nullicaput

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. XIII

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1967

previous chapter.

"Don't call me with that nickname." 

You snickered, finding his angered face amusing to no end. 

"I can't even take you seriously when you're acting like this," you exclaimed. "But you don't care, do you?"

As you took his hands off of you, you held them tightly, the way a concerned adult would to a lost child. 

"You think you're so amazing because you don't listen to others and don't follow the rules." You let him go, patting his shoulder approvingly. "Keep it up."

You left first, yet he did not follow you.

You came back to the faculty room with your hair smelling of artificial grapes. 

"Teacher [Na—" The English Teacher gasped. "Oh, my goodness!" 

"What happened?"

They got closer, examining the aftermath of your brief encounter with Su-Gang. 

"Some kids thought it would funny to pour soda on my head."

A female coworker of yours gave you wipes to clean your neck.

"Why not wash your hair at the sink here?" Jae-Kyeong suggested. 

If you do that, your hair would not dry in time and you would definitely go home with water dripping from it. 

However, your hair was already wet anyway. What would be the harm?

"Unfortunately, you'd need to use my hand soap," she added apologetically. 

"Don't worry, Teacher [Name]. It's mild to the skin!" the first-year English teacher assured you. 

You do not think that her assurance could help your hair at all. 

"Do it in the female teachers' washroom instead. It's roomier there, and you can change clothes," your male coworker said. 

"I don't have any clothes with me," you replied. 

"Here, use this spares," the Physical Teacher offered, handing you the white shirts. "Try to dry your hair with these, then wear this. It's slightly bigger than your size, but at least you won't have to ride the sub with your blouse, right?"

It was strange occurrence that they were being like this to you. However, you guessed that they were treating you this way because you were the one who receives misfortune in their stead. Perhaps, this was an act of relieving their guilt. 

Well, this was better than nothing.

"Thanks." 

You went to the washroom with the supplies and locked the main door. You lowered your head to a position that would make washing it easier and started working on your hair, which you know will likely die after being bathed with the juice and this handsoap. Next was your nape and face, and then you scrubbed your skin with the wipes. 

You recalled the day Su-Gang almost killed someone over spilling cold juice onto you. 

If he were to meet the current version of himself, would he rage? Would he help? Who knows? Who cares? 

"Look at this sticky mess," you mouthed. "Those little punks." 

Your lips pursed and tightened as you did your best to calm your nerves down. 

"Si-Min would never let this get to her," you muttered like a mantra. "Think of Si-Min."

You wrung your hair like laundry, too aware that drying it with the shirts would not be enough. As you spent a twelfth of a clock's cycle getting rid of the liquid from your body, your mind flew to think of something else. 

It was said that increasing the severity of a negative punishment can help in decreasing, if not removing, undesirable behavior exhibited by the specimen, but it is crucial to consider the ethical implications of the punishment to be used. From the less harmful consequence of not giving him the attention he craves to one that involves using verbal reprimands, you have already added intensity to the punishment. If he still does not act according to your wishes after your verbal reprimand, that means the method of using words could never work no matter the severity.

In that case, you would need to take out the reward the specimen wants from the picture. In normal circumstances, even the mere threat of removing the reward can work; however, Su-Gang, who technically still have the upper hand in terms of authority, would not let you just leave like that, which means threatening him that you will leave will not give you the reaction that you prefer. He knows important information about you, like your family, your current address, your contact number, and everything else, from your resume, and he would not let the opportunity pass once he put his mind to it.

Currently, you have no need to that.

You did wish that he would just stop with his unproductive and inhumane hobbies, so you would not need to commit such extreme punishments for him in the future.

"I need a shower—no, a bath." You went inside a cubicle and replaced your blouse with the shirt. "I need a whole career change." 

Finally done, you returned to your colleagues, now significantly cleaner. You thanked them and tried to pay for soap and wipes, but they pushed your money back. They even had that look as if you were a kitten that was washed after getting all muddy. 

"Are you going to stay for long?" Jae-Kyeong asked. 

"No, I'm just drying my hair a bit more." 

After what you think was half an hour, you prepared yourself to go home with your blouse and the shirts you borrowed. On your way to the stairs, you saw Jin-Hyung sitting near.

"Kid, what are you doing here at this hour?" 

"Teacher [Name], why do you do this to yourself?" he asked instead of answering you first. 

With no one else to see you aside from him, your mask broke down. Your facade of pure professionalism crumble into a more organic expression, your eyes filled with nostalgia. 

"You ask me why I keep doing this?"

He stood up and sniffled. 

"You keep protecting me—and you get—you get hurt. All the time." He sobbed. "The other teachers don't even do that."

He covered his face with his eyes, ashamed of crying in front of you. 

Your eyebrows were knitted, but they softened almost immediately. 

"My younger brother," you said.

That caught him off guard. 

"I'm sorry?" he asked, confused. 

Your brother, who was now twenty, used to be the moodiest mama's-boy ever known to mankind.

Even when your mama, your mother's friend, offered to take him in with you while your parent worked, he refused to be away. He insisted to be with her even when he had to wake up earlier so he would arrive to school on time. When your mama died, while grumbling, he comforted you while crying himself. He was four years younger, but he acted more grown-up.

After primary school, or the time when puberty began creeping in his system, he became distant, yet he stayed the same brother you know and watched grow up. While you were making your own name at a humble high-school, he got in in a school that you could only dream of becoming a part of. Your brother's school—the same high school where you tried applying but could not get in—was known for being one where only elites and highly intelligent students could study in. Your mother was overjoyed when she learned that he was at the top ten, while you were just glad that he could be in a school where is skills would be honed to almost perfection without your mother breaking the bank. 

He was one of the brightest stars, and yet, he burned out too soon and quickly. To make it all worse, you were not by his side when the second biggest tragedy in your life transpired.

"I don't want you to turn out like him," you told Jin-Hyung.

The boy's breath was caught in his throat.

His eyes, which used to be so swollen, widened. He opened his mouth, only to close it once more. He gulped for something—anything—to stop his airways from drying. You, on the other hand, could only look away, not wanting to spill your heart to a kid who was almost a decade younger than you. To contain yourself, you closed your eyes and clutched the strap of your bag. 

"What happened to him?" he choked.

Your eyes snapped open. 

"What happened to my brother?" you trailed off. 

Disfigured beyond recognition and drained of blood—your brother's facial bones were broken, and so were his hands. If it were not for his nameplate, which he kept inside his pocket, you would have thought that the doctors have mistaken him for someone else. Five of his teeth were missing, and his nose was cracked. You could still remember the shallow gasps of your brother as he cried in pain at the hospital. He cried for you—for your mother—yet not for the person who did those injuries to him.

He was so afraid—too terrified—to even utter the culprits name. You only knew that the maniac was apparently the same year and age as your brother, and he was known for his father's donation to the school—the kind of teenager without any achievements in life except for being born into a family of generational wealth. When you asked the witness—the person who made your brother's condition known to the teachers—the madman's name, he kept quiet, claiming to be fearful of what will come to him once he blows the whistle. 

Then, the name remained hidden, until the tragedy was forgotten.

"Teacher [Name]?" 

"Oh—that's a secret."

You let the golden ray of sun illuminate your glistening eyes, your tears glowing like crystals as they formed but never daring to fall while in front of a student. 

"An adult shouldn't confide to a younger person, especially to a minor, about their problems," you reminded him. "Besides, if shielding you means you could freely spend your high-school life like your peers, then what I'm doing isn't a waste, is it?"

You inhaled, breathing in the coldness caused by air-conditioning. 

"You should go home." Your lips stretched into the gentlest, most relaxed smile. "I'm sure someone's waiting for you."

He did not protest anymore and followed your words. You watched his back become smaller and smaller as he gradually approach the main entrance of the building.

"I should get home, too." 

Talking to Jin-Hyung made you wonder about the person who did that to your brother.

To think that your brother's school covered up for that bastard and simply expelled him. They kicked him out of school just to appease your mother's grief, but he was not forbidden to transfer to a different school. They never even disclosed his or his parents' name.

They never paid for the damages their spawn caused your brother, either, while you had to give up your dream career to help your mother pay off her debts for your brother's treatment, which was not been pain fully yet. Your mother took countless overtime work, and you took a year off working part-time jobs so you could contribute to diminishing the cost of the money your mother owed the bank. You lied through your teeth, even in the present, that you merely gave yourself a break after high school, yet the truth was you worked your ass off for one, whole year. 

Still, the worst of all was that your brother could not step out the house in fear of that person coming back to settle a score once and for all. 

That monster was probably enjoying his time as a college student now without even thinking of the crimes he did to your poor sibling. Maybe, as your brother suffer after five years of his torment, he was partying with his friends, playing billiards, and smoking cigarettes. Perhaps, he was boasting about how he was never sentenced for his wrongdoings. 

You do not think you could ever stop yourself from killing that bastard once you learn his name.

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525 @tevejola @inpainbecauseofkdj

author's note.

It was hard keeping this lore-accurate. I tried the maths, I swear!

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. XII

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1908

previous chapter.

Today marked the last day of the first quarter, and today was midterms. 

In Moo Young High, every class of the each year level takes the same subject simultaneously to reduce the risk of passing information about the scope with the other class, and right now was the time of your subject.

Scrapped answer sheets pile after one another. The smell of ink floated in the air. The rooms were silent, except when the students flip through their test booklets. Some of them have given up with answering, but a lot of the examination takers were risking their all to guess the right answer for enumeration and identification portions. With the pointing system of three points for each correct answers, one point for mistakes, and deduction of one point for every item that was left blank, it was obvious that guessing is their best technique. However, even if they were to guess all of the items, if they all get them wrong, they would still not pass. 

"Pass the first part of the exam," the homeroom teacher announced.

As the students relayed their test booklets and answer sheets slipped inside, dread has enveloped their young brains.

"She didn't use the usual Ethics exam, didn't she?" a student whispered. 

"Yeah. This was all hers."

"Quiet down," their teacher said. "Bring out your notes. The second part of your exam is essay-making." 

With that, their souls just died the second time.

No matter how many times they searched for the answers, nothing in their notes gave them something that could help. Time ticked by, and the second part was done. They did not know whether to be dejected that they did not finish their exams properly, or just be glad it was finally over. 

"I thought I'd die," a student grumbled. "It was so hard."

Inside the teachers' lounge, your colleagues laughed as they put their things in their bags, preparing to leave. The students have went home already, and only the staff were at school at this time. 

"My class was complaining that was your test was so difficult," the History teacher joked. 

"Mine, too."

"You're a beast, Teacher [Name]," the Mathematics teacher said, shooting you a look of mischief.

You smiled at their teasing, but you kept yourself quiet. Just when you were about to leave to get to the vending machine located at the ground floor of this building, you were stopped by Jae-Kyeong. 

"Ah, by the way. About Su-Gang's grades."

Her voice was as soft as it usually was, but it somehow made the other teachers shut their mouths. 

"What about it?" 

You glanced at your coworkers, and you could see the discomfort in their body language.

"Don't give him failing grades, and you'll be safe from his mother's anger," she advised. 

"Mother?" you asked, even though you knew who she is. "Su-Gang's mom?" 

"Yeah, the dragon," someone added. "You're allowed to fail his friends, but not him."

Ah, so they were not included in his immunity.

How funny.

"I know how terrible you must've been feeling ever since you've been his target, but if she were to know that her baby failed...well," the first-eyar English teacher said. 

They were obviously ignorant of the mother-son dynamics of the pair. They did not know that it was him who controls his mother, and not the other way around.

Still, it was better not to make her aware of you. 

"Understood."

After that, they returned to their chatter. 

Not wanting to walk farther, you used the metal staircase at the right side of the building instead of the concrete one, which was located at the left. Just before you were about to reach the ground floor, you heard a fizzy sound, and—

You felt something extremely cold coming from the top of your head. 

A series of childish cheering erupted over you, and you would be an idiot if you have not figure the sorry-excuse-for-students who did this to you. You currently smelled of grape soda, and if things are not bad to begin with, it was the brand of drink that notoriously attracts fruit flies. This was this tenth attempt, and it seemed that they are running out of already uncreative ideas. 

As the artificially flavored sweet drink dripped from your hair, you stood there motionlessly. You found yourself in a situation you have grown too accustomed to. The only difference was it was you who was being targeted and not the one watching anymore.

"Teach! You're drenched!

"Why did you stand in the way?"

"Look at you, Miss Temp."

"Ew, sticky!"

"Are you gonna cry?"

You tilted your head to stare at their leader, who was likely there with them again—and he was.

He was staring you down, with his face full of that sadistic thirst to do bad things to those who have not done anything objectively wrong to him. He bit his lower lip and glanced side to side. He was telling you something that he could not be bothered to let them know. 

Oh. 

So, that was how it is.

You can do something about them. You can give them corporal punishment, you can shame them publicly, you can sabotage them—you can even fuck their grades up if you so desire—but they could never attack you or pick on you without Su-Gang's approval. Their mindless puppets constantly moving to follow his words, and yet, they are not even considered your—a temporary teacher—level that they could hurt you as they please. 

In a way, you pity them. 

"Hey, you five, piss off," Su-Gang commanded them, which they did obediently.

They left without any word, but you knew they were interested as to why he never bullied you with them. It was not just them who have picked that up. 

You have noticed yourself that whenever Su-Gang was terrorizing you, he never let his group come with him for long. 

No cameras in sight, not even a voice recorder. 

It was as if the thought of letting someone else see your irritated expression—and the mere thought itself of sharing you—was a taboo. Perhaps he thinks that what he has with you was sacred that he never wanted anyone to be involved. Perhaps this was the reason why he has yet to tell his mother about you despite you having been teaching here for more than two whole months now. 

Well, even when he was a child, he has always disliked—despised—sharing. You knew that very well, but you simply never thought that the sentiment would extend to his mother. 

"Where's your boyfriend?" he jeered. "No hero to save you now?" 

He descended from the stairs and stalked closer. With an unhurried pace, he become nearer and nearer, his face never absent of that derision. 

"Here, have this."

When you checked the name of the bag, you figured that what he was offering you was a change of clothes.

"I don't take bribes," you replied. 

"Bribes?" he scoffed. "These rags are not bribes, teach."

He wiped the soda that trickled onto your face with his thumb and licked it. 

"If I really wanna bribe you, I'd give you bags, shoes, a room in my house." He grinned. "So, these are not bribes, 'kay? But again, can't expect a beggar to distinguish the two." 

If ignoring him does not make him bend to your will, then you would use something else to hurt his substanceless ego. 

"This is getting old," you complained. 

"Huh? What'd ya say?" 

"I said, this is getting old." You pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head. "Was I the only one to notice? Was your brain so simple that you're easily entertained by useless mental stimulation like this?"

He was shocked to hear you talk like that. 

In the past, you have never been the type to harshly reprimand him with words, so it never occurred to him that you were actually capable of insulting him. 

You held yourself back from chuckling, but no amount of pursing your lips could ever hide the way your lips shook in amusement. 

"There is something—no, one specific thing—that you want from me but can't have," you said. 

It was your attention, if not you wholly. 

He was a child who has never been told no growing up, and he has grown to a young adult who never had anything he could never get. Being a kid, his tantrums gave him all the things he desired, and in the present, his violence still grant him everything. A child raised to almost be viewed and treated like a porcelain doll, if not a god, would believe that his words were absolute and can never be opposed, yet there you were, existing for yourself and no longer for him. 

It irked him to no end; you were sure of it.

"This is why you're acting this way, no?" 

"What kinda bullshit are you up to now?" he shouted. 

"You keep misbehaving as if you're a little kid, but you expect to be rewarded for it." You mimicked the way he smile and speak whenever he taunted you verbally. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Children who were sent to school without being properly disciplined by their own parents became a problem later on. The teachers have no other choice but to accept their misconduct, because any kind of punishment can be deemed as inappropriate by the same parents who leave the parenting to educators instead of doing their part—their responsibility. 

However, Su-Gang was no normal child, was he? 

He said it himself: He was an adult. 

Adults should never be pampered. If they could not understand directions, drill the information into their brain using the language they were well used to.

"Your unpleasant attitude won't get you anywhere, Su-Gang." You chuckled, your words borderline mocking. "Why is it not clicking? Were the nine years of my absence really managed to turn you into this much of a moron?"

There, you admitted that his tutor was you. 

That, however, was not the part that caught his attention. 

"Moron? Me?"

Without letting you say the one word starting with the letter y and ends with s, he grabbed you by the collar—predictable—and dragged you within skin-to-skin proximity. He exhaled shakily, causing your nose to smell that faint fragrance of vape. You let out a laughter too entertained he almost mistook you for someone else—or, maybe this was who you truly were. 

"You shouldn't touch rags, Su-Gang," you cooed. "You'll be tainted."

For the first time, you touched his hands on purpose. Your action was full intent of riling him up more. You used your fingers to pry his own from gripping the collar of your drink-soaked blouse.

"You want me to teach you a lesson?"

"Lesson? What are you going to do? Fire me? Push me down the stairs? Shove cigarettes into my mouth?" Your smile widened, mirroring his prior expression. "Stab me with a fork?"

Back then, he listened to only you, and even his mother was unable to put him in his place. As you grew older with him, you learned the words to keep him motivated and the ones to keep him in check. A child who used to live for your validation—you wondered how he would react the moment you verbally express your displeasure at his actions. 

"You disappoint me," you remarked, that grin leaving your face. "Little Su-Gang."

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525 @tevejola

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. XI

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1971

previous chapter.

"No!" The eleven-year-old boy pulled your arm, but you tugged back. "You're not leaving me here!" 

"I'm not teaching you anymore," you calmly answered, yet your shaking form betrayed you. "Su-Gang, let go." 

"You're not leaving!"

The other workers only watched at the sidelines, either afraid to intervene or not seeing his behavior anywhere being threatening. 

"Your mother has let me resign. Besides, I'm not a normal employee here." You yanked your hand again, but he was unbudging. "I can leave if I want to."

He marched to the kitchen, his soles slapping against the floor. Even with all your strength, the force his agitated hands has overpowered you. He dragged you with him, his knuckles white and your arm sore. He stopped in front of the large utensil cabinet and rummaged through the silverware until he had grabbed something. 

"You work for me! I won't let you leave!" 

"What are yo—"

He stabbed your left hand with a fork.

"Ack!" 

"Heh, this is what you get for—" 

You screamed. 

In pain, you screamed at the top of your lungs. 

You let out an ear-piercing screech, something that no one has ever heard you do.

"What's going on?!"

The door of your Madame's office burst open, and she almost tripped just to reach you.

You sobbed—you looked just like a normal teenager as you cried. You did not know what to do; you did not know who to look for as they watched you wriggling.

"Ah—" you gasped.

"Hey," Su-Gang stuttered. 

You have lost your cool, and you seemed nothing like the Miss he was used to seeing. In panic, he tried to hold you, but you slapped his hand away. 

"Don't touch me!" you shouted. 

Everyone froze, even the perpetrator.

You held the fork, which was deeply embedded into your flesh—it hurt. It hurt so much, but you did not care. You pulled it out. Blood flowed—of course, it flowed. The fork dropped. It thudded.

You kept quiet under their gaze, your own being much more burning. The silence you held for who-knows-how-long was nerve-wracking, nauseating, as if you were clawing their insides with your hands, squeezing it dry of that bitter bile. 

"I'm taking my leave," you suddenly croaked. "And I'll greatly appreciate it if you'd hold him back this time."

As if nothing had happened, your distressed expression was reduced into something devoid of emotion. You used your right hand to open the envelope and count the money. You took some bills out and handed it to Su-Gang. When he did not take it—being in a state of trance, still—you let the money fall. 

"The excess," you stated.

Once you took a step away from the son, you were blocked by the mother. 

She seemed nervous, terrified even. 

"I will pay for the medical bills," she offered. "I will buy you anything. Just tell me what it is you want, dear." 

Individuals like them do not apologize. They, instead, offer financial compensation for those they have wronged to zip their mouth shut about the maltreatment they have experienced under their care—or lack thereof—and to never ever tell anyone about it, because even if they were to do such, the authorities that the small citizens were supposed to confide to when they are treated with injustice were the same people that are hurting them in every aspect. 

Your employer might not directly state that to you, you have always known.

"What I want is to go home." You closed your eyes, doing your hardest not to throw up at the smell of blood—although it was yours. "I will tend to my own wounds, so I will be going." 

"Dear—" 

"Missus Han," you cut her off.

Missus Han?

You have always called her 'Madame', and not Missus Han—

"Dear," she uttered. 

Giving her no chance to speak any further, you bowed uncomfortably long, blood still trickling from the four, small, puncture wounds at the back of your hand.

"I am grateful to you for giving my mama a way to earn before she has passed away."

Passed away due to their doing. 

"I'm also grateful for trusting me to give your child quality education."

You did not wipe the red liquid; you let it drip until the stark white floors was decorated by the crimson. You waited for her to talk, to confirm your resignation.

"I hope that no one will be at my doorstep trying to convince me."

"I don't want any other tutor!" Su-Gang interjected without a warning.

The moment he attempted to bolt to you, the maids ran after him and held him down to the floor.

"Honey—"

"I will kill them! I will kill the next ones!"

As you slowly turned your head to him, and when you held the eye-contact with him, it became apparent to Little Su-Gang what you were thinking of. 

You loathed him.

"Have fun."

You felt something damp and warm against your left ear when your eyelids opened halfway. It was physically heavy, and it smelled of vetiver and oud. When you tried to lift your head from your arm, it pressed you down even further.

"Good morning."

Who?

"You dreamed of me, didn't you?" 

Shit.

"Su-Gang, stop with your antics." 

Ignoring your lecture, he added, "You were twitching and all."

Your phone vibrated, and soon, it rang. Due to the lack of sound, although the volume was not high, the tune of your alarm reverberated and bounced in each of the walls of the teachers' lounge. You tried to reach for your phone to turn it off—you could not. 

He was caging your left hand with his, and it would be safe to say that he had no plans of letting it free any sooner. With your position and the antihistamines still in effect, you have become unable to move. It did not help that his head was practically pinning yours down while your legs were tucked in inside the narrow space below your desk. 

"What happened in your dream?" He blew air on your earlobe. "Did we date?" 

He tutted humorously and joked, "That's illegal."

He bit his bottom lip, likely fantasizing about something you would never want to hear or know. He hummed and swayed his head from side to side. 

"You're working for more than a month now, ain't you? Must be hard earning and living off of minimum wage," he derided. "I can change that."

To his annoyance, you did not even seem—feel—to be interested in his offer in the slightest. 

"If you just follow what I want, I can have you be a full-timer here. When you're a regular Ethics teacher here, you'd even have your own office as this school's guidance counselor. I'm the students' sole problem here, so if we do this deal, you'd have no problems to deal with at all." 

He paused in deep thought.

"First, I want you to answer a question," he explained. "An Ethics teacher should be honest, yeah?"

He laughed quietly, and then, he stopped. 

"Who was that guy you were with?" His lighthearted tone was flipped to the opposite. "Is he your boyfriend?"

So, this is the reason for his unidentified behavior this morning.

He lifted his head for a little and set your hand free. Just when you thought he was done with you, he pushed your neck by the side using the same hand. He nuzzled his face into your temple, and he inhaled all the fragrance that was left in your hair. The small hairs of your nape stood up on their own, leaving your skin with bumps anyone within the same distance as him could see.

"Su-Gang," you said.

"Hm? Don't say my name, unless you're answering. You're gonna wear it out." 

He chuckled and you felt his teeth clamping into the shell of your ear. When you hissed, he only bit down harder. Then, he ran the tip of his tongue on your ear, its wetness brushing against your skin against your wishes. When he was done assaulting you, he sat up—you only learned that he was sitting beside you all this time—and fixed his posture. He removed his hand from your neck and let it hover on your back before he completely withdrew it to his side. 

"There's no surveillance cameras inside the rooms, y'know? Only at the halls."

He did not need to finish his words for you to pick the message up. 

Even if he were to do something heinous to you, no camera could capture to footage. Even if there were, no witness in their rightest mind would sacrifice their job to use the video to help you, a temporary teacher, once you ever decide in bringing his deplorable actions to the authorities. 

You were hopeless, and you were helpless.

He would ensure that you never forget that. 

"Tell me his name, or I'll make your life here a hell."

Kwon-Jung.

Kwon-Jung was the man you were with.

Kwon-Jung, whose presence was comforting and has constantly made you feel protected, was the man Su-Gang demands to know. Like his cousin, Kwon-Jung—not even once—has made you doubt yourself and the choices that you have picked to get to where you were in the present. To you, Kwon-Jung was the embodiment of your hopes of meeting a man who was good-natured—or, at least, less demonic than Su-Gang himself. He, together with Si-Min, turned your life for the better, and you would be a fool to throw them under the bus for a promise of safety you were not even certain of. 

Su-Gang should have known better than ask you to give him the name of the person he would likely kill—if he would be kind enough to do just that—upon knowing.

"You know that I would never say it," you said. "So why bother ask?"

He leaned back and put his weight onto the backrest of your colleague's chair.

"Fucking hell." He whistled. "That didn't even scare you?"

He covered his eyes with his hand, and while he did, you blindly searched for your hand sanitizer. You squeezed some of it on your palm and let the gel melt before rubbing the liquid on your whole left ear and neck.

"Hey," he exclaimed. "Are you shitting me right now?"

You tapped the screen of your phone twice and looked at the time. You sighed in disappointment, since you have wasted your time tying to  finish it all when you could have gone home already. 

"You actually think you could act unaffected?" He jabbed a finger onto your temple. "You think you could protect that boyfriend of yours forever?" 

You did not correct him about your real relationship with Kwon-Jung; not that he had the right to know. 

He let out a sound comparable to an animal's growl—it was warning you to know your place and to be subservient of the one who pays you. He rose from his seat and bent down. He leveled his forehead with yours and butted it without any force behind it. He started walking away, and he thumping of his footfall gradually became softer. You did not turn to see whether he has indeed left you or not and, instead, focused on your leftover work, which in the end you would have to take home.

Of all the reaction you have seen Su-Gang make, this one was novel to you. 

The manner in which his eyebrows furrowed and his lips were tugged down at the side was in no way similar to the ones you were quite familiar with, being his past tutor and all. It was not out of competitiveness either, nor was it created out of his insatiable hunger for violence and needless entertainment.

It was—

"Hide his name all you want," he spat through clenched teeth. "I still have all the authority over you anyway." 

Jealousy.

next chapter.

tag section.

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[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. X

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 2116

previous chapter.

"Teacher [Name], a first-year is looking for you," someone said from the door. "Teacher?" 

A tap on your shoulder successfully snapped you out of your focus. Your eyes, which have been staring intently at the papers you were grading one by one, flew onto the person who disturbed you, and when they did, you saw your colleague with a high hairline smiling down at you expectantly.

"Yes?"

"A student's looking for you." 

You tilted your head—it took you a good minute to understand what he just said. 

"Oh," you finally acknowledged. "Where?" 

He raised a hand in the direction where this supposed student was standing, and upon looking, you saw the kid you temporarily saved from Su-Gang. Putting your pen down, you muttered a quick thanks to your coworker and made your way to Jin-Hyung.

"Good afternoon, miss." He bowed, handing you a folded cloth. "This was yours." 

"Sorry?" 

You eyed the cloth—it was your handkerchief.

"I washed it, so it's clean."

You took it with tender hands, your heart swelling at the sight of fading bruises littering his neck. 

"Thank you." 

Honestly, you forgot about you lending him that after all the havoc Su-Gang has done in a span of what you could estimate as ten minutes.

"Uhm, can I talk to you?" he asked—no, pleaded. 

"Regarding what?" You put the handkerchief in your pocket. "I don't remember holding a subject of first-years', child."

He pursed his lip and averted his eyes.

"Let's talk somewhere more silent," you offered, feeling the stares coming from behind. 

While leading him to the tutoring room, you maintained more than a respectable distance from him and kept your hands behind your back. The two of you entered, silence and discomfort mixing with each other the moment the door was closed. 

In all honesty, you would prefer to have this conversation outside, but you knew that although physical boundaries were an important factor to student-teacher interaction, confidentiality was, too. Whatever it was he wished to talk about it you must remain unknown to others, unless he was the one to disclose it. 

You stood at the opposite side of the room, and leaned onto one of the shelves, while you let him be seated near the entrance of the room.

"What's it, then?" you said, breaking the ice. "Don't worry. This room's soundproofed. People can see us through the door lite, but no one can hear."

He nodded, and opened his mouth. He closed it, and he opened it again. 

"I'm sorry that you got involved with my problem," he said, his voice breaking.

"Problem?" You massaged your temples. "You mean the bullying you were going through?" 

If you were to be technical, it should be you apologizing to him. Your involvement with this could cause him either safety or far more danger, but the latter seemed a lot more plausible. Still, as a teacher, you could not tell him details about your personal life.

When you saw him stiffen, you added, "What I did was something a teacher ideally should do in that situation."

Those words caused his eyes to widen, as though what you told him was a divine revelation. 

Poor kid must have undoubtedly been suffering so much despite the academic year barely being quarterway. 

"You shouldn't apologize for the faults you didn't do." You crossed your arms in front of your chest. "I don't think anyone would want to be hurt and mistreated by their peers."

You were far away from him, and during your talk with him, you have never touched him. You did not put your hand on your shoulder, nor did you offer him any physical comforts. Even then, he has never felt any safer than this moment. It was as if your presence were enough as it is for him to feel understood—to be heard by anyone without them trying to invalidate what he was experiencing and making it seem that he was in the wrong for being wounded by his upperclassman's sadistic ways to satisfy his lack of entertainment.

"What if he misplace his anger on you?" 

What if? He already did. He already does. 

"Who knows?" you said. 

Of course, it was not enough to make his fear die down. In fact, it only made it worse to see you be so dismissive about this. 

"Jin-Hyung, you should go home early," you shifted the topic—or ended it. "It's rainy season, and the clouds are really dark today."

You came back to your fellow teachers waiting for you like kittens waiting for treats. 

"What did the two of you talked about?" the first-year Language teacher pried. "You're teaching second years, no?"

A teacher breaking the code of ethics and wanting to gossip about students' concerns. 

How hilarious. 

Disgusting. 

"He asked me not to tell anyone."

Without saying anything more, you sat back and returned to your work.

A minute or so passed, and Mathematics teacher came back from wherever he went. 

"Oh, you're still checking essays." 

"Yes. A lot of the ones I've checked were well written. I still don't know about the others."

Feeling stressed at the number of grammatical errors from the paper you were reading, you subconsciously dug your upper left canine into the flesh of your lower lip. To make it worse, your checking pen has ran out of ink, an you did not have anything to replace it.

"Here," your male coworker said, lending you a blue pen.

"Thanks."

Concentrated on your task, you did not notice the particular way he looked at you. In an outsider's eyes, it could be described as him being interested in you instead of the topic of students' essay quality. 

"I've heard that you're good in English." 

"I can say that I'm able to communicate my thoughts properly." 

"Did you graduate from a good school?" 

"Not at all," you said, taking note of the fact that he could not read the room. "Just decent." 

"Self-taught?" 

"Yes."

Irritation was growing inside of you, and you were one question away from telling him off.

He really should be thankful of his good pen that you were being slightly more patient than him that you usually would with people who could not take a hint.

"Your left hand."

Is this bastard daft or what? 

"Oh, the scars?" 

"Where are they from?"

Oh, wrong move. 

"From a fork." 

"From a—I'm sorry."

With that, the blabbermouth has stopped at last. 

"It's fine. I don't even remember the kid who did this to me."

For a good hour, you were left in your solitude while you checked essays after essays. Some were unreadable, handwriting and content-wise, but thankfully, there are some that were remarkable.

You yawned, feeling the weight of your head becoming denser and denser.

"Teacher [Name], we're leaving," the English teacher said using the language. "Why don't you just take these papers home?"

You stretched your arms and tilted your head to loosen the knots that were building up along your neck. 

"I live a little far from the school." You grunted softly. "It's better for me to go home a little later than carry these all with me." 

Whichever of the two options you choose, you could not possibly go bother Kwon-Jung with such a trivial matter.

"Well, it's already quarter to six."

The faculty closes at seven, and the school closes at eight.

"I'll keep that in mind." 

You bid them goodbye, and soon, the only ones that remained inside the room were you and the vice-principal inside his office. 

You glanced at your phone and read the time. Debating whether to rest or power through your sleepiness, you decided to do the former. You set an alarm and put the right side of your head over its corresponding arm. You placed your left hand on your phone, so you could quickly stop it from ringing.

"Just fifteen minutes."

"Su-Gang, where are you going?"

After cutting all his classes that followed yours, Su-Gang left the rooftop without bringing his bag with him. To his so-called friends' surprise, he took the direction that would lead him to the principal's office and, eventually, the whole faculty's room. 

"Mind your damned business, you little shit." He pulled his vape out of his pocket and dumped it into the nearest bin. "Fucking cocksucker." 

Su-Gang was still not in the best mood after finding out that his crew lied to him last Friday. 

To think that they thought they would be spared for hiding the truth from him and trying to cover it up—brainless idiots. 

And to think that if he had not drive that car, he would never learn that you were holding hands with a man—a man he had no way of recognizing—and those bitches would be there with him, mooching off of his parents' money, internally laughing at his ignorance. 

He stepped foot inside the teachers' lounge without any thought in mind. Simultaneously, the vice-principal emerged from his cave, briefcase in hand and ready to leave. 

"Su-Gang," the old man squeaked. "What are you, er, what are you doing here?" 

"Are you ordering me to tell you what I'm here for?" 

"No!" he hastily replied. "Not at all!" 

Not risking to be the target, he got out of the room, not even noticing that there was still someone inside aside from him and the devil spawn. 

Su-Gang wandered inside the teachers' lounge, his eyes raking over the tables filled with clutter and picture frames of family members he could not care less about knowing. 

"Teacher [Name]?" 

He made himself comfortable beside you, sitting on the swivel chair of whoever was placed at your left. 

"Hey." 

When you did not answer him, he poked your forehead. 

You were indeed asleep. 

You were napping defenselessly at a place you knew he resided. 

He did not know whether to admire you for that or ridicule you. 

"A bitch like you shouldn't be getting on my nerves," he huffed. "But here we are." 

You have lived a life that had nothing to do with him, while all he had done after you left was for you. 

Rather, to have you.

He enhanced his physique so if he were to grab you and carry you, no one could pry his hands off of you the way those leech-like maids held him back after he stabbed you with a fork. He studied driving so if he were to abduct you, the both of you could easily get away from the public's eyes before they even notice you were gone. He did the things he had done for the sake of having you, and yet, you have lived your life that way. 

It was apparent that you were happy with the way your life had turned out after you left him. It was apparent, seen from the way you laughed. Your laughter with that guy was wider and happier than any of the ones you gave him nine years ago. That smile you had seemed so genuine, and he knew that the times you grinned at him were fake and full of fear. 

Normally, he would be elated at the idea of someone being terrified of him, but you—what he have for you—were nowhere near normal.

If you asked him to have you be hired as a teacher here, he would even give you double the salary of the principal. If you asked him to quit his vices, he would stop even with the risk of relapsing. If you asked him to take his studies seriously again, just like he used to do in his childhood, he would. If you asked him to push those kids who latched at him everyday from a height, he would do it in a heartbeat. 

With a price, of course. With the price being you, obviously. Nothing in this day and age is free. 

You changed, and so did he.

Not too much change on his end, though. After all, if you were the payment, he would never hesitate to do it. 

"Miss," he mumbled. 

He moved closer with the swivel chair and rested his temple against the cubicle divider, watching your evidently tired eyes flicker as you slept peacefully. He took your left hand and put it close to his mouth. He planted soft kissed onto your scars, admiring the way they persistently marked you even when the years have went by.

Similar to those scars, you could never get rid of him. 

"Miss."

He could kill you right here and right now without any difficulty, and no one would even rat him out.

"You made the wrong choice of continuing to teach here." 

And he does not forgive mistakes, no matter how small.

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525

author's note.

Again, I apologize for the mistakes, especially when it comes to the teacher stuff. I'm not a teacher, and the program I'm studying is not Education.

Thank you for the support!

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. IX

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1933

previous chapter.

"Don't tell me what?"

Panic crashed onto them like large waves of the sea. 

Su-Gang, the last person they wanted to hear that, appeared.

He was gone for a whole afternoon, and they did not expect to see him in that state.

His hair was disheveled, and the other pieces of his uniform were nowhere to be found. His tie was wrapped around his right hand, covering his knuckles. It did a bad job in protecting him from whatever—or whoever—it was that he decided to pour his anger out on, because his hand was bleeding and rather swollen.

"Don't tell me what?" he repeated. "Say it before I make you all say it."

Eun-Gyo's eyes rapidly snapped to his own pair and to where you and Kwon-Jung used to stand. Luckily, you were gone, and Su-Gang did not appear to notice her. 

"That—"

"Jin-Hyung's escaped," the bowl-cut guy lied. 

"What the hell did you say?" 

"Jin-Hyung's escaped."

"We still don't know that," Moon-Ki pretended to argue, never losing his cool. "Maybe he's hiding." 

He shrugged and put his hands inside his pockets, hiding the fact that they were shaking.

"That's why we did—" 

"Shut the fuck up." Su-Gang licked his lower lip. "That little bitch." 

He was already enraged as he was because that worm was saved because of you. You, who he knew was the type to pretend not to see his abominable acts, sacrificed your well-being just to make sure that he would be spared. 

His face tensed, and his eye twitched. His lips wobbled, and the only thing he could do right now was suck his teeth in frustration. 

"Find him—no." Su-Gang's mouth stretched into a grin with its right side higher than the other. "Find his grandmother.

"Those kids were staring at us earlier."

You glanced at your companion and checked his appearance as he walked with you. Slouched back and clothes a little bigger than what he usually wore—If someone would see him tight now, you doubt that they would recognize him right away. His voice, too, was raspy.

"Kids?"

"Yeah, sitting on a car," he quietly said. "White one." 

Your eyebrows furrowed when you concluded who they were.

Come to think of it—Su-Gang has a relative who was a higher-up in the police force.

With him not only off of his uniform, he was barely recognizable. The demon might see him with you, but he would have no way of knowing who Kwon-Jung was. 

"Kwon-Jung." 

"Yeah?"

"You did good." 

"What?" 

"By wearing a hoodie."

Maybe it was him being a police officer—or maybe it was just him being him—Kwon-Jung understood the implications of your words.

He fixed his mask and made sure that it covered the lower half of his face securely. 

"Hide that face very well," you reminded him.

"Yes, ma'am.

Monday came.

You are still furious. 

Furious of what happened to you. 

Furious of what he did to you. 

Furious of what he said to you. 

Su-Gang said that you did not belong in that school, but between a teacher and a twenty-year old male delinquent, which one would be more believable to exist inside a high school? 

You were gifted with the ability to teach, and you could do it as easily as breathing. You were made to be a teacher, even if you used to never desired to be one—with arts being your prior biggest ambition. This life was for you, and you would never give him the chance to ruin the normalcy you have built for almost a decade. 

If he did not want you there, then he should be the one leaving.

With two tiny tablets of your over-the-counter allergy medication on your palm, you entered the room one minute before the bell would ring. You placed your things on the table and took the medicine, drinking a gulp of water from your tumbler after. You breathed the air in, finding the absence of your mask somewhat freeing. You pressed the heels of your palms onto the edge of the teacher's desk and waited for the class to be complete. Those who saw you, however, looked at you as if you were a stranger trespassing their room.

Eventually, everyone was inside and seated—Su-Gang and his underlings included. Somehow, even their leader was a being silent, his eyes gazing outside through the windowpane, which you did not expect from him, especially after what he had done almost three days ago. He even wore his uniform properly—pristine and ironed—with his school blazer instead of a trench coat or a leather jacket. His tie was just tight enough the way the student handbook would want students to fasten it. He appeared to much of a perfect student that it unnerved you. Whatever he was up to, you could not determine at all.

"Good morning, class," you said. "I'll be checking the attendance later." 

The moment that they heard your voice, recognition sparked inside their heads.

"Good morning, teach." 

You took out your chalk holder, and you wrote the syllables that made the word 'freedom'.

"Can anyone tell me what you think the meaning of freedom is?" you began. "What comes in your mind the moment you heard the word, 'freedom'?" 

Hands shot up, and answers were stated. None of them were right, yet none of them were wrong either.

"Good answers," you praised. "This perspective contradicts my past professor's, though. She once mentioned that to be really free is to be the opposite of what we think being free is."

Confusion was painted on their faces, and you found yourself amused. 

"As a society, a lot of us might have the misconception that the idea of freedom refers to one's ability to do anything they want without any repurcussions," you continued. "We might've been raised to think that the freedom we have gives us immunity from the consequences that our decisions bring."

You started strolling, your eyes wandering around and searching if there were phones being used under their tables. 

There was one.

And he was not even bothering to use it subtly. 

"As I've discussed last week, the concept of consequence pertains to what follows once we committed an act." You reached over to Su-Gang's phone and took it. "Everyone is free to think, but not everyone should be free to act upon those particular thoughts."

You did not look at the screen or do anything to invade his privacy; you merely flipped it with the screen now facing down on top of his desk.

Just like you would with any other student.

"First warning for you, Su-Gang Han," you whispered, just loud enough to be heard by him alone.

You did not turn your head to see the kind of reaction he has after. You proceeded with your lesson without giving importance to his offense. 

"What do you think happens when someone harms another? For example, I, an armed assailant with a knife, stabbed a passerby. Would I be free from that crime?" You pursed your lips, returning to the front. "Let me ask a better question: Should I be free after doing that crime?"

"No," they answered in unison. 

"No." You nodded. "No, I shouldn't be."

You wrote several words on the board, the sound of the white stick soothing to the ear. 

"Freedom can be defined as a person practicing their will without compromising another's safety and integrity. It should be responsible and considerate." You faced the class. "In Ethics, you've already known that we are going to learn about the rules a person must practice as an individual and the framework society must uphold as a whole. Freedom is a part of it."

You drew a diagram where you put the main concepts and their short definition. You also sketched two doodles of an artist with a rectangle symbolizing a wall, one with a circle and the other one with a cross mark.

"Say, you're an artist. You're free to paint on any type of canvas—a piece of cloth stapled onto a rectangle wood frame, a vase made of clay, or the walls—as long as you're painting yours, or if you were permitted to paint someone else's property." You used your chalk to tap on the crossed one to emphasize. "On the other hand, if you were to paint there without permission, you will be committing vandalism, which will have you be penalized. That penalty is the negative consequence of your unethical act. From then on, your freedom to express yourself through art might be taken away."

You placed your dominant hand on your chest.

"I, as an educator, am free to like students who listen to me and do the tasks I tell you to do, but I'm not allowed—I'm not free—to favor them over the ones who don't. If I were to misuse my freedom as a teacher and, for example, add points to those objectively good students, I will be stripped off of my license." 

You brought your candy bag with you as you walked around the classroom. You dropped three to those who answered earlier, four to those whose answers you liked more.

"Another one. You as a student." You gestured at them. "You're more than free to study using the methods you think are appropriate for you. You, however, are not free to cheat when there are examinations even when you don't know the answer."

You felt your throat dry up, your body's silent call for you to hydrate it. 

"You are also not free to harm teachers, fellow classmates, and other staff." You swallowed thickly, deciding to drink water later. "Once you do, you will face a punishment, like suspension, and you will also gain future restrictions."

"Teach, what do you mean by future restrictions?"

You mused, organizing your thoughts so they could understand you better. 

"Social repercussions. Ostracization," you clarified. "Your teachers will view you as a problem student, and in turn, they will avoid interacting with you inside and outside teaching environment. Your peers will consider you a threat. They will fear you and will not talk to you unless absolutely necessary. Staff will see you as a nuisance. An annoyance that makes their job harder."

Someone from your class remarked, "They're not that bad, though."

"That's true," you agreed. "But, these seemingly simple consequences can restrict you from enjoying the freedom you should have as a student—in normal circumstances, that is."

They bobbed their heads, comprehending your words. 

"Remember, being feared does not give you ultimate freedom from everyone and everything, nor does it grant you lasting authority." You clasped you hands together. "It actually causes you isolation." 

You need not drop names for the class to know who you were talking about, but those who you were pertaining to would not have the evidence that you were indeed talking about them. A taunt too mild it could be mistaken for not being one, or a provocation that only those who were targeted would be offended—you might have not been as strong as Si-Min or as patient as Kwon-Jung yer you have your own edge as well.

"Freedom and Ethics are interconnected. Think of it as Ethics being the cause and freedom being the effect." You paused. "You do ethical things, and you will be free to have conscious decisions without anyone interfering. 

All of a sudden, your eyelids became heavy.

"Ah," you seethed.

This is why you never liked taking that brand. It was strong and fast, but it makes you drowsy. Well, it was not like you could complain. After all, it was your fault for forgetting to buy the usual at the pharmacy, so you had no other option aside from purchasing some antihistamine from that convenience store down the block before you got to school.

"The—" You yawned softly. "I apologize."

You blinked several times and rubbed inner edges of your eyes, pinching your nose after.

"Are you feeling well, teach?" 

"Yes. It's just the antihistamines."

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525

author's note.

I apologize if there are mistakes, especially at the discussion part. There are all my understanding of the texts from the several books I have read as basis for every chapter that included Ethics class.

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. VIII

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1747

previous chapter.

Su-Gang's hand shot on its own to grab you by the back of your neck. 

However, before he could, a familiar face showed up. 

"Teacher [Name]."

Jae-Kyeong stood in front of you, her chest heaving up and down. A cluster of her curly hair stuck on her forehead, indicating that she was sweating—she ran all the way here. 

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I need her help." 

"Can't you see that we aren't done talking yet?" He loosened his tie and combed his hair with his fingers. "Are you blind?"

"It's an urgent matter." 

"Do I look like I care?"

"What could be it?" you rasped.

"Papers." The apples of her cheekbones moved upward. "Come with me." 

You did not let Su-Gang do something; you practically sprinted just to get to your colleague.

You were saved.

"I see," you said, nodding. 

She grasped your arm and drag you with her until you got out of the hallways that led to the art room. 

"I didn't know what's going on, but you need to stop provoking him. If it weren't for that first year, I wouldn't have known that you were with him right now."

"Ah, Jin-Hyung." 

"Think of your safety." She smiled, but there was a knowing disapproval laced in it. "And ours, too." 

It made you feel nauseated to hear her speak about her worries when she was just like her other coworkers—of those who were dangling you into the waters as bait to keep the beast from harming them, and they were enjoying that you were acting as their shield unwillingly, yet now that you were doing the same to them, suddenly, you were jeopardizing everyone due to your selfishness.

A person without a backbone to keep them standing up and from breaking down the moment his eyes has been laid upon them, lecturing you? A person who could do nothing but apologize and beg for mercy when his mother arrived at the school with her hells lacking like a horse galloping through a battlefield. Whether it was due to concern or otherwise, you could not help but be disgusted with it. In fact, if you could pull out your guts out and squeeze all of their contents to dispose this creeping feeling that nestled inside your core. 

How dare they act as though they know Su-Gang more than you? 

Even if they were to spend their lifetime with him, their knowledge about him and how far he can go with his little games of amusement would never amount to what you have witnessed firsthand. In a place where he was the emperor—even higher than his kingly power inside the complicated walls and architecture of this school—only you were the only one who could even manage to get close to him. You have came to near to him that you saw the extent of what he can do just because. 

"Where are you going?"

You did not even realize you were diverting from the path to the faculty, but you made no move to follow her again. 

"Washroom," you replied.

You left her and made your way to the nearest single-stall lavatory. Inside, you immediately searched for a trash bin and threw the mask you did not know you kept holding onto for dear life. You locked the knob and leaned onto the door. 

"Damn this school," you spoke under your breath. 

You turned the tap on and made the water gush out loudly. You let its noise drown the thoughts that plagued your mind to no end, and you let it calm you down before you do anything more idiotic than saving that kid from Su-Gang. You gasped for air, keeping yourself from gagging and expelling the food you have eaten during lunch earlier. You gathered some of the water with your palms, and you washed your mouth. You rubbed your lips—inner and outer—to scrub off any of the trace that might have penetrated your mask. Tears then fell from your eyes, but they were not out of fear.

They were out of vexation, each drop filled of despisal for everyone who existed in this cursed place—including and especially yourself. You simply wanted to live normally, but you knew that you could not—yet you could not let go of that foolish desire of spending your days as a teacher peacefully when the monster you escaped from was the one who owned it.

"Hah," you scoffed.

You chuckled bitterly, feeling that helplessness you have once felt before inside the clutches of his family. You knew their tenacity more than anyone else in this school, and you knew that they were not the ones to let go of a grudge. 

You supposed that this was the greatest consequence that you could ever have. 

Like a rat, you have skittered around in order not to catch the wrath of those who claim to value you a little more than the people they can get rid of without even batting an eye. They loved you so much they wanted you in their picture-perfect family, but you did not want to join them, so you left. With those scars that could never fade, you left them with promise of no return. 

So why were you here?

Why do you keep stepping inside this school knowing what he was capable of doing just to have you again? Why do you keep attending the class that he was in? Why do you keep pushing through, when you could have accepted you fate and let him control you like a puppet? 

"Don't make me laugh," you mumbled. 

Either you die or you leave—those were the only options for you. 

Either he kill you or he fire you—those were the only options for him. 

No matter which choice he take, there is no other end but him letting you go—of setting you free once and for all. 

Because in this quiet yet deadly battle of yours against him, you refuse to lose. 

You need to win, and you would rather die than stop trying.

"He should be the one who needs to stop provoking me."

Your phone vibrated inside your pocket, and thankfully, it was not your mother. 

"Hey," Kwon-Jung said. 

"Hi."

"Are you feeling well?" He coughed. "Your voice sounds hoarse."

"Says you."

You covered the microphone of your device and sniffled, not wanting him to hear that you were crying. Of all people, you did not want him to be involved with the complexities of your past, which was now entangled with your present. 

"Let's meet up," he abruptly borough up. "It's Friday." 

"I don't have money to spare."

You used your non-dominant hand to hold your phone, while you used the other one to cup yourself water to rinse your eyes with. You blinked your tears away, and soon, you have stopped crying. 

"My treat, then."

"How generous of you."

"I'm not kidding. Today's my day off."

"And you're sick?" you teased. "Talk about unlucky."

"Mhm."

You heard him create some noises only a sick person could make, and you made him finish his capella before hitting him with something you knew all too well would make his mood worse. 

"Can Si-Min come?"

"No."

"Why not?" you drawled. 

His cousin, Si-Min, was the reason he met you, and he will always be grateful to her due to that. However, there was no way he could want to send this moment with you with her, since they frequently meet each other anyway. Besides, he want to be a one with you at least once. 

"You've met up just this recent." 

You laughed softly, not even clearing up that you were merely annoying him by asking a question he obviously disliked hearing. 

"Wear a mask when you meet me." 

"That's a given."

When the call ended, you felt your chest has become lighter than before. 

Your remaining classes passed by in a blur, and you soon found yourself walking toward the entrance of the school. 

Not too far was a tall man, with his side leaning against the metal bars of one of the gates. He was not putting any foot inside the academic institution, and you appreciated that he was abiding with even the smallest and simplest of rules. 

"You're wearing a hoodie," you said pointedly. "Couldn't you have worn something nicer?"

He grunted before stepping backwards. 

"I'm sick. Be nicer with me, would you?"

He even coughed to make his point clearer. 

You pulled him back to stumble for a step inside or two, and to your silent approval, he lowered his head so you could put your hand on it and estimate his degree of sickness.

"If you're so sick, then you shouldn't have come here." 

"I missed you," he answered sincerely. 

Your nose scrunched, and you only realized that you forgot to wore a mask.

"Ugh." You mildly nudged him on the forehead. "I'm telling Si-Min about this." 

"No. Everything but that," he protested. "She'll kick me in the face."

"You'll survive it, don't ya worry."

"[Name]."

"Whatever shall you do?" You huffed, a small quirk of your lips showing. "Unfortunately for you, you'll need to comfort me with your company."

When he heard that, his joking yet gentle disposition switched into a more concerned one. 

"Something happened?" 

"I'll tell you about it once we're somewhere safer."

"Safer?"

You need not to elaborate what you could mean by that, but you really wanted to tell him. 

Lest something happens to you in the future.

"Later."

He peeled his eyes away from you and quickly looked around the entirety of the buildings. His eyes fell onto a car with a group of students resting on its rear.

"Sure."

He held your hand, and his heat almost scorched you.

"You're burning," you commented.

From the opposite side, Eun-Gyo eyed your pair with curiosity. Moon-Ki glanced at her, wondering why she was staring at the gates for a minute now. With Su-Gang gone, she was a lot quieter, and it would not take any genius to figure out that her loud enthusiasm to eager him was faux, which she uses to keep him from making her his target. 

"What are you loo—"

"Miss Temp," she cut him off. 

The others followed her gaze, and soon, the few cogs inside their miniscule brains turned. 

"Don't tell him about this," Su-Gang's second-hand man ordered them. "No one's telling him about this."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

"Don't tell me what?"

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. VII

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count:1889

previous chapter.

Su-Gang held him higher, which hurt him more.

"Are you in pain?"

It was an asinine question, yet you did not know what else to say. You walked closer to the boy, but not too close that Su-Gang could grab you. 

"You told me that my English writing skills are bad," Su-Gang reminded you, trying to catch your attention. 

You tried to read the boy's name plate, which was difficult given your distance, but you succeeded eventually. 

"Jin-Hyung, are you in pain?"

"Teach, he's fine," a boy whose name you forgot dismissed.

As if to prove their words, Su-Gang let him go without a warning. The boy fell onto his face, and you could almost hear your heart break into pieces. 

"I'll ask you again, are you in pain?" 

"Isn't it obvious?" 

"Shush," you shut him down, your words with an edge. "Close your mouth."

Your eyes were only on Jin-Hyung, but all of them felt the weight of your glare. 

"Yes," he gasped. 

Whether it was bravery or plain foolishness, you quickly made your way to Jin-Hyung and kneeled beside him. You patted your pocket in search for your handkerchief, and when you found it, you patted his busted lip. It hurt seeing someone of who resembled your brother being treated this way, and you would rather deal with the consequences later than pretend not to see anything. 

It was selfish that you were playing hero simply because he looked like your relative—you will not deny and say the otherwise.

"You should tutor me, one on one," Su-Gang said slowly, rising from his position so he could look down at and on you. "Just the two of us, skin-to-skin."

When the other teens heard his provocation, they clapped their hands. They chortled tauntingly, waiting for you to do something that will amuse them to no end, yet you did not.

"Contract employees like myself are not allowed to tutor children."

Children? 

Him? A child?

"Do I look like a fucking child to you?"

"You are."

You are?

He is? 

You did not even say that he does look like a child. You said that he is.

"I'm twenty years old, and you know that."

You helped the boy stand up with you, and you gave him the gentlest pat on the shoulder. Your eyes, still, never left Jin-Hyung, telling him to do the same and not mind the others around. 

"You may be legally an adult, but to your teachers—or, to me at least—you are a child."

"Get lost."

He was not pertaining to you. You knew that was referring to his underlings who never grew a backbone—they reminded you of who you used to be—and for that, you stayed where you stood. 

"All of you," he cleared up. "Get lost."

"You should leave as well," you said, your tone soft and concerned. 

Within a tick of a clock, your sisterly disposition switched back to how you were whenever you dealt with Su-Gang. It was a clear slap to the face to see you interact with others, let alone be so nice to them, especially to that vermin. 

Tiredly, you asked, "What is it you truly want to discuss with me?" 

He took his coat and tossed it on the floor, exactly where Jin-Hyung Go, the boy with the saddest pair of eyes, used to be pinned down. He peeled his slipover, all while his eyes fixatedly scrutinized you.

"Su-Gang Han, the floor is dirty."

You looked around, and you saw that no one was there with the two of you anymore. Perhaps they were hiding or they indeed left, you had no way of knowing in the meantime. 

"Don't pretend like you don't know what's going to happen."

"Su-Gang, you should not be acting like this," you scolded him, monotonous and disinterested. 

"Run that mouth." He clicked his tongue before kissing his teeth. "I'll show you what you're calling a child." 

He took your hand and attempted to press it against his chest, as if to make a point that he indeed was supposed to be viewed as someone grown and mature enough for you. You, however, snatched your hand and dusted it along the hem of your blouse. You muttered something about not having your alcohol spray with you, which made his jaw click. 

"Fix your uniform," you berated him. "And if it's tutoring you want, I'm certain that the teachers are already busy to do that, so I'll ask them instead if they can give you supplementary activities and modules to study during free time."

It was driving him crazy seeing you act as though he was simply a student—who you have only met weeks ago—to you. 

"Don't act like you don't remember me." 

"Su-gang Han, refrain from this inappropriate behavior from now on."

He punched the space an inch away from your ear.

You did not flinch, but it was obvious enough that what he did affected you negatively. Even so, within a blink of an eye, you regained your composure, posture straight and gaze unwavering. 

"I'll decide which behavior is appropriate or not," he warned. "You hear me?" 

You stared at him the way a sitter would to an annoying child acting up unreasonably.

"I can hear you clearly." 

"Do you think you could just ignore me? Walk away when you want to?"

He grabbed you by the collar of your blouse and slammed your back against the door that leads to the art room. Before you could even catch your breath, he shoved his lips onto yours, and the only thing that kept him from tasting your mouth was the flimsy three-layered mask that you wore to block your lower face from dust. He pulled you toward him, but your hands were quicker. You pushed him away from you, your chest heaving hard.

You were shaking like a leaf against the wind blowing strong. You put a single finger along the loop of your mask, and you took it off of your face, not even touching the part where his lips has landed—or rather, crashed. Disgust coated every single bit of your being, and who knows ho little it would take him to break you, or at least take you apart. With the back of your hand—the one he did not touch—you wiped your lips and rubbed your skin against your trousers.

"Look at me." He moved closer to you once more, as though challenging you to react—to cry, to be enraged, to be satisfied—yet your eyes, despite now meeting his, seemed so far away. "Shit!"

As his fingers clamped around your jaw, he made sure that you could feel his nails digging into your cheeks. He clenched his other hand into a tight ball, and he repeatedly hit the door using the side of his fist, his flesh effectively cushioning his hand from the impact. Each time his hand hits the door, your eyelids close for a single millimeter, and it was an enough validation for him that you were afraid that the next time he does it, it would be onto your pretty face. 

 

"I can ruin your life." He chuckled lowly, his breath fanning the delicate part behind your ear. "I can ruin your life for breaking your promise to me."

Your promise of never teaching anyone but him. Your promise that you would never value anyone more than him. Your promise that you would never leave him no matter how inhumane he becomes.

"You weren't supposed to be here," he grumbled. "You know damn well you're not supposed to be here!"

He cared not if his shout made your ears ring, or if they were hurt; if anything, he wanted to do more than just hurt you.

He was not the kind of person who lets go of even the smallest inconvenience, so, of course, he would never be the kind of person who sets free of past grudges for the peace of minds of both parties. He pays back using the most diabolical means, and you were not an exception. 

You have hurt him when you left—

No. 

He was not hurt. 

Su-Gang would never be hurt by the likes of you. 

You, a cockroach scurrying under his feet in order not to be stepped on and be crushed by his weight, should never hurt him.

"Teacher [Name]," he muttered. 

His face twitched, and the right side of his lips quirked up into a sly smirk. He buried his nose into your hair, sniffing the faint smell of shampoo that clung into the strands. He faced you again, his tongue licking his lips. 

"You're paying attention to me."

He tightened the grip he had on you, but it only made you to react less. Your eyes raked his form, bored and unimpressed.

"You're not the only student I'm paying attention to."

He set your jaw free and covered his mouth. 

"I can do whatever I want with you, and they won't even goddamned care." A strangely unique sound came from the back of his throat. "Those bastards won't give a fuck because, at least, it wasn't them." 

Your lips, a tad bit swollen, pursed. 

"I'll keep that in mind."

What that was was not submission, nor was it an act of defiance. It was a way to discipline him, and he knew that based on the way you peered through him. Disappointed and loathing, you studied him without any ounce of interest, and yet, he remained waiting for something—anything that would fill that void you caused.

You turned away from him, your back facing him like you did nine years ago. You left him without a word, your body language alone enough to tell him that he had done has displeased you. 

Not as Teacher [Name], but as his Miss.

He should be overjoyed for that, so why was he not?

He desired to see you again, yet at the same time, he did not want seeing you within his territory. Instead, he wanted you inside his house like a decorative piece only he could touch and see. He wanted your warmth, and he wanted your breaths to be caused by him. He wanted you to think of only him, to speak of only him, to live for him. He desired to hear you gasp under him as he made sure that the every fiber of being was intertwined with his.

Because, ever since he was a young boy, the moment the two of you has crossed paths, he has wanted to possess you. Because everything that he has laid his eyes upon was his and only his, and now that he was a meter away from you, he could do that easily without anyone interfering. Because he desired you in a way that a student should not—he was not a student before you met him, was he? 

He was not a student; he was your student. You were his teacher; You were his.

But you had the nerve to leave him as if you had the choice—as if he let you have a choice in the matter.

As a bitter realization has presented itself in front of him, he could only bite his cheek and grind his teeth. 

"You don't get to leave me again." 

He would rather kill you right now than let you go.

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. VI

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1889

previous chapter.

"You didn't come for a week."

Su-Gang, nine in age, stood in front of a girl who was half a head taller than he was. While he wore expensive clothing of brands with quality so refined their logos were kept hidden, she wore a simple, white shirt and pyjama pants for bottoms. With you beingout of that professional-yet-still-young persona you showed them, you appeared so different—like you belonged at the bottom of the ladder, and that, you did.

You were from a family that used to live through paycheck to paycheck, and even if your mother was away to work for a higher-paying job, it would still not be enough to change your status, let alone match his. 

"What did I tell you?" You wiped the sweat that was accumulating along your cheek. "I warned you that your tantrums won't work on me."

Missus Han sighed and ran her eyes around the entirety of your apartment unit. It was clean, but even the maids' quarters were bigger than it. 

"Dear, you should get dressed," she suggested. "Let's have this conversation somewhere nicer." 

"No," you declined. "We're having it here." 

For the first time, in their eyes at least, you were acting the way any thirteen-year-old normally would. Stubborn to a fault yet, you refused to give them what they want until they do or give you what you want from them. What it was, they had no way of knowing, unless you were to tell them directly.

"What do you want me to give you? Shoes? Bags? A room in our house?"

You could almost laugh with their lack of self-awareness—or maybe, she was aware but was merely intentionally out of touch. 

"An apology," you answered curtly. "Apologize for hurting me."

Missus Han scoffed, but she could not possible show you that she was having second-guesses if she really liked you around. She supposed she could simply straighten that attitude out of you; after all, there were no one who has survived of her punishments before without them begging for mercy and swearing that they would be obedient. She could guess that it was your mama's doing that you were starting to behave the way lowly, disposable sorry-excuse-for-humans would. Or hormones, which in this case, would be better. 

"Can't you reconsider?" she asked. 

It was not even about her being unable to find a new employee that will teach him. There would be a lot of individuals who would wish to have the salary—and privilege to ask for more—that you were paid with, and her and her family's influence and power could practically nail them onto the ground if they so wish to. This situation was merely about you not wanting to be under their care, and they, especially their boy, would do anything to drag you back to their house.

However, he has now learned that force does nothing to keep you still. Anything that you deem hurtful to you would be a non-negotiable cause for you to leave, and if this was your condition, then he would make you believe that him acting up was the only thing he could do when he was upset. You have yet to know what he was capable of, and you have yet to know who he truly was. Bit by bit, he would coax you into thinking that you being unharmed by him would be the greatest benevolence.

"Why don't you fix your son's attitude first?" you retorted. "Then, I will reconsider."

She, despite the heat that the sun was pouring down, felt chills, and the cause was not even bigger than her. She swallowed thickly, and even without hearing her say it directly, you knew she was scared of her own child she bore from her own reproductive organs.

They say that children who are overly afraid of their mothers can never grow well, but no one has ever said anything about the opposite. 

Mothers who are afraid of their children can never raise them properly. 

"You know him," she stuttered. 

"Do I?" 

"I hate you," the kid sneered. 

"You can hate me, but I don't care." Finally, you returned his glare with a harsher one. "Either you learn your lesson now or find another tutor. Your call."

Just before you were about to shut the door right to their faces, you heard him mumble something. 

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

To you. 

He swore that he would never throw these fits, and soon, you became wrapped around his finger, dancing on his palm like the doll inside a music box. You have acted so obediently that it made him believe you would stay with him forever. 

"It's stated in General Ethics by Agnes Heller that action is a consequence of decision, decision is a consequence of deliberation, deliberation of a particular kind is a consequence of our character traits, and so on," you explained, clearing your throat after. 

The rain outside fell loudly and overpowered your voice. Even with the mic on, its sound remained stronger, and you had no other option but to strain your throat just to be audible. 

"Teach, I can't hear you," Moon-Ki shouted lazily. "Speak louder."

"Yeah!" The girl agreed. "It's raining so hard, Teach."

They giggled to themselves like preschool children trying to keep a secret from their caretaker. They threw crumpled sheets of paper in your direction before one of them whistled. The class became visibly frustrated, but there was no one who stood up literally and figuratively. Even you, instead of giving them satisfaction by showing any reaction, stayed composed. It was as if you could not see them or hear the ruckus that they were creating.

Lightning cracked over your heads and thunder rumbled after. 

"You should remove that mask, and maybe, we'll hear you talk."

With that, the whole class fell silent. 

There were no pages that rustled, no pens that scratched the papers, no chatter that acted as white noise.

With only eleven words—or twelve, if one were to be technical—Su-Gang has silenced any noise from being produced.

"Take it off." 

You did not oblige. 

You pinched the clip of your mask before clearing your throat for the second time.

"Consequantialism in Ethics can refer to the outcome or result—or lack thereof—that follows once a person does a conscious or unconscious action or decision. It is also called the teleogical theory of ethics, which came from the Greek word 'telos,' or end, purpose, goal, result—things like that." You massaged your throat and sighed. "With this in mind, we can determine whether an action is right or wrong if the consequence that happens after is either good or bad, or beneficial or harmful, not only to the doer of action, but also to the individuals around them." 

He kicked his desk, and it hit the student in front of him.

"I said, I can't hear you."

Without replying with anything, you turned the page of your book and scanned its contents. 

"Good morning, students and teachers," an older man spoke, his voice being transmitted through the large speakers. 

It was an announcement made at the control room. 

"Due to today's weather, we would need to cancel all our classes for this day," he said. "Once the rain has stopped briefly, everyone is free to go home."

The speakers were turned off, and the buzzing from students returned. 

"Check your school email address once you're home." You closed your book, but not before inserting your pen to act as bookmark. "I will be sending you your activity, and it will be submitted tomorrow." 

They made a sound of complaint, but you only laughed lightly.

"Pack your things, children."

Days passed after that, and the skies could never be clearer. 

Su-Gang has not attended your classes, and although it should make you feel worried, you were happy that they were gone. In all honesty, you wished for him to vanish entirely, and you were sure that you were not the only one who share the same sentiment about him and his group. 

"Teacher [Name]!" one of your male colleagues called over. 

"Where are you off to?" another one asked. "It's still lunch break." 

"The art room."

"Are you an artist?" 

"No," you denied. "I just like looking at the materials there."

There was an uncomfortable pause, but it felt that you were the only one who could sense it. 

Talk about lacking awareness. 

"Do you have plans later?" he pressed. 

"I don't," you replied, barely keeping a friendly facade. "Why?" 

"We're having a gathering after class."

"I'll have to decline, but thank you for always inviting me."

You knew that you should appreciate them always trying to include you, but they should have known better than to ask you about it constantly. They are well aware that your salary as a temporary teacher was barely enough to keep you afloat, and if you were to spend it for coffee or anything of the sort, you really would not have anything to pay for your necessities like rent. It was rather irritating of them to bother you about these trivialities, especially when they were treating you as though you were their all-rounder assistant. 

"You gotta join us once you're a regular, 'kay?"

"I will."

"Oh, better yet, when you're finally a regular, we'd treat you as your welcoming party." 

"That's nice to hear."

Your phone, which was tucked inside the back pocket of your trousers, vibrated, and you were saved from their endless attempts for conversation.

"Have you visited her?" the person asked. 

"Good afternoon to you, too, Mother," you answered sarcastically. 

"I'm on my way there. When are you going to visit her?"

"I'm gonna visit her urn soon."

"It's a shame she never had a family of her own. She spent all her younger years raising her own siblings, and she had her last job—"

"Mother, can we not?"

"What?" she snapped. "If she didn't die, would we even know that she's getting mistreated there?"

You sighed, guilt enveloping your whole form as you listened to her never-ending reminiscing filled with sorrow and fury. 

All this time, your mother never knew that while you were living under her friend's care when she was still working overseas, you used to pretend to be the woman's daughter and take tutoring sessions with the son of her friend's employer to get some cash, and you had no plans to tell her any sooner.

"I will visi—" You heard someone grunt followed by several laughter. "I will call you later."

Light on your feet, you followed the source. However, before you could even get too near them, you saw the surveillance camera at the ceiling being blocked by what you could guess was tape.

"Man, we told you to bring edible food, not this."

"Kimbap!" the girls cheered. "Kimbap! Kimbap!" 

If this was a show, you would think that this was almost comical. The way they acted reminded you of a parody, a satirical play with exaggerated movements and villainy, and yet, this was real.

"I think he wants to poison us." 

Your eyes fell to the 'he' they were referring to. 

Oh no. 

There was that boy you saw in the video.

"Oh, look. It's teacher [Name]." Su-Gang crouched and pulled the boy up by his hair. "Say hi."

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ashayein @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790

author's note.

I'm sorry for the late update. I had to be vaccinated for rabies after I got scratched by a feral stray cat. The anti-tetanus shot was so heavy it made me feel uncomfortable at the first day. Seongje, who? I even had to climb our house through our louvered windows because my beloved mother locked the key inside. I think I'm embodying my cat abilities pretty well, if one were to ask me. Should I wear Si-min's mask? Kidding aside, I really did get shot and was advised to rest, and I did take off my parents' windows just so I can enter the house. I even had the video of myself doing the technically illegal activity.

[nullicaput]

firsts, seconds, and thirds. III (final)

Pairings: Geum Seong-je x Reader, Wolf Keum x Reader

Tags: Minor College AU, Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Language and Profanities, Seong-je being mentally unstable

Summary: In a world where soulmates exist, you found yourself rejecting yours when you learned who it was.

Word count: 3877

previous chapter.

You did not know how long you were waiting outside the door of your neighbor Hwangmo. Curled up with your head on top of your folded knees, you patiently sat on the dusty floor of the hallway.

"Yo." 

"Senior," the guy you were waiting for said, causing your terrified heart a bit of relief. "What are you doing outside?" 

You lifted your head and made a sushing gesture. 

"Hwangmo."

He knelt in front of you and carefully pulled you up. With him present, the tears that you were keeping from spilling poured like a dam breaking. Your hearing stopped working due to your brain being to concentrated at the threat that was hiding inside your home—you did not notice that it was not just Hwangmo with you. 

"You cryin'?" Wolf teased. "Oh, fuck, you are."

"What happened?" the orange-haired male asked, concern evident in his face. 

"Someone's inside," you muttered, too scared to be heard. "The doorknob's busted."

"Amateur," Wolf interjected.

As if you were not even aware of his existence, you simply kept holding his underling's hands tightly. To Wolf's irritation, you even pulled his subordinate into an embrace, searching for comfort and asking for help. 

"Hwangmo," you sobbed. 

That almost drove Wolf over the edge. 

His eyes darkened at the sight of you confiding to his right-hand man instead of him, when he was the first one to approach you and not Hwangmo. The same man he was always with when he was doing errands from the big boss, assisting him with sweeping the garbage, having the same face and knuckle wounds—Hwangmo was a violent guy like him, and yet, you do not appear to fear him the way you did with Wolf. In a way, he envied Hwangmo and desired to switch places with him. For a reason he knew too well, he was frustrated that even Hwangmo could be capable of softness—and you even let that softness in. 

He craved your attention as though it was a necessity, as though it was his right—as though it was right. Perhaps, it was. After all, you were his, as he was yours.

Vexed, he went inside in your stead. The reason was unknown, even for him. He was uncertain if it was due to your display of clinging onto someone else, him just caring for your sake, or him wanting to be praised for his heroism—he was unsure. Hell, this was his first time feeling this way. No less for a person who seemed would hate the idea of being his. 

"Where's he going?" you panicked—again, not addressing him directly. 

"Seongje's got this," Hwangmo assured you. 

"Who?" 

"Wolf."

Inside your unit, Wolf switched the lights on and wore your plush indoor slippers. Light on his feet, he attempted to walk the pace you have and located the rat that made your door useless. He checked every nook and cranny, practically turning your flat upside down just to find his target. Not so long, he heard a rustling under your bed.

"Idiotic fuck."

From outside, you heard a sharp scream followed by a bone-chilling crack. The main door was opened, and you watched Wolf dragging a person by the hair.

Your stalker.

"Didn't I tell you that this is my turf?" He scowled, taking his glasses off and giving it to his right-hand man uncharacteristically gentle. "Specs."

You closed your eyes and covered your ears, but the sound of his fist hitting the man against the railings of the apartment reached you. 

"I'll tell the police!" your stalker threatened. 

"That you stalked and broke in in someone's flat then got pulverized?" He laughed. "Sure, you will."

You heard something hard hit the metal rails. Your stalker grunted each time it did.

"I'm sure you can survive the fall," Wolf exclaimed with mirth dripping from each word. "This is the third floor, you know?"

"I...won't," the rat pleaded. "I won't come here again! I won't bother her again!"

With Wolf's last punch, your stalker passed out, his head hanging limply. You soulmate let his victim fall onto the floor without any ounce of care. Instead, he scanned his bruised knuckles drip with blood.

Removing your hands from your ears, you ran straight to your unit with urgency. 

"Not even a verbal thanks?" Wolf teased. "You're cruel, Senior."

"Senior, where are you going?" 

"I'm checking for cameras."

Hwangmo exhaled, feeling the tension, which almost grew but did not.

"We can lend her one of the empty units," he suggested, returning his superior's eyewear. 

"Those shits are dusty. Can't have her gagging again after a display of charity, can we?" Wolf wiped his glasses with a portion of his shirt that did not have any blood. "Just guard her door tonight. We'll buy a replacement knob tomorrow."

You woke up to your lungs dry and heavy.

You opened your eyes to see light passing through the small gap of your bedroom door. 

"Why are the lights on?" you whispered. 

"Ah, yes," you talked to yourself as you went out. "Hwangmo's sleeping here because the doorknob's ruined."

You were walking to get yourself a glass of water when you saw a familiar purple hair through your peripheral vision. 

"Seongje?" you said, still half-awake. 

"Seongje?" He took his jacket off and fixed his sitting posture. "Where'd you learn that name from?"

Did he notice? 

"It was a slip of his tongue. Hwangmo's."

"Yeah?"

There was silence that hung thick as you took a step back away to reach the kitchenette of your apartment. It was a clumsy attempt to distract him from the fact that you uttered a word—your first word as his soulmate—directly to him, and you were hesitant if you could actually pull it off. You were not even sure why you were trying to grab a knife from the few pieces you had, but your gut was telling you to have something that could protect you. The small of your back made contact with the sink, while he remained sitting on the couch—he was not physically blocking the exit but could grab you easily if you were ever to attempt to make a dash for it—and yet, there was a shift in the air. It was malicious, territorial, famished—predatory. 

The seriousness that he typically had returned to his face; he was far from being entertained, which he usually was when he was messing around with you against your wishes. He appeared to be calm, like he was calculating the time he must take to close the distance between the two of you, which was not difficult considering how small this apartment was. 

"Since when have you known?" he said, his head tilting to the side—a habit of yours he adapted.

He has speculations that you did know all along, especially since you have been acting so avoidant with him whenever he was around, but there was something that told him that you knew the truth a lot earlier.

"Since when did you know?" he repeated, placing his glasses onto your coffee table. 

Your breath has been caught in your throat; you knew that this was the end of your year-long, one-sided masquerade.

"Why are you here in my unit?" you pathetically inquired.

"I asked you first."

"Thank you for dealing with him, but you can go now." 

"One more bullshit, and I'll knee you." With few steps, he closed the distance between the two of you to a single meter. "Don't think of grabbing that knife."

You did not listen to him and blindly picked one of the knives. It was the thinnest yet longest one. You pointed it at him, gripping the handle so hard your knuckles have turned lighter.

"Leave," you said. 

"Not before you tell me why the fuck would you hide this from me."

"Leave, Wolf." 

He hissed in pain and grunted, "How the hell are you not feeling hot?"

You were.

All this time, you were.

You were just hiding it, because having this pain was better than having him. 

"I don't want you."

People with sadistic tendencies experience enjoyment when seeing others react to the pain or violence they inflicted them, while those who are masochistic in nature find pleasure in receiving actions that are typically considered as violent and derogatory. 

Wolf was not a clueless young man who was oblivious to his sadomasochism. If anything, he knows himself so well he actively seek indulgement to satisfy it. As his journey to search for anything to give him the appropriate stimulation, he has heard insults after insults after insults that they have stopped affecting him the way he intended. After a few years of constant fighting, verbal arguments do not feel enough—they do not feel like anything anymore. 

Still, he knew all too well how to distinguish insults from the otherwise. 

What you said was not an insult at all.

So why did it feel like one?

"Say that again." 

"I didn't tell you, because I don't want you." You sighed to calm your nerves, you fingers tensing around the handle. "You won't get any merit from doing this. Just stop." 

"Where is the mark?"

"I'm not telling you," you insisted. 

"I'm losing all the patience I saved just for you."

"Why do you think I don't want you? Why do you think I would want you?"

You wished your words of rejection stung him—they did.

"Keep running your mouth, and I'll close it for you." 

"How? Are you going to beat me up the way you do with those people unprovoked?"

"Keep testing me," he warned.

"Even if you hit me, it wouldn't even be a shock to me." 

He stepped close to you.

You changed your initial grip and swung your dominant hand to stab him with the knife.

"Crazy bitch—"

He grabbed you by the wrist. You did not let go of the blade. Your nails dug deep into the flesh of your palm. You kept pushing. He kept holding you back. You used your other hand to increase the force. The wedge approached his eye; only an inch remained before it punctured him.

"Hah," he exhaled.

Wolf Keum has been known by those like him to have a three-second rule, which states that anyone who holds eye-contact with him for three seconds or more will be kissing his fist. Of course, not everyone was aware of that—and he adored the fact that there are individuals who do not—and they unfortunately get obliterated before they could even realize that they have broken that unsaid rule. 

Those who have mentored you and watched you speak in front of the crowd have known your own three-second rule. It refers to your habit of staring at a particular person in the audience for no more that three seconds before looking away to glance at the other ones. 

Right now, you have broken your own rule. Right now, he was not punishing you for breaking his rule, too.

From his position, he could clearly see the fullness of your intention to rob him of his ability to see with both his eyes. He cackled at the view of your fear vanishing ang becoming replaced with something more brave, of something more dangerous. For such a stupid reason, you were so prepared to take him down just so he would not be able to touch you and to claim what the divine beings have given to him. He never assumed that you could ever be more beautiful now that you were glaring at him with eyes filled with resentment and adrenaline than when you were smiling peacefully as though there were no threats in this world that could ever make you feel afraid for your life.

If it were anyone else, they would have been cowering in fear in front of him and begging for his forgiveness, and yet, there you were, staring at him straight in the eye as though it was the rightest thing in the world.

"[Name]," he said so quietly you could mistake it for a purr. 

His free hand moved to your neck and grasped the soft flesh that filled the hollowness of your airway. He could feel your pulse against his thumb, beating, throbbing, telling him to let go. However, he did none of the sort. He did not take his hand off, nor did he loosen the grip he had around your wrist.

"Senior."

He smiled, and then, he punched you straight to the gut.

"You—ack!" 

The knife fell from your hands, while you fell onto him. You coughed. You wheezed. You cried in pain.

"Bastard," you gasped, your breathing ragged. "You lunatic!"

"You kept blabbering about me being violent and shit, and yet you almost took my eye out."

You clawed his shirt in order to gain some stability, and he could feel your nails digging into his skin despite his thick shirt. He kicked the blade away while you latched onto him. Your vision swam due to the impact of his punch against your body, and you could only assume that the moment you let go will be the moment you would fall onto the floor. He did not stop you, but he pushed you away just a tad bit so he could still see your face. Your head hung behind while your back was now supported by his left forearm. He lifted your shirt up just below your chest, and he saw the letters peak through the waistband of your bottoms and undergarments—he tugged them down. 

Just low enough to see. 

Just low enough to feel. 

Just low enough to make you feel.

"Don't," you threatened. 

Wolf—Seongje—Geum was not kind.

He was not going to stop just because you told him to.

"Hm? What are you gonna do about it?"

He used his thumb to trace the words on your stomach, internally laughing that his firsts were nothing graceful, just like he was.

"So you knew a year ago."

He grinned, but all it seemed to you was an animal baring its teeth.

"I said, don't." 

"And I asked you, what are you gonna do about it?"

Before he could touch the last syllable and end the process, you slapped his hand away from you skin. Using the heel of your palm, you hit the bottom part of his jaw with all your might. Without any missing beat, you bolted to the door, not paying any mind to your still bare feet. You bit the inner flesh of your cheek as your vision darkened; you would not possibly stop your escape just because you were still nauseous from the hit.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Just an arm away from your door, your feet were then lifted from the ground. Before your mind could register it, you were thrown onto the couch with such force that could knock you out. He moved on top of you and placed himself between your legs. Horror has enveloped your whole figure, yet you did not let it petrify you. Even with your vulnerable position, you mustered all your courage and kicked him on the side. Not letting him recover, you curled your fist and hit him with the back of your hand. You pulled yourself together and attempted to get away, but Wolf pulled you by the ankle. He locked his arms around you from behind, and even when you elbowed him so many times, he did not set you free.

"You little shit, let me go!"

You inhaled a lungful of air—

You headbutted him.

"Fuck!" Wolf shouted, his arms losing strength. 

"Senior!" The door was kicked open to Hwangmo's horrified expression. "What the hell's happening here?"

"Help me get up," you said. "Quick!"

He complied to your request without asking any unnecessary questions first. He guided you to your divider furniture, and you leaned your whole body weight onto it for support. The adrenaline that kept you standing has dispersed, and the initial rush you had has left you. You panted as you pulled your bottoms, eyes squeezed shut while you felt the aftermath of your squabble with the infamous rabid dog himself. 

"That thing's my soulmate," you answered without being asked.

"Oh," Hwangmo said, pitying you. 

"Shouldn't you be rejoicing that I'm yours?" Wolf huffed, finally regaining his full consciousness after your attack. 

You did not reply to his mocking and fixed your appearance. You massaged your hands, their first time being used to fight and all. While him, he gazed at you as if you were the most ethereal being in the universe. He looked so drunk, his liquor being your rage and disgust.

"So what's your plan?" Hwangmo voiced out, not wanting to further fuel your impending wrath. "I mean, you two are not exactly the most compatible pair." 

You nodded, agreeing fully. 

"We'll trace each other's first words." For the first time, you looked at him calmly. "After this, let's just pretend not to know each other."

"Nah."

As fast as the word left his mouth, you picked up a picture frame from the displays and threw it straight to your other half's forehead. Lucky for him, he dodged, and the frame landed onto the couch with a thump. 

"Then what's the point of you asking me where my mark is if you didn't even want us to trace it?"

You clicked your tongue. 

This is why you never liked being angry. You automatically throw everything you put your hands on before you could even rationalize your feelings.

"I never said anything about us not tracing each other's marks, sweet." He even had the gal to shrug. "I just don't want to pretend that we don't know each other after this."

The vein on your forehead bulged and on the verge of popping.

"What are you, a romantic?" you hissed. "Just burn yourself to death, would you?"

"I'm burning, alright?"

Hwangmo sweatdropped, feeling awkward that he was there with the two of you, like a child watching his old, divorced parents argue for the nth time today.

"When are we gonna buy the doorknob?" your underclassman shifted the conversation. "Wolf." 

"Maybe tomorrow," he replied. 

"I'm buying it myself, so don't bother." You pinched your nose bridge in annoyance. "And give me back my first aid kit, Wolf."

He wore his eyes glasses before shooting you a cheeky wink.

"Call me Seongje."

It did nothing to appease your negative feelings. In fact, it only made you more furious. However, you were too tired to deal with any of this any longer. 

"Hwangmo, return my kit at the morning."

"Will do."

Extra:

There was a young man who was sitting at the students' lounge with his eyes watering in fatigue. His purple hair was being secured back by a wire headband, and his glasses, which he usually wore, was neatly folded along his uniform collar. He had a lollipop stick in between his teeth, the candy already melted not too long ago, and his right hand, still bruised, was holding a mechanical pencil. If one were to check his upper arm, they would see a nicotine patch plastered against his skin. He yawned, exhausted from doing all the duties he had for the union and having no complete rest for a week now. To top it all off, he just finished a fight an hour or two ago with a guy whose name he did not even know but managed to tick him off.

"Hey," he tried catching the attention of the personsitting across from him—you. "Hey." 

"What?" you snapped.

"What's this mean?"

Without even looking up from your notebook, you pushed his own back to him. 

"That's for you to figure out, dumbass."

Normally, he would punch the person who has insulted him, but he just zipped his mouth since he was aware that you could just ignore him for a year without feeling any guilt. He did not want another surge of nagging from you, knowing how accurately your words could hit him as if there was a target drawn on his back. Maybe it was his influence rubbing on you, or maybe this was your real personality all along, but you really had the knack on making him feel ashamed for not being a good citizen. Yes, you never actively tried to convert him into a kind person altogether, yet being around you makes him doubt if he really was as unbothered as he claimed himself to be since his middle school years.

"I will, damn."

You popped a soft candy in your mouth and quietly chew it. You then heard Wolf grunting before saying something incoherent under his breath.

"What now?" 

"I've been reading this shit for thirty minutes," he complained. 

"And? Is your program mine?"

Defeated, he rolled his eyes—again, a habit he learned from you.

"You know, you should act a little sweeter with me." 

"Why? Because we're soulmates?" You flipped though your own notes. "You knew that If I had the choice, I would ask for a smarter other half, but here I am. I get what I get, and you get what you get, no?"

At this point, he knew that opening his mouth would be a self-trap that would lead him to a knock-out. 

"If you can't figure these out, drop out," you said, not realizing that this was the same thing he told you some time ago. "I'm not helping you with your studies, especially when I didn't even force you to transfer here."

A year has passed after the revelation, and it has been months after this guy has switched programs and colleges just for you—or whatever he meant by that. The two of you never acted the way soulmates would, being loving and all, but that connection would be obvious in moments where Seongje would glare at those people you call friends whenever they linger too long. You never touched him after the time you traced each other's marks, and he never did, too, yet the space he maintained when he sat beside you would be too close for comfort, if it were not for the fact that the two of you were technically made for one another. Anyone with eyes could see that although you do not see Wolf as someone important the same level he sees you, he still stayed and even changed slightly for the better because of you. One could argue that it was because he was growing older that was why he has become more tamer compared to how he used to be in the past, but that would be untrue. No other viable reason could explain the change in his overall behavior except the soulmate link.

"[Name]."

From under the desk you both shared, he nudged your leg with his right foot. When you did not glance at him, he lightly kicked you again; this time, on your thigh. 

"[Name], let's go on a date after this."

"I'm not your girlfriend."

"You could be." 

"No."

He stood up, his demeanor undergoing a whole one-eighty-degree switch. Before he could take another step, you rose from your seat and pulled him back. 

"Fucking hell, Seongje." you seethed. "Are you serious?" 

"Date?" 

"Finish your activities first."

With that, he grinned deviously, enjoying his victory over you.

tag section.

@pookynknowntranger @hoshzz @wagawana @iquietone @yuuuumii @ruruyiin @kunikei

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. V

Pairing: Han Su-gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1788

previous chapter.

"Hold him." 

The speakers transmitted the sounds from the control room, ranging from the students' laughter to the noise one would hear from a person slapping and hitting another.

"Hold him properly!"

The girls taunted whoever their current victim was, while the boys were likely the ones who were inflicting violence. 

"This is what happens to beggars who go against me," Su-gang warned. 

Your eyes scanned your surroundings, and you tasted something bitter against your teeth watching your fellow teachers act as though they did not hear the abuse. They were talking to themselves about the lessons and current performance of the students like their ears did not function the moment that cursed microphone was turned on. They were giggling, sipping their not-expensive-yet-still-pricey coffee as if they could not practically smell the scent of blood lingering in the air that they breath in.

But who were you to speak and criticize them? 

It has been a month since you have been hired in Moo Young High School, and you have remaining two months before you could be a regular employee in the school. During those days that have passed, it was more than clear to you what you should do in order to be paid and to last in this job. It has happened to you before, and you have seen this environment before so many times it has never left you, especially when you were having nightmares. As the only employee in that household who lasted for several years, even a year longer than your mama, you knew what to do, and yet, you could never get rid of that feeling that settled due in your gut and seeped into the marrow of your bones. 

To be quiet is to live, and to live is to be quiet.

It was something you learned and something you lived to know.

"That's it for today's broadcast," Su-gang ended.

"Teacher [Name]," the English teacher said using the language. "Come here for a bit." 

"What is it?"

"Su-gang Han's grades in our class seemed to be as bad as it was last year," she explained, pointing at the printed copies of his activities, or lack thereof. "Except yours." 

For some reason your fellow teachers did not know, Su-gang attends your subject from start to finish and even go the class thirty minutes before the bell rings. For teachers, they sure know how to breach the healthy and ethical teaher-student interaction. As long as they could leech from it, they were more than simply encouraging of these otherwise immoral acts. They—even the homeroom teacher himself—did not want to deal with the guy, and you were already there anyway, so why not use you, right? You, a contractual employee has nothing much to lose in comparison to their years long of service in this god-awful school —why not use you as their bait? 

"I'll meet him soon," you replied, already knowing whatever they wanted from you. "I'll talk to him regarding this." 

"Good luck," she said, grinning with her eyes squinted. "I believe in you, Teacher [Name]."

The day went by, and you had no other choice but to personally ask for the devil's presence after classes. Surprisingly, he followed you inside the tutoring room without putting up a fight or using sarcasm, and that made things worse for you. 

Su-gang Han is never genuinely kind. He is never genuinely agreeable. 

"Your teachers have forwarded their concerns about you." You handed him a piece of paper containing his recent essay. "Look at these grammatical errors."

He took it from you and sat down beside you. Discreetly, you moved your chair to maintain a bit more space. 

"Why are you so concerned about my English performance?"

You massaged your ears, the mask loops hurting them overtime. 

"You know how age plays a large role in the hierarchy of things in this country."

He knew that. Of course, he did.

"What? They're too scared to talk to me?" 

He chuckled and licked his lower lip. He stared at you the way a man would to a delicious, full-course meal after being starved from days—a month, even.

"It was caused by your attendance." You unknowingly rubbed the back of your left hand, a phantom pain creeping in. "They think that I am able to communicate with you properly, so they use me as bridge regarding the concerns about your grades." 

He grabbed your left hand and pulled you toward him with it. You stumbled, but you managed to hold the edge of the table and stable yourself, keeping a good, approximately twelve-inch distance from him. You felt his fingers unclasp themselves and then traveled to your palm. Slowly, mockingly, he made circular motion with his thumb, rubbing the area where your scars lie. 

"You heard me, didn't you?"

He tugged you again, and with your awkward position, you fell into him. Immediately, you pushed yourself away, but it did not deter him. If anything, your agitation, although unseen from your still neutral face, causes something deep inside of him to stir—something that has never been touched for nine years now. 

"You should praise me." With his other hand, he tilted your head. "Give me a candy."

If this was switched up—with him being the teacher and you being the student—this situation would automatically be classified as sexual harassment and abuse of power. Perhaps the latter was already happening, yet no one cares. Even if they say they do, they really do not. 

Corruption is only called corruption by those who are not benefiting from it.

All through your years as a student, you have contemplated about that saying from your middle school teacher. If it was true, or if it was the otherwise, you really did not know. For a young Ethics teacher like yourself, you still never knew the truth and the limit of the line that should not be crossed. 

"I'd like to see your face, Teach." His head moved and he pressed his lips against your ear. "You can do that for me at least, no?" 

Unlike Si-min, your favorite junior during your college days, you were not physically fit or adept with fighting. You used to be a clumsy girl who tripped on everything, and you only grew up to a person who could never defend herself from dangers that may come. You freezing up in front of active threats has always been mistaken for courage, and you have never corrected those incorrect assumptions. However, to Su-gang Han, a person who you knew and knew you in the past, he was aware of that small truth about you all to well, and he would be a fool not to use it to his advantage.

As he tighty held your jaw with a hand, your phone suddenly rang.

He let go of you, face full of triumph. 

"You should read it, Teach." 

You opened and sprinted the moment you saw the message from the dean.

"You bitch!" 

The voice made you halt halfway. Even from the frosted glass walls of the faculty room, you could saw Teacher Jae-Kyeong's silhouette being dragged down by another woman.

Missus Han.

"Did you think you ratting my son out would make a difference?!"

Your fellow teacher's hair was yanked so many times before she was slapped repeatedly. 

"Oh, would you look at that?"

When you turned, you saw that Su-gang's circle was there behind you. 

"The old hag's in trouble," one of the male students derided.

From where you stood, you waited for Missus Han to finish. You did not have the guts to play hero when you knew that the devil's mother was a demon herself.

"Aren't you gonna go there?" Su-gang whispered. "She missed you."

The aforementioned woman swung the door so hard you swore the whole school quaked. With a man you assumed was a lawyer, she marched outside with her face practically red in anger. 

"I can tell her that you're here, you know? But I won't. I won't, as long as you obey me." 

Just like Su-gang, you have never liked it when things do not get your way. Any normal person would want their plans to work the way they were intended, and any normal person would be frustrated when things go south. Su-gang, however, was never normal. Not normal enough to let off steam through normal, non-violent ways. You, too, we're never normal. Not normal enough to speak up when you were experiencing injustice. Not normal enough that you would let things pass. 

Yet you were not powerful enough to avenge yourself and those who were hurt by him and his family. You were not too intelligent that you could outsmart the Han's in their respected fields. You were not a special person that could turn the tides just by your presence.

But Su-gang Han can never be harmed physical revenge. He would not be affected by your intellectual prowess because he never cared about that. He was the one whose presence can make anyone's mouth shut in an instant. For a person like Su-gang Han who has never experienced hardships and has never been said no to, there was nothing he could ever want or needed that he has never had.

Except for one.

If it were your attention he desired so badly, then you would drill it into his thick skull what it takes to have it and what it meant to defy the behavior you want him to showcase. You would make him crave to satiate that hunger, and you were not much of a kind person that you would not use the people around you at your disposal.

"Moon-Ki," you said. "Your tie's crooked."

Then, as if they were suddenly imperfect in your eyes, you began pointing small but noticeable mistakes in the appearance of the members of Su-gang's group except for the leader himself. Each time, you were looking at their eyes, gaze focused at the part you were nitpicking. 

"Eun-Gyo, you should keep your vest ironed."

Without saying anything else, you left them on their own. You were not concerned whether they cared about your unasked criticisms or not. You had one and one intention alone. 

"She's so scared of brother, she didn't even dare to mention him," Eun-Gyo laughed, but it was shallow. 

Before she could even say something again, her face met the thick palm of the older man they look up to like god.

"Say that again, and I'll kill you." 

When you heard that, you smiled to yourself. 

After all, if there was something you do when you were still his tutor that Su-gang despised more than anything, it would be you paying attention to everyone and anyone but him. 

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ashayein @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. IV

Pairing: Han Su-gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1719

previous chapter.

"I want to tell you something." 

You followed her as she walked to a room you did not know even existed. You really need to familiarize yourself with the layout of the school as soon as possible, especially with that demon around.

"What is it?" 

"Come inside."

She opened the door to a restricted area that only staff and teaching personnel were allowed to enter. Discreetly, she looked around, as if she was checking if there were anyone watching somewhere. She showed you her phone and played a video where the teenagers you reprimanded yesterday were seen crouching, chuckling around with cigarettes in between each of their filthy mouths. 

"This was a recent video," she started as she closed the curtains.

From her device, you heard the students' laughter piercing through your ears, reminding you of the days you used to work for the Han's. Although it was a video, you could smell the choking putridity of cigarette like there was an actual person smoking in front of you.

"I heard from a student about what happened in your first class," she said solemnly. "I apologize for not informing you sooner."

You understood the implication of her words. 

You now have a massive target sign located on your back because you dared to point out their mistake, which they did not even feel the least embarrassed about.

She sighed and added, "Han practically owns this school, and if there were anything to happen to you, it would only be swept under the rug."

"Is that so?"

"Even that old lady, she was involved with the case regarding that video and still ended with nothing."

No one knows when will they torment you to get back at your audacity to stand up for yourself and not cower in fear despite being a temporary teacher in a school that the very person you unknowingly provoked owned.

"If only you were hired to teach first or third year students," she trailed of.

"Su-gang Han." You inhaled a lot of air before continuing. "He appeared to be the leader of their circle." 

"Yes, he is. It was said that he has worked out since childhood and often beat his schoolmates."

Su-gang has never touched any training equipment and the like during the years you were tutoring him. Even though he had violent tendencies, he has no experience with physical activities because he was so focused on you and your sessions with him. 

It seemed that this "since childhood," your co-teacher was talking about started after you left him for good and never to return.

Well, if you have learned about their ownership over the school earlier, you would have never applied for this job. 

"A kid was once beat up by him, so he was expelled from that school and got transferred here."

"He's not a minor, is he?" you asked although you knew the truth already. "I'd assume he was held back due to this behavior of his."

"It's quite unfortunate that you were placed in a year where you would need to meet him ever single day until the first semester ends."

She gently put his hand over your shoulder in a motherly way, almost reminding you of your mama.

"Before becoming an official employee here, I want you to close your eyes and block your ears." She sent you a sympathetic smile. "Pretend to be a fool."

You wished you were like Si-min, being physically fit and all. Surely, she would not have any kind of difficulty on dealing with the type of students this hell hole has. Alas, the woman was a year younger than you and was currently graduating.

"Even if there we to be a conflict between students on campus, don't intervene and just patiently wait. Just let them deal with it, okay?" She held your hand this time. "Don't do anything, and then nothing will happen." 

You nodded silently, trying to process the words that just left her mouth.

"Especially Su-gang Han." 

"Especially Su-gang Han," you repeated.

After that, you came back to your table and popped some antihistamine tablets inside your mouth, wearing a mask after. You gathered your things and went straight to Su-gang's room despite it being half an hour before classes start. On your way, the students who were also early like you greeted you and jokingly asked about the candies. You returned the energy and told them that you have many candies to give those who will participate. 

You opened the door, your mind somewhere else. You softly hummed a tune—the tune being the last song you have listened at the radio of the bus you rode to get to school since the subway was having some technical issues.

"How's your mother, Teach?" a male voice suddenly asked, causing you so snap your eyes to the back of the classroom.

Speaking of the devil. 

Unlike yesterday, when he came late to school together with his little duck, Su-gang—alone—was already seated at his designated chair, feet on top of his desk and his vest acting as blanket over his upper body. He was sitting lazily, and he even had his head tilted up as though he was in his home and not at school. 

"My mother?" 

He really remembered you, which was already obvious at this point, but what he remembered about you was nothing but incorrect information. 

"Yes, your mama."

Oho.

Look at this bastard trying to provoke you early in the morning.

"She's fine." You pinched the adjustable metal nose clip of your mask and opened your book to the page you annotated as your second lesson. "Why do you ask?" 

"Fine inside an urn?"

That ticked you off, in all honesty.

"My, my, that's quite rude." You humorlessly laughed and put your left hand inside the pocket of your pants. "Especially when my mother's alive and well."

"Quit lying."

Based on his smug display, he was still under the impression that your mama was indeed your birth mother.

That kind woman, who watched over you during the days your biological mother had no other choice but to leave you to work faraway—the same woman who suffered before she died because if this monster's doing—was not and has never been your mother. However, perhaps it was a good thing that Su-gang thinks that you—his past tutor—were her daughter. 

Because it makes denying your past connection with him easier for you.

"I'm not lying." You wrote the title of the lesson on the board with chalk, not minding the heat his stares were shooting. Even if I were, I do not suppose that it is your place to ask your teacher personal and rather invasive questions."

He clicked his tongue and peered at you without taking his head off of the chair's headrest. 

"I own you, and I own your temporary teaching contract here."

It rather shocked you to see the child you practically viewed as your second younger brother acting like he has all the authority over everything in this world.

Still, you could not say that you regretted leaving them, especially after what they did to your mama—after what he did to your hand. 

"Oh? Forgive me then." You picked up the eraser and wiped it over the wrongly written syllable. "You can always check my personal information stapled with my resume."

You were surprised that he did not just rush to you and bash your head against the board for disrespecting him. He was calm—concentrated and observant—and it unnerved you. It was as if he was waiting for you to stay still so he could leap to you and pounce on you like a rabid animal preying on a smaller, defenseless creature. This behavior of his reminded you of how he acted when he was still younger, and it did not fail to make your gut clench.  

He then whistled, slow and provocative.

"Ignoring me now?"

He trudged to your direction while he loosened his necktie with his right hand. He used left hand to rub the lower part of his face, his eyes now stuck to gaze at yours. 

You did not realize it the first time you saw him, but now that he was there, standing a meter away from you with no one blocking his body, you could see how he has grown from being that shorter boy to a man—no, far from being a man—that stood tall and prideful, expecting the world to turn for him and for its people to obey his words as if they were absolute. His cheeks were no longer chubby, and his face became more sculpturesque. His nose bridge was as high as his pride and arrogance. He had the eyes deeper than oceans, darker than shadows, more cavernous than any cave, their depth endless than the sky itself. His shoulders, even under the concealment of his three-layered uniform, were wide—wider than his patience, wider than his capability to act humanly to those around him.

"You're still mistaking me for someone else, aren't you?"

His tongue rolled along the space between the inner flesh of his lower lip and his gums, his face tilting slightly down.

"No." His lips turned up assymetrically—a smirk. "Not someone else." 

"I don't know who you think I am, but I will assure you that I have never met you before."

He reached out a hand, and he touched your face with tenderness that could make a stranger mistake him for a kind person. He ran his thumb along the soft flesh of your neck and caressed the edge of your mask, a wordless threat that he will and can take it off if he so wanted to. Just like your job inside this glamorous and glorified cage where he could run free and terrorize other people's lives—of the teachers, of the students, and of the employees—he could take anything he wants when he wants.

"Don't take me for an idiot," he hissed. "I've memorized your eyes too well to forget—" 

The bell rang.

You used the other end of your chalk dispenser to push his hand away, like the thought of you touching him willingly was enough to repulsed you. 

"You shouldn't be putting your hands on others' faces like that," you lightly scolded him. "You're old enough to know that by now."

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. III

Pairing: Han Su-gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1414

previous chapter.

"You're allergic to cats?"

You squeezed the last bit of your ultramarine green paint and mixed it with yellow ochre, using your old paint brush as your mixer as you adjusted the ratio. With the canvas resting on top of the easel you made with better-quality wood from your mama's furnace fuel stash. 

"Nope."

You applied the blue pigment at the top part of the canvas and spread it slowly. You gazed at the clear, cloudless skies and observed the hues. You opened the jar of white acrylic, which was far larger than any of your other paints, and used your designated plastic spoon to scoop out some of it. You blended it with some of the mixture of blue and yellow before you proceeded with your craft. Bit by bit, the color on the canvas mimicked the sky above you, and with that, you smiled approvingly.

"Then why don't you take the runt I gave you?"

"I have severe allergic rhinitis," you replied. "There are a lot of things that can trigger it, and one of those was cat fur."

He looked at the makeshift palette filled with paint, the stench of the chemical fumes floating in the air.

Should not that trigger your rhinitis, too? If so, then why do you keep painting?

It was like you were looking for excuses not to accept his gifts. 

"Then what'd I do with that thing?" he huffed.

A bead of sweat dripped from your forehead and settled in your left eyebrow. Absentmindedly, you wiped it with your hand and transferred the paint that was on your palm. 

"Return it."

"Return it?" he parroted. "I'll be right back." 

"Be careful," you said without tearing your eyes from your painting.

An hour or so has passes, and you have finished the piece at last. The moment you were done with washing the brushes off of any paint residue and rinsing your hands, the alarm for your afternoon session rang, signaling that it as time for the both of you to begin.

"Su-gang?"

You groaned, thinking that the boy was messing with you again.

"Now's not the time for hide and seek." 

The Han Family's garden was huge, and its size was triple of your own house back in the city.

"I can paint this rose," you quietly mused. "Oh, and this chrysanthemum as well." 

You searched for a familiar black-haired boy, fear unexplainably pooling in your gut. 

"Su-gang?" You walked around the maze-like orientation of the bushes. "Su-gang? We're starting." 

You heard a cat hiss, followed by a mewl. It cried querulously, as if calling for help.

"No," you gasped. "No, no, no, no." 

You followed the source of the sound, each step rapid and filled with terror.

"Su-gang!"

"Here," he trailed off.

He appeared in front of you with his face bloody, and he was—

He was holding a headless cat.

Its limbs were limp and crushed.

Its stomach was cut open.

Its guts spilled. 

Its—

"I—" 

You choked in your own spit. Goosebumps rippled from your back to every inch of your skin. Your throat went dry. You visibly froze. Oxygen lost its way and left your lungs empty of it.

"What's wrong?"

Your brain has stopped working for a good amount of time, and even when it finally worked again, you could not find the right words to say. Your mouth opened, only for it to close again. 

"Su-gang Han, what have you done?"

He wiped his face with the back of his free hand, his tongue licking his bottom lip and savoring the taste of the feline's blood.

"Didn't you tell me you didn't like it?"

The second you blinked, the surroundings changed. 

"This is your pay." Missus Han handed you an embossed envelope with rose patterns. "I added bonus."

With both of your hands, you bowed and accepted it. 

"What for?" 

"My son likes you."

You flinched.

"He likes me?"

The mistress gleefully nodded. 

"He's improving."

Si-gung Han was just like a lot of second-generation wealthy person. Unlike one or both of their parents who are at the top of their career, leading others to follow them like hungry dogs being fed to submission, he was talentless and lazy. He had no other interest other than violence, apparently, and you have known this truth ever since you have started working for this cursed household. 

"Thank you, Missus Han."

"Are you sure you can't squeeze in another hour in your schedule?" she coaxed. "I really think that you'd do well as his Science tutor, too." 

"Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to tutor him with that. In fact, I wouldn't be tutoring him any longer."

The metallic smell of blood from all of their victims—the maids, the cooks, the feline—

You could not take it anymore.

"Why not?" she asked disappointedly. "You're very good." 

"I'm focusing on my own studies. I'm close to being a high-schooler, and I want to enroll to a prestigious school through scholarship."

"I can do something about it if you want," she offered. "Entering a single student, especially your caliber, is easy, dear." 

"I want to work on my own success, madame, but thank you for being so considerate to me."

You opened the door of Missus Han's office, realizing that it was not fully closed.

To your horror, the boy was standing close,his eyes telling you that he knew of your decision. 

"You're not returning?"

"Su-gang," you acknowledged, the usual warmth in your tone absent.

You walked ahead of him, and he tailed behind you. 

"I heard you talk to the old hag." 

"You shouldn't refer to her that way." 

"I didn't ask for your stupid life lesson," he remarked, his voice becoming significantly louder and ticked off. 

"What did I say about saying bad words in front of me?"

His teeth were grinding against each other, and his fists were clenched painfully tight.

"Why are you not tutoring me anymore?" he asked. "Don't you lie to me. I know you can multi-task tutoring me and studying. Why?" 

"I told you, didn't I? I don't like mean kids."

You gasped awake, eyes wide and body curled into a ball. You were trembling in fear—your body still remembered and is still afraid of what would follow after that last statement of yours. Your brain so desperately tried to calm your heart down, and thankfully, the quaking has diminished.

You rose from the bed, glancing at the digital clock. It seemed that you woke up before the alarm. Your eyes moved to the picture beside it, and your initial fear was replaced with sorrow.

"Good morning, mama."

Today marked the second day of your work, and you could not think of anything but the possibility of Su-gang still recalling who you were.

"Miss." 

A name that he has always used during your tutoring sessions with him because he never cared about knowing your name.

"Su-gang," you whispered, subconsciously touching the scar you had at the back of your left hand. "Forget about me."

You rubbed your face with your hands in frustration.

"Please."

The teachers' lounge was silent and dark. The only one inside was you, so you did not switch the lights on. Instead, you used your small, clip-on desk lamp while reading your university notes you have yet to get rid of. 

"Skinner's Operant Conditioning is the process of learning through the influence of consequences," you softly read. "It makes use of rewards to encourage and retain a good behavior from the specimen and punishment in order to decrease a bad or less preferred ones."

You flipped through your notes and picked your pencil up to modify some of the information.

"There are three concepts in this theory, namely: Positive Reinforcement, Negative Reinforcement, and Punishment—"

The room brightened. You jolted. 

"Early again, I see," the English teacher commented. "Why didn't you turn the lights on?" 

You stood up and bowed.

"Good morning, teacher."

She smiled and said something about you being adorably hardworking in English. You just nodded, finding it awkward to tell her that you were fluent in the language as well. 

"I heard from the students that you were good," the Mathematics teacher teased. "Candies. How didn't I think of that?"

He placed his things on his table, which was beside yours. He was about to strike up a conversation when someone called you. 

"[Name]?"

Your eyes perked up, and you saw Jae-Kyeong by the doorway. 

"Teacher Jae-Kyeong."

"Come with me for a moment."

next chapter.

[nullicaput]

firsts, seconds, and thirds. II

Pairings: Geum Seong-je x Reader, Wolf Keum x Reader

Tags: Minor College AU, Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Language and Profanities, Seong-je being mentally unstable

Summary: In a world where soulmates exist, you found yourself rejecting yours when you learned who it was.

Word count: 2801

previous chapter.

The next time you saw Wolf was at the cybercafe near your university.

You had no plans to enter it and rent a computer there because it was a notorious hangout place for lowlifes and such, but you needed to access the internet and the library computer was down again. The fee was expensive, but hey, it was the only one that was walking-distance away from your spot.

"Punks nowadays are pretty scary, eh?"

Upon hearing the two men beside you, seated on cubicle twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth, talk, you increased the volume of the music that was playing on your phone via wireless earphones. It did slightly hurt you to listen to music so loudly, but this pair of players really had no sense of simple cybercafe etiquette, and you need to concentrate with the output you were doing for a course. 

How insufferable. 

"Kindergarten pretending to be gangsters." 

And here they were, already old yet still playing games in a spot were only youngsters were supposed to be. You were not shaming them for their hobbies and interests; you were shaming them for criticizing someone while being no good themselves.

Another press in your volume keys, and you wished for them to shut up already. You were tapping the keys of the keyboard when suddenly, the monitor shook. They all rattled. 

"What the fuck?" you mouthed.

You snapped your head to the two men, given that only the three of you were using the computers in the cubicle lane.

Shit.

Wolf was there, wearing his own university uniform over a printed black shirt and his face ever-so paintingesque, smashing the man's face onto the keyboard. He looked over to the other one wearing a green vest. 

And then at you.

At that moment, you could physically perceive the weight of his eyes boring into your soul. That weight only increased when he grinned that usual innocent, gummy smile of his with eyes so sharp it could cut your throat.

He scoffed and went back to his seat—which you did not know he occupied in the first place—like nothing had happened.

Quickly, you finished typing and transfer the file to your phone. Without glancing back, you left.

While walking, you saw from afar your unwanted admirer sitting by the gates with his patched up face and bandaged head. It appeared that he did not notice you, so you do the smartest thing you could have done at that time—you went straight to the nearest convenience store. 

You waited for him to go away, and you glanced at his location from time to time as you did. The sun was already setting, but you would need to attend your only class for the day so you could not go home just yet.

You bought some food and a drink to pass time, reading their nutrition chart as if you were indeed interested about what a patch of unhealthy, salty chips, sweet bread, and a bottle of artificially flavored soda can offer you. 

"Will this be all?" the cashier asked you. 

You picked three pieces of lollipop from the point-of-sale display and have him ring it with the first three items.

You and your oral fixation.

You paid for your items and went outside. You sat on one of the benches there and opened your food, your eyes never leaving the creep. You also checked your phone for messages from your class representative announcing the room where the class will be held at, but there were none.

"Too sweet." You stuck your tongue out a bit. "Sugar bread."

You downed your drink and let the fizz burn your throat. With a newly opened lollipop in your hand, you anxiously watched the invasive species pace around the entrance of your university. Even when you were not near to him, you could clearly see the change in his movements the longer you refused to make your presence known.

"It's already six-thirty." You cursed. "When is he gonna go inside?" 

It was like he knew your schedule. Maybe he did; you were block mates, after all.

A person sat beside you too closely for your liking, and when you tilted your head to see who it was, it was Mister Head-Basher scrutinizing you like you were a specimen. He was holding a stick of cigarette in between his middle and index fingers, flicking the ashes whenever the tip becomes gray.

"You." 

One.

Two.

You casted your vision down. 

"You really don't talk," he derided. 

He moved toward you, and the bastard—

The bastard puffed smoke in your face.

"You gonna puke, senior?"

You coughed. Of course, you did. 

Still, you kept quiet and uttered no word.

"Lollipops, at your grown age?"

He leaned down more, and opened his mouth. He plucked the sweet treat from your hand with his teeth. He rotated his head mockingly, provoking you to do something—anything—about it. 

You did not.

"Mhm," he hummed as he trudged the path he came from. "That's it. Keep quiet like the coward, little cunt you are."

Maniacal asshat.

Just when you thought that he would not be anywhere anymore, you were proven wrong immediately.

After that, you would find him standing close to the gates like a guard dog, jacket slung on his left shoulder and shirt still colored and inappropriate for school wear. You minded his existence not, because it was the sole reason that you were being left alone for days now, able to go home without the threat of someone tailing you while you come home to the pathetic excuse of a rental residential space.

"Senior," he said, like it was an endearment.

His purple hair had splatters of blood on some of the strands, while his face was painted with large streaks of the crimson liquid. The corner of his lower lip was split, and there was even trace of trickle—it was messily wiped to be considered cleaned off. His usually expressionless face—aside from the times he looked so euphoric while beating the life out of someone—was replaced with a pleasant smile. Too small to be obvious but stretched out enough to be picked up by your eyes, especially when he was a meter close to you. 

"Hwangmo told me that you always bring a small first aid kit with you." He held out his hand. "Patch me up."

One.

Two.

Instead of complying to his word, you gave him the entire kit and walked ahead. 

"Why don't you talk to me?" He blocked the way. "You talk with others. Is this your method to get my attention?"

You merely looked at him from his head to his feet, eyes filled with contempt mixed bewilderment.

The slight upturn of your lips was just like his—sardonic and suggestive—and he desired to do nothing with it except from wipe it off. In your silence, he wanted to pry the words out of your pretty mouth. He wanted to grab you by the jaw and shove his slender fingers into your soft, flush throat to claw the truth out of you.

"Are you hiding something from me?"

Just when he was about to touch you, he stopped halfway and clicked his tongue. He hissed, mumbling about his skin burning again. He pulled his collar, seething in pain and discomfort. His attention diverted from you to his strange predicament. 

Once more, you were safe.

Today was rather peaceful.

Your little stalker was sick and had no other option but to take an absence in order not to transmit his influenza to other students and staff, so you were enjoying your day alone inside the safe haven called your school. Since Wolf was not a part of the university, you were saved from his unwelcome company.

Table filled with spiral notebooks, you reviewed your past lectures without rush.

"Why is Filmography even part of core courses?" you softly complained, the sound of your pencil scratching the paper answering you. "It's not like it has to do anything with my program."

"Then, drop the fuck out." 

You stiffened.

"You drank three cans of coffee?" He touched the empty cans one by one, feeling the lingering chill the metals had. "Tough cookie."

Like usual, you just stared at him for two seconds before going back to your task. 

"Hello, senior." He picked on of the printed notes and read it. "Never took you for someone smart." 

Wolf, who was enrolled in another university, was sitting on the seat across from you at the student lounge with such disposition one would think he actually belonged with the students like you. 

However, you need not ask him how he managed to enter your university without guards asking him. 

Your school was not the best—and in all honesty, it was even borderline the worst one to study in—because anyone could get in as long as they were wearing a lace. The four guards at their stall could not care less even if someone was not wearing uniforms, or if they were unfamiliar. Seeing that he was wearing Hwangmo's identification card with the real owner's face replaced with Wolf's picture, you already pieced together how he ended up in the same area with you without raising a pair of eyebrows or two.

"[Name]," a stranger called softly, snatching your attention from your notes.

"Hey," you said, offering a seat. "Got no classes for today?"

"I just finished the last one."

You beamed, as though the sun itself went down to shine behind you. Your grin silenced Wolf, keeping him from interrupting your chat.

In Wolf's eyes—or in anyone's eyes, for that matter—your appearance was average at best. 

You were a person who is not ugly, but you were also not the type to turn heads when you walked. Your height was the average, and by how you studied, he could assume that your grades were just at the middle ground. You were the type of person that would not be remembered even if you were to talk to them, because you were painfully unremarkable.

So, for Wolf, it was a shock that he found himself stunned seeing you practically glow as you smiled and exchange pleasantries with your friend. 

Damn.

He could now understand why that little punk chose to stalk you.

"You should come with us," your friend whined while standing up to go. "We never got to see you after graduation."

You also rose to hug them, even kissing their cheek as you bid goodbye. You sat back down, that lovely smile vanishing. 

"You should smile like that when you're with me," Wolf finally said. "Makes me jealous."

One. 

Two. 

You snorted, concluding that if he were not as wild as he was, you would possibly liked being his friend, just like how you enjoy his underling's company.

"Do you like clean guys like him?" 

Guys with soft fingertips and knuckles devoid of any wounds because they never settle fights with their fists—or maybe, they never even had to fight someone because conflicts were resolved through peaceful, verbal means. Guys whose lungs and livers are not black due to substances. Guys who have never sullied their uniforms with their opponents' and their own blood. Guys who do not use profanities in their sentences, and instead fills them with deep-meaning terms that could never be understood unless one were to use a thick-assed dictionary while talking to them.

"Do you?" he asked again. 

Much to his dismay, you nodded.

"Senior, you're evil."

The night was uncomfortably hot, and you could even feel the residual heat from the sun permeating through your thick shirt.

It was exactly five days after that surprisingly peaceful one-sided dialogue, and you have finally saved a bit of money to hang out with your friend at the the mall. Deciding that the time was not enough to fully catch up, they suggested staying over at your flat for a few hours. 

"Motherfucker!" a man shouted from the end of the alleyway.

"Look at those guys." Your friend squinted their eyes. "A brawl?"

"That's not a brawl." You pulled them, wanting nothing but to go home safely and intact. "Come on."

"We should call for help." 

"Yeah, right."

"[Name]."

"What now?"

"One of them was staring at you," your friend gasped, causing you to petrify. "Isn't that the one who was sitting with you last time?" 

Mechanically turning your head to where your friend wanted you, you gazed at Wolf; this time, it was three seconds long.

"Shit."

"[Name]."

"Let's go."

"I think he needs something from you."

 

Wolf was not a friendly soul.

During your stay as a tenant of the apartment complex whose actual owner you did not know, you have known more when you were not close to him—when Hwangmo was merely narrating what has transpired during their errands using vague wordingsm in order not to sound suspicious to a normal citizen like you.

You were extremely aware of what he was capable of, and once, you have even witnessed it first hand. He does not fight the way a simple thug would. If anything, he was a simple thug to begin with.

Life intertwined with the underground, spending money that that was not originally theirs, knuckles more than bruised, their own blood mixing with their foe turned victims—Wolf was not a thug. He was a young criminal let loose to go rampage along the streets of his self-proclaimed territory.

It was idiotic of you to think that that surprisingly peaceful one-sided dialogue could be an indication of him capable of being non-violent, of being quiet—capable of being not himself.

Wolf would not change just for the likes of you. He would not be kind just to please you. He would not stop being the way he is just to see you safe.

Because Wolf was the danger himself.

You knew that there was no way in hell that he could mingle with your life without you being forced to accept him, and without him being forced to accept you.

"I said, let's go."

You pulled them again, yanking them by the hand just to ensure they were following you as you look for another path to take to reach home. 

You did not hear from him after that brief eye contact. He did not come over Hwangmo's flat, and he did not guard the gates like you secretly hoped for. For those three days that he was gone, you could feel the looming presence of your stalker inching closer and closer the longer you were left unprotected by the greater evil himself, Wolf.

Tonight was no different, and you were left conflicted whether you should feel thankful that he was gone or not.

You were currently at the second floor of the complex, thanking your legs that you have survived this trek without falling on your head. College was tough, especially when there are minor courses, like Physical Education, acting as though they were the only thing students were taking. 

Seriously, they take more time and require more effort than the major courses that your program requires you to pass.

You grunted with each step you took, your muscles reaching the point of spasms.

"What's up?"

You jolted upon hearing that voice, your soul almost leaving your body.

Wolf had his body against the balustrade of the staircase, his hair being gently blown by the wind above. He was not wearing his lenses and, right now, was staring so where faraway. He was wearing his orange jacket, and he looked a little too pissed off for your liking.

He raised a hand—you flinched.

Instead of laughing like you thought he would do, he just said, "Acting all scared and shit."

He inserted his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Expertly, he lit the stick up without letting the wind extinguish it. He inhaled the chemical-laden smoke and hummed to himself a tune in which you were unfamiliar with.

"I feel hot," he stated, his eyes still not meeting yours. "Happens whenever you're here."

You knew that symptom, and you were the reason. 

It appears that, unlike you, he was not used to the specific heat that the soulmate shit causes those pairs that have not been officially connected yet.

You wished to keep it that way.

"Yeah, keep being quiet." He flicked the whole stick before puffing the smoke out. "You better make sure I don't find out what you're hiding from me, hm?"

Your eyes slowly fell from his hand to his shoes—soiled with blood. 

"Because the moment I find that shit out and I didn't like it—" He chuckled, now gazing at you. "—Hide."

next chapter.

tag section.

@pookynknowntranger @hoshzz @wagawana @iquietone @yuuuumii @ruruyiin @kunikei

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. II

Pairing: Han Su-gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1976

previous chapter.

"Miss, do you like teaching me?"

The breeze blew, rain following it and misting the two youngsters sitting by the roofed balcony. The older one, you, stared at your tutee and tilted your head—a habit. 

"Hm? Of course."

"Do you have any plans to teach actual students." 

Now that you thought about it, being four years older than him means that you will be a first-year this enrollment. 

"No." You peeled the tangerine for him, never daring to eat a piece. "I don't have the patience."

He watched you work on his food, his eyes darting from your eyes, to your hands, to your eyes, and to your hands again. 

"You have something on your hand."

You followed his gaze, and you saw a speck of color on your knuckle. 

"It's acrylic paint." You scratched the paint gently. "See? Gone."

"Are you sure?"

You chuckled and fed him a carpel of the citrus. 

"Even if a lot of people say that I have a gift in teaching, I don't want to be a teacher."

"But you're here with me." 

"Because I like you." You hugged him tightly and squeezed his cheeks, which were still chubby. "When you listen to me, that is."

He glared at you for a moment, wiping the zest juice left on his cheeks with his sleeves. 

"I like you, too," he replied, his cavernous eyes never leaving yours. 

What the boy probably meant was that he liked you enough not to toy with you the way he does with the other employees. He liked you enough that he would not make you bleed for breathing the wrong way—just like he did to your Mama.

You want to keep it that way. 

"That's a relief."

"Promise you won't..." 

"Won't?" 

"Won't teach other kids."

He kissed you on the cheek, uncharacteristically bashful.

"Can't promise that." 

He kicked your leg—but not harsh enough to hurt.

Before an hour could pass, the dean and all the other teachers have arrived. You officially and formally introduced yourself before leaving for class earlier than your colleagues.

You took your things, such as your Ethics book, handbag, and clipboard containing all the attendance sheets, with you and donned a face mask to avoid inhaling any kind of substance in the air. Good thing that you did, as you just saw thick, translucent smoke emerging form the fitting stalls along the staircases.

"Smokers," you said under your breath.

You knew that this school was a devil's den covered with hypocritical advocacy tarpaulins, but seeing it with your own two eyes was more than enough to amuse you. Like a glistening fig dangling from its tree, the school appears so delectable to those who are unassuming, and even when one were to consume it, they would not see that there was a corpse rotting inside.

The bell rang the moment you reached the door of the classroom, and you found yourself being the only one inside yet.

You scrutinized the entirety of the classroom and prepared the things you would need. You inserted one of the stick of chalk inside a metal holder you bought last last week and dusted your hands. You then sprayed your hands with alcohol before proceeding. You opened your book and skimmed through it, refamiliarizing yourself with the lesson you would need to teach the students later on. From your handbag, you pulled out a pack of candies and tore the plastic open. 

The students gradually filled the seats until the only ones empty were the ones at the back. When you glanced at the wall clock located at the center of the front wall just half a meter above the television, you saw that it was already five minutes over the starting time.

"I will be assuming that this is," you said and made a circular motion, signifying that you were talking about their class. "I'll be calling your names for attendance." 

You called the students one by one, and they seemed on guard of your presence. Or perhaps afraid for your sake.

"Good morning, class." With that chalk, you wrote your name on the board. "I will be your teacher in Ethics."

You closed the front door and trudged through the center space of the classroom, giving the room another scan. 

"I will be discussing the lesson briefly, but before that, I will be informing you about my ground rules," you began. "First: Writing lectures in my class is not required. I don't need to subject you to writing ten pages of notes to make sure that you will learn under my care."

In all honesty, you simply did not want to read students' illegible handwriting about topics you already knew and could read using the actual textbook. 

"Second: Using your devices, sleeping, and chatting loudly with your seatmates are all forbidden."

You stopped in front of the back door. You slid it shut and locked it, and then, you returned to the teacher's desk in a pace that could only be compared to a stroll at the park.

"I need your focus on me and on what I say, because everything that I will be discussing inside this classroom will appear in quizzes and major exams, as well as graded recitation."

Su-gang Han was late.

Su-gang was never late. 

Su-gang never liked being late. 

Not because he was a disciplined student, but because he could not pick on those beggars before class.

It was a staple ritual of his, to make the other students' lives as miserable as humanly possible while they were inside his territory. 

Now, he could not do that. 

"Shit," he seethed, kicking his idiot of a chauffeur on the stomach. "If you filled that damned fuel tank last night, then I wouldn't have been late."

The poor driver grunted in pain, but he did not have anything to say. Even if he did, he was not allowed to open his mouth. 

The rain poured harder, and the umbrella being held over Su-gang's head was doing a horrible job on keeping him dry.

"Hold that umbrella properly before I put that inside of your fucking throat."

He picked the older man by the collar and kneed him several times. 

"But Su-gang," one of his dogs said meekly. "The bell has already rang." 

"I know. I'm not deaf."

As he left them with the borderline-dead old man out in the rain, they followed, shielding Su-gang's bag with their bodies. Their leader, who was already pissed of, muttered a series of curses before making his way to their supposed classroom.

"Fifth: You can ask questions, but make sure that they are appropriate for the current or prior lessons." Your eyes smiled, but your lips remained straight. "Should you ever inquire a nonsensical question, you will also receive nonsensical answers from me. Understood?"

"Yes, Teach," the class said in chorus.

You rested your rear onto the edge of the teacher's desk and crossed your arms. 

"Sixth: I will rarely give you take-home activities. What will determine your grade, aside from the typical written exams, are your performance and your attendance in my cla—"

"Why is this doors fucking closed?!" a male student, likely around seventeen, exclaimed.

You did not flinch upon hearing the words, nor did you react when the student tried to open the sliding door, rattling its gear in the process. If anything, that welcoming demeanor you had vanished and was replaced by something else. It was not anger—no. Students like them do not deserve any bit of your frustration, let alone anger. 

"Teach, we should open..." a student whispered, tone full of fear.

You looked at that student and smiled; this time, it was genuine. 

"You—try the other one," the same voice ordered.

"Locked!"

You plucked the attendance sheet from the table and strutted from your comfortable position to approach the disrespectful youngins outside. You twisted the lock open, deliberate and careful—almost out of provocation. Before the student could reattept to open the front door again, you did it in their stead.

"Finally," an older voice—much older than what a male teenager should have—stated.

You waited for them to gather in front of you and step inside—

Then you blocked the first one's face with the clipboard. 

"Where do you think you're going?" you asked. 

The air around you has stilled, and all the students stiffened.

You tucked your left hand in between the right side of your torso and its corresponding upper arm.

"Inside, obviously."

"Mhm," you hummed. "Raise your hand and say present when your name is called."

"What?"

"Raise your hand and say present when your name is called," you said with a tone of finality.

One of them, the other of the two girls, clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. While everyone else were looking everywhere but your form, you could feel a heavy gaze imposing itself on you, demanding to be felt, demanding to be returned. 

"Moon-Ki Lee."

No one answered.

"Moon-Ki Lee."

Again, you were left with silence.

"That's strange," you voiced out, setting your eyes back to the paper. "Just a second ago, you were speaking so loudly as if you couldn't hear one another if you were to talk just a tad bit lower."

From your periphery, you saw an elbow harshly nudging the young man who you assumed was the one you were trying to call. 

"She was saying your name." 

Even from a fool's perspective, it was apparent that those students around that older-sounding one were not his friends. They were his underlings, or individuals who are afraid that they would face his wrath, so they play safe by joining him in terrorizing those who do not belong in their little band of cowards.

"Present."

Pleased, you nodded.

"Moon-Ki, take your seat."

For some time, you repeated that process of calling them one-by-one and letting them enter one at a time. After what you think was ten minutes, there remained one, single student. 

"Su-gang Han?" you said, enunciating each syllable. "Su-gang Han. Are you present?"

He stepped too closely to you, and if it were not for your mask, you were sure that your nose could even pick his perfume wafting in the air.

You stared at him, your face devoid of any expression and you eyes never betraying you by showing any miniscule emotion.

"Present," he replied, imitating the speed of your speech. "Miss." 

You tilted your head, cluelessness evident in your appearance.

"It's 'Teacher' to you." You stepped back, not out of defeat but out of quiet authority. "Come on. Double time."

Now that everyone was seated, your welcoming disposition came back. 

"As I was saying, your presence will be my basis for your grade." You put the attendance back to its place and clapped once to regain their attention. "Each one of you have one-hundred points, and every cut class, absences without an excuse letter, instances of tardiness, inability to answer in recitation, and late submission, those points will be deducted until you'll have zero."

With your right hand, you made a zero hand sign.

"Don't worry, even if you do, you'll still get a passing grade."

You inhaled once, deciding not to take your mask off any sooner. 

"Now that all of my rules had been laid down—" You grabbed a handful of candies from your stash. "—can anyone tell me about the 'Golden Rule'?"

A student raised her hand, and you called her by her name, which to her surprise. When she answered correctly, you walked to her and gave her three pieces of sweets. 

"What's this, Teach?" 

"Candies. Don't want?" 

"Why does he get three?" someone complained, sulking. 

"Because he answered my question."

With that, the teenagers who were trying to act cool earlier were reduced to young children eager to get candies rewards.

next chapter.

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. I

Pairing: Han Su-gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1898

"Spell the word 'onomatopoeia' and give me the meaning of it."

"Onomatopoeia," he mimicked your pronunciation. "O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-O-E-I-A, refers to the vocal imitation of a sound."

He then wrote the word on the white board using the blue marker, whispering the same letters that he recited to you not long ago.

"Your handwriting is getting better, Little Su-gang."

Hearing you refer to him in that nickname again, he sulked and mildly kicked you under the table. 

"I'm not that shorter than you, Miss," the eleven-year-old boy protested.

Miss. 

It has been a few years since you started being his tutor, but the boy never knew your name and only referred to you by that word. Although it sounded rather distant for him not to call you by your name, you could say that he has warmed up to you more and more. Of all the paid individuals working for and under him, you were the only one he has not treated in that particular way. His mother, too, appeared to like your presence so much she continued hiring you to teach his unteachable son English lessons after his normal classes despite you being in your teens and from a humble background in financial terms. 

"Still not taller than me, though." You smirked, demeanor full of mirth. "You can complain when you're a head taller than me."

He blew you a raspberry—an act unbeffiting for a wealthy couple's only son—but being the childish girl you were, you stuck your tongue out at him as well.

"Shouldn't you be mature?" he taunted. 

"Shouldn't you be tall?" You rummaged into to the big pocket of your backpack. "Here, have a candy."

"Miss, why do you keep giving me this?"

He looked at the cheap sweet treat pointedly. With his expensive palate, it was understandable that he would not like and artificially flavored poor-people food, and yet, he twisted open the plastic wrapper and popped the candy inside his mouth. He shoved the plastic inside his short pocket, his red-hued ears betraying the act of nonchalance he was trying to showcase. 

"Why not?" You smiled, finding his behavior similar to your younger brother's. "Everyone should be rewarded for their excellence from time to time. Besides, it's the only thing I can afford."

You rubbed your hands onto your clothed shoulders, mentally chastising yourself for not remembering to grab your jacket. Your skin pricked, and when you checked your arm, you saw circles potruding until they formed lumps of shape. 

Your hives just got triggered.

"Reward?" he said, taking his wristwatch off and handing it to you.

"Why are you—"

"Here. Your reward."

Is this one his ploys where he gives you something valuable and then accuse you of stealing?

"I can't wear jewelry," you reasoned, holding his wrist and wore the watch around it, which he calmly let you do. "They make my skin itchy."

His dark, lightless eyes traveled from your fingers to the area on your arm where your hives were located, and he ran his own hands on the reaction. 

"Maybe it's because you're wearing fake ones."

You deadpanned and stopped him from touching your skin. It was bad as it was; you did not want them to be worse. 

"How honest." You shook your head in amusement, never seeming to be offended that he was making fun of your financial situation. "Your good grades are enough reward for me." 

Even in his younger age, he could feel that the actual reason for your refusal of his offer was something else. However, he did not care enough for him to pry the answer from you. 

"Juice, young miss," a maid excuses herself, carrying a tray of pitcher and two fancy glasses. 

You refused, not wanting this act of goodwill to be used against you in the future.

"Are you going to drink that terrible tetrapack chocolate drink again?" Su-gang mocked. 

"Oh, please. You love drinking that terrible, terrible, choky-milk."

When you said that, his usually dull, expressionless eyes widened. A faint pinkness crept its way onto his cheeks, making his pale face look almost alive.

"I'm firing you." 

"You can't." You reached a hand and ruffled his neatly combed hair. "You love me teaching you."

As the maid placed down the tray, you whispered, "Be careful."

As though she did not hear your words, she shakily poured her employer a glass of juice. Her grip on the glass pitcher slipped, and then—

You gasped, the icy-cold liquid biting your skin. You scrambled to stand up, wincing at the sight of your favorite blouse and only pair of trousers being drenched with orange juice. The juice soaked up into your every single article of clothing, causing you to tremble even more. 

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Miss!"

Through chattering teeth, you smiled and dismissed her by saying, "It's okay."

You felt like crying, knowing that you would need to go home looking like this and that the stain the liquid would leave could never be removed by ordinary bleach. You, however, did not show this looming breakdown, because you knew what would happen to the maid if you were to ever show the slightest sign of displeasure toward her.

"I need a towel," you muttered.

"I apologize, Miss!" the maid stuttered, desperately searching for a way to fix the issue.

"What's with the screaming?"

The mistress of the house went down from the stairs with her high heels clacking. Each beat of her steps was multiplying the dread that was pooling the maid's guts.

She knew that she was done for. 

"Madame—Madame! Please don't—"

"My god!" Missus Han exclaimed. "What's happened to you, dear?"

"I accidentally poured juice on my clothes," you lied.

You knew that it was a futile move to do so, especially when the maid was behind you, kneeling while holding the pitcher of juice. 

"I didn't take you for a clumsy type." She rose an eyebrow, her cold eyes sending shivers to her employee and the other ones around her. "I'll give you new clothes."

Shortly, she beckoned you to come with her to a room that you were sure you have never seen being opened before.

Inside the room was a queen bed with sheets of your favorite color. The curtains, the carpet, the decorations—everything inside screamed of you, as though you were the one who designed the interior. Missus Han entered the walk-in wardrobe and looked through the hangers and hangers of clothes herself, even offering you you to pick what you want from them. In the end, she chose a pair of shoes surprisingly your size, a tailored cream-colored blouse, a long, silk skirt, and—

A pair of undergarments.

"Don't return these to me. I specifically bought them for you."

You nodded, your brain finding for an explanation as to why she would have an entire room seemingly dedicated for you. Nervously, you accepted her so-called gifts personalized for you, your eyes downcast. 

"Are those rashes?" she suddenly brought up. 

"Hives, madame."

"Hives?" she repeated with a tone so tender you almost forgot who you were talking to. 

"Cold urticaria."

"Are they caused by the juice?"

"They get triggered when I'm in a cold place for too long."

"We can turn down the air-conditioning, dear." 

"Your son likes it when it's cold," you replied. "This is his house. It's not like I could just change things just from my personal comfort. As long as he's being cooperative, I don't think there's anything else I could ask for."

A flash of jealousy appeared in your madame's eyes, and her smile shrunk.

She caressed your face with a look that could only be described as bitter yearning, as if you were a thing she wants but could not have. 

"I wish you were my daughter."

After changing, you opened the door, and you heard a sob. The source was a person from the first floor of the mansion. 

"Young master!" a maid shrilled on the top of her lungs while a eleven-year-old boy kept dragging her by the hair. "I beg of you!"

"Shut your mouth!" He slapped her face repeatedly before pushing her into a wall. "Give me a pitcher. Give me a pitcher!"

In fear, a male household staff leaped to get to the refrigerator and brought him a pitcher. Without hesitation, Su-gang poured all its contents onto the quaking woman screaming from her dear life. You averted your eyes, your heart sinking with each hit of his fists making contact with her skull.

"That is what happens to dogs who couldn't serve their masters properly." 

Your eyes pricked, knowing damn well you belonged to these dogs the Han's were spitting on. Your mama, before that incident happened, was a dog in this bright, elegant cage, too. 

How could you be so different from them, then? 

The aftermath of the Han's heir was disastrous. Blood spilled on top of the floor, mixed together with juice and tears. Glass shards glinted, reflecting the light from the two-meter long chandelier that hung silently. Muffled cried from the untouched staff could be heard bouncing back from the walls, slow to travel due to how large the gaps are between parallel walls. 

"It seems that our session for the day has ended," you quietly said, even your voice was afraid to get out. "I'll be going." 

"Where's my hug?"

You bent your knee to match the level of his eyes and wrapped him around your arms. You did not embrace as tightly as you used to, and you were grateful to whoever was there that he remained stiff. You could not stomach the idea of him hugging you back when your mind was being plagued by thoughts of his hands hitting you. 

He was terrifying when he was harming his employees, and the fact that he looked like nothing was wrong was even more terrifying to you. 

"Take care," you mumbled. 

"Come back, okay?" he said, with an underlying threat. "I'll give you candy. Better—no, the best—brand."

"Oh, you're early. What a diligent young lady," an older woman said as she wiped her face with the sleeve of her top. "I'm Jae-Kyeong Lee, and you?"

"[Full Name], Teacher Jae-Kyeong Lee," you answered as you bowed, helping her with her things. "I dislike taking the subway during rush hours, so I left home early."

"Your first day, right?"

The skies above rumbled, and the light rain became stronger, loud enough to be heard inside the teachers' lounge. 

"Yes, Teacher." 

"You look quite young." She smiled at you, which you gladly returned. "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-four." You put her bag down carefully. "Freshly graduated." 

"Oh, you took an academic break?" 

If academic break is what they call stopping to save money in order to attend a decent college, then yes. 

"Mhm, I took a year off."

"What's your first class?" 

You told her what it was, and to your surprise, her pleasant disposition died down. Her small smile was replaced with a grimace, and you could sense the fear permeating through her clothes. 

"That's Su-gang Han's class, no?" she checked, swallowing thickly. 

"Yes, it's the one."

"Is there something wrong with the class?" you inquired, feigning ignorance regarding the obvious cause of her horror.

She attempted to send you another smile, yet this time, it did not reach her eyes. 

"Just do your best."

next chapter.

[nullicaput]

firsts, seconds, and thirds. I

Pairings: Geum Seong-je x Reader, Wolf Keum x Reader

Tags: Minor College AU, Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Language and Profanities, Seong-je being mentally unstable

Summary: In a world where soulmates exist, you found yourself rejecting yours when you learned who it was.

Word count: 3321

You woke up to your whole body feeling like it was being submerged into an ice bath, and you could not stop yourself from shivering. You inhaled through your mouth, but it only dried your saliva. With all of your willpower, you got off of your crappy bed and turned on the lights. You rummaged through the uppermost compartment of bedside table in search for medicine but found nothing.

"You've got to be kidding me." 

The shelf only had a small bottle of povidone iodine and bandages, which were not going to help you, and the nearest convenience store was a ten-minute-walk away from your; you had no other option aside from asking your neighbor.

He was far from being bad, if you were to be completely honest, but his smoking habits would be the death of you. Since the walls are made out of fiber cement board—therefore are thin—and there are holes at the bottom due to the material crumbling, smoke could just pass through the without any difficulty. To make it worse, you could smell the smoke at the balcony because he leaves his cigarette butts everywhere.

You were not sure if it were him that has that nasty habit of not throwing them into the bin like any normal person. What you were certain is that although he was a terrible neighbor at times, he indeed was one of the lesser evils. 

"Mask," you whispered repeatedly. 

You pulled the second compartment and picked up two face masks from their box. You wore them together and grabbed a jacket from your hanger cabinet. You also took your wallet with you lest he did not have any medicine to give. You were not cozy, but, at least, you were not trembling as hard as you did not too long ago.

You opened the door—you just realized that it was actually day.

Through your mask, you could smell the stench of cigarette smoke floating in the air. You coughed, and soon, that coughing fit of yours developed into wheezes. You closed your eyes in order to prevent your eyes from tearing up due to light sensitivity. You sniffled in a futile attempt to empty your mucus-filled sinuses, but nothing happened. You knocked on your neighbor's door, patiently waiting for the orange-haired guy to pop up and greet you. 

"Fuck ya need?"

You almost jumped the moment you heard those words, your mind becoming aware of your surroundings again. At the opposite side of the door stood a young man with slightly curly hair that had the same hue as a piece of purple topaz, handsome and angular face littered with bandages and bruises, belittling gray eyes behind a pair of tinted glasses successfully causing the words die down in your throat. Your poor heart drummed against your thoracic cage, and that chill dripped through the insides of your bones.

One. 

Two.

You shut your eyes the moment you felt a sneeze arriving; however, no sneeze came. 

Instead, without a warning, the skin of your lower stomach where your soulmate's first sentence was marked burned. Your body turned rigid; you thought you would burst into flames right there and then. It was scorchingly hot, and you could only describe the sensation as being dangerously close to an open fire.

"Ah," you gasped through clenched teeth.

What in the world?

Pressing the heel of your palm into your lower stomach, you stared back at him, looking for the possible reason for you to feel like this after he spoke those words.

He, as well, did not appear to know why. 

"You mute? What ya staring for?" 

One. 

Two. 

Before the third second has passed, Hwangmo finally showed himself.

"Hey, who's at the—oh, senior," Hwangmo said. 

Hwangmo, your underclassman and next-door neighbor, has been living in his apartment a year longer than you do. In such a rundown place filled with criminals and thugs, his presence was the reason you have always felt safe despite initially scaring the living daylights out of you. Although he looked very rugged and easy to displease, he was kind person to be around, making sure you were safe when he not working for his job, which he never mentioned being. You never bothered asking although it was strange that an eighteen year-old has a well-paying job even when he was only working once or twice a week; you have no time to worry about other's life when you could not even keep your own life together. 

"Mornin'."

You felt an itch along your throat, so you used your knuckle to massage the area. The movement helped you a little, but after a second or two, the itch only spread. 

"Sorry 'bout the smoke."

He threw a subtle glance at the purple-haired man, who was now staring you down like a nuisance disrupting his peace.

Ah, so he was the one who kept inhaling those cancer sticks like his life depended on it. 

"It's fine," you rasped, clearing your throat after. "Hwangwo, do you have any paracetamol?"

You tried to ignore the strange feeling that settled on your lower torso, yet it did not go away anytime soon. You also tried to ignore the other male's intent staring, yet it did not go away either. 

"I actually do have some. Ya stay there."

You nodded and let him leap to his medicine kit somewhere inside his apartment. You were then left with Hwangmo's companion while he leaned back and rested his whole body onto the doorframe rather menacingly.

You did not even dare to look his way again—something nagged you not to.

The orange-haired man returned shortly—thank goodness—and gave you a whole blister pack of paracetamol. When you tried to just pick one, he almost shoved it to you just so you would stop refusing his act of goodwill.

"Thank you." You weakly smiled through your mask. "I'll return the favor when I'm good as new."

Without a doubt, that guy Hwangmo was with was your other half.

You plan to keep your mouth pursed about it.

Men have always failed you in life. 

From your violent and infidelious father, to your brother who loved weaponizing his incompetence, to those random men who loved catcalling you when you were wearing your uniform and passing by during your walk to school—you grew up knowing the truth that men really were not worth any shit. They want to dominate you and make you subservient to their self-proclaimed legacy by either assaulting you with their fists, with their words, or sometimes—if not all the time—their eyes. They like you now, but within a split of a second, they would act like you just insulted their whole bloodline by saying no. 

They are simple-minded creatures, and that is why they are so threatening.

It was sickeningly funny that your supposed soulmate was no better.

Hwangmo, even without the knowledge of your connection with your soulmate, had the tendency to rant about the unfair treatment of your fated one, or who you later learned was Wolf. During his little complaint session, his tongue slipped about Wolf being inconsiderate and whatnot. He has also said although he admire his strength, he could not help but fear him and his unexplainable predilection to receive pain before returning it tenfold to the perpetrator. Apparently, Wolf has this rule where if someone were to stare at him for too long, it becomes a non-verbal declaration of war.

Just men and their thirst for blood, really.

It was one thing to be disrespectful douchebag to strangers; it was another thing to be an uncontrollable, rabid dog.

Oh, god. The other half that you were fated to be with until you die, and yet, at this point, you were certain that if he were to find out that he was indeed yours, he would be the reason for you to die.

Things could have been easier for you, too, if it were not for the undeniable fact that no one, besides you and your other half, could see the words on your skin, and that rule applies to him and every other destined pairs. A cardinal rule, too, was to let your soulmate know the moment you met them that you and them are destined for one another. Actively hiding it means enduring the constant pain of that burning feeling, which could only be relieved the moment the other half touches the letters one by one. After that, the words will be replaced by their name, like an owner's name marking a property, and everyone could see it. 

A lose-lose situation, but between that and being with him, the former sounds more bearable. In fact, today marked the three-hundred-sixty-fifth day after your initial meeting with him, and you could never say that you regretted it one bit.

You could never be with someone who reminds you of the days you vow to forget; you could never be with someone who reminds you of your father.

"Senior!" a voice said from a distance. 

You stopped in your tracks and looked at the person who called you. He walked up to you and smiled, the smile successfully softening his harsh features. 

"Hwangmo." You took a whiff of air, and your nose slightly scrunched. "Did you smoke?"

"Nah, senior." He raised his right hand, as though saying an oath. "Never when you're around." 

You playfully punched him on the arm. Your eyes then traveled to the purple-haired guy standing a meter or two away from you. To your surprise, he was looking at you, too.

Due to the setting sun, the light has casted a golden glow on his otherwise dark and dull eyes. Wolf seemed almost similar to an angel, if it were not for his bandaged cheek and colored lenses. 

"Good. Means I don't gotta summon the slipper." You averted your eyes and punched Hwangmo again. "So, what's up?" 

"My friends will be over."

His so-called friends were actually his colleagues. They come over frequently, and they can be loud and chaotic when they were the only ones around. They, however, become more significantly quieter when Wolf was with them, and it took you no more than a second to learn that Wolf was the one who rules things around the area. He may not be the leader of the whole organization where Hwangmo was in, you were definite that Wolf still holds an important place in the hierarchy of their not-so-little, not-so-legal group. 

"You make it sound like I'm your mom," you joked. "But go ahead. I wouldn't be home until nine."

"Where ya off to?"

"Uni. I have night classes to attend." You yawned and blinked several times. "After that, I have a declamatory speech to do. We're lucky, though. We weren't required to perform in a tie."

You gestured at your overly casual, black hoodie. 

"Man, college sucks." 

"Right?" You tilted your head side to side to stretch it. "I can't even blame you for not wanting to continue."

You waved at Hwangmo before you started walking away. When they were out of sight, you coughed, barely suppressing a gag. 

"Smokers, I swear." You clicked your tongue. "Damn it."

Just like the other universities out there, the one you were in has they call the, "Block System," or where courses that are taken in a day are few but long. Unlike the other universities, however, yours separate their students into sections and courses in a program are all mandatory. This led to you having to take many courses, which a lot of them are not even actively useful for the career path that you were planning to take after college.

This is why you were preparing to speak in front of a fifty-people-crowd, despite your program not related to it.

It was not like you could complain, though. After all, you were in this university for free.

"My back," you softly grunted while you waited for your turn.

"I wonder who'd be next," your seatmate mumbled. 

Curse your instructor for using a wheel-of-fortune website to randomize the order of the presenters. 

Curse your throat for being dry after you inhaled the residual odor of cigarette from that guy.

Curse your heart for beating so hard even though you used to speak in front of audience that were three to four times more in number than what you have right now.

"[Full Name]." 

Ah, shit.

"Oh, good luck." 

"Fuck me dead," you said under your breath. 

You rose from your seat and straightened the wrinkles at the side of your hoodie. That fear never vanished, yet the moment you opened your eyes, to your audience, you felt like an entirely different person.

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation," you began, glancing from one audience to another every two or three seconds. "Conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal."

Being a former speech competitor taught you a lot of things about the human brain. 

First, different situations require different vocal modulation. Successfully amplifying your voice with an appropriate tone can make or break your intention, so a good speaker manipulates their audience by mainly using either (a) a soft, melancholic voice when narrating or reminiscing a history that fit the speech, (b) a determined voice for persuasive texts to convince the audience that the speaker themselves believe their objectives and therefore should be trusted that they can do what they are promising, or (c) an empathetic, harmless-sounding voice that can make the speaker appear vulnerable to their audience.

Second, body language reflect your mastery of the topic. Overuse of gestures could make you appear exaggerated, while underuse of it could make your speech underwhelming. With the right amount of movement and stillness, you, as the speaker, could make your words sound as though they were the truth and nothing but the truth. 

Third, the eyes can be a way for your audience to know you. It could be a way to showcase confidence, because those who are not confident with their performance usually stare on the ground and never holding any sort of eye-contact with the people in front of them. Constant eye-contact could also make them feel that they are valued, seen, special amongst the others.

These skills are useful in debates, too. Even the most incorrect pieces of information and most immoral stand could feel as though correct with the right speaker and debator. 

Yet, in the end, you knew that real life interaction does not function like debates. There are no constructive, organized arguments that could be rebutted. It was either you run or you face the danger. It was either you hit or be hit. It was sometimes, if not all the time, either life or death.

An example of this was what was happening in the meantime.

There was a man staring at you while and after you spoke the speech, and you were sure although his eyes never left you when you were around ever since the academic year has started, he has never conversed with you before. He also kept his eyes on you talked with your high school friends who happened to attend the same university with you, as well as when they left you. You have noticed the same man following you ever since you stepped out of the gates and rode the bus.

No amount of speaking skills can save you from the person who was following you like an ineradicable pest to a crop, or a moth to a source of light. 

It was fortunate that you had your phone on silent mode. It was fortunate that today was not uniform day and that you would not need to wear your hard-sole, black, leather shoes. It was fortunate that you were wearing something with long sleeves so you could hide the pocket knife being held by your dominant hand.

What was not fortunate was that the streetlights decided to light up so brightly it reveals where you were going to. Another unfortunate thing, was that the footfall that were following you were not from one pair of feet but two.

The closer one has a rushed and heavy pattern of footsteps, while the other one, who only seemed to tail you the moment you entered the narrow alleyway, was deliberate in each step they took.

You sped up your pace, and so did your heart pumping your blood. When you walked faster, so did the closer person stalking you. 

"You're [Name], right?" the man from your university asked. "I'm such a fan."

You froze; you dared not to turn on your heel to see him. 

"I've always watched you perform." You heard him ambling to your direction. "As a matter of fact, I enrolled to this terrible community college just for you."

You gripped the blade tighter. 

"Isn't that making you blush?" He was getting closer. "I'm such a romantic, ain't I?" 

You were not prepared to kill at all; however, if you had no other choice but to, you would. 

"Have you gone de—"

"Hey," a new voice—Wolf's—said. "Loudmouth."

You stayed frozen; at this point, you did not know which one of them were more dangerous. 

"Can you not see that I'm doing something important here?" 

That sounded like a wrong move to do and the wrong words to say.

To make it worse, your stalker exclaimed, "What did I expect? What can a gangster like you even know?"

While the two of them were preoccupied with each other's existence, you subtly moved. You took small, quiet steps, trying not to be heard by either one or both of them.

Then, Wolf chuckled. 

Softly, almost amused, he chuckled. 

The timing of his laughter matched his now hurried footsteps—a thump was heard. 

"What did—"

A large object—your stalker—fell on the wet, murky ground of the alleyway. For the second time, you became petrified. 

"I punched you," Wolf simply stated. "Clench your jaw."

The sound of bones crunching like sticks being broken into pieces ripped through the quiet humming of air-conditioners, but you remained motionless, unmoving like a lifeless being. 

"Stop!" Wolf's punching bag pleaded. "Stop! I won't return here!" 

"I said, clench your jaw."

The last hit was made a loud crack, which was enough to drain all the blood from your face. 

There was silence, then there were slow, painful drawing of breath. 

"This is my territory, motherfucker." He kicked his victim thrice. "You bitch, where do you think you're going?"

In your panic, you whipped around and stumbled away from him. You saw his left feet on top of your stalker's temple; he trampled on his head before he pressed his feet on it, digging the tip of his shoe as if the skull was a cigarette stub.

You gazed at him and his lips quirking at the side as his legs left the limp lump of flesh and made their way to you.

"Speak up," he taunted.

From every pore of a smoker's body, there ooze the smell of years-long of vice addiction. No amount of expensive perfume could ever conceal the putridity of cigarettes because it comes from within.

"Got a problem?" He grinned eerily. "Wanna be next?" 

Instead of saying anything, you gagged.

You gagged.

"The hell?" 

You hastily slapped your nose with your free palm, fearing that you might have triggered him.

Of all the times that you could have a visceral reaction to cigarettes, why now? 

You did not gag because you wanted to spite him or anything like that. Your reaction was not out of overreaction either. How could you even possibly tell him that you were simply disgusted by his smell? 

One.

Two.

You bowed and skittered away form the scene.

To your relief, he did not follow.

next chapter.

[nullicaput]

devil and eve. VI

Pairing: Tom Marvolo Riddle x Reader, Voldemort x Reader

Tags: Fantasy AU, Nobility AU, Christian Themes, Supernatural and Paranormal Themes, Fairytale References, Horror, Sexism, Unnamed Minor Original Characters, Dark, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Slow Development, No Smut

Summary: When your father suddenly fell ill after attending a banquet, you fell into despair. Desperate to cure him, you signed a contract with a particular wizard.

Word Count: 2497

previous chapter.

"Love potions," the viscount trailed off. "Are they real?"

The viscount lit up a stick of tobacco, and he inhaled the white smoke like it was nothing. He puffed it out like carbon dioxide to a healthy, viceless individual. From his seat, he gestured the cushioned chair in front of him. 

"Of course, they are real. I have witnessed their effect firsthand."

A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, but he did not sit on the couch. Through the darkness of his hood, he peered at the yellowed fabric that covered the chair; disgust would be an understatement.

"Sit."

He sneered at the gray-haired noble's command. He is no dog, and he would not listen like one. He is not to be commanded by anyone. 

"Have you heard of the news?" the pale creature asked, his voice dry and almost guttural. 

"What news?" 

"The North Countess' death." 

"I did not," the viscount replied truthfully. "You see, when you get old, your priorities change. Topics like that do not concern me."

"Someone told me that the young earl did it so he could get remarried." 

"The young man could do whatever it is he wants." He cleared his throat and breathed in the tobacco once more. "He could kill every wife he has and no one would bat an eye—even from the church. Women are everywhere. He could just pick one, and she would not have any other option but marry him."

The other one smiled. His mouth stretched uncomfortably until his grin became unnaturally wide. 

"Oh, but he wishes to marry the daughter of the duke."

"What did you say?"

Seeing the sudden switch of the noble's demeanor was more than entertaining. It was so diverting to a point that he could even call the scene pleasurable. 

"The earl killed his wife, so he could marry the only daughter of the duke. And then, he told the church and her family she died during sleep."

The viscount coughed several times, but the hooded figure did not help him. Instead, the latter only watched the former wheeze and rub his chest with his wrinkled hand. The figure's eyes traveled from the viscount's hand to his neck, seeing the two, dot-like scars barely hidden by the high collar he was wearing.

"You better not be lying," the noble threatened, which made the other one laugh out of pure hysterics.

The pure self-satisfaction that the viscount was hearing was more than enough to send him to the edge. If this was anyone, he would laugh with them, but this one—the one he was conversing with—was not anyone. He was old enough to know that this one was far from being unadulteratedly joyful. 

"I may kill, but I am above lying."

The old man heard him say that, yet he knew he was never above lying. He prayed to the Lord that he would be safe—how ironic. 

"Kill him and make her love me," the viscount demanded. 

"Him? The Earl of the North or the Duke [Surname]?" 

"Both of them." 

"You would need to give me a high payment." 

"Are their souls not enough?" 

"Nothing is free." He shook his head. "Either you give me something—someone else's soul aside from theirs—or I would be taking yours and hers." 

"Would five maids suffice?" the noble negotiated. 

"Ten." 

"Ten?" 

"Or would you rather I require you fifteen?" 

"Fifteen?!" the viscount shouted, uncaring to the fact that his servants might have heard him. 

Showing no signs of relenting, the viscount fall back to his seat in defeat. He grunted due to the impact mixed with frustration. 

"For a Christian, you sure are my most loyal customer," he cackled, similar to those of a monster from a mother's or a nanny's legends. "I will owl you a vial for the love potion. Owl me back a strand of the young earl's hair." 

"Doing that one is easy. However, why do I need to do the procedure of the love potion?" 

"Because unlike a hex, love potions are a different category of practice. Unless you want to gamble with the risk of me being the recepient of her affection?"

Oh no. The old man could not afford that from happening, could he? Why would he endanger his little singer in the process of saving her from her miserable unmarried life? He is her hero, and he would never hurt her. 

"What should I do?" 

"You just need to pour the potion into her drink, and make sure she sees no one but you first."

Pleased, the viscount extinguished the stick of tobacco using the armrest of his seat. 

"When I finally get my hands on [Name], I will make sure she never sees the light of day," he rambled as sleepiness has started to weigh on him. "I will ensure she never leaves the bed. She will be carrying my children, and when I pass away, she shall be buried with me."

"How ambitious," the creature remarked, but it was not loud enough to be heard.

"I will invite you to our wedding, wizard."

"I do not believe in your marriage rites." Walking back to shadow, he hummed. "But I do wish that your future marital life prevails. That is, if your God lets it."

You ran through the halls of the moonlit chapel, feet bare and soles cold. Your long dress seeped the floor as you sprinted—you could not lift all the fabric. Your clothes were heavy and restricting, and you could feel the boning of your corset puncturing you—it felt comfortable earlier, so why does it feel like it was now killing you? You gasped for oxygen, panting like a crazed animal. You wheezed when the cold air of the church froze your insides. 

You put a hand on your chest—you realized you were wearing your father's rosary. You smelled the woody scent of the beads. You looked down to see it—it was moldy. Why was the rosary moldy—

You tried to take it off; it became tighter. It strangled you. It clawed your neck—

You fell to the ground. 

You pulled the rosary—it snapped. 

The beads bounced and rolled away from you. They rolled...and rolled...and rolled. Why were the beads still rolling? 

You immediately rose and bolted to the altar. You climbed the stairs, forgeting to sign the cross in utter fear of the unseen that was following you—stalking you. You stared at the wooden benches of the chapel from the high altar. You searched for a figure from every window and every door—every passageway for a figure that size could enter without difficulty. 

None. 

There was none. 

There was none, yet you could feel it. It was gazing at you, scrutinizing your every move, listening to your every inhale and exhale. It was waiting for you to do something. To say something. 

You turned to the large cross with Jesus' sculpture nailed to it. He has always appeared kind despite the blood dripping from his wounds, from his thorned head. Blood pouring...why is there blood trickling from his forehead? Why were his eyes bleeding?

Good God, what was happening?

Were those claws? Nails? 

Why are there two pale arms reaching over to you? 

You closed your eyes. You made the sign of the cross. You clasped your hands together.

"Our father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," you prayed, your voice shaky and hoarse. "Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven." 

Your eyes squeezed shut when you felt cold hands enveloping yours. You bit back a sob, causing your throat to tighten. You heard hushed voices around you, muttering and repeating the prayers you have pleaded not long ago. 

"Give us this day our daily bread," the entity said in your stead. "And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

You perceived a sound of something moving in such an unhurried pace—slithering. It traveled close to you, and you became petrified. Before you could even move, it crawled around your legs, and then your right thigh, left thigh, and then your legs again. 

"You should open your eyes." The entity's voice was sickenly soft, and it only made the hairs of your nape stand up in fear. "It is disrespectful to refuse to view the face of your Lord Voldemort." 

You did not obey his words and instead stepped back. With your head hanging low, you walked backwards—wrong move. The thick rope-like creature still coiled around your lower limbs tightened its loops. You fell. 

You fell, head first. Your head hit the ground. 

Suddenly, you could not feel anything, not even the blood that was pouring from your cracked skull. You heard footsteps, deliberate and measured. You did not know how long it took for the entity to reach you, but when it did, you saw a thing—a man or a monster, you were not certain—peering down at you. Its eyes were like open cuts, red and deep. Its slit-like nose were similar to those of a serpent, and its mouth was wide. Around the thing's neck was a snake—green. 

"Lady [Name]." 

What did the creature call you? 

"Lady [Name]." 

You gasped.

The creature was no more. It was now sir Riddle who was looking down at your lying figure. 

"Are you now awake or are you still unconscious?" he asked, holding you down when you attempted to abruptly sit up. "Your eyes were unblinking for quite some time now. Nightmare." 

"Where am I?" you whispered, afraid and disoriented. "Who are you?" 

Confused, he replied, "Who else?" 

"Just answer the question!"

He was surprised to see your outburst, but he made no other smart comment. 

"I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, your father's healer." When he sees that you have significantly calmed down, he let go of your shoulders and let you rose. "You are in your chambers." 

He was not lying.

But there was something that irked you. 

"Why are you in my chambers?" you voiced out, putting your fear aside. "This is the second time."

You only realized that it was still night and all the lamps inside your room were simply lit so brightly you thought it was morning already. 

"Would you punish me? Are you going to put me to the laundry area then?" he mocked. 

How did he even know that? He has only been for some days after a month.

"Hold your gaze up," you told him when you saw him looking somewhere close to your chest. "You are aware that nobles are barely clothed when they are sleeping, no?"

He laughed quietly, as if he found your insinuation ridiculous. 

"Unlike men, we wizards are not affected by things such as lust." He mused about something, but he did not let you know about it. "Well, that rule certainly applies to me. You need not worry about my presence seeing your bare, ungloved arms."

You ignored his provocations and opened a compartment of your bedside table and searched for the bell. 

"You can go now, Sir." 

Now that you think about it, that maid you were with when Sir Riddle first arrived was nowhere to be seen. You did not remember putting her at the laundry area, now was she ever replaced. After that meeting, she was just gone.

"What would you need a servant for?"

"Water."

He murmured, and you saw his hand holding a goblet of water. When he reached to you and handed you it using his left hand, you noted that the mark you saw was also long gone. No trace of it was there anymore, as though the dark mark had never existed in the first place. 

"Your—" You paused, swallowing thickly. "Should you not be sleeping?" 

"I have told you, did I not? I do not sleep. I do not need it."

You drank all of the water in order to quench the parchedness of your throat, and it did. Your throat bobbed up and down as you welcomed the liquid into your esophagus, your eyes closing in the process. Some even trickled along your neck and fell onto you clothes, but you minded it not. You only paid attention to the coolness that the water brought your entire body. It was a strange sensation, yet a welcomed one. There was a lingering sweetness that rested on your tongue, but it tasted nothing like that of sugar. You swallowed everything, and when you were finished, you sighed in delight. 

You slowly cracked your eyes open, and you saw his head turned awar from yours. His jaw was subtly clenched, and you saw his cheek move—he was biting its inner flesh. He looked bothered—disturbed, even. 

"How come you heard me? Tell me," you commanded.

He found your tone rather domineering, but he supposed it was due to your upbringing. Still, he could not find it in himself to teach you a lesson or two about respecting his kind. Not right now, at least. 

"I have ears. Everywhere." When you made an expression of slight belief, he smiled mischievously. "I was lying. I checked up on you father and was on my way to the chamber you lent me when I heard your rather loud groaning. It makes me curious as to how your servants have not heard that." 

"It makes me curious how come you did." 

He heaved a sigh, tired of your constant suspicions. For someone who claimed to trust him, you sure are questioning him all the time. 

"You seem to be so affected by the countess' death," he commented, wanting to stop the prior topic. 

"How I could not be? I have seen things no one I know did." 

"You could tell me."

You scoffed. 

You wiped your eyes with your hands, battling with the drowsiness you were feeling knowing that you would still not be able to doze off anytime soon. 

"What do you gain from acting kind to me?" 

"I am not acting kind, my lady." 

"Oh, how chivalrous."

"I know how it is not to sleep when you desire to. I want to help."

"I can bear with it."

"I can remove those unpleasant memories if you wish me to. Just open your mind for me and I can pluck it one by one," he offered. "You would be able to sleep well. Far better than any sleep you had before, in fact."

Out of nowhere, the flesh of his face, which you were sure was that of a twenty-five to thirty-year-old man, rippled like waves. The shallow grooves of his face smoothed out slowly. Bit by bit, second by second, it changed. Now, he looked younger. Excessively younger.

He appeared like a prepubescent boy with a body of a young adult. 

As calmly as you could, you covered your body with your comforter and said, "There is no need. Just go."

And he did just go.

next chapter.