down

You smile at the response. Of course he already bought your coffee. Of course he memorized your order. It’s Soobin, he’s the most thoughtful guy you’ve ever known. Your phone buzzes with another text notification. This time it’s Beomgyu.

[Beomgyu] omg where’d you go i got stuff for breakfast!!!

Your heart squeezes at the prospect. You rush to type out your responses.

I said I was meeting Soobin today

I’m sorry

Brunch?

You slow down your walking, finding yourself nearing the destination too quickly. You just want to get Beomgyu’s response before seeing Soobin. Your phone buzzes when he replies.

[Beomgyu] hmm.. ok brunch

You don’t find yourself excited, though. You guys do things like this all the time, but now you’re just nervous. It makes your stomach churn with anxiety. You know things have changed. Even if he acts like nothing happened, you both know something did.

You shove your phone into your pocket when you arrive at the cute little cat cafe. You wipe the sweat off your palms before opening the door. You try collecting yourself before looking for Soobin, who’s sitting at a small table near the front of the shop. You smile when you see him, but it’s only half-genuine; the other half of your mind is busy trying to push down your worries about Beomgyu.

You seat yourself across from Soobin, who smiles widely and fully-genuinely at you. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologize. “Thank you for the coffee.”

His smile stays on his face as he watches you grab the cup and feel for its temperature. “It should be good to drink now,” he says. “I had company, the cats were coming to me.”

You laugh before taking a sip of your coffee. It’s the best thing in the world, you’re grateful he got it in advance for you. The hot drink eases your mind a bit. You look around the cafe until you spot a cat. It’s a fluffy black and white one, perusing around lazily.

“That one is so mean, don’t pet it,” Soobin says, following your gaze. He brings your attention to a different cat with a pointed finger. “The orange one sunbathing there is the best.”

“Oh yeah? You’re an orange cat fan?” you ask.

“I think you’d like that one,” he says. As if the cat could hear that, it gets up and starts walking toward you.

“Look at you, cat whisperer,” you joke. The way his face scrunches when he laughs makes your heart flutter. The orange cat brushes up against your legs when it finds you, and you immediately coo at it. “Hello, sweetie! Can I pet you?” you say, bringing down your hand for it to accept. The cat rubs its head against you, and you pet it lovingly.

“So you’re more of a cat person?” he asks. You look up from the cat to pay attention to him.

“I like all animals,” you say.

“What’s your favorite?”

You think for a second. “Should I say bunnies because you look like one?” you giggle.

“That’s a good answer,” he laughs with you.

“What would have been a bad answer?”

He looks up in thought and leans his face on his palm. “Maybe a mole or something?”

“Hey, I like moles,” you say.

“You like all animals.”

“What a good listener.”

“It’d be a little sad if I forgot something you said just a minute ago,” he responds.

“Men are like that,” you joke. You feel your phone buzzing with a call notification. “Sorry, let me check this.”

Why the hell is Beomgyu calling you?! You told him you were with—you roll your eyes. That’s why he’s calling you. He’s so petty and childish. You shove your phone back in your pocket.

“No one important?” Soobin asks.

“It’s Beomgyu,” you answer.

“Ah, you should answer then,” he reasons.

“I’m sure it can wait,” you dismiss.

“I need to go to the bathroom anyway, you can call while I go.” He smiles as he gets up.

You don’t really want to, but as you watch him walk away, you’re stuck sitting alone with nothing better to do. With a sigh, you unlock your phone and open your messages with Beomgyu.

What’s up

His response is immediate.

[Beomgyu] when are u coming back

You hold your head and groan at his antics. It’s been ten minutes and he’s acting like you’ve been gone ten days.

Whenever we’re done

Maybe an hour

He calls you again. Reluctantly, you answer. “What?”

“I just wanted to talk,” he says.

“No, you just want my attention. It’s one hour, I think you’ll live.”

“I think I won’t,” he counters. So annoying. You find yourself laughing for some reason, though. You see Soobin coming back, and you quickly fix your posture and tuck your hair back. That was fast.

“I gotta go,” you say abruptly. Beomgyu doesn’t get a word in before you hang up. He texts you his final words instead.

[Beomgyu] UR SO MEAN

Soobin sits back down in front of you. “What’d he say?”

“A whole lot of nothing,” you answer.

Soobin laughs. “Is that usual for him?”

“Always,” you groan.

After a moment, Soobin finds a new topic. “So what kept you up so late that you slept in so much?”

You freeze at the question. You have all of one second to decide if you’re going to spill the truth, or if you’re about to lie to his face. It would be the right thing to do to be honest with him…

“Beomgyu and I were hanging out,” you decide on saying. It’s technically true, but it feels like a cover-up rolling off your tongue.

You try to reason with yourself. You didn’t have sex. You got yourself off, with your own hand, and you didn’t touch him at all. The most he did was a little titty touching… so what? That’s so high school. It doesn’t even count.

You wonder if it would fool Soobin, cause it’s not fooling you.

“Oh, must’ve been fun then,” Soobin says. “Hopefully you can catch up on some sleep tonight.”

He’s so kind. You feel so gross. You don’t deserve him. Your smile doesn’t meet your eyes.

“You got any other plans for the day?” Soobin asks.

“I’m doing brunch with Beomgyu after this,” you answer.

“Wow, you spend a lot of time with him,” he comments. You don’t know why you feel a little offended at that.

“Yeah, we’ve been best friends since our senior year of high school. We moved to the city together, so we’re roommates.”

“Must be nice. I came here alone, so it was a little hard at first,” Soobin says.

“How so?” You’re honestly glad to shift the questions towards him for a bit. You like learning about him, and you hate how you always seem to end up talking about Beomgyu.

“I’m really shy, so making friends took a long time,” Soobin answers. “I’ve been here a few years now, though, so I made a decent community.”

“That’s nice. What’d you think of my friends on Friday?” you ask. “I heard you get chatty when you drink.”

He laughs and scratches his neck shyly. “Your friends were nice. I don’t think Beomgyu was very interested in talking to me though.”

You conceal your groan. Why does it keep coming back to Beomgyu?! You wish last night never happened so you could feel normal about this conversation. Even then, though, it wouldn’t erase how Beomgyu acted before that.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I’m sorry. Must’ve caught him on a bad day,” you excuse.

“Maybe. He seemed fine talking to you, though…” he mumbles, and you can tell that it’s bothering him. Now you really feel like shit. Any attempt you make to comfort him would be a lie after what you let happen between you two.

You grab Soobin’s hand, making his head pop up from where he was looking down all sullenly. “Thank you for coming that night. It means a lot that you met my friends,” you say. That puts a smile back on his face.

“Guess I gotta introduce you to mine now,” he says.

“I’d love that!”

“I’ll plan a day. How busy are you this month?” he asks.

“Not super,” you answer. You go on to ask about his friends, listening to him as diligently as you can while ignoring your phone buzzing in your pocket with text after text. You can guess who they’re from.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

The moment you get back home, you find Beomgyu already near the door waiting. He lights up, but you’re not amused.

“That texting and calling shit needs to stop,” you say, looking him dead in the eye.

He pouts and points at the table. “I made us food. It was gonna get cold.” You look at the table. He set up the dishes all cute, with plates of meats and pancakes in the middle alongside a bowl of berries. You sigh.

“We could’ve made it together when I came back,” you mention, but the fight leaves your voice. You wish you weren’t so endeared by him. You’re so weak, it makes you curse at yourself in your head. You sit at the table and pile some food onto your plate. He sits across from you and does the same.

You’re not sure what to talk about. You feel your skin heating up as you remember what happened the last time you were with Beomgyu. He must be thinking about it too. Maybe arguing about Soobin would be better than dealing with the awkwardness you feel right now.

You take a quick glance at him. He’s smiling and swaying around as he chomps down on his food. If he notices your discomfort, you’re glad he doesn’t say anything. You try to focus on your food instead of him as much as you can.

Usually Beomgyu is the only person you feel like you can do anything around, but right now you’re second guessing every little thing you do. Did you stare at him too long? Should you not check your phone right now? Where should you be looking? Does he know you’re overthinking this right now?

“I hope this is better than whatever you just did with Soobin,” he says, breaking the silence. You stop eating for a second to give him a disapproving glare. That’s one way to cut through your thoughts.

“You need to stop being so jealous,” you say. His neediness is being turned up to 100, and you don’t know how to deal with it. Whatever he thinks he’s doing is only going to drive you away from him.

“Well, I have to fight for your attention now,” he explains. You roll your eyes.

“No you don’t, I still spend most of my time with you.” It’s ridiculous that he thinks you’d just drop him like that. You literally live with him, you can’t avoid him. His insecurities are getting the best of him, and it’s changing your relationship with him.

“But soon you’ll spend it all with him, and I’ll have no one,” he says like he can see it all already. Gosh, seriously? His brows are upturned and the slightest frown mars his face. Why must he try to break your heart?

“Where’d you get that idea? I’m not going anywhere. You’ll always be the most important person in my life,” you reassure him. He looks down like he can’t stand to make eye contact anymore. His shoulders slump.

“I just have to make sure you don’t forget me,” he mutters. He keeps his eyes down. You sigh.

“I won't forget you. Can’t you just trust me? I’m telling you you’ll always be my number one. What more do you want to hear?” you ask.

He meets your eyes again. They still look sad. His lack of response puzzles you; he always has so much to say. You stay staring at each other for what feels like an eternity, until you pull your gaze away, unable to handle it.

You know you’re not in the wrong here. It’s not abandonment to just see another guy. He looked so pitiful, though. It would’ve hurt less to see him get angry and yell at you. He can’t really help how he feels, and you suppose it is a big change. What does he want you to do, though? Well, stop seeing Soobin. But you’re not going to do that.

You go to your room without another word, needing to leave his presence. It murks your mind and leaves you unable to think clearly. You text Chaewon to come over when she’s free. You just need to get your mind off of whatever’s developing between you and Beomgyu.

When her knock sounds at your door hours later, you run to open it, excited to finally talk to someone who won’t give you a headache. She holds up a grocery bag full of your favorite snacks, smiling ear to ear. You make a mental note to splurge for her next birthday; she always treats you so well.

You usher her to the couch and offer her a drink. She turns on the television and finds something to play in the background. Once you’re both situated, you open one of the snack bags and throw a blanket over the two of you.

“What did you do this weekend?” you ask her.

She doesn’t look away from the television when she answers, “Julie and I went to a spa.”

“Oh my god, and you didn’t invite me?!” you say in faux offense, although you definitely would have liked to go.

She laughs and points at the bag of food in your lap. “I made up for it with those.”

“You still owe me a day out,” you joke.

“I know, I’m thinking we’ll go to an amusement park in the spring. You down?” she asks.

“Oh, for sure,” you confirm. You go quiet for a bit, captured by the show Chaewon put on. The two of you make your own commentary on the characters and their decisions. You share looks when something crazy happens, and burst out laughing when Chaewon’s prediction about one of the plot lines comes true.

This is the stress relief you needed. You already feel lighter and happier. Good thing you asked Chaewon to come over. During a commercial break, Chaewon turns to you.

“Okay, I have to ask, how are things with Soobin?” Chaewon asks. The question doesn’t irk you, partially because it’s not Beomgyu asking it, but mostly because Chaewon put you in a better mood.

“It’s going good with him,” you say. You look down the hall to make sure Beomgyu’s door is shut. Talking to Chaewon about this might actually clear things up for you. She always has good advice.

“Tell me more,” she prompts, leaning in with a grin.

“Well, we went to a cafe today”—Chaewon cuts you off with a delighted ooooo—“and it went really well. He wants me to meet his friends next.”

Chaewon gasps. “You’re halfway into boyfriend territory now!”

Ugh. “About that…” you start.

“Uh oh,” Chaewon lets out.

“I really, really like Soobin, it’s just”—you shut up immediately once you hear Beomgyu’s door open. There’s no way he heard you, not unless he was intentionally listening in, and if he did, is he ballsy enough to come out and argue with you now? With Chaewon right here? You hold your breath.

He walks into the kitchen, and you let yourself breathe again. You watch him carefully. He opens the fridge. It’s a little early for dinner, so he’s probably just looking for a drink or a snack.

“Hey! Talk to me about that sexy tall man!” Chaewon says, bringing your attention back to her. You laugh nervously.

“Let’s talk about you, actually,” you say in attempt to shift the conversation. “How was your spa day with Julie?”

“We had fun, but it was nothing more important than Soobin updates!” she assures. She’s talking so loud, you flinch thinking about Beomgyu listening in.

“I don’t think we should talk about him right now,” you say, eyeing Beomgyu’s figure in the kitchen. You release your breath when you notice he’s still distracted in his search through the fridge.

“Girl… what,” Chaewon deadpans, following your gaze. She looks back at you, brows scrunched. You share a glance, and she puts two and two together. “You’re kidding me.”

“Please,” you whisper.

“He is so ridiculous,” Chaewon complains, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I know, but I can’t talk about it right now. Later, please,” you continue in a hushed voice. Beomgyu settles on an energy drink, closing the fridge and advancing toward the two of you. You pray Chaewon drops it.

“Hey Chaewon. Whatcha guys up to?” he asks as he lingers by where you sit on the couch. You look to Chaewon with pleading eyes. Hers are unamused and disappointed.

“Just talking,” she answers, her voice lacking any emotion. Beomgyu nods.

“Cool. What’s on TV?” he asks.

“Some crime show Chaewon likes,” you respond. It’s quiet for a minute, and you’re trying not to feel antsy. Beomgyu definitely didn’t hear your conversation about Soobin, but you can’t shake the reaction Chaewon had. You were just about to tell her how Beomgyu’s been acting, but now the conversation will have to wait.

When Beomgyu takes a seat next to you, you know that you won’t be able to talk to Chaewon about Soobin until the next time you see her. He puts his arm on the couch behind you and gets himself comfortable. It’s not like you’re going to ask him to leave, so you just lean into his side. You might as well make use of his warmth.

The three of you watch a couple more episodes of Chaewon’s show, and after some time your anxiety leaves you. It feels like a normal hang out, not like you’re in between your best friend you just got intimate with and your other best friend who has no clue.

“Are you having dinner here?” you ask Chaewon. She shakes her head.

“I think I’m gonna head out now, actually. I’ve got a few things to do,” she says. She gets off the couch. “But you need to come over tomorrow, ‘kay?” She points at you. You already know it’s because she wants to finish the conversation you started before Beomgyu came in. It must’ve been pestering her mind.

“I will,” you say. You get up from the couch to hug her. “Thanks for coming over.” You walk with her to your door.

“Love you, see you tomorrow!” she exclaims, waving.

“Love you too!!” You wave back.

Once Chaewon’s out the door, you return to Beomgyu on the couch. You lean your head on the armrest and fold your legs so they’re not resting on Beomgyu.

“I don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” you complain. He laughs.

“When do you ever?” he asks.

“Fridays, cause there’s donuts,” you answer. He tugs on your legs to pull you closer to him. Your shirt rolls up a bit as he drags you down the couch, but he fixes it for you.

“Call out sick or something,” he suggests.

You groan, “I only get, like, seven sick days.”

“You should skip and we should go to the shopping center.” You hit his chest with your knee at his offer. He smiles down at you.

“The difference in maturity levels between us is crazy,” you say.

“I keep you young,” he jokes.

“Bitch, we’re the same age.” You hit his chest again.

Your phone buzzes on the table in front of you, but before you can sit up to check the notification, Beomgyu flips the device so it’s facing down.

“Who texted me?” you ask.

“No one,” he answers. “What do you want for dinner?”

You hum in thought. “I’m not really hungry honestly. I filled up on Chaewon’s snacks.”

“Same.” It falls silent, so you grab your phone and finally check your notifications.

“You liar, you said no one texted me,” you say, reading your text notification from Soobin.

He wears a mischievous smile. “Oops. Must’ve read it wrong.”

“Yeah right,” you say. You open your phone, going to respond to Soobin until Beomgyu takes your phone from your hands. “Hey!”

He shuts off your phone and puts it in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Talk to me instead of going on your phone.” You scowl at him, who looks back at you with a teasing grin. Asshole.

“Give me back my phone,” you order, hand reaching out for him to place it in. Instead, he takes you by the hand and drags you into his lap, laughing when you yelp.

“Why don’t you take it?” he offers, looking down at his pelvis.

“I’m not digging in your pants to get my phone back,” you say.

“Will you dig in my pants for other reasons?” He wiggles his eyebrows. You bite down your smile and smack his arm.

“You wish, freak.”

He snickers, running his hands up your arms. “I do wish.”

You’re acutely aware of the tension starting to build in the room, and you can’t deny how you’re getting excited in the heat of the moment. This is innocent enough, right? You’re just being playful with each other. Just because you’re starting to feel a little worked up doesn’t mean you’ll act on it.

You move your hand slowly down his chest, traveling down his torso, making your way down to the pocket of his sweatpants. He stares at you with big dumb eyes, and you hold back your laughter. You pry open his pocket, sliding your hand in and retrieving your phone, letting the weight of it drag across his thigh as you pull it out from the fabric.

“Got it,” you whisper, a winning smile on your face. You throw your phone behind you on the couch. You don’t know why you don’t move from your position, though. Maybe it’s the satisfaction you feel at watching his mouth fall just the tiniest bit open at your actions.

His hands grab your waist, thumbs lifting up your shirt just the tiniest bit, revealing a sliver of your stomach. He brings you forward on his lap, moving you even closer to him, and your eyes widen when you feel his half-hard length beneath you.

“Gyu?” you say, searching his eyes. He looks drunk off this moment, and he doesn’t bother to hide his lust. It’s evident all over his face, from his lidded eyes to his bitten lip. “Maybe we should”—

“Do you wanna ride me like this?” he interrupts, hands moving to your hips so he can guide them into a slow grind. You gasp at the sensation, not realizing how aroused you’d gotten. You feel him hardening below you the more you sway your hips over him. You feel dizzy.

You drop your head in his neck and let out a shaky exhale, letting him control your movements. God, this is so wrong. You’re doing this again? You’re really bad at keeping your own promises. But fuck, when your clit catches on the head of his cock, even through all the clothes, it feels like heaven. You can’t even think about how you should stop.

He slides your hair to one side of your neck and kisses the side he bared. “Good girl,” he praises, keeping your hips in a slow rhythm that has your brain malfunctioning. You whine, and your thighs twitch and tighten around him.

Beomgyu’s rock hard now, and you wish he didn’t feel so sinfully good. He presses his hips further up against you, and the added pressure makes you moan out before you can hold it back. He laughs and scatters wet kisses onto your neck.

“Look at you,” he says, voice so low it makes you shiver. “Pretty little thing getting herself off on my lap, creaming her pants for me. Cute girl.” He hastens your rhythm for you and holds you down tighter against him. You gasp and cling onto his shirt.

“Gyu, Gyu, please,” you stammer, feeling your high approaching.

“I know, sweet girl.” He matches your rhythm with his own hips now, making your toes curl.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe out, moving yourself even faster over him, losing yourself as you chase your orgasm.

“Yes, fuck, cum for me, I need to see it,” he insists, watching you spasm and shake over him. He moans out at the sight, and the sound is what brings you over the edge. You feel his dick twitch as you ride out your high, and you realize he came in his pants too. The thought makes your head spin.

You slow down as you begin to come down, holding his face in your hands. You wear a dopey smile, and he looks just as fucked out. You’d like to ruin him one day, to see him beg for pleasure and get more than what he can take. He has a pretty face for things like that.

Your hips still over him completely, and Beomgyu connects his mouth to your jaw. He sucks on your skin there, and you push his head away. “No marks,” you tell him. He nods quickly and goes back to licking and kissing and sucking your skin.

He trails his kisses down to your neck, lapping at every inch of skin he has access to. He’s messy with his tongue, coating you in his saliva. It’s so filthy, but it has your core pulsing again. You don’t know why he has this effect on you.

You jolt when you feel his teeth on your neck, biting down and sucking hard. It makes your hips push forward, and he moans against you. You’re not too far gone to let him get away with that, at least.

“Are you serious?” you scold, pulling Beomgyu away by his hair. He kisses your cheek, just barely missing your lips. You gasp, flustered.

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, breathlessly. He lays you down on the couch and lifts up your shirt and bra. He decides to connect his mouth to what he reveals there instead. He swirls his tongue around your nipple and sucks, squeezing and fondling your other tit with a hungry hand. You whine out when he just barely scrapes his teeth against the bud, fueling the heat in your core. He switches sides so that he can suck your other breast, delivering wet kisses to it.

His free hand travels up your thigh and stops just inches from your cunt. He swipes his thumb lazily over your inner thigh, so close you can feel it ghost your center. It’s getting you desperate for relief. You close your thighs around his hand, and it brings him right to your core. He moans against your chest at the collision. You wonder if he can feel your wetness through your thin pajama pants.

He rubs his hand against your cunt, moving slow enough to keep you wanting more. He detaches his mouth from you and stares at how your hips gyrate against him. He bites his lip and presses his fingertips harder against you, teasing your entrance through your clothes.

“Oh my god,” you moan, throwing your head back.

“Fuck, let me finger you,” he insists, bringing a thumb to your clit. Your head is spinning from the pleasure. “I need to, I’ve got to feel you.” You feel his bulge on your thigh, heavy and hard. You cry out. You feel your moral ground starting to slip.

“Take off my pants,” you instruct. “Just those.”

He rushes to follow through. Your pants are on the floor in an instant, and his hand is right back on you. He drops his head into your neck when he feels you this time.

“You’re drenched,” he moans. He runs his index finger through your folds over the cloth, so soaked through that he can feel the outline of your pussy perfectly. He pushes his index finger just barely into your hole, watching your panties scrunch up into it.

“Gyu!” you yelp.

“Let me, let me, let me,” he pleads, jamming his finger just a touch further. Your hands wrap around his arm, needing purchase on something. “You want to cum so bad, right? You want to feel good?”

“What do you want?” you ask back.

“To make you take whatever I give,” he answers. Your entrance flutters over his finger at that. “So let me take these off,” he says, pulling his hand away to snap your waistband.

You feel your sanity leave you. You need that pressure back in your cunt. His eyes are dark and blown out. He pulls your panties down just barely, letting them sit below your hip bones, your center still covered. He’s agonizingly slow as he pulls further and further, not daring to reveal your cunt until you say so.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Beomgyu whispers.

He’s the one driving you crazy. Your mind is completely fogged over. You’ve been turned into some kind of lust-drunk whore, seeing as you can’t focus on anything but him if you tried.

“Take them off,” you finally give in. You pulse and ache where you need him most. Beomgyu wastes no time when he pulls your panties off and away, and the first thing he does is hold your legs wide open and stare at your pussy.

“So perfect and slutty for me,” he says in his deep voice. “Gonna make this little pussy all mine.”

You whine at his words, thighs twitching and trying to close. You need him to do something, you need him to fill you. Your hole clenches over nothing, the emptiness starting to kill you. Beomgyu bites his lip and watches as your arousal leaks from you.

“You’re so cute, maybe I should just keep you like this,” he muses, laughing when you cry out and shake your head. “No? But I love watching this sweet cunt leak for me. You’re dripping like a whore.”

You arch your back, push your hips out, do anything you can, but he still doesn’t relieve you. You try to bring your own hand down to your pussy, but Beomgyu grabs it and pushes it back against the couch by your head.

“Please touch me!” you plead, desperate beyond belief. You might even start crying.

“Aww, my baby needs me,” he coos, soothing his hands up your thighs. “My pretty girl needs me, only me.” Finally, his fingers find your clit. You melt into the feeling, sighing in relief. Your hips twitch closer to his hand, making sure he won’t leave.

“Thank you,” you moan. Beomgyu holds your face with his free hand, staring into your teary eyes.

“Don’t cry, I’ll give you what you need,” he says, voice soft. He dips a finger into your cunt, stopping once he’s knuckle-deep. He fucks his finger into you slowly, and you sigh at the relief. He watches his finger sink into you, humming in pleasure when he sees how it collects your wetness.

His actions pull soft moans from your mouth, but you can’t bring yourself to conceal them. It’s not like you need to be embarrassed anyway, seeing how much Beomgyu loves your reactions. You get sick of his slow pace after a while, trying to ride his finger faster.

“More?” he asks. He inserts a second finger into you. The stretch feels like heaven, you crave to be stuffed by him.

“Yes! I need it,” you exclaim. He picks up the pace a little. “Thank you, thank you..!” He laughs a little and leans down to kiss your forehead.

“You’re so nice to me right now,” he notes with a smile, fucking you faster on his fingers in appreciation. “This is how you should always be.” You pay no mind to the wet squelches your pussy makes as he pistons into you. Your stomach muscles clench as you feel yourself getting closer.

He starts curling his fingers inside of you, and it doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for. You arch your back and yelp at the sensation of him pressing against the spongy part inside of you. He grins and keeps thrusting against that spot, watching your reactions with amused eyes. His head moves down between your thighs, biting and sucking at all the flesh his mouth can find, then wraps his lips around your clit once he grows tired of marking you.

“Ah! Gyu! That’s—mmh,” you sputter, rolling your hips up into the feeling. It’s so much. He pushes his fingers into you harder, deeper, with more purpose. He toys with your clit using his tongue, swiping and flicking it while he sucks. You’re right there and he knows it, doubling his efforts.

The pleasure takes you under, and you cum with a cry. Your hands find purchase in his hair, tugging at the strands. It makes him moan, and the vibrations fuel your orgasm. He’s hungry for it, fingers coaxing as much of your cum as he can get out of you. He doesn’t give up his pace even as you start to come down, fog clearing from your mind.

“That’s enough,” you say, trying to push his head away. His mouth leaves you for all of one second before he latches himself back on. “Beomgyu, I already—fuck!” He sucks harder now and hooks his fingers harshly into you to rub right against a spot that has you seeing stars. He only pulls his fingers out long enough to push a third one in, pressing right back where he was.

You gasp, pulling his hair again, needing something to keep you in reality cause you feel like you’re about to slip. You shake and twitch with overstimulation, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. It’s like he hasn’t gotten his fill yet. He’s careless with how he breaks you, paying no mind to your body’s limits.

Your orgasm builds up and hits you quickly thanks to Beomgyu’s determination. Your thighs clamp around his face, but that doesn’t stop him. You whine and mewl as Beomgyu feasts on your arousal. Your poor pussy clenches hard around his three fingers, so much he can’t even thrust them anymore, so he curls his fingers rapidly inside you instead. Your cum pools out of you and onto his hand, your juices dripping out of you uncontrollably.

He pulls away, panting, staring at your pussy. He licks a stripe up it, then goes back down to circle his tongue around your entrance. You whimper and push his head away. He meets your eyes, and his dark gaze softens when he sees your teary ones.

“Can’t you just take a little more?” he asks. His eyes don’t leave yours as he nibbles and sucks on your thigh. You shake your head and push his face away again. With a pout, he rises back up so his face is hovering over yours. You don’t know why fondness overcomes you when you’re staring at him, but the feeling isn’t entirely unwelcome.

“You’re so good,” you say, cupping his face and giggling. He leans his face into your neck, and you can feel his shy smile form against your skin. He comes back up with stars in his eyes.

You want to kiss him, and the thought scares you because you’ve never wanted that before. The feeling is so overpowering that you have to look away. You try to find interest in the wall, but Beomgyu’s movement makes you turn your head back to him. He leans back to admire you.

He smirks at the sight of your thighs, prompting you to look down at them too. Your eyes widen in horror at all the marks he sucked onto them. He pats your leg with a happy grin on his face. “No more short skirts around him,” he says. What a little shit.

“Beomgyu!” you scold. Dignity finds you and forces you to sit up and reach for your clothes on the floor. Before you can grab anything, Beomgyu’s placing you in his lap and holding your face much too close to his. His hips jut up into yours, and you gasp upon feeling his erection. Of course he’s hard again.

“I still need you,” he whines. “Please, don’t go yet.” You pull your face away from him, so he takes your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. His puppy eyes are so sweet and pitiful, you have no choice but to stay. One sad look from him is all it takes for him to get whatever he wants from you. You’re weak.

“I-I’m still sensitive,” you say as he grinds into you. He grips your hips hard, keeping you in place so you have no choice but to take it. You can already see your juices on his sweatpants, leaving a damp mark right over his cock.

“Yeah?” he asks, half-breathless. It’s like he’s not even listening to you, too focused on humping you like a bitch in heat.

“Yes, slow down.” He drops his head on your shoulder and pants heavily, not slowing down at all. You’re buzzing in overstimulation, legs twitching uncontrollably. His hands are shameless as they try to grab at every part of you. He squeezes your hips, your waist, your tits. His tongue is warm on your skin as it trails up to your ear, where he bites down and sucks.

He pushes himself further against you, giving you no space and no chance to leave. He wraps his arms around you and pistons his hips like he’s actually fucking you.

You gasp, “G-Gyu! Stop being bad!” You tug his hair, forcing his head back. His mouth drops open, and he stares at you through lidded eyes. Lust has possessed him, and your words only fuel him.

“Then punish me,” he says. You pull his hair harder, forcing his head back as far as you can, and suck on his neck. He moans louder than you’ve ever heard from him before, and his hips stutter in their rhythm. His hands keep you pressed against him as close as you can get. You moan when you feel his dick twitch through his clothes. For a second, you wonder how it would feel inside of you, but you shove that thought to the back of your mind.

You detach yourself from his throat and watch his face twist up from the pleasure. You look down to see the cum stains on his pants, giggling at the sight. Your hips jerk, and he gasps at the sensation.

Your eyes land on the mark you sucked into his neck. It’s darker than the ones he plastered all over your thighs. You want to feel ashamed or appalled for leaving that on him, but all you feel is some sort of satisfaction. You let your body fall limp against him, sinking into his hold and laying your head on his chest. His hands run to soothe you, brushing through your hair and rubbing your back.

You avoid asking questions. You avoid talking at all. You don’t want to know what this is or what it means, you just want to bask in the afterglow of whatever this is. The unpacking part of this will be a problem for future you.

Even if you hate yourself for this tomorrow, you can’t think of anything better than Beomgyu’s embrace on you now. You’ve already crossed so many lines with him, adding a few more won’t hurt. You find yourself wondering what things you’d like to do with Beomgyu next.

You lean back to stare at his face. His smile is blissful and lazy. You can’t pull your eyes from his lips. Even in the middle of winter, they still look so soft. You wonder what it would feel like to run your tongue over them, or how they would feel wrapped around your fingers. Would they be carnal and unforgiving against your own, or would his lips find yours in a sweet, gentle kiss?

You feel his hand on the back of your head. He’s pulling you closer, and you panic. You tilt your head so that your lips find his jaw instead of his mouth. You pull away after planting a little kiss there. Your gaze flits down his face for just a few seconds before you lean in to place another kiss on his jaw, a little higher than the last, lingering a little longer.

“A real one now,” he requests, eyes pleading and hands resting on your neck. You peck his nose, then his cheek, then his other cheek. He holds your face still and whispers your name. You share the most intense stare you’ve felt in your life.

You close the gap and let your lips touch for just one second. It’s soft and simple, and it’s enough to satisfy your curiosity, but Beomgyu has to come back for more. His lips feel so nice, they were made to be kissed. His fingers dig into your hair, desperate, clinging to you as if you’ll slip away from him. His kiss is hungry, like he wants to consume you, like he’s trying to find a way to your soul through your mouth.

You use both your hands on his chest to push him away, and when you succeed, you stare at him with wide eyes. You’re trying to get your breathing back under control. His face is flushed.

“Please, you can’t go back to Soobin after that,” he begs. The fragile glass holding this moment together breaks, and your sense crashes back over you immediately. Shit, you forgot about Soobin. How could you have forgotten about Soobin?!

You pull yourself out of his lap and stare at your best friend with horrified, blown-out eyes. What the fuck? What did you just do? You have to tell Soobin, you have no choice now. Next time you see him, you’re going to spill everything that’s happened with you and Beomgyu. This isn’t right. This isn’t fair to him.

“Gyu… I’m so, so sorry,” you apologize getting off the couch slowly, putting on your clothes. How do you save this? How do you stop yourself from breaking both Soobin’s trust and Beomgyu’s heart? There has to be a way to salvage this. There has to be a way to make this okay.

“Why?” He shoots up, holding your arms so you stay. “Why would you be sorry?” He shakes his head like he’s not understanding, but his eyes tell you that he knows. He knows you’re going to try to stop this again. What will he do to prevent you this time?

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you whisper. You can’t even look him in the eye.

His disappointment only shows for a second before it’s overcome by need. A need to stop you from leaving, a need to show you that he’s yours, a need to prove himself to you—you know it all already, it’s happened so many times before. You can’t give in. Not again. Not after you let him get this far. If you allow this, what else will you let him do?

His hands are shaking as they cup your face. When you meet his eyes, you see tears already falling from them. You hate it. You hate it so much, how you’re always the cause of them. You’re always finding new spots to put your knife, slower ways to kill him. You know it by now; you know he’ll be hurt, but you do it time and time again, and you never learn your lesson.

This time it will change. This time you have to mean it.

“Stop making this so hard…” you say, hushed, as you wipe his tears from his face.

“I can’t leave you alone,” he insists. “You don’t get it. It’ll kill me.” He turns his face to kiss your palm. You try to pull your hand away, but he catches your arm and brings your wrist to his mouth, kissing you gently over your pulse point.

Why does your heart race? Why does your breath catch? He keeps finding new ways to fluster and confuse you, and all this just to make sure you don’t leave him for Soobin. You don’t know what’s more pathetic: the fact that he keeps doing this, or the fact that it keeps working.

You smooth your hand down his neck and rest it on his shoulder. “Just go to sleep,” you tell him softly.

“Come with me. Don’t make me go to bed alone after this.” He looks so cute and hopeful, you almost give in. You tighten your lips and place a parting pat on his chest.

“Good night,” you say before walking to your bedroom. He must know better than to follow, because he doesn’t. You try to ignore how your bed suddenly feels so big and empty.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

“Tell me everything, girl,” Chaewon says as soon as you settle onto her bed with her. You rushed over to her place after work, needing to debrief her on whatever has been going on between you and Beomgyu.

“First promise me that you won’t hate me,” you start.

“Oh, this is how I know it’s gonna be good,” she chuckles.

“Promise me!” you repeat, clutching onto her legs and locking eyes with her.

“I promise!” You lean back and let out a dramatic sigh, preparing yourself for your recap of all the events. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.

“So, remember the day we went to the bar, how you said you think Beomgyu might like me?” you ask. She nods. “I think you might’ve been right. Things have been getting weird.”

“I literally fucking knew it, I knew he must’ve been on some shit,” she says, looking excited to hear more. “Continue.”

“Well…” you trail off, feeling your stomach knot up in fear of actually saying what happened out loud. “Oh my Godddd, I can’t.” You hide your face in your hands.

Chaewon pushes your hands down and shakes you by the wrists. “Tell me!”

You take a deep breath. “Okay, so. At the bar, Beomgyu came up to me and was like are you leaving with Soobin? And I was like no, and he was so happy about that. But then he got really upset when I wanted to go back to the table with Soobin. Literally so upset that I ended up going back home with him cause he was gonna sulk all night otherwise.”

“Oh my fucking God, Aeri and I were literally joking about that being the reason why you left. That’s crazy,” Chaewon says.

“The next day, I asked him for his opinion on Soobin, and he got all pissed at me for some reason,” you continue.

“It’s cause he likes you!” Chaewon chimes in, rising up and screeching with the adrenaline of the conversation.

“Well then it gets crazy. He starts talking about how our friendship is enough, I don’t need a man, and I’m like huh? I don’t even remember everything he said, but it was so weird, and he started offering himself up to me basically.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. Like, I’ll do whatever you want, literally like that,” you explain.

“Girl.” You share a glance.

“Just wait. It gets worse,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you fucked.”

“Just wait!” you repeat. “So I tell him I’m gonna head to your place to clear my mind, and—I can’t make this up—he drops to his knees and starts crying actual tears. And then it gets kinda horny?”

Chaewon busts out laughing and claps her hands. “How’d I know?”

“He’s biting and licking my thigh, and I’m still trying to talk some sense into him, but some demon ends up possessing me and he takes me to my bed, and we don’t fuck but we… yeah.”

Chaewon covers her mouth in shock. She’s speechless, and you let the first half of the story ruminate in silence for a few long seconds. You tighten your lips and nod like you’re disappointed too.

“When we finish, I tell him that this is never happening again, and that he needs to leave my room, but he doesn’t. He insists on sleeping in my bed with me because Soobin gets me every other night, which is not true, but I let him have it anyway.”

“You need to put your foot down. He’s crazy,” Chaewon says.

“There’s more,” you respond. “Also, that night, he told me that Soobin apparently said we’re together or something at the bar? Is that true?”

Chaewon scrunches up her face. “No? I don’t think he said that.”

You groan, “Beomgyu is literally driving himself crazy. Anyway, the next day I literally start hating myself so bad because I wake up and have to see Soobin immediately”—Chaewon gasps—“Yeah. And the whole time I’m thinking, do I tell him? Should he know? And, oh my God, Beomgyu would not stop blowing up my phone during our date.”

“I would have to fight him, that’s so annoying,” Chaewon comments.

“It was! He didn’t even need anything either, he just wanted my attention. I didn’t end up telling Soobin anything cause I was scared. When I got home, Beomgyu and I ate and he was like I hope this is better than what you did with Soobin.”

“Girl, beat his ass,” Chaewon says.

“Stop,” you laugh, pushing her shoulder. “We argue again, and then I ask you to come over. Then you know what happens when you’re there. When you leave, though, the demons get to me again and I get even freakier with Beomgyu.”

Chaewon looks at you in horror and shock.

“Yeah. So when it ends, I tell him that this won’t happen again. He gets all sad and cries again, and says all this heartbreaking, confusing shit. So no matter what I do, I feel like I’m hurting someone.”

“Can I be honest? He’s one hundred percent manipulating you,” she says. You flinch a bit at that. Manipulating you? That’s a little far.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you refute. “He just ignores all our friendship’s boundaries.” Beomgyu has touched you in ways that friends shouldn’t. He’s declared things to you that friends shouldn’t. He’s begged to you and drove himself to tears, he’s gotten in his head with insecurities about you, he’s done too many things that a friend would never do that you just can’t ignore.

Chaewon places her hand over your own. That’s how you know she’s about to get serious. You like talking about this with her because she can be fun, but she can also be mature about things and give good advice. Plus, at least with her, you don’t have to worry about not being heard.

“Listen,” she starts. “He cries to you because he knows you’ll give in. He brings up his devotion to you because it makes you feel like you owe him. It’s not about professing his emotions, it’s about doing whatever it takes to keep you closest to him.”

Your brain is struggling to fit all the pieces together. It’s not adding up or making sense to you. Maybe to an outside source like Chaewon, it looks a little bad, but you know Beomgyu better than that. You always have been influenced by him. Right now is no different. He doesn’t want to control you, you think. He just wants his best friend.

“He’s not evil, Chaewon, he’s just being annoying,” you say. She sighs and goes quiet for a second. You can tell she’s carefully formulating her response.

“He’s being selfish. He can’t stand to see you choose another man over him.” That much you know. He’s admitted to that.

“Then wouldn’t I be selfish too? Letting him do things with me while I’m talking to Soobin,” you ask, looking off to the side. When you say it like that, guilt pours over you. If Beomgyu’s being selfish, then you’ve been obscenely greedy. That’s not a far cry from the truth, though, and it may even be the actuality of the situation after all. You won’t defend yourself from that claim.

“The thing is, you wouldn’t be doing any of this if Beomgyu wasn’t messing with your head,” Chaewon reasons. “Would you have let him touch you if he never cried to you that night?”

You think back to your first intimate moment with Beomgyu. You definitely wanted it. The second time too. You ponder Chaewon’s words. If he never fell to his knees, begging you to stay, what would have happened? If he skipped the tears and the pity party and just took you straight to your room to fuck, would you have been okay with it then?

Probably not, you think. But how relevant is that? You can’t separate Beomgyu’s emotions from his actions. He felt like he was losing you, and that’s why he did everything. Everything that happened after was from the heat of the moment, an act of desperation.

Maybe it’s his utter devotion that turns you on, maybe that’s what keeps you from denying him. Seeing a man so desperate that he’d shed tears for you, perhaps it’s what makes you lose control. When Beomgyu’s on his knees, looking up at you with painfully honest eyes, promising you that he’ll be good, any woman in your position would fold.

What if it wasn’t Beomgyu? What if it was Soobin instead? Would you still give in? You try to picture it. You look into Soobin’s eyes and feel his fingers on your thighs. You try to make yourself burn up more, but you don’t feel much.

Okay, picture it more, maybe. He’s got you spread on your mattress, begging you for just one touch. He kisses your stomach, and his tears fall off his cheek and onto your skin. His tongue is warm and wanting, exploring further down your body until he bites down on your waistband. You tense up, needing more. You grab his hair tight. He looks up at you and you almost shriek, horror and humiliation crashing over you. He’s not Soobin at all. He’s Beomgyu.

Chaewon’s voice cuts through your thoughts to ask you another question, “Do you feel like you can’t leave him?”

“I’d never leave him,” you answer. You didn’t even have to think about it. She sighs.

“At some point, you have to realize that this is going beyond keeping a friend around,” Chaewon says. “He won’t let you go out with Soobin in peace. He argues with you whenever you mention him. He touches you to get your mind off of him.”

You don’t try to refute that. Should you just accept defeat? You could go home and surrender to Beomgyu. You could promise to never look at Soobin again, and he’d finally get what he wants without a fight. You’d live the rest of your life not knowing whether you’ve got the love of your life standing right beside you or waiting out in the world somewhere.

“He’s giving you no choice. He’s doing it on purpose.” Chaewon picks up your hands, lacing them with her own. “You have to start standing your ground with him. No more letting him control your life.” Her hands give a firm, reassuring squeeze to yours.

You nod. “You’re right.” She smiles.

“Okay. Bring it here,” she says, pulling you into a hug. The second your head lands on her shoulder, you start crying. You didn’t even know you had to cry. She rubs her hand down your back, letting you use her as an outlet.

“What happens if I can’t, and nothing changes?” you sob. You feel helpless in your own life. Nothing you do will change what Beomgyu does or erase what you have done.

“Then you leave,” she answers simply. You tense up at the idea. Do you have it in you? You’re not nearly brave enough. “You come stay with me for however long you need. I promise.”

“How will I look at Soobin after this?” You should save everyone a whole lot of trouble and just call things off with him. The thought makes you feel sick, though. You don’t want to leave Soobin. You have a real connection with him. Beomgyu’s just getting in the way of it, fogging up your mind at every chance he gets.

Chaewon pulls you out of her embrace so she can look you in the eye. Her hands stay on your shoulders, firm and reassuring. “Stop beating yourself up. You made a mistake, but you’re not the biggest one at blame here.”

You wish that was true. You blame your lack of spine, your inability to keep your conscience clear, and your willingness to lie to save face. You look down at your lap in shame. If Beomgyu’s an asshole, then you’re perfect for him. You’re not as good as you’d like to think.

Chaewon calls your name to bring your attention back to her. “Soobin isn’t even your boyfriend. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Well, that’s true. You sniffle.

“Won’t he hate me now?” you ask.

“He has no right. As long as there’s no label, you two aren’t exclusive. Sure, things are a lot more complicated now, but you’re not a bad person for anything you did,” she says. You nod slowly. Her words help you so much. You would have gone crazy without her.

Maybe you should take her advice: leave Beomgyu and stay with her, at least until you can make up your mind. You can’t do that to him, though. He’d fall apart. It would honestly be hard for you, too.

“Thanks, Chaewon,” you say. You flop down onto the bed, letting your body sink into her mattress. “I’m so exhausted after that.”

“A good cry will do that to you,” Chaewon laughs. She lays down beside you and rests her arm over your waist. You pull yourself closer to her until you’re laying on her chest. You throw a leg over her, getting comfortable.

“Let’s order pizza,” you suggest.

“Yesss, and watch more of my show,” Chaewon adds. She picks up her phone and searches for a good pizza place that can deliver to her. As she does that, your phone screen lights up to signal that Beomgyu’s calling you.

“Oh my God,” you say, holding your phone up for Chaewon to see.

Chaewon smirks and shakes her head. “We summoned him.”

You sit up as you answer the call. “Hi Gyu, what’s up?”

“Not much, just wondering if you’re gonna be here for dinner?” he answers.

“No, I’m getting pizza.” Beomgyu hums on the other end, and it’s quiet for a few seconds.

“Are you with Soobin right now?” he asks. You’re displeased but unsurprised at his question.

“I’m with Chaewon,” you say flatly. Chaewon leans closer to you and points at your phone.

“Let me talk to him,” she whispers, fury in her eyes. You shake your head. You absolutely cannot let that fight happen.

“Oh. Are you sleeping over there?” Beomgyu asks. Chaewon nods with wide eyes, like you’d be crazy if you said no.

“I might, yeah,” you answer.

“Alright. Tell her I said hi. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back after work.”

“Yay, have fun with Chaewon then! Bye~” he sings.

“See you.” You hang up and turn to Chaewon. “Did you order the pizza?”

“It’s on its way,” she confirms with a grin.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You take a deep breath before you enter your apartment. You’re nervous to face Beomgyu again. Not knowing how he’s going to act is worrying you, because you don’t know if you’re going to walk in and get a normal night with your best friend, or more confusing confessions that toe the line between friendliness and something greater.

You don’t see him when you come in, so you wonder if he’s working. That would make your night less stressful. That proves to be wishful thinking, though, when shut the fridge after grabbing a drink and see Beomgyu walking into the kitchen. He greets you with a sweet call of your name.

You smile at him, but it doesn’t meet your eyes. After your conversation with Chaewon yesterday, the only thing that’s been lingering on your mind is how to finally put your foot down. Do you wait for him to try something to have that conversation? He’s going to be offended no matter when you say it, so maybe you should just get it over with. You don’t know.

“How was work?” he asks.

You shrug. “It was kind of a long day.” Not for any work related reasons, but you don’t tell him that part. Standing in the kitchen with him feels awkward now, even though it never used to before. You just can’t stop thinking about him in unfriendly ways, be it from his kiss or from his confessions.

You realize that these thoughts will only pester you worse and worse the longer you ignore the topic with Beomgyu. He’s talking about what he did at work today, but you’re barely listening. Your eyes linger on his lips as he speaks. You follow the movement of his hands as he rambles, thinking about how those slender fingers felt inside of you.

God, stop! This is why you should have never done anything with him. At this rate, you’ll never be able to have a normal conversation with him again. Your heart starts beating faster. You need to let him know that you need space. Fuck, why did you let it get this far? His sad eyes flicker in the back of your mind already.

Beomgyu moves to the couch, probably expecting you to follow him and turn on the television. Your feet stay planted where they are, watching him with careful eyes. He looks back at you when he realizes you didn’t trail behind him, staring at you expectantly.

You force yourself to move, walking slowly into the room with him. You sit on the couch, leaving a considerable amount of space between the two of you.

Now’s the time. Speak up, you have to. Don’t worry about his feelings. Think about Soobin. Do this for him—better yet, do this for yourself. Prove that you have it in you.

“Beomgyu,” you say. He furrows his brows, seeming confused at your serious tone. “We can’t do this anymore. I’m serious.” You steady your breathing as you look him straight in the eye.

“What do you mean?” he’s quick to ask. You know he’s not dumb enough to not understand what you meant. He grabs your hand to hold it, and you let him have it for a few seconds before you pull away.

“I mean, no more playing with each other. No touching, or kissing, or anything we wouldn’t normally do.” You’re anxious as hell, but you feel strong for once, and it’s nerve-wracking yet empowering. You’re setting your boundaries. No more reckless decisions that leave you regretting everything the next day.

Beomgyu rolls his eyes. “Why, cause Soobin said so?”

“No, because I said so,” you correct. He tilts his head as a frown starts to form on his face. You remind yourself that you can’t let him win. You remind yourself of everything that Chaewon said. Beomgyu will do anything he can to win, and you can’t let that happen.

He’s quiet for a moment, unnerving you. You know that he’s coming up with his pleas now. You have to cut him off before he can get anything out.

“You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you because of some dumb decision we made,” you say, hoping he’ll understand, but the sadness in his eyes only grows at that. He drops his head onto your shoulder and hugs you. Oh lord. You hug him back with a heavy exhale.

“What am I supposed to do? Watch you be happy with someone that’s not me?” he murmurs into your neck. You lean out of the hug so that you can look him in the eye. He needs to know you’re not breaking this time.

“Yes. It’s either that or we argue like we have been everyday.” It’s about time that he stops sulking at every mention of Soobin.

“Then I’ll take the arguments. I’ll take you yelling at me and hitting me, I don’t care. I just can’t take you being with him,” he says.

“I’d never do that,” you refute, sick at the idea of hurting him. “You have to listen to me. Let me see this out with Soobin. I want to at least give him a chance without you intervening.”

He sighs with a heavy heart. Is he going to let you win? That easy?

“Did Chaewon tell you to do this?” he asks. You drop your jaw in shock. He’s got some nerve asking that.

“That doesn’t matter, the only thing that does is that I told you we have to stop, and you need to listen.” You can’t believe he’s bringing Chaewon into this. He’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re going to let him blame her.

Beomgyu deflates into the couch and looks down at the floor. You ignore how your heart clenches. You can’t comfort him, that would be his window for turning this situation around. He has to know you mean this, so you walk away, going to your room and shutting the door.

You lean your back against the door and zone out, staring at the wall. Don’t think about how Beomgyu feels. Don’t think about how you might have ruined your friendship.

What do you do now? Will he want to talk to you anymore? Maybe you should have let him plead his case a little. He’s insecure, he can’t help it. You slide down the door until you’re sitting down.

You have to stop making excuses for him. He’s an adult, it’s time he acts like it. Chaewon’s right, you can’t keep giving him what he wants, and putting your foot down and hurting his feelings was the only way he was going to learn.

That’s what you’ve been doing, you suppose, but this time you mean it, and you hope he knows it. You’re going to have to put in more effort into resisting the urge to comfort him. If he keeps making things hard for you, you’ll have to start ignoring and avoiding him. The thought scares you.

You don’t want to think about this anymore. You wish you didn’t have to do this, but you had no choice. Your thoughts about him were driving you crazy, and you had to put a stop to it before they could get even worse. Not to mention how guilty you’d feel hanging out with Soobin if you continued letting Beomgyu have his way with you.

You open your phone and go to your chat with Soobin and type a quick message.

Hey

You just want to reassure yourself that you made the right choice. Hurting Beomgyu’s feelings can’t be for naught. You don’t expect Soobin to respond so fast, but he does.

[Soobin] Wow I was just thinking about you lol

[Soobin] Hi

Your heart skips a beat as you read his texts. He thinks about you?

Oh really? About what?

[Soobin] I wanted to see you again

You bite your lip and a smile grows on your face. See? Wasn’t this worth making Beomgyu a little sad? Wasn’t it a fair trade off? He’ll be okay, surely. And eventually, you might even stop feeling guilty for doing it, too.

You deserve to be able to talk with Soobin without your conscience barking at you. This is what had to happen. You’ll feel better about this when everything all works out in the end.

How about tomorrow?

[Soobin] I’d love that

Yayyyy

Finally something not shitty about my day

[Soobin] What happened?

You groan. Where do you even start?

Argument with my friend

[Soobin] Beomgyu?

Yep…

[Soobin] Well I’m glad I could make you happy for a minute then :)

You find yourself giggling at his message.

You’re cute

[Soobin] Thank you

[Soobin] You too

You almost squeal when you read that. He’s so shy when it comes to flirting, but when he does it, it never fails to give you butterflies. You imagine him blushing as he sent it, feeling a little hesitant to be so bold. What an endearing guy.

Finally, you feel like you can end the night on a decent note. You feel better now that you’ve got something to look forward to with Soobin. You don’t let yourself think about Beomgyu anymore tonight, not wanting to sink down that rabbit hole.

I’m gonna go to sleep, thanks for cheering me up hehe

And for everything that you do

Good night

[Soobin] Sleep well

[Soobin] Dream of me

Your heart flutters. Your fingers race across the keyboard.

Fingers crossed

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

The air around you and Soobin feels so much lighter now that guilt doesn’t have you in its claws. You ended whatever you had going on with Beomgyu, and now you can focus more on Soobin. Your heart holds an open invitation for Soobin to occupy, you’re just waiting for the feelings to further bloom.

It’s unfortunate how early it gets dark out, but you don’t let it ruin your day. You bask in the glow of the streetlights as you and Soobin walk to the park.

“I used to come here all the time with my sister and nephew,” he says. You find a gazebo to sit under. From here, you have a perfect view of the frozen-over lake ahead of you. “We’d play tag with him, but we’d have to run super slow to give him a fair chance.”

You can see that image clearly in your mind, and it makes you smile at how cute it is. Soobin being such a family man is so charming to you. He has such marriage potential. You’re getting ahead of yourself, though.

“This seems like a good place to bring a kid. So much space to play,” you comment, looking out at the park. The grass doesn’t look so alive right now, and all the trees are bare, but it must be nice in the summertime. Even now, there’s something beautiful about it.

“Yeah, it makes me think about having kids of my own to run around in these fields.” The idea of a mini Soobin playing here makes you chuckle. He’d definitely have well-behaved kids. He would be a good dad.

“You want to stay here when you raise a family?” you ask.

“I think so. There’s a lot this place has in store. I’m a little attached to it,” he laughs. You wonder if you’ll think of the city so fondly one day too. You’ve only been here for a little over a year.

“Really? What’s the best thing in this city, then?” you ask and smile at him.

He looks at you for a long second, then lets out a little laugh. His cheeks are red when he looks back out at the lake. “I don’t know…”

You giggle, swooning over him yet again. “What about your hometown? What was it like there?”

“It was nice. I lived in a small area. I miss it sometimes, but I don’t think I’d go back. I think I mostly miss being a child,” he answers.

“I can relate to that,” you say. “Life’s harder now.” You think about the past week in particular and all the chaos with Beomgyu. Teenage you would never have imagined getting tangled up in something like this, especially not involving him.

“Things like this are good, though,” Soobin adds, smiling at you. “Things with you.” Your face heats up. He’s getting so flirty and brave.

“Same for me,” you say. “It’s good with you.” You spend a few quiet seconds admiring his face, letting the butterflies flutter wildly within you.

“I think it’s been long enough for me to ask this,” Soobin starts. Your body tenses in anticipation. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

Oh god. The butterflies halt and replace their happy fluttering with silent dread. All of your effort is going into maintaining a neutral composition. You don’t want to let your internal dilemma show. Your heart is going haywire, like it’s trying to beat right out of your chest. You don’t blame it for trying to run away; a part of you wishes you could too.

“Can we wait a little longer?” you ask meekly. You fear hurting his feelings, but you simply need more time. This is not how you imagined this moment would go. You wish you could scream yes and jump into his arms, but things have gotten muddy in the past week. You need to sort everything out with Beomgyu first. If this is going to happen, you need to make sure it comes from a place of one hundred percent certainty. You can’t be exclusive with Soobin with Beomgyu lingering in the back of your mind.

If Soobin’s trying to mask his disappointment, he’s failing. Your heart drops. Is this where he leaves you? No—you’re not ready for that either. If he gets up right now, you’re ready to cling onto his jacket and beg him not to go. You don’t know what you just did. You messed up. You should’ve just said yes.

“I’ll wait however long you need,” he ends up saying. He stays right where he is. You sigh in relief and hug him. He lets out a noise of surprise, but is quick to hug you back.

“Thank you. I’m sorry. Things are just…” you trail off as you pull away from him. He brushes your hair out of your face. “…Confusing right now.”

“Is there someone else?” he asks.

You gulp. “Kind of. It’s… Beomgyu.”

“Oh, right. He doesn’t like me.”

You frown. “I don’t know why.”

“You really value his opinion,” he notes.

“It’s not only that…” you say, looking down at your hands fidgeting in your lap. Soobin lifts your head back up with a gentle hand. He smiles when your eyes meet.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I’m ready whenever you are,” he reassures. He leans in to place a peck on your cheek. You heat up wildly.

“You should probably know, though,” you urge.

“No,” he insists. “Honestly, I don’t want to know. I’m just happy I get you to myself every time that I do.”

A weight lifts itself from your shoulders. You feel like you can breathe again. You’re lucky that Soobin is so understanding, and even luckier that he’s willing to wait for you to figure your own things out. He doesn’t owe you that, but you’re endlessly appreciative that he gives it to you anyway.

You lean into Soobin’s side and look out at the scenery in front of you. The two of you fall back into conversation, and you find yourself feeling sad when it’s time to go.

As you hug him goodbye, you feel inclined to just never let go. You feel so comfortable in his embrace. You insist on meeting up again over the weekend, and he puts up no fight in accepting. Gosh, he makes your heart race. Things are finally feeling good again.

notes: yayyyy what do we think?? chapter 2’s already at 7.6k and i’m estimating it’ll get up to ~17k-20k, but we shall see. i’m excited to hear ur thoughts, so feel free to leave feedback! 🤍

© delugyu 2025, do not translate or reupload

[ellexamor]

Based on this.

[ellexamor]

bella: where are your fangs?

[ellexamor]

somethin somethin ruthlessness somethin somethin get in the water blah blah blah vengeance saga—

anyway that new raf myth amiright

[ellexamor]

[ellexamor]

freudian

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: freudian - susceptible to analysis in terms of unconscious desires. or, your parents have forced you to be "best friends" with minji, a woman you're convinced was put on this earth specifically tailored for you to have a mutual hatred with, since elementary school. she's confident, beautiful, and charming; and her boyfriend, beomgyu, is just as formidable. he's been a pain in your ass, an asshole to you to the most severe degree, since they got together in college. now, you're roommates with minji, but you begin to secretly take interest in beomgyu's best friend, soobin. it's just that... beomgyu's been acting weird these days.

genre: angst, romance, smut (mdni), lowkey yandere

warnings: smut (mdni!!!), yandere!beomgyu but more like pathetic!beomgyu, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, impregnation kink, no real dom/sub dynamic bc it didn't feel right but sub!gyu is coming back in a big way in "our deal"

word count: 13.1k

notes: hello my friends! i know i've been gone for a minute and i told myself i would post this on my bday at the latest... mind u it was in may LOL but this is a bit long for me so i hope that makes up for it a little 🥹 thank you all for being so patient with me. i hope you enjoy, and if you do, please leave feedback—it is truly so encouraging! if you don't like it please spare me i beg you cuz i'm still riding the struggle bus n don't want my feelings hurt

( ཀ͝ ∧ ཀ͝ )

“human beings are funny. they long to be with the person they love, but refuse to admit it openly. some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worse, returned. but one thing about human beings that puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection, even if it kills them slowly within.” - sigmund freud

-

you’ve never been one to try to work against the inevitable. some would call it pragmatism, others would call it simply being a fucking loser, but you try not to dwell on its meaning. as it is, when your parents forced you to become “best friends” and “practically sisters” with minji in elementary school, you just let it happen. and when she inevitably drew the attention of every boy your eyes happened to linger on for longer than ten seconds, you also let that happen. as the years passed, and your parents forced you to tolerate all of minji’s, frankly, bitchy behavior, you stopped trying to avoid your fate and became as seemingly unflappable as you are now. 

to say that minji is cartoonishly evil would simply be a lie, no matter how much you feel that way, but even you can recognize that she’s nice to a lot of people. it’s just, for some reason, you’re not one of them. when you two were forced to hang out together with friends, she would always bring up embarrassing stories to try to get them to laugh at you, and she's so damn charming, it worked. and on the rare occasion in which you felt kind of confident in your looks, she’d wait until you all were in public to point out insecurities you didn't even know you had. and the one time in middle school when you finally tried to tell your parents how awful minji was to you after she lied to the boy you liked by telling him that you called him ugly—which somehow resulted in her “comforting” him and becoming his first girlfriend—minji bawled like a baby during the mediation. in the end, you had to apologize to her for hurting her feelings. 

even so, forced proximity is a breeding ground for understanding, and you understood minji from the start. in the same way, she understood you. honestly, regardless of your wishes, she probably understood you better than anyone else; but that is no longer the case. for as much as you two have always hated each other, there used to be fleeting moments of connection. her making a snide comment about an obnoxious neighbor when they compared you to her, and you taking care to make sure nobody ate the rest of her favorite dish when she was late to family dinner. you two may have disliked each other, but there was an undercurrent of… something. it was a twisted relationship, you won't deny that, but it was a relationship, nonetheless. however, all of that dissipated like smoke once you reached early adulthood. to this day, you're not sure why. 

yours and minji’s parents pretty much forced you to room together in college, both stating that it was the only way they’d feel comfortable with you two being on your own. regardless of how quickly the two of you would now dismiss such a ridiculous notion, you were both relieved at the idea. it was almost like having a built-in companion. however, very shortly after you two settled in, things went from mildly bad to absolutely abysmal. undeniable, but ultimately menial, feelings of derision from minji became outright disdain towards you. you won't lie and say you didn't become petty in return, and you’ve never cared enough to fix such a strange dynamic, though you sometimes wonder if you should. 

as it stands, minji could hear you getting slandered to pieces, and she’d probably join in. as for you, you’d indifferently watch someone gorge the rest of her favorite dish at family dinner rather than speak up for her. now, after both having graduated and joined the workforce, you no longer have to worry about threats to cut your livelihood off. realistically, you could stand up to your parents and say, “fuck minji, fuck her parents, and fuck you both for manhandling me into being her friend!” but that sounds awfully dramatic, so you won’t.

besides, minji, for all of her raging bitchiness, is actually the best roommate you could ever ask for. for example, she never leaves her stuff lying around, and she always rinses off her dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. the only consistent downside has been the men she’s brought home since freshman year of college, which you declare are none of your business, but the sounds of her… passionate encounters are a real drag. still, you could mostly tolerate them, but her current—and seemingly permanent—boyfriend seems determined to elicit the most perverse sounds he can out of her. at first, you prayed that it was just the honeymoon phase, but it’s been literal years at this point, and the screams reverberating through the walls of your apartment would be an inconvenience to anyone; but it’s especially troubling on nights like tonight, in which you have to be up extra early tomorrow morning for a meeting at work. 

as you clutch a pillow to the top of your head in a vain effort to muffle out the lascivious noise, you contemplate maybe sending a text message asking minji to try to keep it down. maybe you could knock on the wall, and maybe that'd remind her that you're also a sentient human being who happens to occupy the room right next to hers. but you know it'd be fruitless, know it’d do nothing to actually help your situation. in fact, on the rare occasions that you’ve politely requested that they be considerate of your poor, battered sleep schedule, or even just subtly hinted to having something important in the early morning you needed to be well-rested for, it's always seemed to come back around and bite you in the ass. it's almost like they become even more unhinged than usual when they know you need your sleep, so there's absolutely no point in trying to get them to quiet down. still, as the hour ticks by, you become more and more anxious that you'll be unable to wake up tomorrow morning, so with a sigh, you tentatively knock on the wall between your bedrooms. 

surprisingly, the noise ceases, and you really think standing up for yourself might have just worked out in your favor for once, but then you hear minji and her boyfriend snicker, and then there's the damning sound of their resumed activities. she was loud before, but now, it's like minji is being mauled or something. so much for being well-rested.

-

you wake up the next morning feeling like you got hit by a truck, and you just know you look like shit. you try your best to cover your dark circles, but at this point, who are you fooling? when you finally leave your bedroom, you run into minji’s boyfriend, the one she's been obsessed with since college. beomgyu. 

“good morning,” he says with a lazy smirk as he leans over the counter. “did you sleep alright?” god, he’s such a fucking asshole.

“yep,” you mumble as you push past his shirtless body and reach into the fridge for your lunch.

“really? doesn't seem like it. you look like shit,” he chuckles, and while you don't even spare him a glance, you can just feel the smug look on his face emanating off of him and boring into the back of your head.

“thanks,” you say flatly as you fill up your water bottle. you're unsure why he even talks to you, but if you had to put it into words, it'd probably be something akin to the phenomenon of a cat watching a mouse as it backs itself into a corner. even so, you don't know why he bothers with trying to get a reaction out of you. you've never reacted to his taunts very much, but he still seems hellbent on making life difficult for you.

“you know, maybe if you got some good action, you’d understand why minji's as loud as she is,” beomgyu continues, almost as if he doesn't sense your unwillingness to participate in this—or really any—conversation with him.

“i'll keep that in mind,” you say perfunctorily as you shuffle over to the doorway and slide on your shoes before shutting and locking the door behind you. you don't see the way beomgyu’s fists clench at your unrelentingly dismissive tone, and even if you did, you wouldn't understand it.

-

in retrospect, you didn't have a particularly strong impression of beomgyu when you first met him. you vaguely remember him hanging around minji, and you somewhat recall listening to her rave about him against your will. still, her treating him like he’d been molded by the hands of the muses probably killed any interest in getting to know him in its crib. honestly? you probably should have planted some seeds of doubt in her mind when you two were still somewhat cordial, because if you had, maybe he wouldn't be with her today. your penchant for apathy has cost you peace, it seems, because beomgyu is at every family function and in every family photo, and at this point, it’s only a matter of time before he’s your de facto brother-in-law. 

it looks as though his continuous onslaught of criticisms about your appearance, your demeanor, and your very presence have no discernible end in sight; and minji is more than happy to up the ante whenever he's around, which is fucking always. you almost think that you, in some strange way, make their bond grow even stronger. after all, you're pretty passive prey, and it must be somewhat fun to invent new ways in an effort to push your buttons. still, you're older and more jaded now, and you're pretty resigned to your fate. anyway, there's no way to make a completely clean break from them without your family causing an uproar; and for as much as you resent them, you don't want to do that. 

-

you've been staying out more and more these days. after all, you're not getting much sleep at home, so what's the point of being there? plus, you’re effectively harassed by minji and beomgyu every time you have the displeasure of seeing them, so why bother? at least, that's what one would think your reasoning is, but reality is much more complicated than that. and your reality involves soobin, a guy you met in college, who you happened to reconnect with when you went out drinking with some coworkers a few months ago. 

how do you know soobin in the first place? well, you initially met him through his best friend… beomgyu. so, complicated is putting it very generously. frankly, you’re surprised someone as sweet and mild-mannered as soobin is best friends with an asshole like beomgyu, but then, you’re “best friends” with someone you fucking hate, so you guess that’s just how things work out sometimes. 

even when you are home, you don’t speak to beomgyu, who’s at your apartment so much, you wonder why he and minji haven’t just bitten the bullet to officially move in together and leave you stranded; but you're thankful they haven't because the roommate market is in dire straits. realistically, you never did speak to either of them for any meaningful amount of time outside of deflecting their verbal jabs about how you're an undesirable loser, but now, it’s even less than ever. 

you spend the night at soobin’s pretty much constantly, so tonight, your elusive presence at your own apartment is particularly jarring. the kitchen is dimly lit by the moonlight and the fluorescent lighting above the stove, and the only sounds are from you quietly opening up the plastic of the post-midnight snack you’re making. that is, until you hear the door to minji's room opening as beomgyu creeps out and lightly shuts the door behind him. you immediately register his nearly-naked form, but you're so used to it by now, you don't even blink. 

“hey," he says tentatively, but you've never been particularly in tune with beomgyu's emotions, so you don't catch the hesitation in his greeting.

"mm," you hum as you furrow your eyebrows, focusing on preparing your snack. 

"you haven't, uh, been around much. everything okay?" he asks gently.

“yep,” you reply as you focus on setting the timer.

“have you been working a lot?” he probes.

“not really,” you mumble as you begin to pour yourself a glass of water. it's late, and you've been with soobin all night, only returning home because you didn't bring a change of clothes for work tomorrow, so your inhibitions are lowered. you're not as guarded as usual, and beomgyu is intent on capitalizing off of that.

“you should eat some real food,” he suggests, trying another tactic. “i could… i could make you something, if you want.” this is… weird. beomgyu has never offered to cook for you, and while he's made things before that you happen to like, it’s always been in service of minji; and he’s only ever offhandedly remarked that there were leftovers available to you. of course, you’ve always refused, so his present consideration is daunting, to say the very least. finally, you make eye contact with him.

“uh, thanks, but it's fine. i'm tired, so i want to eat something easy and quick before bed,” you say as you redirect your attention to your timer, willing it to move faster so you can eat and get the hell out of here. you push your hair back as you wait, and you unknowingly reveal a darker patch of skin where soobin had unintentionally sucked too hard on your neck. in the dim light of the kitchen, beomgyu’s eyes immediately zero in on the mark. he draws closer, his tall frame looming over yours as he holds your hair back to get a better look.

“what's this?” you balk at his question and his overly-familiar proximity. you try to pull away, but he just steps closer, essentially trapping you between himself and the counter.

“who were you with?” he asks between clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing with a darkness you’ve never seen from him, or from anyone, really. 

you wave his hand away in annoyance.

“why do you care? you're too close,” you defiantly reply. his jaw ticks as he leans down closer to your face, his intent eyes scanning your annoyed ones.

“who were you with?” he repeats, his voice even lower this time. thank god above that your timer goes off, and you push him off of you as you grab your food and scurry to your room, eager to put some distance between the two of you. you shut your door, as usual, but for some reason, you're compelled to lock it. 

-

you think of your bizarre encounter as a one-time thing, though you're still not sure what to make of it. yours and minji’s families have always tried to push the “family” narrative between you two, and beomgyu by extension, so you briefly entertain the thought that he might actually just be buying into the ludicrous idea, albeit belatedly; but that thought is snuffed out when his previous asshole behavior is dialed up to 100. the groceries you buy are always mysteriously gone before you can even finish eating them, your keys are never where you left them, and you swear minji and/or beomgyu are using your shampoo with the intent of draining it immediately every time you buy a new bottle. is this their way of “hinting” at you to kick rocks and find your own place? if so, how petty. getting a new place on your own would be expensive, and while you're not home much anymore, you feel it's far too early in your relationship with soobin to formally suggest moving in together. you'll just tough it out.

among all the preteen-level hazing tactics, though, there is one thing that genuinely unsettles you: things in your room are always slightly out of place. your mirror is slightly tilted a bit differently than usual, the clothes in your dresser are folded a bit more crisply than you remember, and you're trying not to feel crazy when you can't find a few pairs of your favorite panties.

tonight, you're finally home from a long, long day of work, and all you want to do is relax. you realize that soobin's home is a lot more peaceful, but his parents are visiting from out of town until tomorrow evening, which means they’ll be staying at his apartment until then. soobin still kindly offered to have you spend the night, and while you'd be happy to meet his parents, you’d feel a bit awkward with going any further than a simple dinner for a first introduction. 

so you're home. while you thought you knew beomgyu’s schedule well enough to successfully avoid him, it seems that he's awake far later than usual, and he's lounging on the couch when you walk through the doorway. his eyes immediately dart up when he sees you. 

“damn it,” you mentally curse, and it's like he can hear your unsavory thoughts.

“home late from whoring around again?” he drawls. you roll your eyes while taking off your shoes, but he’s especially relentless tonight.

“that's all you're doing, you know,” he continues. “nobody will ever take you more seriously than that. what do you have to offer other than mediocre sex?” there's a sneer on his mouth, which is normal, but his eyes are burning with the same unsettling intensity you registered when you last saw him; and while you’ve usually considered beomgyu as a mildly annoying pest, you start to feel a real inkling of anger. you don’t care—well, you shouldn't care—but it’s like he's dealing even lower blows than usual. you're about to answer with something —anything—but he does not take kindly to your silence.

“see, even you don't know the answer to my question,” he says with a mean laugh. “that poor bastard must be desperate for pussy to settle for you. but easy is easy, i guess.” 

for the first time ever, you actually do respond, and of all the things you could conceivably say, you unintentionally utter a string of words that happen to be particularly soul-crushing to beomgyu: “you're fucking disgusting.” you don't stick around after that, because he clearly doesn't give a shit, so why should you? you could rub your relationship with beomgyu’s very own best friend in his face, but he's not worth it. you’ll go back to ignoring him like you usually do, and you genuinely consider scouring the web for roommates. you even consider just moving out and paying this city’s exorbitant amount of rent on your own. you'll see.

beomgyu, however, is reeling from what you said. for reasons he can't possibly begin to understand, those three seemingly innocuous words, probably uttered without much thought, seemed to dig at something inside of him he can't quite explain. the pain is there, but its source is buried deep down, down, down in his stomach. he tells himself it meant nothing, that you didn't even think about what you said before saying it; but for some reason, the notion that you didn't have to think about it, that you just said what you honestly felt for him, makes him feel even worse.

he's not sure what outcome he was expecting. after all, he wanted to push your buttons, so why did succeeding for the first time feel so… so strange? he feels a sense of unease unlike anything he’s ever felt before. he’d talk about his feelings, but he doesn't understand where they're coming from, and even if he did, who would he tell? minji? the thought alone is laughable. while she has absolutely no qualms about dumping all of her problems on him, he’s never reciprocated. besides, any mention of you quickly devolves into shit-talking. he could tell soobin, but his so-called best friend has been flaking on him for reasons unknown. 

between the two, the answer is clear: soobin. still, having a non-conversation with him sounds unappealing, so he'll simply make soobin come out with him and the rest of their friend group. even if he can't quite articulate his feelings, just getting wasted with his friends should be enough to tie him over. he texts his group chat naming a day, time, and bar. everyone eagerly agrees, even his recently dodgy best friend.

-

being fifteen minutes late is one thing—even thirty minutes would be acceptable—but when soobin still hasn’t shown up an hour after the agreed upon time, beomgyu is thoroughly irritated. he tries to text, but when they remain unanswered, he harshly pushes out his chair and heads to the bathroom to call his increasingly unreliable best friend. the phone rings… and rings… and rings. beomgyu’s jaw clenches as he begins to accept that soobin, in fact, will not answer. then, just when he’s about to hang up, a groggy voice echoes into his ear. 

“hello?”

beomgyu tries to rein in his temper as he snaps, “soobin, where the fuck are you?” 

“huh?” soobin mumbles.

“you were supposed to be here a fucking hour ago. why are you bailing again? are you hooking up with someone without telling me?” usually, beomgyu couldn't care less about who soobin’s latest fuck is, but he feels the barest amount of dread in his stomach for reasons he will soon understand. 

“uh, no,” soobin replies, his voice a little clearer this time in lieu of beomgyu’s edge. “i’m just… really tired. look, i’m sorry i bailed again. we’ll go out soon, okay?” beomgyu is temporarily placated until the following moment.

“come back to bed,” beomgyu hears someone whine in a sleepy voice. it’s too low for beomgyu to pinpoint whose it is, but the dread he feels makes a resurgence. 

“are you fucking serious right now?” beomgyu snarls. “you keep bailing on me because you're shacking up with someone, aren't you?” he's not sure why, but he's compelled to ask, “who is it?” 

“no! it’s… it’s just the tv, i swear. look, uh, i’ve gotta go. i’ll text you later, alright?” soobin thinks he hangs up the phone, but unfortunately for everyone involved, he does not. beomgyu knows he should end the call and grill soobin for some answers later, but something tells him to keep listening, so he does—which is a decision he will come to regret.

“you're such a baby,” soobin coos as he loudly plants kisses down somebody's body. fuck whatever decision beomgyu thought he was making, he’s hanging up now. but then, a voice he’d know anywhere cuts through the haze. your voice.

“mmm, soobin, i need more.” 

what the fuck? 

beomgyu gasps sharply as if he’s been kicked square in the chest, the breath leaving his lungs until they start to burn. he thinks it can't get any worse than this, but then the real noise starts. it’s all a blur, really, but between the breathy moans, the cries of pleasure, the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh, and soobin’s filthy words of satisfaction, what really stuns beomgyu the most is your stomach-churning praise. he can barely comprehend where he is, can barely register anything outside of the noises that threaten to break a barrier within him that he never even knew existed. 

beomgyu’s eyes squeeze shut, and his voice is nothing more than a rasp as he says, “soobin, i’ll fucking kill you.” he’s surprised at how much he means it, because right now, he really could imagine stringing his dearest friend up like prized game; but soobin’s phone has long been forgotten, tangled up in his sheets as he continues to sloppily fuck you. 

“you feel so goddamn good,” soobin growls. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” 

you cry out wantonly, and finally, finally, beomgyu hangs up and rips his phone away from his ear as if it burns him. he’s panting now, and he’s unsure why, but his hands are shaking as he throws his poor phone at the bathroom wall, watching it shatter with reddened eyes.

he won’t let you and soobin do this to him.

-

you’re fast asleep after your passionate indulgence with soobin, snugly curled up in his sheets wearing nothing other than one of his t-shirts. soobin smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, murmuring something about loving you. his head whips up when he hears his front door unlocking, and he carefully extricates himself from your tangled limbs, but he’s not quite fast enough to intercept beomgyu before he enters the bedroom. 

beomgyu is shaking with rage in a way soobin has never seen him do, but if beomgyu had the capacity to comprehend it, he’d notice that soobin seems surprisingly calm in what should theoretically be an unsettling situation.

beomgyu, though, is too shaken to wrap his mind around anything except for the sight of you curled up in his best friend’s bed. it’s a brutal confirmation of what he already knew, but wanted to deny. beomgyu can't bring himself to leave the bedroom, but he keeps his voice as low as he can despite his rage. he does not understand why. 

“you fucking bastard. you’re supposed to be my best friend, how could you do this? you’ve been fucking my girl’s best friend for god knows how long now, and you didn’t think to tell me?” beomgyu snarls, his voice low and dripping with venom.

“this has nothing to do with you,” soobin says flatly.

“has nothing to do with me? she may be a fucking loser, but she’s family to me, and you turned around and fucked her without asking me first?” beomgyu is filled with righteous indignation, and soobin’s incomprehensible demeanor shifts from dismissive to awed.

soobin silently stares at beomgyu with wide eyes and a gaping mouth before he incredulously asks, “oh my god, you really don't get it, do you? even after all this time… jesus, you’re either stupid or in denial.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” beomgyu says fiercely, but soobin only sighs in exasperation.

“beomgyu, i knew you were clueless, but i didn’t think you were this clueless. look, she’s your girlfriend’s ‘best friend’, and even that is debatable, and you’re just the guy who happens to be dating her friend. so what? you won’t marry minji, won’t even officially move in with her, even after all of her ‘hints’ for ages now, so what exactly makes you family?” beomgyu falters at soobin’s words, but he doesn't back down. not yet.

“because i’ve known her for years! i’m still a part of her life, and she… she’s basically like family to me. i mean, i see her every day, i’m at every fucking holiday with her, every family dinner, and i know her better than you do.” beomgyu feels a bit pathetic having to explain his place in your life like this, but the words are still asserted with conviction. his next words, though, are not. “and she’s… she’s not like all your other flings. she’s not supposed to deal with bastards like you who only want to use her.” 

soobin, again, sighs. 

“there’s only so much shit you can do behind your ‘protective brother figure’ bullshit, but if you want to go there, we can go there. what kind of brother figure jerks off to his sister figure after he gets done fucking his girlfriend? and don’t lie, because i used to live with you, and i’ve heard you whine her name in the bathroom a million times.” beomgyu turns beet red as his jaw drops in sheer shock at the brazen accusation, no matter how true it may be; but soobin is not near finished. 

“and what guy threatens every man who ever takes an interest in a girl that's 'basically his sister’ before they can even say anything to her? you’ve been doing that shit since college, beomgyu, and the real reason you’re so scared to see her with someone else is partly because you’re terrified that they’ll turn out to be exactly what you are: obsessed—not because you’re waiting for the right guy.” beomgyu opens his mouth to retort, but he finds any words he might say dying in his throat before they can quite make it through his lips. soobin continues matter-of-factly, no room for debate.

“the rest of it is because you want to be the right guy for her, but you know you can’t be, because to her, you’re just the asshole who’s shacking up with the girl she’s hated all her life. you won’t live with minji, because that means you two would probably have to live alone, so you wouldn't be able to see the person you really want. and you won’t marry minji, because then, things would really be over, and you’d have no chance.” 

beomgyu feels like he can’t breathe, let alone speak, at soobin’s merciless deconstruction of his repressed feelings. he desperately wants to deny it, but when he looks at your sleeping form, the only thing he wants even more desperately is to hold you. you look so devastatingly beautiful like this, and he would say he wants to see you like this forever, but that’s not true. what he really wants is for your eyes to flutter open just to look at him, and for him to be the only one you see, just like you’re the only one he sees. he wants you to sleepily smile up at him before letting him touch you, hold you, kiss you, just like he’s wanted from the day he first met you. his eyes turn red as they begin to ache with unshed tears.

beomgyu swallows thickly as he feebly chokes out his next words. 

“i know. i know i'm… i’m a coward. but i love her. what am i supposed to do?” despite soobin’s unforgiving speech, beomgyu has no one else to turn to with this. he momentarily forgets that the man he’s pleading for guidance from is the very man who’s taken you away from him. and that man is now irritated.

“you're not getting it,” soobin scoffs. “you already have no chance, and you never will. instead of just approaching her like a fucking normal person, you were too much of a coward to risk being rejected, and because of that, you’ll never be anything to her. i’m not going to sit here and help you win my girlfriend over. you don't deserve her, and even if you did, i still wouldn't help you.” 

… girlfriend? girlfriend? soobin is many things, a man-whore being one of them, so beomgyu had assumed soobin was just hooking up with you behind his back. truthfully, the thought of anyone in this world having you in that way, the way beomgyu never could, makes him feel like he’s going to vomit; but to know that you’re not just one of soobin’s flings, to know that soobin sees what beomgyu’s seen in you since the moment he first laid eyes on you… that’s what truly makes him feel like he’s going to be fucking sick. 

he's angry. of course, he's angry. but more than angry, he's distraught. he’s never felt so stripped bare—naked and vulnerable for anyone with eyes to see—his usual arrogance failing to cover the ugliness that's been the crux of his true nature for longer than he can remember. he’s been exposed, belly up, with his insides torn out and put on display like a fucking frog stuck under a microscope. and all the while, soobin has been sitting and watching beomgyu squirm as he futilely tries to free himself.

“so, you… you knew how i felt this entire time, and you still got with her?” beomgyu chokes out between strained breaths. this makes soobin pause, and for the first time, he looks like he feels somewhat guilty for what he’s done.

“... yeah. yeah, i did. i thought, well, if you're never going to do anything, why can’t i? i… i’m sorry.” beomgyu knows soobin is not a malicious person, and deep down, he knows he can't blame soobin for seizing the chance to be with you. if he were in soobin’s shoes, if he had a fraction of his bravery, he’d have done the exact fucking same. but still. still, how could soobin do this to him? he could have chosen anyone else in this world, just not you. anyone but you.

“sorry? you’re sorry? you just sat there and fucking ripped me apart, and now you're telling me you’re sorry?” beomgyu accuses with a bitter laugh, his voice unconsciously raising with every word. how could soobin make him confront his unrequited love for you only to rip it out from underneath him? soobin’s supposed to be his best friend, and now he's stealing the love of his life away. but then, he supposes you were never really his in the first place. he's panting now, flushed and angry and at the very precipice of snapping into something unrecognizable. 

soobin pauses before he placatingly says, “look, i know you're overwhelmed right now, and i know you're hurting. but you—”

“are you seriously trying to fucking level with me right now?” and he's pretty much shouting now. “you don't love her the way i love her. you don't even fucking know her. i know everything about her. i know what she loves, what she hates, what she eats, what her favorite words are, what kind of medicine she prefers to take when she's feeling sick. i know fucking everything about her. you don't love her like that, you can't love her like that. nobody can love her like that, besides me!” how dare soobin say beomgyu doesn't deserve you? beomgyu has hurt you, yes, but he still loves you the most. he loves you so much, it hurts.

beomgyu feels his restless fingers aching, and though he's never really been much of a fighter, he wants to wrap them around soobin’s neck to choke some sense into him. 

but then, he hears the bed creaking. you're awake.

you rub your eyes before you sit up with the sheet precariously clasped to your chest, looking disheveled and beautiful and like everything beomgyu’s ever wanted. you're tired from your activities with soobin, but you're also a little disoriented from the wine you two drank earlier. your voice is hoarse when you ask, “beomgyu? what are you doing here? what the fuck’s going on?”

beomgyu feels his heart clench in his chest at the sight of you. he wants to shush you and cradle you to his chest as he coaxes you back to sleep, but you're not in his bed, you're in soobin's. with a longing he's never acknowledged before, he gently pleads, “c'mon, get up and get dressed. i'm getting you out of here.”

the fog over your mind clears and your eyes widen as you finally grasp how potentially cataclysmic this situation is. beomgyu is probably pissed that you're dating his best friend, and who knows what kind of machinations minji will create to tear you two apart when she finds out. you already kind of resent your parents, so if she spreads lies to them about soobin, you wouldn't really mind cutting them off; but how would that make soobin feel? and if minji wants to destroy your reputation to soobin’s friends and family, you know she'll have no trouble doing it. soobin would try to defend you, of course, but you don't want to put him through that.

beomgyu’s deeper intentions fly over your head, and you warily hiss, “what do you want from us?” 

beomgyu’s breath grows even more ragged when soobin’s shirt slips off your shoulder and he sees the mark he left on your neck. god, he wants to scrub every trace of soobin off of you, wants to erase every memory of soobin's treacherous touch from your mind. he wants to occupy every cell of your body, wants to make you forget about every other man who's dared to touch you. he tries to force the thought of what you two and soobin were doing before he got here out of his mind, but his eyes are watery as he pleads, “i want you to come home with me, okay? please? we need to get out of here, we can’t—”

“i’m not going anywhere with you,” you snap. “you're not my fucking family, you're not even my friend. you don't get to tell me what to do.” 

“don't say that, and please… please don't look at me like that.” beomgyu is fully crying now, and the haze of shock finally makes you register how distraught he looks. you're about to ask what the fuck is happening yet again, but he says something you could never imagine he’d say. 

“i love you. all i want to do is love you. please, just let me show you how much i need you, okay? just come home with me—i'm begging you.”

… love? as a pseudo-sister-in-law? you want to believe that's the case, because no matter how far-fetched the notion is, it's still a million times more believable than a romantic explanation. but even so, you simply can't dismiss the way he's looking at you like he needs you to breathe, which is certainly not platonic, let alone familial. 

you're absolutely rendered speechless, and you look to soobin for silent confirmation; but he's not calm, cool, and collected like he’d usually be. he grabs the trembling beomgyu by the collar and drags him out of his apartment. after he pushes beomgyu out of the door, he yells, “i don't give a shit about your fucked up feelings, leave us the fuck alone!” 

beomgyu is far too stunned and distressed to comprehend what's happening until the door is slammed in his face, but when his mind finally catches up, he goes from distressed to hysterical. he's bawling now, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks as he hiccups pleas to you—and threats to soobin—from outside the door amidst his frantic knocks. 

but it's not enough. he can't hear if you two are shuffling around or talking about him, even when he presses his ear to the door and tries to shush his own cries before going back to pounding on the sturdy wood. before any progress can be made—if such progress were even possible—apartment security is dragging him out of the complex and warning him not to return unless he wants to be thrown in jail.

beomgyu trudges back to his apartment. it's quite a bit of a walk from soobin’s place, but he would rather stumble home than call for a ride and risk someone seeing him like this. he cries until he can't cry anymore, and he's still shattered about it all when he finally makes it home. all he wants to do is pass out in his bed so he can briefly forget any of tonight ever happened, but he knows he'll somehow end up producing a few more waves of tears before he can do that. he unlocks his front door and he can already feel his eyes preparing for more tears to fall. 

but, like always, minji has a nearly preternatural knack of appearing when he wants to see her even less than he already does.

“beomie, baby, what's wrong?” she asks concernedly as she walks up to him from her spot on his couch and fusses over him. he knows he looks utterly defeated, like he's just got done being steamrolled, and she seems eager to console him. in a way, he thinks she's probably a bit happy to see him so vulnerable, because he never is in front of her; but he doesn't have the time to dwell on that.

he's not really sure what to say, honestly. how does he verbalize tonight's events? how does he tell her soobin uprooted his most twisted feelings for the girl minji has an equally-twisted relationship with? he decides that the best thing to do is to let her go, and that he needs to tell her the truth for once. he sighs and pries her gentle hands off of him. 

“minji, i need to tell you something,” he says shakily. 

“what is it, babe?” she asks with furrowed brows. “what's got you so worked up?” 

he pauses and bites his lip as he tries to figure out how to word things delicately. he may not like her very much, but she still deserves better than what he's given her. he settles on telling her, “i think we should break up. i just don't… don't think i'm the right person for you. i'm sorry.” 

surprisingly, she laughs. “don’t be stupid, you are the right person for me, just like i'm the right person for you.” 

beomgyu blinks as he tries to process her reaction. he finds his voice and tries again. “no, i'm not. and no, you aren't. i—”

“why?” minji interrupts. “because of your weird obsession with my ‘best friend’?”

beomgyu is speechless for the millionth time tonight. all he can seem to squeeze out of his throat is, “w-what?” 

“you heard me,” she shoots back, disturbingly calmly. “what, did you finally tell her how you feel and get rejected?”

“... what the fuck?” beomgyu gasps, too taken aback to say anything else. 

“it's been a long time coming, i guess, but i could’ve saved you the suspense and told you what she'd say,” she snorts. “you didn't have to get all worked up over nothing.”

“you… you’ve known about it all these years, and you never said anything? what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he exclaims. did everyone in the world know besides you and him? he hates the very idea of it. he hates that he's been suffering in silence, and hates that you’ve never cared enough to notice.

minji has been incredibly tame during this bizarre discussion, but now, she’s hurt, and she’ll say anything at all to hurt him back. 

“oh, please, beomgyu,” she sneers with a grating, teary laugh. “you were so fucking obvious with everything you ever did. the way your eyes trail after her like a goddamn puppy, the way you never want to hang out at your place instead of mine, the way you always get so pissed off when she wears a skirt that’s a little too short. do you think i’m stupid? do you think i don't realize that touching me makes you fucking sick? come on, beomie, you make that pretty goddamn clear with the way you only ever fuck me with the lights off, and how you only really want to touch me when she can hear us.” 

beomgyu feels like he might throw up, or maybe even pass out, he’s not sure, but he thinks he’ll find out soon. he’s utterly humiliated and disgusted with himself to a level he previously couldn’t fathom, even more so than before, but he just can’t wrap his head around one last thing.

“then why did you stay with me if you’ve known how i feel this entire time?” he asks weakly, and she lets out a scoff at his cluelessness.

“because i love you. because you belong to me. we just make sense together. she doesn't deserve someone like you, i do.” she says it like it's the most natural thing in the world—like she's mulled over her ridiculous reasoning a million times over, and she has.

“you’re… you’re fucking crazy. you don't—” 

“beomgyu, be reasonable. look at her, then look at me. nobody else in the goddamn world would pick her over me!” her words falter a bit as she says that, a few pesky tears unconsciously escaping her beautiful eyes; but she composes herself enough to continue. “listen, i know you think i'm a crazy bitch, but don't you get that i'm the only one who really understands you? i know who you really are, and it doesn't bother me. as long as you take your feelings for her and put them towards me, i won't be disgusted by you like she is. i'll accept you, no matter what. don't you want that?” 

“why the fuck would i want someone like you?!” he snarls. “you're—”

“i’m what?” she asks as tears finally fall freely from her eyes. “insane? i hate to be the one who has to break it to you, but you're just as bad as me. that's why we suit each other. from the start, you’ve only ever seen her, not me. it’s not fucking fair that she gets to have you when she doesn't even have to try! she doesn't have to try to take you from me, she doesn't have to try to get people to like her, she doesn't have to try at all. i try so hard to be perfect for you, and here you are, telling me you don't want to be with me because of someone who doesn't even like you.” 

no, no, no. this isn't how it's supposed to be. his world has been thrown off its axis in the span of one night, and he’d rather fucking die than hear another word. minji latched onto him because she couldn't comprehend someone wanting you over her, and in her own way, she loves him. and you… you're with soobin because beomgyu is a coward above all else. he wants to go back in time and never call soobin tonight, he wants to live in the thinly-veiled ignorance he's been occupying for years now, he wants to be the person he thought he was mere hours ago. lastly, he wants to feel used by minji, but he doesn't even deserve the dignity to feel that way, because he was using her right back. 

“get out,” he murmurs.

“beomie, come the fuck on. you’re letting your emotions get to your head. think about what you're doing!” minji borderline shrieks.

“you're right, you know,” beomgyu replies after a pause, and minji is temporarily relieved. she steps closer to him and tries to reach for his face, but he snatches her hands and keeps them in his firm grip as he continues. “i'm just as crazy as you are, but that doesn't make me want you. i hate myself, but i hate you, too. all your life, you've been trying so hard to be better than her, but no matter what you do, you can't force me to want you. i love her, and i'd rather keep wanting and never having her than keep pretending that i can fucking stand being around you. now get out,” he growls as he forces her out of his apartment and slams the door in her lovely face.

-

if beomgyu really thinks about it, he's always teetered right on the brink of knowing the truth, but he's been successful in fooling himself just enough to keep his feelings tamped down. when minji made a mocking comment about you losing your virginity in college, he'd gone home and cried, but he told himself it was because of the stress of finals looming over him. when he consequently spread a rumor about you being a mediocre fuck around campus, he told himself it was because anyone who'd believe him simply didn't deserve you. and when he'd zoom into the background of photos taken with minji just to get a better look at you, he told himself he was simply scrutinizing your appearance.

every time he stole your panties, he'd blame it on the taboo principle of it all rather than it explicitly having to do with you in particular. every time he’d get turned on only when you were around, he'd blame it on some secret exhibitionist kink he didn't know he had. every time he’d pretend to come in his condom during yet another unsatisfying fuck with minji, he reasoned that he was only pounding into his fist in the bathroom while imagining it was you because… well, he didn't really read into his actions for fear of what he might find.

it's a miracle he was able to live in denial for so long, and he should be grateful that the truth didn't come out sooner. still, as the weeks since the night he pathetically confessed his feelings to you pass by, he doesn't feel grateful in the slightest. he could stalk you, probably. he could threaten soobin and make him pay for what he's done. there are a million twisted things he could do to get you back in his sight, but he doesn't want to do any of them. because you wouldn't like them. because you might hate him even more than you already do. and if he's learned anything from minji, it's that you can't force someone to love you in any meaningful way.

so, he rots. he wakes up alone, goes to work on autopilot, comes straight home and drinks until he's incoherent, then goes to sleep, well, alone. he should probably try to go back to how he was before he met you, but he feels like that was another life—like he was a different person. time seems to be split before and after he met you, as much as it pains him to admit it.

it's a lonely, rainy night like any other when he's home late from work. he’s been here more in the past month than he has since he began dating minji, but he's adjusting to his newly single life as well as he can. the apartment is devoid of many personal pieces, furnished sparsely and lacking any real character. he cracks open a bottle of whiskey and begins drinking directly from it, not bothering to even use a glass. he sits on his uncomfortable couch, like he always does, and thinks about all the things he's done wrong. he doesn't even get the chance to get tipsy when he hears a knock on his door.

it's probably minji again. she's come by a few times since he dumped her, and while he could probably get a restraining order or something, he kind of enjoys seeing her suffer the way he suffered. it's not healthy, he knows, but it's one of the few forms of pleasure he feels these days. something is different tonight, though. the knocking isn't frantic, it's almost hesitant, and it doesn't last for very long. he furrows his eyebrows, and for some reason, he shoots up from the couch and rushes towards the door. his breath catches when he looks through the peephole.

there you are, standing awkwardly—almost like you're not even sure why you're there. you're drenched from the rain, and one of your arms is wrapped protectively around yourself as the other reaches towards the door, perfectly poised to knock again. just before your fist can quite make it to the door, you pause and retract it—folding it on top of your other arm. you stand still for a moment, and beomgyu is simply too stunned to move. at least, he is until you turn and begin to walk away.

with a speed he didn't even know he possessed until now, he wrenches the door open and grabs your arm before you can even react. 

“wait,” he pants, not from exertion, but from adrenaline. “what… what are you doing here?”

he thinks he sees you gulp, but that could just be wishful thinking. your lips part and close again a few times before you manage to ask, “can we talk?” 

“y-yeah, of course. um, come in,” he stammers awkwardly as he reluctantly releases his hold on you.  

what is this? some kind of psychological torture? you’ve never sought beomgyu out until now, which should give him a spark of hope, but he knows better than to delude himself. 

he steps away from the doorway to let you in and lightly shuts the door behind you. he clears his throat and asks, “if you're—do you need anything? a towel, maybe, or clothes. and i have… i have water, if you want. i mean, if you're thirsty.” he hates how fucking stupid he sounds right now, but it's almost like he can't stop talking.

you're quiet for a moment before asking, “can i have some clothes and a towel?”

his eyes widen a bit before he eagerly nods. “o-oh, yeah. just give me a second.” he tries not to sprint to his room, and he prays to god that he has clean pajamas for you. luckily, he's able to find something suitable. he returns to the living room and offers the clothes and towel to you with trembling hands. “here,” he says. “you can change in the bathroom down the hall. i… i’ll put your clothes in the dryer, okay?” 

you purse your lips and nod. he watches you pad down the hallway until you're no longer visible. he lets out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding and seats himself on his stone slab of a couch. fuck, he should’ve gotten a better one like minji nagged him to. also, he’s been meaning to wipe down his bathroom mirror for a while. most importantly, though, what the fuck are you doing here?

he doesn't have time to dwell on it before you're walking back into the living room. his eyes snap up, and he feels a lump in his throat when he sees his clothes on you. his clothes, not soobin’s this time. it feels like he's hallucinating, to be perfectly honest, but he's fine with that. he just hopes the illusion continues.

it’s all too real when you plop down on the couch beside him, maintaining a respectful distance. fortunately, the couch is not only hard as concrete, but small to boot, so you end up only being a few inches away. maybe it isn't so bad after all. his thoughts are halted when you clear your throat and speak.

“soobin, uh… well, he told me everything he knows, but i just… i mean, i wanted to hear it from you,” you stammer. he knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he wishes he didn't.

“what do you want to know?” he asks in resignation. 

“everything,” you tell him, and he purses his lips with a stiff nod. he's had plenty of time to think about the unfortunate circumstances that led him to his sorry state, so the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“i’ve always thought that you were so… so pretty. i saw you laughing with your friends on the way to class one day, and i knew i wanted you to look at me like that. and when i listened to you talk to your friends, i thought you were so smart, funny, and… and nice.” his lips are turned up in a wistful smile, and his eyes are uncharacteristically gentle. “but you never saw me, not really. you just saw me as minji’s friend, and i thought—i don't know—that if i just hung around her more, you'd warm up to me. i don't even think you remember, but i tried to be nice to you, to include you in conversation, to stand up for you. i swear to god, i did. but… but i saw the way you looked at someone else one day in the library. i remember it so clearly—you actually smiled at him and laughed at his jokes, and he wasn't even trying like i was. i was so fucking angry, but i thought i could make you see me if i made you as jealous as you made me, and i thought that there was nobody better to do it with than the girl you hate the most.” 

oh, god. you actually feel… kind of guilty? is guilty even the word? you haven't done anything wrong, you know that, but you feel like you've unintentionally twisted the knife in his chest with your apathy. for as much as you've always wanted him to drop his antagonizing demeanor, you don't like how pitiful he looks right now. “beomgyu, i…”

“yeah, i know. i was wrong,” he continues, his soft smile twisting into a self-deprecating one. “i went from being nothing to less than nothing, and it just… it made me desperate. so, i kept trying, got mean; but you never cared, no matter what i did. i guess i thought that if i could never have you, maybe i should stay with minji, because then i could make you feel something for me. even if it was only hatred and disgust—anything was better than nothing.”

“beom—” you begin to say, but he's so lost in his feelings, so lost in the foreign sensation of talking to you and actually having you listen to him, he can't stop himself.

“i just wanted you to pay attention to me. and i could—you know—keep an eye on you. but you… you don't give a shit about me, you don't even consider me as a man,” he laughs. “if i think about it, maybe i was trying to make myself an option for you, at least, and that i could show you what you're missing if i tried hard enough. but you could never actually see me that way, and… and it's all my fault.” he lets out another harsh laugh, making you wince. 

“i… i didn't know,” you say awkwardly. he takes a shaky breath before continuing.

“i've been begging for you just to give me scraps of you, because i thought it'd be better than nothing. all i ever wanted was for you to at least consider me, but you don't, you never did, and because of what i've done, you never will. i know i was wrong, i know everything is my fault; but i just wanted to be important to you, can't you understand that?” his eyes are pleading like they were when you last saw him. he's not asking for much, not even really asking for anything, and for some reason, it hurts your heart a bit.

because beomgyu is right, of course. you’ve never really cared about him, but that's not all of it, is it? you were resolved to your indifference before he even uttered a word to you, and while the disgust you've always felt for him is his fault, can you truthfully say that you’d have given him the time of day if he were nice to you? probably not, because of his association with minji. in your mind, there was no reason he’d like you if he knew her first, so his intentions were rejected before he could ever even understand them.

“i really didn't know,” is all you can think to repeat.

“i know,” he says with a bitter smile. you lick your lips before continuing.

“but i do know that i wouldn't have liked you even if you were nice to me. i don't… i don't talk to guys who are involved with minji. there's just… no point, i guess. and she liked you, and i thought you liked her, so… so i didn’t bother to get to know you.” beomgyu’s eyes are watery, but he retains his smile. he was doomed from the start, it seems. 

“i should’ve just talked to you myself instead of using her to get close to you,” he whispers.

“yeah,” you reply, and his smile finally drops; but what else could you possibly say? if he hadn't gotten involved with minji, you'd have probably liked him. he's handsome, of course, and you can't deny that he's funny. and, well, you two do seem to have a lot in common based on what you know from small talk he'd make with your parents during family dinners.

“i'm sorry,” he murmurs. “i'm really, really sorry. even if you didn't like me, even if you never would've no matter what, i shouldn't have treated you the way i did. i don't blame you for hating me, and i should be grateful you haven't done anything other than ignore me.” he means what he says, but it doesn't sound like it, because he doesn't feel grateful at all. he feels utterly hopeless. in the end, your indifference was more painful than any intentional retaliation could’ve been. 

you are silent. he's not trying to make you feel sorry for him, and you know it, but that makes you feel even sorrier. you're still struggling to form an appropriate response when he breaks the silence.

“i like listening to you talk,” he blurts out, making your eyes widen. “well, you don't really talk to me, but i overhear you a lot. i like listening to everything you say, and i like the way you say it. i like how you look, how you dress, how you laugh. and i… i like how you see the world.”

“don't you think i'm a little pessimistic?” you ask, your lips subconsciously curling up in a small smile. of all the things beomgyu could tell you he likes about you, that is truly something you never anticipated.

“i think it makes you interesting,” he says quickly, his smile tentatively returning. 

you let out a soft laugh—the first one you've ever directed at him—and he can't help but straighten up with a bit of pride at having made you happy, even if just a little.

after your laughter, though, you think back on all the things you've wanted to ask beomgyu since that night at soobin’s. you know he'll tell you the truth, so you ask, “... were you the one who messed with my stuff?”

“yeah,” he replies with no hesitation. the sheer ecstasy of your attention makes him quite forthcoming, no matter how ugly the answers to your questions may be.

“even my panties?” well, that one is a bit more difficult to answer. 

“... yeah,” he sheepishly mumbles after a pause, but his next words are hurried. “and everything soobin said i did, i did. scaring guys away, being an asshole to you for attention, uh, jerking off to you in the bathroom… all of it. i know i'm fucked up, and i know i probably scare you, but i would never hurt you. i just want to love you. i just… i want you to care about me.” 

you take a breath and begin, “i—”

“wait! before you say anything, i just want you to know, it's… it's okay if you don't like me,” you can tell the words are like lead in his mouth, “but can't you just acknowledge me a little bit?” christ, he's so pathetic. you're not used to him being so… sweet? to you, but maybe you could be. 

for as much as beomgyu has been thinking about his failed confession, you can't lie and say you haven't been thinking about it, too. you really did love soobin, but there was always a bit of reservation on both of your parts—a quiet kind of affection that you were happy to let grow organically; but your love was never all-consuming, never desperate, never aching. but beomgyu… beomgyu looks like he'd prostrate himself at your feet if it meant you'd give him the time of day, and he would. 

“i can,” you say simply, and his eyes widen.

“you… you can? what do you—”

“i can pay attention to you. i can care about you.”

his face tenses and his adam’s apple bobs. his voice is strained when he asks, “what are you saying?”

“i'm saying, i’m willing to get to know you the way you know me. i just want to see how things go, because… i don't know, i kind of... like how weird you are.” 

elation, triumph, and sheer relief overwhelm him. he doesn't want to ask his next question, but he feels like he has to. “what about soobin?”

you purse your lips and answer, “we… we broke up. no hard feelings, we just kind of realized we wanted different things out of our relationship, i guess.”

“oh, thank god,” he murmurs as he releases a shaky breath. theoretically, he should at least offer perfunctory condolences, but you two are way past such insincerity. you both know he's over the moon right now, and he's spent more than enough time lying.

only now do you notice that he's somehow managed to scoot closer and closer to you until your legs are touching without your knowledge. the clothing between you doesn't do anything to tamp down the buzzing sensation at the tentative contact. you look back up at him to meet his gaze, and his eyes are trained on you like you're the only person in the world. now that you think about it, you’ve caught glimpses of this kind of focus before—the kind of focus in which he looks at you as if everything and everyone else besides you has faded away.

his gaze flicks from your eyes down to your lips before refocusing. he leans in so close, you can see every minute detail of his face. long lashes, round eyes, slightly-chapped lips he keeps on licking from sheer nervousness. 

his voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “please, can i…” he doesn't dare to finish his question, so there it hangs, unspoken yet unfathomably heavy. 

it’s like there’s a strange sort of magnetic pull drawing you to him. before you can recount all of the reasons why this is a bad idea—at least, so soon—you tell him, “okay.” 

that's more than enough, it seems, because in a flash, beomgyu cups your cheeks in his big, warm hands and tenderly traces his thumb along your jaw before pulling you in. 

the first meeting is pure electricity. your lips immediately slot together as if they were always meant to be that way—as if everything else was simply an obstacle leading to this inevitability. the hums of energy you feel at your clothed legs touching is nothing compared to the way every nerve in your body is set ablaze right now. you feel him shudder before he reluctantly pulls away. his eyes never leave yours, and the look in his eyes is so intense—so hungry—you feel breathless under its weight.

“thank you, i've been wanting to do that for forever,” he mutters breathlessly, and he should be finished by now, but his hands remain on your face. he gently pushes your hair behind your ears before adding, “can i… can i show you what else i've been wanting to do? i swear, i'll be perfect, and i'll stop whenever you want. i know it's fast to you, but it's not to me. i just… i want you to feel how much you mean to me. but… but i won't push you.” he’s serious about that, you know, but he looks like he'll die if you don't let him prove himself to you. his cheeks are flushed, and if his squirming weren't enough, the obvious tent in his sweatpants tells you everything you need to know. 

for the second time tonight, you take a deep breath and say, “okay.”

“oh,” he groans as he pulls you back in for another kiss. this one is much more fierce, utterly insatiable. his tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entry, and you eagerly oblige. he moans into your mouth as his tongue tangles with yours, trying to commit every centimeter to memory. he’s embarrassingly hard humiliatingly fast, but he’s fantasized about this for so long, who can blame him? 

when you two break for air, his eyes are darkened with lust as he gulps and asks, “can i—” 

before he can finish, you cut him off by palming him through his sweatpants. the groan he releases is utterly guttural and animalistic in nature, and you carefully add, “do whatever you want.”

his breath catches in his throat at the permission, and with shaky hands and unsteady steps, he leads you to his bedroom. you're on the bed in an instant, and in mere moments, he's stripped you of the clothes he gave you to wear. you feel a bit uncomfortable, honestly, knowing he’s probably comparing you to minji; but before you can dwell on it, he's gulping and reverently whispering, “you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen.”

before you even have the time to feel shy or embarrassed, his hands are all over you—your chest, your hips, your ass—but he won't let himself get lost in clumsy touches and lose sight of his ultimate goal: making you feel better than you ever have. he kisses down your jaw and throat before planting a searing mark at the base of your neck. he soothes the sting with his tongue, outwardly apologizing for the slight pain, but internally, he's buzzing with excitement at the prospect of leaving something tangible on you—something that ties you to him.

his mouth purposefully trails down to your chest, sucking on one peak and teasing the other before switching over. he beams into your chest when he hears you moan. slowly, he pops his mouth off and briefly kisses you again before planting kisses down your stomach, and finally, finally, finally, to your core. you're not sure how much time has passed, but you do know you've never been so wet before in your life. he spreads your legs open and groans when he sees you glistening for him. then, he looks up at you with watery eyes. there's yet another question there, you can see it, so you spread your legs a bit wider in a silent invitation. 

suddenly, his lips are buried in your folds. he leaves kisses, but try as he might, he doesn't have the wherewithal to control his hunger. when he takes his first lick, you feel an infernal heat beginning to consume you completely. he moans in pure ecstasy when he tastes you, and you can feel the vibrations reverberating through your cunt, your legs, your entire body. 

“so fucking good,” he whispers, his breath warm against your naked lips, and that's all the warning you get before he begins to lick you and suck up your slick as if he were a starving man.

you can't help but writhe beneath him as his tongue circles over your clit, and he removes one of the hands he was using to keep you spread open for him and presses it on your lower stomach to keep you in place. his other arm remains firmly locked around your thigh, nearly bruising you with his desperate grip. men do not usually treat giving head to women as if women are showing them the greatest kindness of their lives by allowing them to, but he clings to you so hungrily, you know that in his mind, you are. 

you begin to reach your peak far too quickly, and you think you moan something about being close—you're not really sure—when he slides his tongue into your hole and begins to thrust it in and out. his nose remains buried in your cunt, and you let out a cry of his name as patches of white explode behind your eyelids. he looks up at you as you come, his eyes shining with amazement and, strangely, gratitude.

as you're coming down, he licks his upturned lips and dazedly whispers, “i made you feel good, right?”

you let out a soft laugh and breathlessly reply, “yes, that was… you made me feel really good. so… what else do you want to show me?” 

his eyes go from innocent to dark again as he processes your words. he anxiously bites his lip as he slowly pulls off his shirt, then his sweatpants and boxers. his cock is painfully hard, pathetically leaking with precum and even redder than usual—because of the way he was humping the bed mere moments ago as you were lost in the haze of getting the best oral of your life. 

it’s pretty, just like every other part of him, and you have no doubt that he'll stretch you out nearly beyond what you'll be able to handle. it twitches traitorously with need as he stares at you, still dripping into his previously-crisp sheets. he unsteadily grabs his base and looms over you as he begins to tease himself up and down your cunt. he shudders at the contact, but he keeps his eyes locked with yours. he wants to watch every minuscule movement in your face as he finally, finally makes you understand how much he can do for you.

he begins to push in, one hand braced beside your head as his fat tip breaches your entrance. you both let out strangled cries at the insertion, and it takes every ounce of willpower and luck he can muster to not come immediately. he's jerked his cock raw for countless nights wishing he were fucking you, and here you are, looking up at him like he's the only thing you see. just like he's always longed for. it's an intoxicating sensation. 

“you're so fucking tight,” he groans as he works himself in. “so perfect around me.”

he draws himself out before thrusting in a little further. then again. then again. each time, he gains a bit more of you, splitting you open further and further with every movement of his hips. his veiny cock drags against the most pleasurable spot in your cunt every time. he's whimpering now, and he'd be shy in any other context, but not right now. he's fucking a girl raw for the first time, and not just any girl, the girl. the girl he’s wanted since… well, always. he couldn't care less about the fact that he sounds like a whore.

when he pulls out and slams back in again, he's finally completely sheathed in you. his eyes roll back in absolute pleasure as he lets out a guttural moan. you, on the other hand, feel so full, feel so right, you're writhing beneath him. with a shuddering breath, beomgyu pulls out almost completely before drilling into you again and again. his pace is frantic—carnal, even. when you thread your fingers in his hair, he lets out a desperate whine. 

“you feel so—mm, fuck!—so perfect. squeezing me so fucking tight, i can't—oh, god!” he babbles as he pounds himself into you. he has just enough awareness to take his skilled fingers and roll your clit as he loses himself in you. he keeps up his brutal pace in an act of frenzy.

“never—nngh—never wanna stop,” he whines as tears begin to pool in his eyes. they fall completely when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a filthy kiss. he tastes like you, and you realize you like it that way. you realize you like how pathetic he is, how much he’s loved you all this time, how much he needs you. you break from him and sink your teeth into his neck like he did to you, marking him as your own, and he lets out an animalistic cry he did not know he was capable of making.

“fuck, yes, yes, yes!” he cries out as his aching balls slap against you with every thrust. “please, please come. need to feel you—ah!—feel you come on my cock.”

his gaze finally parts from yours to look at your stomach. how nice would it be to be one with you completely? as much as he wants to, he can't stay inside of you forever, can't enmesh his body with yours, but he can become a part of you in a different way. he can plant his seed in your stomach, can mix his dna with yours in a physical, living, breathing product of his love for you—if he's fortunate enough. that way, he’ll be tied to you the way he never wanted to be tied to minji, and you’ll be tied to him just the same. but you haven't even agreed to date him. you're just lost in lust, right?

“i’m… i’m gonna come,” he pants as he continues to work your clit and fuck you like a crazed man. “have to pull out.” the words are almost painful to say, but he grits his teeth and says them, anyway.

shockingly, you wrap your legs around his waist and say between labored breaths, “you don't have to.” 

the whine he lets out is laughably emasculating, but he doesn't care. he fucks you even more fiercely and rolls your clit with even more desperation, and you can feel the tension in your stomach about to snap. you let out a broken moan of his name as you come undone beneath him, your mind flooding with nothing but unmarred bliss, and your cunt clenching around him so suffocatingly, he can barely even thrust.

“oh, sh-shit!” he cries out as his orgasm throws his world off-kilter. his cum floods your insides then—thick and hot—and he can feel you squeezing him for every last drop. he gives a few more weak thrusts before collapsing on top of you. you both pant in exhaustion, but once he catches his breath, he buries his face into the crook of your sweaty neck.

“i love you so fucking much,” he whispers, his breath making your skin tingle. he pulls away and looks up at you. “and you… you’ll love me back. i'll make sure everything—i won't let anything go wrong. and if minji tries anything, i'll ruin her fucking life. i swear, i'll be perfect. i'll be the perfect boyfriend, husband, father of—”

“tone down the crazy,” you warn as you lightly pinch his cheek. 

“s-sorry, i just got excited,” he blushes. “but i mean it, you know? i won't waste this, i promise. i'll be good for you every day, and i’ll show you how much i love you until you feel the same way. and our family—i mean, your family, they might be mad, but we'll deal with whatever happens, okay? and if they can't accept us, then we always have my family. they won't treat you badly, i swear.” he means it. his family doesn't even really know minji, and when they did meet her, they didn't care for her. 

beomgyu is looking at you with his watery, pleading eyes, and you know he'd give you the entire world if you let him. if yours and minji’s families hate you after this, he’ll be your family, and you kind of hate your family, anyway. he loves you, and oddly enough, you can really see things working out just as he says they will. 

you can't help but let out a tired laugh. “okay, i believe you.”

he groans in relief as he kisses you again, deeply and tenderly and lovingly, and you can see yourself falling in love with him, too. 

notes pt. 2: i hope u all liked this one! it's been a while since i've written beomgyu this way and i kinda missed him. ik i'm not the best at writing him but pls dont be mean. and again if u enjoyed this please leave feedback!

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[ellexamor]

Hidden in the final episode's credits 👀

Love Game in Eastern Fantasy · 2024

[ellexamor]

@侖侖RR

[ellexamor]

— Borrowed time, part 5

‼️Caleb x reader x Sylus. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely does not stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“I bet you still thought of me.”

song: party 4 u by charlie xcx [this song has been the main inspiration for this series, so whatever you feel listening go this song, i hope you’ll feel that while reading this series as well]

word count = 9.6k

i appreciate all likes, comments, reblogs, and asks. i may not reply to all of them, but i want you to know that i reread them over and over <3

i cant say im proud of this chapter, and tbh theres so much i hate about this part, but if i dont post this right now, i dont think i ever will, so please be kind, but i appreciate constructive criticisms! if this part felt unsatisfactory, just pretend this update didnt happen lol

ps. thank you so much for over 1k followers??? heres a thousand roses for all of you 😭🌹

part 1

The door creaks open.

The closet’s darkness slips away, replaced by blinding light and loud cheers.

But everything feels distant.

Your breaths are shallow. The warmth of his breath still clings to your skin, the ghost of his lips a lingering echo. His touch—still branded into your waist, your jaw, the hollow between your ribs. Your pulse hasn’t settled.

The air outside is cool, but your skin burns.

You stumble slightly as you step out, Sylus behind you—his shirt rumpled, one button undone. His silver hair is tousled, a little too messy. Your lips sting. You know you look wrecked.

And the crowd eats it up. Whoops and whistles explode around you.

You try to smile. You try to breathe.

But then your eyes land on him.

Caleb.

He’s across the room, half-lit by the cheap string lights, drink forgotten in his hand. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable—except for his eyes.

They are cold.

Piercing.

It’s not anger. It’s like he’s looking right through you—like you’ve somehow ruined something sacred. Like you’re the disappointment.

Your chest tightens.

And then, just behind him, you catch a flash of movement.

MC.

Her head is down, hair shielding her face, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she brushes past him, shouldering her way through the crowd.

Caleb snaps out of his trance in a heartbeat. His face shifts—concern overtaking scorn—as he calls after her and follows without hesitation.

And just like every time before, he doesn’t even spare you a second glance.

The cheers fade into static. Laughter turns tinny and distant, swallowed by the ringing in your ears.

It hits you all at once.

The heat. The mess. The press of Sylus’s body against yours. The way you leaned into it. The way you wanted to. The way you let yourself.

And then—MC’s face. Her voice. Her smile when she told you he’s kinda cute, isn’t he?

Guilt slams into you like a car.

It punches the breath from your lungs.

You feel it in your throat, acidic and raw, threatening to spill. A sickening twist coils in your stomach, bile licking at the edges of your tongue.

What have you done?

What did you just let happen?

Your skin crawls. The warmth you felt seconds ago now feels wrong—disgusting. It clings to you like smoke. Like shame.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold in the nausea curling up your chest.

Sylus says something beside you, low and teasing, but you don’t catch the words.

All you can hear is your own blood rushing in your ears.

And all you can feel is the weight of what you’ve just done. The taste of it. Bitter. Burning.

And the worst part?

You don’t even know who you’re more disgusted with—Caleb…

Or yourself.

You don’t wait for the whispers.

You don’t wait to see if MC turns back or if Caleb says anything at all.

You push through the crowd, pulse hammering in your throat, lungs clawing for air like there’s not enough oxygen in the room, not enough space in your ribs for this many feelings, this much shame.

The door slams shut behind you but it’s not enough.

Not enough to drown out the ghost of Sylus’s hands still on your waist. Not enough to erase the memory of his mouth against yours, hot and unbothered and too real.

Not enough to wipe away the scowl in Caleb’s eyes or the way MC couldn’t even look at you.

The night is too loud. The world is too close. Everything—everything—is pressing in on you.

So you push everything out of your way, scouring to find air.

You don’t think, don’t breathe, just bolt down the steps of the villa, sandals slapping against stone, the wind catching in your hair, stinging your eyes, stealing your balance. You don’t care.

The beach calls to you like a goddamn siren.

You trip onto the sand, knees buckling, breath shaking, heart feral in your chest like it’s trying to break out and leave you behind. You tear your heels off, toss them somewhere you’ll never find again, and march straight toward the water like it might wash you clean.

The ocean crashes louder than your thoughts.

Salt fills your nose. Wind tangles in your hair. The stars above are too bright, mocking. Too calm for the storm splitting your insides apart.

You drop to your knees at the shoreline, water licking at your calves, seeping into your clothes, and you let it. You need it. You need the cold. You need the sting. You need to feel something real.

Because everything in your chest is twisted. Twisted and wrong and out of place.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against your knees, breathing like each inhale might keep you from unraveling completely. You wish it were just the alcohol. Just a mistake. Just a hazy memory you could laugh off tomorrow.

But you remember it too clearly.

His mouth. The weight of his gaze in the dark. The way his hand didn’t hesitate when it slid against your jaw, when he leaned in like he’d been waiting to taste you all night.

And you let him.

Worse—you wanted it.

The thought turns your stomach. You dig your fingers deeper into the wet sand, nails scraping at the earth, like maybe you can bury the part of you that’s smiling.

Because she’s there.

Somewhere inside you—beneath the nausea, beneath the shame—there’s a version of you curled up, smug and satisfied. A version who watched MC’s face twist, who watched Caleb’s scowl turn cold, and felt nothing but satisfaction.

That part of you is smiling.

You hate her.

Because that part of you—the one that enjoyed it—she’s been quiet for a long time. Always biting her tongue, always watching from the corners while MC took the spotlight, while Caleb gave his warmth to someone else. You taught her to wait. To be kind. To be better.

But god, you’re tired.

Tired of twinkling for people who never look up long enough to see you. Tired of being loved only in parts—when you’re easy, when you’re quiet, when you’re beautiful and harmless.

You’ve always been the supporting character in everyone else’s story. The best friend. The comic relief. The tragic footnote.

So tonight, you wanted to be the villain.

So tonight, she let herself out.

You let her kiss him.

You let her drag Sylus into that closet and tilt your chin up with a smile that begged “ruin me if you want to.”

And she did.

Now here you are, buried in the sand and sea, trying to figure out if the guilt eating at you is heavier than the satisfaction still curling at the edge of your lips.

You’re not supposed to feel this way.

You’re not supposed to want to be seen like that. Wanted like that.

Not at the cost of MC. Not at the cost of Caleb’s crumbling expression.

But you do.

You wanted them to see. You wanted to be wanted. And for a second—you finally were.

And for that, you are repenting your sins, kneeling by the shore and letting the cold eat you whole.

The tide rushes in again, crashing against your skin.

You raise your head, throat raw, eyes burning.

You sit there, watching the waves hit and retreat, over and over, counting the sparkling stars reflected on the ocean surface, until you could not feel your feet.

This is your way of atoning—because you fear the girl curled up inside you, biting on her nails every time a tear threatens to fall. Because the damage she has done once you let her out for a fraction of a moment is irreversible. Collateral.

And because you can’t promise this will be the last time you let her out.

You finally return to your room, dread curling tight in your chest like a vice. Each step down the hallway feels heavier than the last, your body moving on autopilot, mind spiraling with possibilities.

You hesitate at the door. Fingers resting on the knob. You aren’t sure what you’re bracing for.

An angry Michaela?

A tear-streaked Michaela?

A cold, distant Michaela who won’t even look you in the eye?

You don’t know which would be worse.

The knob turns with a quiet click, the door creaking open. You take a breath—slow, bracing—and step inside.

Empty.

The room is quiet. Still.

Her suitcase remains tucked in the corner. A half-drunk bottle of water sits on the bedside table. The lights are off, the curtains drawn. Not a trace of her. Not even the ghost of footsteps.

Somehow, it’s worse than yelling.

You stand there for a moment, motionless, caught in the heavy weight of nothingness.

Then your phone buzzes.

MC [02:46 AM]: Had to clear my head. Be back later.

Short. Punctuated. Not cold, but definitely not warm either.

And with that, you’re left alone.

Surrounded by silence.

Sinking into it.

You sit on the edge of the bed, heart thrumming against your ribs.

You should feel relieved.

You grip the edge of the mattress tighter.

You should be thankful the confrontation didn’t happen yet.

But all you feel is this crawling unease.

Like the silence is just the eye of the storm.

And when she comes back—

You’re not sure which version of Michaela you’ll meet.

And worse—you’re not sure which version of you she’ll find.

You get changed and crawl under the covers, body heavy, soul heavier. The silence is your only companion—thick, choking, unforgiving. You bury yourself into the blankets like they could shield you from the weight of what you’ve done.

Eventually, exhaustion drags you under.

•

Rustling wakes you.

Sharp. Precise. Intentional.

You blink your eyes open, and there she is.

Michaela.

Her back turned to you.

Her suitcase is open on the floor, half-filled. Clothes folded with a neatness that feels hostile.

You sit up slowly, throat dry.

She doesn’t look at you, nor say a word.

You rise. Move toward your side of the room. Get ready in silence. The kind of silence that screams.

Every breath feels wrong. Every second, guilt crawls further up your throat, pressing, choking, aching.

You swallow hard, then try to break the weight as you part your mouth to speak.

Your voice is quiet. Fragile.

“Michaela… last night, I—”

Michaela freezes for only a second before she turns around, face already wearing a smile that feels too sharp, too bright.

“Was such a blast! You gotta tell me all about what happened in that closet!” She winks.

“No—I—”

“Don’t think too deeply into it!” She waves her hand casually, like you’d just brought up a funny memory from a party instead of the reason her bag is half-packed. She lets out a breathy laugh, brushing her hair behind her ear. “It’s college, Yn. People kiss like, all the time. It’s nothing.” Her face drops slightly, but returns back to its beaming state. She reaches for your hands, and her voice lowers down. “It’s just a kiss, isn't it?”

A pause.

“Y-yeah,” you utter.

Her face beams once more as she squeezes your hands. “Besides, he is a pretty good kisser, isn’t he?”

You stare at her. The smile she’s wearing is dazzling—carefully crafted, practiced.

But it doesn’t reach her eyes.

And that hurts more than if she’d screamed at you.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

Eventually, the two of you gather the last of your things and leave the room. You walk side by side, the air between you tight with everything unsaid.

Outside, everyone is saying their goodbyes. Laughter, hugs, last-minute selfies. But none of it touches you. Not really.

You spot Caleb near the car, arms crossed, jaw tight.

He shifts his weight, arms crossed, leaning against the car with that infuriatingly calm expression—like he’s been waiting to deliver a blow.

“Well, well,” he drawls, eyes dragging over your form. “Eventful night, huh?”

You freeze mid-step.

His tone is light, teasing, even laced with that familiar cocky lilt—but it cuts deeper than any insult. Because you know Caleb. You know exactly when he means it. When the smile on his face is just another weapon.

“Hope he was worth the show,” he adds with a smirk. You can’t quite get a read on his face, can’t really understand whether the smirk is teasing, jabbing, or insulting.

You don’t answer. You can’t. So you walk past him without a word.

But he’s not done.

He leans in just slightly, voice dropping low enough for only you to hear:

“I bet you still thought of me.”

It hits you like a slap. You don’t flinch. You don’t give him that satisfaction. But it scorches down your spine, curling into something heavy and sour in your stomach.

All words run dry in your throat.

Because you know you did, and he knows you did.

So, swallowing down the lump in your throat, you quietly climb into the car.

The ride back is a void—quiet and cold despite the sun that floods through the windows.

Michaela sits in the front, headphones in, eyes fixed outside. Her expression is unreadable, a delicate mask of serenity.

Caleb drives in silence, but the tension in his body betrays him.

His knuckles tighten around the steering wheel. The muscle in his jaw ticks every time the car slows.

And yet—despite everything—you still see the way his hand occasionally reaches over to Michaela’s thigh. Subtle. Familiar. He squeezes gently, reassuringly, every time the silence grows too loud.

You sit in the backseat, hands clenched in your lap, stomach churning, heart clawing at your ribcage.

Because somehow, in this cramped little car filled with silence and ghosts, you still feel like the one who doesn’t belong.

•

You finally find yourself back in your familiar space.

The door clicks shut behind you.

Shoes off. Bag down. Keys tossed on the counter.

The silence wraps around you, soft and undemanding.

For the first time in days, you breathe without pretending.

You shower, letting the water scald the memory of Michaela’s laugh off your skin.

You eat something. Actual food. Not alcohol. Not regret.

And for a brief, flickering moment, you start to feel okay again.

Until your phone pings.

A message.

Unknown [6:43 PM]: So?

You freeze.

Every part of you stills—except for your heart, which begins to pound like it remembers the thing you’ve tried so hard to forget since last night.

Something forbidden.

Something thrilling.

Something wrong.

The memory comes back in flashes as guilt claws its way up your throat, hot and unrelenting. It tastes like shame.

You stare at the screen until the words blur.

And then, with trembling hands, you type.

You [6:50 PM]: It was a mistake.

You [6:50 PM]: Don’t text me again.

You hit send before you can think twice.

Your phone slips from your grip, landing face-down on the bed as you bury your face in your hands.

“It was a mistake,” you mumbled.

•

The following days were the most peaceful ones you’ve had in what felt like forever—quiet, slow, and mercifully uneventful. No parties. No whispered gossip. No sharp glances from Caleb or strained smiles from Michaela. Just the soft hum of routine and the space to finally breathe.

You sleep more. Eat better. Enjoying the lasts of your break. You’re rebuilding yourself piece by piece—one uneventful morning at a time.

But the moment you start feeling a little more like yourself, Monday catches up.

The quiet comfort of the break ends the second your feet hit campus tiles. The world spins forward like nothing ever happened.

Michaela acts like nothing ever happened.

She greets you with the same bright smile, the same light giggle, the same affectionate bump of the shoulder. As if that night was just another one of many forgettable college party blurs. As if your lips had never touched Sylus’s. As if her eyes hadn’t dulled the second they landed on you.

And you pretend too.

Because it’s easier that way. Safer.

Later that day, she loops her arm through yours as you walk out of class, swinging your hands between you. “Let’s go shopping after lectures? I need a new outfit or something for the first viewing next week,” she beams.

You nod before you can think too hard about it.

“Oh—” she adds, with that little flicker in her voice that always precedes something calculated, “I invited Caleb too.”

Your smile doesn’t falter, but your stomach twists.

The shopping trip is tolerable at best. Michaela slips into her spotlight with ease—twirling in front of mirrors, holding up dresses with playful pouts, laughing just a bit too loud at jokes that don’t quite land. Caleb sticks close, fingers brushing her waist, whisper her ear when she grins too hard.

But his eyes wander.

You catch him sometimes, gaze flicking to you when Michaela isn’t looking. Just for a second. Just enough to leave that same sour taste in your throat.

You don’t acknowledge it.

You can’t.

Instead, you smile when Michaela pulls you into the dressing room with her. You nod when Caleb asks if you’re tired. You pretend not to notice how her laugh dims a little when he lingers by your side for too long. You go through the motions—lift the hangers, compliment the colors, offer the safe, neutral opinions you’ve mastered so well.

It’s like muscle memory now. Playing your role.

Because if you don’t look too hard, you can almost believe this is normal. That nothing’s changed. That your mouth hadn’t betrayed you. That your silence wasn’t stitched from guilt.

By the time the sun dips below the skyline and the three of you step out of the store, bags in hand and feigned joy in your lungs, you feel wrung out—drained from smiling too much and meaning none of it.

Caleb says something—something teasing, probably—and Michaela laughs like a girl in love.

You stay a step behind them, clutching your bag a little too tightly.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

You tell yourself you deserve this.

Because in this triangle of careful lies and quiet betrayals—

You’re the one who kissed the wrong boy.

And you were the one who almost said yes again.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Michaela says, as if it just came to her. “You have to come to the premiere next month.”

You blink. “The… premiere?”

She grins. “The film. The one we shot over break? We’re doing a small screening—kind of like a soft launch—for friends and crew.” She swings her shopping bags absentmindedly. “It’s just this tiny old theatre on 12th. Indie vibes, red velvet seats, ancient projector that might burst into flames halfway through—super charming.”

You force a smile. “Sounds cute.”

“You’ll come, right?” she says, looking at you over the rim of her cup. “I already told them to save you a seat.”

You hesitate—but not long enough for her to notice. “Sure.”

She beams. “Perfect.” Then, casually: “Sylus will be there too. I made sure he’d come.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the straps of your bag.

“Made sure?” you echo, trying to keep your tone even.

Michaela shrugs, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes—the kind that always means she’s saying more than she lets on. “Yeah! I’ve been seeing him pretty frequently these days. Bumped into him a few times after the shoot… had coffee once or twice. He’s actually really funny when he’s not being all mysterious and broody.”

“Oh,” Caleb joins, light and amused. “Him. Great. Can’t wait to hear him brood about cinematography or whatever the hell it is he does.”

Michaela laughs, linking her arm with yours again. “Be nice. He’s actually been really helpful lately.”

“Helpful,” Caleb echoes, quirking a brow as he pops the lollipop from his mouth. “Didn’t realize mysterious bad boys were part of the crew now.”

“He’s not a ‘bad boy’,” she says, rolling her eyes.

She says it lightly, but there’s a deliberate lilt in her voice—a softness, almost flirtatious.

Your grip on your bag tightens, the fabric biting into your fingers.

You nod once, slow. “Didn’t know you two were close.”

She hums. “We’re getting there.”

Then, with a coy smile: “He asked a lot about you, though. Thought that was cute.”

Your chest constricts. The air feels thinner somehow.

“Anyway,” she says, skipping in front and spinning to fully face you, “it’s going to be such a fun night. You should wear that black slip dress—the one you wore to Jenna’s party? You looked so good in that.”

And all you could mutter in response was a short hum along with a smile.

•

The following days were as normal as they could’ve been. Well, aside from the fact that he has suddenly been everywhere.

At first, it was subtle.

A glimpse of him through the glass-paneled door of the editing lab, leaning over a student’s shoulder.

The sound of his voice drifting down the hallway—low, smooth, impossible to mistake.

Then you saw him again, this time in the courtyard. Talking to a group from the business department, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a coffee he barely drank from.

Word spread quickly.

“I thought he took most of his classes online?” someone whispered nearby.

“He does. No one ever sees him around.”

“Then why’s he here now?”

“Who knows? Maybe to complete his last courses before graduation?”

“He’s a business major, right?”

“Yeah, but like… old money business. Scary smart. The kind that makes you nervous to breathe too loud.”

You kept your head down, but your pulse never quite stayed still.

Because every time you caught sight of him, he never once looked your way—

And yet, you felt his presence like it was stitched into the fabric of your day.

He was too composed. Too polished. Too calculated.

And somehow, his silence was louder than if he’d cornered you outright.

“Just a mistake,” you mumble to yourself each time you see his figure waltz by.

But your quiet whispers to calm your nerves didn’t prove to be a very sustainable method.

Not when the universe seems hellbent on rubbing it in.

You see them together.

Once in the corridor outside the media building—her laugh echoing off the walls, his hand casually in his pocket, head tilted down to hear her better. They walk side by side, their pace easy, unhurried.

Michaela looks effortless next to him—bright-eyed, golden, her hand brushing his arm as she says something that makes him smile.

Not his usual smirk. Not the quiet, condescending curve of his mouth he wore like armor.

You stop in your tracks.

Just for a second.

Long enough for Michaela to spot you.

She waves. Cheerful. Unbothered. “Hey babe!”

He followed her gaze and landed on you. The smile on his lips curls up a little higher as you meet his eyes.

“Hello,” amusement coats his voice.

“Hi—”

“I’m probably not going to be free today for our usual hangouts,” Michaela cuts in, turning to you with an apologetic pout. “I asked Sylus to help with some of my work… You can hang out with Caleb by yourself, right?”

Before you can answer, she adds with a dramatic sigh, “Please tell him to chill and that I’m fine—just really busy. He’s been blowing up my phone non-stop these days.”

You force a smile, nodding once. “Yeah. Of course.”

She beams, already tugging Sylus further down the hall.

He casts one last glance your way.

A flicker of something in his eyes—teasing, sharp, unreadable.

As soon as you’re left standing there, caught in the space between their footsteps and your silence, your phone buzzes.

You glance down,

Caleb [4:28 PM]: where are you

Caleb [4:28 PM]: arent we having dinner today

Caleb [4:28 PM]: are you with her? she’s not answering my texts

Your stomach tightens.

You can still hear Michaela’s laughter fading around the corner, Sylus’s low voice murmuring something back.

Caleb [4:29 PM]: nvm

Caleb [4:29 PM]: i’ll find you myself

You don’t even remember agreeing to it.

One minute you’re reading Caleb’s texts with a pit in your stomach, the next he’s striding up to you outside the lecture hall—jaw tense, eyes scanning over your shoulder like he’s half-expecting Michaela to appear.

“She’s with him, isn’t she?” he asks, no greeting, voice clipped.

You blink. “Caleb—”

His expression shifts. He exhales, scrubs a hand through his hair, and forces a smile.

“Whatever,” he says, eyes softening as they settle on you. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here.”

And just like that, the edge in his voice fades.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder. “I’m starving. Let’s go grab something before I start chewing my own arm off.”

You hesitate for half a second, but he’s already walking ahead, glancing back to make sure you follow.

•

Dinner ends up being at this tiny place tucked behind the arts building—warm lighting, mismatched chairs, the kind of quiet hum that makes everything feel a little softer.

You sit across from him, arms tucked against your chest, still a little shell-shocked from everything.

He notices.

“You’ve been doing that thing again,” he says between bites. “Where your brain goes somewhere else and forgets to take your body with it.”

You snort. “And what thing are you doing right now?”

He leans back, exaggeratedly smug. “Being charming and irresistible, obviously.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth lifts. Just a little.

When your food arrives, he pushes his plate toward you with a quiet, “Try this. It’s better than yours.”

You glance at him, suspicious. “You haven’t even tasted mine.”

He grins. “Exactly. That’s how confident I am.”

It’s silly. Stupid, even. But it helps. The knot in your chest loosens just enough to let a small laugh slip out.

And then—just as you’re mid-bite—his voice softens.

“Hey.”

You look up.

His eyes are steady now. No teasing. No act.

“I never really got the chance to say it properly,” he murmurs. “About what happened at the filming set. That night. Everything.”

The clinking of cutlery fades around you.

“I was inconsiderate,” he says. “I thought too little. Acted too harsh. ”

He looks down at his hands for a moment. “I overlooked your feelings. And I hurt you more than I meant to.”

You don’t know what to say.

So you just watch him as he finally lifts his gaze again, softer now. Warmer.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m sorry.”

The air between you stills.

“Can’t say I really enjoyed the stunt you pulled though,” he jokes.

The dinner continues quietly—less heavy now, more like the old rhythm you used to share with him. Caleb cracks a few jokes, pokes fun at your serious face, and makes exaggerated guesses about the lives of people at nearby tables. You end up laughing more than you expected to.

Then, as you gather your things to leave, he tilts his head toward you with a mischievous glint.

“One drink?” he asks. “There’s this quiet place nearby. They make the worst cocktails I’ve ever had in my life. Thought you’d like it.”

You roll your eyes. “Sounds irresistible.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

The bar turns out to be this cozy hole-in-the-wall tucked behind a bookstore, dimly lit with string lights that look like they’ve been up since 2003. There’s an old piano in the corner no one plays, and the bartender greets Caleb like he’s a regular—which is both comforting and mildly concerning.

The music’s soft. The booths are deep and worn-in. And somehow, the world feels smaller here.

Caleb orders for both of you, raising a brow at you across the table. “Just trust me.”

You don’t. But you drink it anyway.

“You’re smiling,” he points out, pleased with himself.

You arch a brow. “Must be the worst cocktail I’ve ever had in my life.”

He lifts his glass. “To consistent branding.”

You clink glasses, laughter warm between you.

The kind of warmth that sneaks up on you—gentle, nostalgic, easy.

And then, somewhere between the second and third drink, he leans back, eyes softer now, his playful edge melting at the corners.

“You know,” he starts, swirling what’s left of his drink. “I don’t really remember what my parents look like anymore.”

You glance over at him.

“You don’t talk about your family much,” you say gently.

He lets out a breath. It could’ve been a laugh.

“Don’t really have one,” he says. “Not really.”

He lifts the glass to his lips, but doesn’t drink. Just rests it there, like he needs something to hold on to.

“Thankfully, Michaela’s took me in,” he continues. “Thankfully…” he repeats, quieter this time.

Your mood sours from the mention of her name. Of course she would be mentioned.

“She has always been sick since she was a kid. ‘Cause of her bad heart.”

You stay quiet. Let him keep going.

Something in his voice says he needs to.

“It’s always been my responsibility to keep her safe,” he says, almost like he’s reminding himself. “Since we were kids.”

His fingers drum against the glass, slow and steady, like a heartbeat.

“And whenever I failed to do so… well…” he trails off, then smiles, a crooked, breathy thing that doesn’t touch his eyes. “It never really ended very well.”

You feel the weight of those words, the way he tries to tuck pain into them like they’re just another part of the joke.

“He used to remind me constantly… of my purpose…” Caleb mumbles, his voice slowing, slurring slightly. His words are slipping like his grip on the glass—loose, tired, too worn down to hold on.

You watch his eyes begin to dim, heavy with drink and something much older.

“You’re too drunk, Caleb,” you say softly, reaching out to steady the glass before it tips.

He blinks at you. Slow. Dazed. And then his lips part, just barely.

“That I’m just a stray…” he whispers, almost to himself. “If no one needs me…”

His gaze unfocuses for a moment. You don’t think he even realizes he’s still speaking.

Your breath catches.

He’s still smiling, faintly, lazily. But it’s the kind of smile that scourches your chest.

You slide your hand across the table, fingers brushing his. He doesn’t move.

“You should go home,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer. Just leans further into his folded arms, the tension in his shoulders finally giving out.

You sigh, quietly.

The bar is warm, the night colder. And somehow, without much thought, you find yourself wrapping his arm around your shoulder, whispering half-hearted complaints as you half-drag, half-guide him out the door.

•

The days fly by like leaves lifted off the branches.

Nothing of the past has ever been mentioned ever again—the few days at the film set, the tense atmosphere between you and Michaela, nor the night Caleb slumped into your shoulder, murmuring half-truths through the haze of cheap liquor and old pain.

Classes resume. Group chats return to life. The cafeteria starts serving that awful tomato soup again. You slip back into the rhythm like nothing happened.

But the cracks are still there—just beneath the surface, waiting.

You’re sitting under the shade of a banyan tree behind the humanities building. It’s quiet, peaceful, a little breezy. Your lunch is balanced on your lap, half-eaten. Michaela plops down beside you with a soft “ugh” and a dramatic stretch.

“God,” Michaela says brightly, appearing at your side like she always does—seamlessly, like a breath of perfume. “He’s actually so funny once you get him to talk.”

You glance at her. “Who?”

She tilts her head, playful. “Sylus,” she says, drawing the name out. “He’s been helping me prep for the Q&A tomorrow. Said I needed to sound less ‘pageant’ and more ‘visionary.’ Whatever that means.”

Her laugh is breezy. Too light.

“Oh?” you respond, forcing a smile. “Sounds like you’re getting close.”

“Oh, it’s nothing serious,” she says quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Coffee here, late-night notes there. He’s just so…” She trails off, eyes sparkling. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

You hum. Noncommital.

Michaela doesn’t seem to notice—or pretends not to.

She takes a sip of her drink, then suddenly perks up. “Oh! The premiere’s this Saturday. Are you ready?”

You blink. “Ready for…?”

“The spotlight, duh,” she grins, nudging your arm. “To see yourself on screen, see the scenes you played in come together with the background music. And to see your name in the closing credit!”

You roll your eyes, but it makes you smile. “It’s not that serious.”

“It is,” she insists. “You looked amazing, even in the trailer. You carried that café scene.”

You snort. “I said four words.”

“Yeah, but you felt those four words. I almost cried.”

You laugh together, and for a second—it feels real. Familiar. Like the last few weeks never happened.

“Have you picked an outfit yet?” she asks between bites of salad.

You shake your head. “Was just gonna wear something simple.”

Michaela gasps. “No. You’re not walking into an indie theater full of film nerds in ‘something simple.’ You have to look effortless. Like you’re not trying, but also like… if you were trying, you’d end worlds.”

You glance at her, raising a brow. “That specific, huh?”

“Always,” she says, eyes sparkling.

And for a moment, it’s just the two of you.

Two girls beneath a tree, laughing about dresses and dumb film boys and the weight of appearances.

It feels soft. Safe. Like how things used to be.

And it hits you with a quiet ache.

Because even now, part of you still wants to believe this friendship can survive what’s been done.

That maybe you haven’t already burned the bridge.

That maybe—just maybe—she hasn’t noticed the match in your hand.

The rest of the week passes in quiet, deliberate steps.

Classes blur. The campus grows louder, buzzing with exams and end-of-semester deadlines. Your name gets tagged once or twice in the group chat—reminders about call times, wardrobe, a blurry meme of someone joking about crying during the Q&A.

You try on outfits with Michaela after class, like you promised.

It’s surprisingly normal—her room filled with scattered hangers, half-empty iced coffees, the faint sound of a playlist humming from her speaker.

You laugh. You bicker. You twirl.

And then—Saturday arrives.

The day of the premiere.

It’s just past golden hour when you step out of your building, the sky painted in soft streaks of lavender and orange. The air is crisp. The kind that wakes you up and reminds you something’s about to happen.

The old theatre on 12th is just as Michaela described it—small, a little run-down, with velvet seats that creak and a marquee that flickers every other letter.

There’s already a crowd forming outside. Film kids in too-large blazers and thrifted dresses, professors dressed semi-formal but too cool to act like it, and the crew—all wide-eyed and excited, passing around programs and laughter.

The theater glows in the soft spill of marquee lights, buzzing faintly overhead as you approach, clutching your clutch tighter than necessary.

The car pulls up just as you step onto the red-carpeted pavement.

And then you see her.

Michaela steps out first, the silk of her silver dress catching the light like water. It slips over her frame effortlessly—cool-toned and reflective, like moonlight turned human. Her lips are painted a soft coral, her eyes dusted with shimmer, and her smile—bright, unbothered, breathtaking—lands like a punch to the chest.

Then comes Caleb.

He unfolds from the car in slow, unhurried movements, sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled neatly to his elbows beneath a tailored blazer, the collar unbuttoned just enough to suggest trouble. His hair is slicked back, not too perfect, and a hint of cologne catches the air as he leans slightly toward Michaela, saying something close to her ear.

You feel it instantly—the pull. The heat.

They look like they stepped off a magazine spread. Like they’re here to be looked at. Owned it. Earned it.

Your stomach twists.

But then her eyes find yours.

“Yn!” Michaela beams the second she sees you, waving you over like the oldest friend in the world. Her voice cuts through the crowd with effortless warmth. “You look stunning! Oh my God!”

You force a smile, walking toward her as she reaches out and takes your hand for a brief spin. “See? I told you that dress was the one. Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” you murmur.

Caleb’s gaze drifts lazily toward you. His eyes widen slightly, just for a second—subtle, but there. And then that crooked, lazy smile of his crawls up his face like he’s trying not to let it show too much.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, voice low, just loud enough for you to hear over the soft chatter of the crowd. “You do look good today, shortcake.”

You don’t turn to look at him. You don’t smile. But your pulse stutters anyway.

Inside, the lights are low and flickering, casting everyone in gold.

You find your seats near the front.

You sit first.

Then Michaela slips in beside you, smoothing the back of her dress.

Then Caleb—his thigh brushing against hers, jacket folding as he slouches back with that usual too-cool ease.

And then—

An empty seat. Reserved with a single placard.

SYLUS QIN

You stare at it for a second too long.

The serif font. The clean white card. The space he hasn’t filled.

People slowly fill the theatre, and the chatter dies down as soon as the introducing speech starts. Cheers and laughter are exchanged as the producer welcomes everyone, and soon, lights begin to dim, the hush rippling through the room like a spell settling.

The first flicker of light sears across your vision—too bright, too sudden. You blink, disoriented.

The grainy opening shot bleeds onto the walls, painting everyone in uneven strobes of white and shadow. Your hands curl into the fabric of your dress.

Then you hear your voice.

Just a small line, off-screen. But it makes your throat tighten.

And then you’re there. You.

A glimpse of your face on camera—too quick, too exposed.

Your stomach flips. A cold rush spreads down your back. You shrink into your seat without meaning to.

The flickering continues—scenes switching with sharp cuts, too fast, too loud. Your eyes strain to follow. The glow of the screen presses against your skin like heat.

You feel it in your temples. In the base of your skull.

A thrum. A pressure.

You try to breathe slower.

But there you are again.

In the corner of the frame. Behind Michaela’s shoulder. Walking across the background, smiling as she delivers a perfect monologue.

You’re always there—but never really there.

Never centered. Never seen.

Just enough to anchor the shot.

Never enough to be remembered.

Your heart races faster.

You glance sideways—Michaela is watching intently, chin tilted just so, the soft rise and fall of her breathing unbothered. Her hand rests lightly on Caleb’s arm.

You try to focus on the screen, but the lights are too much now. The images change too quickly. Your skin feels hot. The sound dips and rises, warping in your ears. Laughter in the film echoes strangely, like it’s bouncing around inside your chest instead of the room.

You swallow down the tightness clawing its way up your throat.

Breathe.

You stare at your knees. At your folded hands.

The screen flashes white again—another cut. Another shot of Michaela framed in golden light, eyes brimming with perfectly timed tears.

And just behind her, out of focus—your figure. Barely lit. Barely there.

You curl your fingers into your dress and force yourself to stay still.

Because if you move—if you flinch, if you breathe too loud—it’ll feel too real.

Like this isn’t just a movie. Like your position in the film is just as it is in real life.

Your breath hitches.

Get through this. Just get through this.

But the room feels too full. Your lungs too tight. Your face too visible under the flickering screenlight.

So, with quivering hands, you quickly excuse yourself out quietly, muttering a soft “I need to use the toilet,” to Michaela.

Your fingers brush her arm as you squeeze past, knees knocking against the velvet seat in front of you.

You don’t look at Caleb.

You don’t dare.

The moment you reach the aisle, you bolt.

The darkness of the theater presses in from all sides, but the exit sign glows red—blessedly real, blessedly distant from the version of you being projected for everyone else to see.

You push through the heavy doors.

Out into the hallway.

Into the quiet.

It’s cooler out here. Dimmer. The hum of the projector muffled by layers of walls.

And still, your hands shake.

Your chest heaves.

You press your back against the corridor and squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe again.

To stop hearing the lines you spoke, the laugh that wasn’t yours, the way you stood just out of frame.

You weren’t supposed to matter.

You weren’t supposed to be seen.

But seeing yourself just that—seeing yourself as nothing more than a narrative device—knocks all air out of your lungs.

And so you do what you do best in situations like these.

You walk.

Down the corridor. Past posters for old plays and peeling signs pointing to locked rehearsal rooms. The soft clink of your heels echoes against the concrete, sharp and rhythmic, the only sound in the hush that follows you.

Left. Then right.

You take the stairwell without thinking—something about the way the door hangs open, waiting.

Up.

One flight. Two.

You’re not counting. You’re not really anywhere.

Just moving.

The final door gives with a groan.

And then—open air.

The rooftop is quiet. Dimly lit by a few tired bulbs and the soft haze of city lights glowing from below. The wind brushes past your cheeks, tugging at the hem of your dress, the strands of your hair.

You inhale slowly—deeply.

The air fills your lungs and doesn’t choke. For the first time tonight, your chest doesn’t feel so tight.

You hug your arms around yourself, rubbing warmth into your skin as you move toward the edge of the rooftop. The wind tangles softly in your hair. The quiet is heavier than silence—it’s soothing. Honest.

The sounds of the premiere, the echoes of your lines, the weight of Michaela’s smile, Caleb’s lingering glances—all of it stays behind those concrete walls.

But the moment your shoulders finally drop—the tension unwinding from your spine like thread pulled too tight—

a voice slices through the quiet.

“The movie boring?”

You jolt.

And there he is.

Leaning lazily against the railing at the far edge of the rooftop, one hand resting in the pocket of his black slacks, the other loosely curled around a cigarette he hasn’t lit. The wind toys with the edges of his shirt, untucked and open at the collar, the soft fabric fluttering just enough to hint at the warmth beneath.

His silver hair—bright even under the dull rooftop lights—shifts with the breeze, strands falling across his forehead in that effortless way that should be illegal. The city glows behind him, casting shadows across the hard angles of his jaw, the sharp lines of his cheekbones. His eyes catch yours beneath long lashes, amused, unreadable.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t need to.

Just the sight of him—calm, crooked smile in place, posture loose like he’s got nowhere to be and nothing to prove—pulls something taut inside you all over again.

Sylus Qin.

Looking like trouble sculpted in moonlight.

And you walked straight into it.

Your voice stumbles out, more breath than word.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just tips his head slightly, eyes trailing over you in that infuriatingly slow, unreadable way of his.

“Didn’t realize rooftops were exclusively yours now.”

His voice is quiet but laced with amusement, like he’s already enjoying how thrown off you are. The wind picks up, tousling the silver strands of his hair. He doesn’t fix them. Just leans back against the railing again like this is his space now. Like you’ve wandered into his scene.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he adds, gaze settling on you. “Didn’t strike me as the type to abandon your own premiere.”

Your jaw tightens. “It’s not my premiere.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmurs, eyes glinting. “You were in almost every shot. That little background smile of yours really carried the emotional arc.”

You shoot him a glare. He shrugs.

“Relax,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make your skin prickle. “I’m just making conversation.”

And then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls the cigarette back out from his pocket—like he knew exactly when to use it for effect.

You watch as he rolls it between his fingers, slow and practiced, before slipping it between his lips. His eyes flick downward, shadowed beneath dark lashes, as he flicks the lighter.

A soft click.

A brief spark.

Then flame.

He cups the light with one hand, shielding it from the wind, the gesture intimate in its precision. The flame catches the edge of the cigarette, a quick sizzle, and then a curl of smoke unfurls between his lips as he leans back—head tilted, silver hair brushing the collar of his jacket.

He exhales through parted lips.

Smoke spills from his mouth in a lazy stream, rising into the night air.

And for a moment, the whole rooftop smells like sin.

You swallow. Hard.

Because it shouldn’t look that good.

No one should look that good doing something so simple.

But he makes it look like poetry wrapped in gasoline.

Dangerous. Beautiful. Impossible to look away from.

He glances sideways, catching your gaze—then smirks around the cigarette.

“What?” he says, smoke curling past his teeth. “You want one?”

You ignore his question as you cross the distance between you with quiet steps, heels clicking softly against the rooftop floor, until you’re beside him.

Close, but not touching.

You lean forward onto the railing, elbows braced, eyes fixed on the world below. The city stretches beneath you—cars like fireflies, neon signs blinking against concrete, life spilling in all directions.

“Heard you’re pretty close to Michaela these days.”

Words slip out of your mouth before you could stop them—carried off too quickly by the breeze.

Sylus doesn’t respond right away. Just takes another drag, eyes still on the skyline, unreadable behind the soft glow of the city lights and the rising smoke.

“Is that what people are saying?” he asks, voice low, like he’s half-amused, half-bored.

You glance sideways at him, but his expression doesn’t shift.

“She’s been… talking,” you murmur.

He exhales slowly, smoke curling from the corner of his lips. “Yeah. She does that.”

There’s a beat of silence. The kind that leaves your thoughts too loud.

“She seems to like you,” you add, keeping your voice light. “Says you’re funny. Helpful.”

His gaze finally cuts to you, slow and sharp. An eyebrow arches. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips.

“You sound jealous,” he says, voice dipped in something darker. Teasing. Dangerous.

Your breath falters.

“I’m not.”

He hums, low in his throat, clearly unconvinced. Then, he turns—just slightly—enough to face you, enough to make you feel it.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmurs, voice barely above the wind.

He leans in, just a bit. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough that the air between you shifts.

“I mean… if you wanted my attention,” his eyes drag slowly down your face, “you didn’t have to bring her up to get it.”

You blink. Hard.

The smirk deepens. He takes one last drag from the cigarette, flicks it to the side, and exhales—

Right past your shoulder, warm and slow, like it was deliberate.

Then he turns back toward the railing, arms resting casually as if he didn’t just turn your pulse inside out.

“Relax,” he says again, voice smooth and cruelly amused. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Fuck you and your conversations.”

“Language, princess.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, slow and smug, like he enjoys your bite more than he should.

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks next—just watches the lights below with that lazy, unreadable calm.

“The deal’s still on, by the way,” he says, almost offhand. “I don’t usually hold my deals this long.”

Your breath catches—but you don’t answer. Not immediately.

Instead, eyes still fixed on the city, you ask quietly,

“What’s it like?”

He glances sideways.

“To smoke,” you murmur, voice soft against the wind. “What does it feel like?”

That catches him off guard.

His smirk fades into something quieter—still sharp, but thoughtful.

He straightens a little, resting his elbows on the railing, eyes narrowed at the skyline like he’s remembering something he can’t touch anymore.

“It’s… warm,” he says eventually. “First few seconds burn. Then it’s just heat in your chest. Makes everything a little slower. A little duller.”

He glances at you again, eyes shadowed beneath silver strands.

“You’d hate it.”

And then, softer—

“You’d get addicted.”

You glance at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. “That confident, huh?”

His smile returns, crooked and slow.

“Always.”

Then—without looking away—he reaches into his pocket, pulls out the pack again, taps it once against his palm.

“Wanna try?”

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

The rooftop wind brushes your skin. The lights below blur like you’re not quite grounded anymore.

“…Okay,” you say finally, barely above a whisper. “Sure.”

His gaze lingers on you for a breath longer than it should—sharp, slow, searching.

Then, with practiced ease, he slips the cigarette between his lips, flicks the lighter, and inhales. The tip glows ember-red. Smoke curls around his face like it belongs there.

He steps closer.

Not fast. Not aggressive. Just… inevitable.

Until your backs are no longer parallel, but aligned.

Until his body is angled toward yours, his hand brushing the railing beside your arm.

Then he exhales—slow, steady—up into the air first, just to show you how.

And before your thoughts can catch up, before your pulse even finds a rhythm, his hand slides around your jaw. Gentle, but certain. Fingers curling under your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“Open,” he murmurs.

And you do.

He leans in—closer, closer still.

Not to kiss. Not yet.

His mouth hovers just a hair’s breadth from yours, and then—

He exhales.

Smoke floods from his lungs into yours, warm and heady and tasting like fire and him.

It hits you all at once—your lips parted against his, the heat of his breath rolling into your mouth, your chest, your nerves. Your hands grip the railing behind you, fingers curling tight.

And just as your knees begin to weaken, just as the smoke begins to burn—

His lips press to yours.

Not soft.

Not tentative.

It’s full, hungry contact—heat and pressure and something sharp beneath the surface. He kisses you like you’re something he earned. Like he knew this was coming the moment you stepped onto that rooftop.

And god, you let him.

His hand slips from your jaw to your throat, thumb resting lightly just beneath your pulse. You feel it hammering there, wild and fast. He deepens the kiss, mouth coaxing yours open further, tongue tracing the edge of your bottom lip like a tease, like a challenge.

You kiss him back.

Harder. Needier. Like you’ve been holding it in.

Like you’re finally letting go.

The smoke lingers between you. In your mouth. Your chest. The heat of it coils through your veins, makes the moment feel reckless, dangerous, electric.

When he finally pulls away, just barely, your lips are still parted—still chasing after him.

And Sylus—

He’s already smirking.

“Told you,” he breathes, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“You’d get addicted.”

Your breath comes shallow. Foggy. Like you’re drunk—from the smoke. From him.

From the way his voice sits too low in your stomach, too warm in your throat.

You blink, dazed. “What the fuck was that?”

He laughs—low, rich, and dizzying.

“Still want to call it a mistake?”

You don’t answer. Can’t.

Not with the nicotine still curling in your lungs. Not with his breath still ghosting yours.

Maybe it’s the way the air thins between you again.

Maybe it’s the flush that rises to your cheeks when you look up at him and realize he hasn’t stepped back this time.

Or maybe it’s just that dangerous cocktail of heat and haze and the taste of sin still lingering on your tongue.

“I think,” you whisper, eyes flicking to his mouth, “you didn’t teach it properly.”

His gaze sharpens. That smirk falters, just for a second—enough to show the hunger underneath.

“Oh?” he breathes.

You nod. Barely.

He leans in. Slowly. Purposefully.

His hand grazes your waist, his breath brushing your lips—and just when you think he’s going to kiss you again—

He pulls back.

Barely an inch. Just enough to keep you chasing.

His smirk returns, lazier this time. Meaner.

“Didn’t think you’d beg so soon,” he murmurs.

You glare. “I didn’t beg.”

“Mm,” he hums, dragging a finger along your jaw, “Not yet.”

Then—finally—he kisses you.

But it’s slower now. Crueler.

His mouth moves with calculated ease, like he’s studying you. Like he wants to see how long you can last with the tension stretched this thin.

He barely gives you what you want—just enough heat to make your knees unsteady, just enough pressure to make you lean in.

When your hand fists in his shirt, tugging him closer, he lets out a quiet laugh against your lips.

“Impatient,” he mutters, and you feel it—low and hot—right in your throat.

And then he deepens the kiss.

Because he knows you’re done pretending you don’t want it.

And he’s done pretending he doesn’t love watching you unravel.

But in the middle of it all—his fingers sliding under your shirt, your hands fisted in the back of his hair, breaths shared like secrets—

It hits you.

A crack of clarity.

Sharp and sudden, cutting through the haze.

You pull back.

Not far, but enough. Enough to breathe. Enough to speak.

“Why are you doing this?”

His brows knit, just slightly. You feel the shift in him, the quiet tension settling beneath the heat.

You keep going. You have to.

“What will you get out of the deal?”

Your voice is low, but steady. The question tastes bitter in your mouth—maybe because you’ve been trying to pretend it didn’t matter.

But it does. It always did.

He watches you, smoke still clinging to his breath, his thumb pausing on your skin.

And for a moment, he doesn’t answer.

Like he’s deciding what version of the truth to give you.

Like he’s debating if you’ve earned it.

He fully pulls away, the warmth of his body gone in an instant.

You watch as he straightens his spine, smooths down his collar with one hand, runs the other through his wind-tousled silver hair—like he’s putting his armor back on. Like he needs the distance again.

“I’m not playing games,” he says.

His voice is low. Still sharp, but there’s something underneath now. Not heat. Not flirtation.

Something older. Quieter. Worn.

You cross your arms, still catching your breath. “Then what is this?”

He pauses.

You see the flicker in his eyes—a calculation, a hesitation. The part of him that always weighs what to say and what to bury.

Then his lips tug into that same maddening smirk.

“You’re just really pitiful,” he says, voice lazy with mock sympathy.

Your brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“Kind of like someone I knew,” he continues, like he didn’t just insult you to your face. His tone is still light, but something about the way he says it—too casual, too precise—makes you freeze.

He doesn’t elaborate right away. Just glances down at the city lights below, cigarette smoldering between his fingers again.

He takes one last drag from the cigarette before flicking it over the edge, watching the ember fall like a dying star.

Then he turns back to you—smirk faded now, voice lower, rougher. Real.

“Let’s just say—” he begins, eyes locking with yours,

“you get to use me to get whatever you want…”

A pause. A slow step closer.

“And I’ll use you to get whatever I want.”

He lets the silence stretch between you, lets the weight of the words hang there like smoke.

“Sounds fair?”

You don’t answer right away.

You just stand there—wind tousling your hair, the taste of smoke still clinging faintly to your lips—watching him.

Watching the way he doesn’t push.

Doesn’t ask again.

Just lets the offer hang in the air like a match waiting to be struck.

Your thoughts spiral—through the flickers of the film, the ache in your chest as you watched yourself play the shadow, Michaela’s bright voice, Caleb’s wandering gaze, Sylus’s mouth on yours, the weight of his hands, the things he said.

And the worst part?

The way all of it made you feel alive again.

Like something inside you had finally stirred.

Like you were tired of being careful. Tired of being quiet. Tired of waiting for someone else to hand you the pen to your own story.

You draw in a breath, meet his eyes.

“Fine,” you say, soft but steady.

“I’m in.”

His smile is slow. Pleased. Like he already knew.

But he says nothing. Just nods once and turns to leave, hands in his pockets, silver hair catching the rooftop light.

You don’t stop him.

You stay there for a moment longer, listening to the echo of your own heartbeat.

And when the rooftop door clicks shut behind him—

You’re still tasting sin.

Still thinking about the deal you just made.

And wondering who, in the end, will really get what they want.