#⌬ –– there’s an emptiness not yet named.「 character study. 」

[kingthunder]

I saw a few of those "bg3 characters driving a car" headcanons and decided to do one myself for fun.

Lae'zel: She learned how to drive on the opposite side of the road from everyone else and her instincts are all wrong for her current location, but back home she's an excellent driver with a spotless driving record. She actually follows the service schedule in the car manual. She gets incensed at people who don't maintain their vehicle properly or who disobey road rules. Her car is immaculately clean. She would love to speed a motorcycle down one of those desert highways with no speed limit, but she's never gotten the opportunity and knows it's too reckless besides. But she wants to.

Karlach: She's had a motorcycle for ages and is a skilled if aggressive driver. However, she only recently learned how to drive a car. She is very enthusiastic about it and always volunteers to drive even though she's not very good yet. She's one of those people that do driving "pranks" like swerving back and forth to make people shriek/laugh, or doing "3, 2, 1 BLASTOFF" and gunning it. Could easily be provoked into an impromptu street race. Drives way too far on empty or with the check engine light on.

Shadowheart: Drives stick so that no one else can drive her car. It's a beat up old station wagon with a busted tail light and looks like shit on the outside, but inside she turned it into a goth mobile with like black velvet seat covers and stuff. She named the car but she won't tell you what. She has an air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror that smells like night orchids. She's a perfectly good boring driver with nothing to note about it UNTIL one day a cop tries to pull her over for her busted tail light and she hits the gas and pulls out all these street racing moves that you had no idea she was capable of and shakes the cop. She'll let you pick the music but if she doesn't like it her silent disapproval is so withering that you voluntarily change it to something she does like.

Astarion: Never got a driver's license and isn't about to get one now. Passenger princess who likes to control the radio but his taste in music sucks. He makes funny mean comments about other drivers and pedestrians. He'll complain if you ask him to fill the gas tank but he'll do it; you're paying for it, though. Actually pretty fun to go on a road trip with because he doesn't care about stuff like "making good time" and he's up for stopping anywhere that looks like it might be entertaining.

Gale: Never got a driver's license because he was always too busy with his studies to care and his mom drove him around and/or did all his errands for him anyway. He's real good at maps though and likes to be helpful by being the navigator. He's the smartest man in the world but he's completely stymied by a gas pump; you're better off pumping the gas yourself and sending him into the gas station for snacks. He always manages to conjure a full meal out of convenience food, somehow, and he's really good at feeding you while you drive.

Wyll: He saved up and bought his own fixer-upper car after getting kicked out of the house as a teenager. Good driver in general. People always think he would make a good designated driver, but actually he likes drinking socially and will politely decline requests to be the DD unless there's no one else available. Sometimes when he's having a bad day he blasts music really loud and finds a deserted area to just fuckin tear ass down as fast as he can go (he'll only do this alone and doesn't tell anyone about it). Never lets you pay for gas even if you offer. Will pick up hitchhikers.

Halsin: Has been driving the same car since 1973. Drives that specific car really well. If you gave him a modern car he would have no idea what anything on the dashboard does. Honestly, he prefers to walk or bike anyway.

Jaheira: Has a fuck-off huge SUV full of empty cans and wrappers from her kids. Absolute maniac of a driver who tailgates and speeds with no regard for road signs or lane markings. She is going to GET where she is GOING and gods help you if you get in the way.

Minsc: Failed the driving test three times and just gets rides from Jaheira. This does not bother him in the slightest. He tells you that Boo can drive vehicles you've never even heard of.

Minthara: Has run someone over on purpose.

[harfanfare]

Idia drabble, fluff, lots of couple banter

Your wishlist containing released games is empty.

In the next several minutes after saving a title to one, you can expect a notification that the game is getting downloaded, and a mere seconds after that—several messages from your boyfriend.

“thought u would never play it lol”

“weren't you supposed to be studying??”

He sends a meme degrading your hierarchy of values as if he were any better. It is followed by a request.

“stream it to me when you play it”

And you do, after thanking him yet chiding him for wasting too much money on you without a second thought. His reply was a string of emojis and guarantee that he is doing it all for himself, because “educating you on the topic of latest games is his duty” and he cares about “the boyfriend points”.

“I hope my love’o’meter for u was broken by all that pampering lmao”

“waiting for my cg to load up…”

[NAME]: “not enough affection points”

“damn”

“i need a walkthroughyt to this route”

Idia has you join a voice channel, with you sharing your screen. Playing a game in a separate dorm is a whole different experience than having him beside you, with his hands almost trembling to grab your controller if you couldn’t get past a certain level.

He would always wait for you to ask him for help, though. Then he could let the feeling of self-satisfaction sink in as he easily guided your character to another enemy to slash.

If he only has you on the voice chat, you might be able to finish the game almost fully by yourself.

You can hear the soft sound of his keyboard as he plays something as well. He divides his attention between you and his entertainment, and he throws in commentary to your playthrough, teasing you when you can’t find a secret key to the special gate, bullying you when you find the puzzles too hard, or when you pick the wrong dialogue option.

At some point, you might try to (playfully) mute his microphone, but you can only have eight seconds of silence before he hacks into the options.

“No need to be jealous of my gaming knowledge,” he exclaims, and you know he has that big stupid grin on his face. You huff, and he hums. “But if you want me to help, all you need to do is just ask.”

“I want to go through this game myself!”

“Okay, sure. But you know you have already missed the opportunity for the best ending, no?” He laughs. “That’s what you get for muting me, kitten.”

No need to spoil the ending just to get back at me, you’d love to say, but you learned that the shy boy who couldn’t hold your gaze several months ago is actually a big tease. You must’ve grown too much on him, as he would have continued the bickering even if you showed up in his room. No social anxiety towards you—that’s a bit of a shame, he was cute when you first started dating.

…Well, Idia you know now is a cutie as well, even if he can be very annoying sometimes.

“Enough. I’m going to play my otome games, bye.”

You log out, and shut the stream, chuckling all the time. A funny feeling tingled your heart, like always when you won (or have you?) in banter in Idia: your heart is warm enough to probably melt through the ribcage, but a subtle alarm rings in your head. Idia will probably take revenge for this.

He must already be in distress. He doesn’t like you playing otome games alone, as if you could have ever preferred a 2D boy over Idia. The thought makes you laugh.

You plop on your bed, unlocking your phone and tapping an icon of the name game you’ve installed. Although playing it with Idia would have been funnier, you are going to play him just out of spite.

…And after that, you will send him a wall of text about those handsome characters, because he needs to be updated on your current obsessions.

The title screen appears before everything crashes and the screen goes black. Several messages in neon-blue futuristic font colour appear one by one.

An error has occurred.

Caught exception:

Traceback (most recent call last):

File “characters”, line 46, in script

File “stats”, line 153, in script

File “story”, line 665, in script

File “achievements”, line 411, in log.1

File “backup_data”, line 139, in log

To continue:

“[Name]-san. Please come to our dorm. My brother is moping (so he won’t be finishing his project anytime soon, which is, really bad) and I would appreciate you having mercy on him.

Once you come, I will restore your data! It’s a promise :>

— ORTHO”

…Damn those Shrouds.

[atypicalamortentia]

Riddle's Diary || Tom Riddle

Synopsis - A few days into your last year at Hogwarts, you wake up to find an unusual diary nestled between your class books. After uncovering its secret, the diary very quickly becomes the only thing you can think about.

Warnings - SFW.

Notes - All characters a 18+

Word Count - 4k.

[Caffeinate Me]

You weren’t exactly sure where the diary came from. You had woken up one morning to find it neatly nestled between your class books on your bedside table. You had asked around Hogwarts to see if anybody had put it there, alas nobody had owned up to placing it in your belongings. 

The diary itself was plain black and made of leather. The unrecognised name of ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ was written in gold on the bottom of the very back of the diary. As you studied the diary, your first instinct was to flick through the pages but when you did, you saw they were all empty. It was as if the diary was brand new. Unused. You shrugged and placed the diary neatly back where it had been and went about your day as usual, forgetting all about it until you returned back to your dorm room that evening. 

When everybody had gone to bed and you were sure everybody was asleep, you grabbed the diary and made your way down to the common room where you sat at a desk facing a window, looking out at the clear night sky. You admired the diary for the second time today and sighed. “Where did you come from?” You muttered to the diary. You opened it to the middle page and inspected the lining of the book. You were looking for any evidence that there had been pages ripped out, but the lining of the diary remained intact suggesting that there hadn’t been. Just as you were about to close the book and head back to bed, words appeared on the page in front of you:

Hello. 

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut tightly before reopening them and looking at the page the words had appeared on. There was nothing there. “I must be going mad,” you whispered to yourself. You were about to close the diary once more before words appeared on the page again:

No, you’re not going mad. 

Then, as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared without a trace. You picked up the diary and looked closely at the page. 

My name’s Tom Marvolo Riddle. What’s yours?

You gasped loudly. What sort of magic was this? You watched as the words disappeared from the page before you looked at the ink pot that sat neatly on the corner of the desk you were sitting at. “Am I really going to do this?” You asked yourself before picking up the feathered quill pen and writing your name on the page of the diary. You waited for a few seconds, not sure what you were expecting to happen but just like the words you had seen, your name simply disappeared from the page. In its place was a response:

That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. 

The words were gone and the page was yet again blank. Did a diary really just call you pretty? You shook your head once again and allowed the quill in your hand to glide across the page as you wrote your reply: 

What is this book?

You waited a few seconds before a response came. 

My diary.  

“But why would somebody enchant a diary?” You asked aloud to yourself. 

So I can live forever. 

“Oh,” you frowned at the words on the page. Whatever it was, whoever it was, they could hear you speak? This was magic you had never encountered before, nor even knew was possible. You didn’t respond to the diary and instead looked out of the window as your mind whirled with possibilities. You still didn’t even know where this diary had come from and now you were up in the middle of the night talking to it? When you finally looked down at the page, you saw another sentence:

It’s late. You should go to bed beautiful. 

You closed the diary without writing a goodbye. You were shaken and confused. “It is late,” you mumbled to yourself looking at the grandfather clock situated in the corner of the common room. This all had to be one weird dream. You would wake up in the morning to no diary that could hear you or write to you and you’d tell your best friends about it and you’d laugh about the weird dream. Yeah. That would happen. You grabbed the diary and stood up, making your way back to the girls dorm and climbing back into bed. You placed the diary back where it was when you found it and fell into a deep sleep. 

You were the last to wake in the morning and the first thing you did was look for the diary. There it was, right where you left it. So it wasn’t a weird dream? You opened the diary and waited for words to appear, but none did. “Maybe I was just so sleep deprived I imagined the whole thing,” you whispered to yourself. You waited for a few more moments and still no words appeared. “What am I thinking?” You groaned and threw the diary onto the bed before getting ready for the day to come. 

Your first class of the day was potions. It was probably your favourite class, but as you sat and listened to Professor Snape drawl on about various different potions you just couldn’t concentrate. No matter how hard you tried. Your mind kept lingering back to the diary and the night before. After potions class you had a free period. You tended to sit in the library and study, but yet again you couldn’t concentrate. You found yourself sneaking back to the common room and acquiring the diary, placing it in your bag before going to your second, and final, class of the day. You found yourself peering at the dairy in your bag throughout the lesson through the corner of your eyes, not paying attention to the Professor that was trying to teach you Defence Against The Dark Arts. The lesson was soon over and you evaded your friends to head back to the common room in an attempt to communicate with the diary once more. You sat at your bed, pen in hand, and began to scrawl onto the page in front of you.

Was I dreaming last night? 

You waited a second and before you knew it, the words you wrote had disappeared leaving a response in its wake. 

No. 

Your eyes widened and your heart began to thump desperately in your chest. You shook your head and watched as the words left the page until it was blank once more. You were about to write back about how insane this was but the diary beat you to it. 

You think this is crazy, don’t you?

You nodded and cried out, “yes!”  

It’s not. It’s magic. 

“Well duh,” you groaned loudly. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Your friend's voice came from the other side of the girls' dorm. You panicked and snapped the diary shut before throwing it under your pillow just in time for your friend to walk in. 

“I’m fine,” you said, blinking rapidly at her. 

“I heard you say ‘yes’ extremely loudly,” she looked around the room realising nobody else was in there but you. “Who were you talking to?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You frowned and shrugged, making up a quick lie. “Just thought of the answer to some homework I have. Been thinking about it for days and it finally came to me.” 

“That’s… good…” Your friend said slowly before backing out of the room leaving you alone yet again. When you were sure she was gone, you grabbed the diary back from under your pillow and opened it. 

Ashamed of me?

The diary wrote. You raised an eyebrow and wrote back instantly. 

You’re a diary. 

That’s not a no. 

You scoffed. You weren’t ashamed per say, just confused. It was a damn talking diary! You needed to find out more about the diary before you let people see you with the damn thing. You sat crossed-legged on the bed, pen in hand, and continued to talk to the diary. 

So. Tell me about yourself.

The diary responded instantaneously with a counter question:

Why don’t you tell me about yourself, pretty girl?

You rolled your eyes. Out of all the magical things you thought would make a blush rise to your cheeks, a diary certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Stop calling me “pretty girl”. 

Why should I?

You bit your bottom lip as you wrote back furiously. 

You don’t know what I look like. 

Are you sure about that?

You paused and looked around the room. Surely your friends weren’t pulling a prank on you with this diary were they? When you didn’t answer, the diary continued to write to you. 

Why don’t I show you who I am? 

Your heart continued to beat rapidly in your chest and before you knew it, you were being sucked into the diary. You looked around the room and recognised it as your dorm room. The diary was nowhere to be found and so, not sure what had happened you smoothed down your uniform and began to walk out of the room. Things looked exactly the same and you made your way out of the common room to the grand staircase. There, you saw a man with curly hair and the most piercing brown eyes standing at the bottom of the staircase. He looked on as someone was taken away, covered by a sheet - someone had died? You didn’t recognise the man and his robes were slightly different to yours and it was then that you realised you were in a different time era. The cogs were turning in your head when suddenly you were interrupted by a voice you were familiar with. “Tom?” You looked to see Professor Dumbledore standing in front of the man, shielding his view as the body was wheeled away. 

“Tom?” You asked loudly, but nobody turned to look at you. “Tom Marvolo Riddle?” 

“What’s happened Professor?” Tom asked Professor Dumbledore who looked on sadly, placing his hand on the man’s shoulders. 

As the pair talked, you walked next to Dumbledore and waved a hand in front of his face. When he didn’t acknowledge you, you began to realise what was happening. These were memories. Tom’s memories to be exact. The two began to fade away and suddenly you were left alone in the corridor before you were sucked back out of the diary and onto your bed. You blinked a few times and looked at the diary that lay on your bed. “What the hell was that?” You asked yourself, opening the diary to the first page. 

That was a memory of mine, my dear. You see, I used to be a student at Hogwarts. 

You raised an eyebrow before picking the pen back up and scribbling back. 

Used to be?

Yes, used to be. A long time ago. 

“That explains why I didn’t recognise you,” you said, knowing that the diary would respond to your mumbling. 

Exactly. Who could forget a handsome face like mine?

The diary replied. You yet again rolled your eyes and scoffed. The diary wasn’t wrong though, he was extremely handsome. 

What are you thinking about?

The diary asked. This made you think about what you were thinking about and instantly you shook your head as if trying to shake the thoughts from your brain. 

Nothing. 

Came your response. You continued to shake your head, not allowing the thoughts to re-enter your mind of Tom Riddle. You bid your goodbyes before closing the diary and placing it back under your pillow - not allowing the diary time to say goodbye. 

An hour had passed since you last spoke to the diary and you were already itching to talk to it again… To talk to him again. Despite having your friends around you, sometimes you felt like an outcast. Somebody who didn’t belong. This diary was making you think… Was making you feel. “This is ridiculous,” you whispered to yourself as you walked down the hall to the Great Hall. You opened the large doors to the Great Hall and were met with crowds of people gathering around their house tables, eating away at the large feast that was spread out across the long tables. 

“Y/N!” Your friend called, standing up and waving her arms to catch your attention. “Over here!” You smiled weakly at her and walked over to your house table, settling down next to your friend. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you all day!” 

“I erm…” You whispered, looking down at your skirt. “I’ve not been feeling well. I’ve been in the girls dorm for most of the afternoon, just resting.” 

“Are you feeling better?” Another one of your friends asked you, to which you just nodded a response. “Good.” 

You began to eat the food on your plate silently as you continued to think back to Tom Riddle's memory. There was no denying that if that man was Tom Riddle, he was extremely handsome. Charmingly handsome. His brown eyes were inviting as he looked past Dumbledore at the gurney the covered body was laying on. They twinkled as if they were harbouring a deep secret, one you were sure you could get out of the diary if you asked. 

“Y/N?” Your friend shouted, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you, grabbing your attention from your thoughts. “I said have you done the potions homework?” 

You looked at your friend with a mouthful of food and shook your head. Gulping the food down, you began to speak. “When is it due? I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what Y/N?” Your friend hissed silently. “This is our last year for goodness sake! Get your head in the game or you’ll fail your exams!” 

You straightened your body and nodded. “You’re right.”

“I know,” she smiled, brushing off her shoulder playfully. You turned back to your food and continued eating in silence as your friends around you chattered and laughed. Before you knew it, you were making your way back to the common room quickly, alone yet again. You walked up the moving staircases, being careful not to get trapped on the revolving stairs as you hurriedly made your way back to your dorm. You got into the girls dorm and slammed the door shut behind you. When you realised you were alone you walked over to your bed and picked up your pillow revealing the leather diary you had been thinking about non-stop for the last twenty-four hours. You could tell in your gut that this diary was going to become a problem for you. You picked it up and sat down on your bed opening the book. 

Did you miss me?

Your eyes widened at the words on the page. 

No.

You lied. 

Liar. 

No.

This continued for several minutes before you gave in. 

I suppose I missed the company you seem to bring me. 

You wrote. Your heart was yet again thumping in your chest as you scribbled the words on the empty, yellow parchment. 

How cute.

Cute? You wouldn't exactly call it ‘cute’. It was more sad than anything. Talking to a diary, memories of somebody from the past as opposed to your kind, caring and loving friends. You gripped the diary tightly between your fingers, folding the book ever-so-slightly. Your leg was bouncing off the floor as you thought about what to say to Tom next. Alas you didn’t have to think before more words were scrawled on the page. 

How was your day?

“My day?” You mumbled to yourself, grasping the pen tightly in your hand as you began to write back. 

My day was okay. I haven’t been able to concentrate on my studies today. 

And why is that?

“This damned diary,” you said loudly. You placed the diary, open, next to you gently on the bed and stood up. With your head in your hands, you grasped your hair and pulled ever-so-slightly whilst groaning in frustration. 

What is it about my diary that is so distracting to you, my dear?

You looked down at the diary on your bed and sighed. You picked it up again and replied. 

It’s like having a constant friend in my bag. 

You didn’t have to wait long for Tom’s reply.

A friend?

“Yes, a friend,” you whispered in a hushed voice. 

But, that’s a good thing isn’t it? To have a friend with you at all times, no matter where you are. No matter what you do. 

You thought for a moment. You supposed it was a good thing, but again you knew this diary was going to become a problem for you if you kept it. 

I have to give your diary away.

You wrote on the empty page after much deliberation. 

NO!

Tom replied. There was an urgency in his writing. The capitalisation of the letters sent your heart into a frenzy. This diary, this Tom Riddle, had been in your life for roughly twenty-four hours now and you were already starting to feel attached. 

Why do you have to give my diary away, pretty girl?

You bit your bottom lip as you ran the pads of your fingers across the parchment. The words dissolve off the page in the blink of an eye. The thought of that handsome boy in the memory calling you a pretty girl brought a blush to your face. You shook your head. You couldn’t be thinking like that. You didn’t know a thing about this Tom Riddle, about this diary. 

We should meet.

The words flashed on the page. 

“Meet? How could we possibly meet?” You asked the diary, confusion laced your voice. 

Magic. 

Came the reply. In an instant you were sucked into the diary yet again. You stood up off the bed and brushed yourself off, taking in the room around you: you were in another memory. There was movement in the corner of the room and your eyes shot to the darkness of the room's corner. A figure loomed in the shadows and your heart began to thump, your ears began to ring and your legs began to shake. Were you trembling out of fear? Out of anticipation? You weren’t quite sure. 

“I’ve been very anxious to meet you,” a voice came from the shadows. Stepping into the light, the curly haired male from the first memory stood in front of you. 

“T-Tom?” You asked, ears still ringing. 

The man took a few steps towards you, a twisted smile graced his lips as he spoke confidently in response. “Yes. It’s me.”

“H-How is this even possible?” You asked. You were breathless as Tom continued to stalk towards you. 

“It’s simple magic really,” Tom replied. He was now standing mere feet away from you and you could truly admire his features in the girls dorm light. “Have you been as anxious to meet me as I have to meet you?”  

You shook your head as your throat ran dry. You gulped down a lump and spoke, trying your best to sound unaffected by him. “You’re just a memory.” 

“I may be just a memory, but that doesn’t mean I’m not real,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to yours. He looked deeply into your eyes before his gaze dropped down to your lips and back up to your eyes again. “It doesn’t mean that what I don’t feel is real…”

“What do you mean?” You asked softly. 

Tom brought a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. His face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on the side of your face. It was warm, intoxicating almost. You felt your heart flutter as his hand dropped from your hair and to your hand that rested next to you. He held it up to his heart which you could feel beating in tandem with your own. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I feel Y/N.” 

You shook your head a ‘no’ as he spoke to you, lips gracing your ear seductively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pulled away from your face and stood up straight. Brown eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room, staring into your soul. “Liar,” he whispered, a chuckle escaping his lips. 

“Tom…” You whispered breathlessly. You sucked in a breath and moved closer to him, touching his shoulders gently with shaky hands. “I can touch you?” 

“Of course you can,” Tom smirked. “And I can touch you.” He responded with a hand ghosting your hip, pulling your body closer to his. Your heart was skipping beats at his touch and you looked up at him. “I can even kiss you, if you want me too.” Tom’s hands cupped your face as he brought it closer to his own, gaze flickering down to your lips seductively. 

“Why would you kiss me?” You whispered to him, eyes burning into his own. You desperately wanted to look away out of embarrassment, but you kept strong. 

“Because I’m in love with you,” he said so nonchalantly. 

Your eyes widened and you stepped back at his words, visibly recoiling. “Excuse me?” You asked, raising your eyebrow. 

“You heard me,” Tom replied as he dropped his hands from your cheeks and gripped onto your hip, earning a squeak from you. “I’m glad you found my diary.” 

“I didn’t find it,” you whispered. “It was placed in my belongings and was there when I woke up the other morning.” 

Tom hummed and with his free hand, stroked his chin. “Fate has brought us together then, my love. Together, we can do it.”

You pulled away from Tom’s grasp and looked at him with confusion on your face. “Do… What?” 

“Open the Chamber Of Secrets, of course,” Tom replied. The Chamber Of Secrets? What on earth was the Chamber Of Secrets? Your face must have asked the question before you could vocalise it, and Tom chuckled. “You don’t know about the Chamber Of Secrets?” You shook your head. “What are they teaching you at this forsaken school,” Tom said whilst rolling his eyes. 

“Magic,” you answered softly. 

Tom continued to roll his eyes at your answer but he leaned in closer to you once more, his breath fanning across your face causing your entire body to shiver in anticipation. “Will you help me?” He asked. Without even thinking, you found yourself nodding a simple ‘yes’. Tom pulled away from your ear and smirked down at you. “Good. Good. We shall waste no time and get to work immediately.” 

“Okay…” You nodded slowly. You looked into Tom’s eyes and felt your palms get sweaty almost instantly at the way he was looking at you. There was a hint of need there, possession maybe. Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite place it. 

“About that kiss,” Tom whispered huskily, stepping one step closer to you so that he was now invading your personal space. “Would you like it?” 

Before you even thought about it, your head was nodding a ‘yes’. Tom was grinning at you, licking his lips before he placed them on yours softly. You whimpered the second his lips touched yours but melted into the kiss almost immediately. You felt Tom’s hands rest on your hips, gripping tightly and pulling you flush against his chest protectively. Tom wasted no time in deepening the kiss, pushing you backwards until your back hit a wall behind you. You were suddenly trapped and wouldn’t be able to get away from him if you wanted to. Your cheeks were on fire as you felt Tom bite down on your bottom lip between his teeth before he pulled away and looked at you. 

“How was that?” He asked breathlessly. His arms had fallen from your hips and were now resting on either side of your head as he leaned above you against the wall. 

“Best fake kiss I’ve ever had,” you whispered, voice low and nervous. 

“I think it’s time I return you to your time,” Tom said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I just wish I could keep you here with me… Forever.” 

You blushed furiously at his words and before you knew it, you were being transported out of the diary and you were sitting back on your bed in the girls dorm. The diary was once again open and a few words were sprawled on the page for you to see:

Come visit me again soon sweetheart. 

[gojosrighteyebrow69]

Dreamgirl

Kinktober Day - 2 (Camgirl)

Denji × Camgirl!Reader

SMUT 18+ (3.6k) (All characters are aged up)

Where your loyal viewer turns out to be none other than your classmate who you're tutoring

🔞NSFW🔞 reader is a camgirl under the name 'Stargirl',fluff,slight male masturbation,making out,oral f!receiving,lots of nipple play,vaginal fingering,unprotected sex,creampie, denji being dumb, friends to lovers?

He grumbles annoyedly as you go over the lesson plan with him one more time; you’ve been over the same topic with him for the past several days but he hasn’t been grasping it whatsoever.

Little did you know though, Denji hadn’t been paying attention to the learning material at all—he’d been staring at you the entire time.

He groaned and slammed his head on the desk, narrowing his eyes as he did so.

"Do I really have to learn all of this?" he asks, flipping through the pages lazily.

"Yes you do, our midterms are approaching soon and these are the most important topics." You try to reason with him.

The boy mumbles, turning his attention towards you as he speaks.

Denji rolls his eyes and sits up, grumbling under his breath as he did so.

"Ugh, but it's boring and it doesn't even make any sense. What's the point?"

"Is the material even important? Do you really think I need to know this stuff to graduate?"

He tilts his head and looks at you curiously.

"Oh trust me, I ask myself the same question. But it is what it is, we need to study all this shit to graduate" You had no idea why it had to be you who had to tutor him, just talking to him was making you loose brain cells.

A frown spreads across his face as he sighs. "Fine, I guess you're right. Just this once though. Only because the tests are coming up." He groans and leans back in his chair, staring into empty space and letting out a long breath.

"What do I do first though?" The boy asks, looking back at you for help.

"Try solving this, you just need to substitute the values" You give him the easiest question of the book, hoping for some improvement.

The boy grabs a nearby pencil and looks over at the problem you provided. His brow furrows as he reads what's on the page and tries to comprehend it.

He leans back in his chair and rubs his forehead with his free hand before looking back over at the problem and muttering to himself, a frown on his face. "... I don't understand..."

The boy sighs loudly before looking back up at you for help.

"You just need to put in the values, it's basic trigonometry" You were getting a headache now, you both had been doing the same thing since last week, yet he didn't understood a word of it.

Denji blinks, staring at the problem once again. It's as if you're speaking another language to him; he can't even pronounce "trigonometry", never mind solve the problem properly.

"Can't you help me with it?" He asks you after a moment of silence.

"What are you not understanding?" You rub your forehead in frustration.

The boy glances up at you and then back down at his work, he then gestures towards the problem.

"All of it."

It was finally evening and you had somehow managed to make it out alive after the tutoring session.

He stands up from the desk and stretches while yawning loudly, he walks over to the front door and opens it up before turning to look at you.

"Thanks for the study session, I really appreciate it. I'll see you same time tomorrow" The boy turns around so he's facing you again before speaking, a grin on his face.

You watch as Denji heads out the door and down the street; you feel your heart throb and you begin to blush slightly. Maybe you're starting to develop a bit of a crush on this boy? Even though he was super dumb, he was starting to grow on you.

You shake your head to clear your head of any thoughts, it was time for your job now.

You enter your room and close the door behind you; you dim the lights in your room before grabbing your laptop from your desk. You sit down on your bed and open up the laptop before turning your webcam and audio on.

You look around your room and take a few deep breaths, feeling the anticipation in your heart as you wait for the stream to start.

You smile to yourself and position the camera so that it captures everything below your chest and down to your legs. You'll need to give viewers something to look at after all and you want to maintain your popularity.

Meanwhile, Denji sits in front of his laptop in his room, his cock in his hand, waiting for his favorite camgirl to go live.

He smiles and stares at his screen eagerly, his eyes filled with excitement as he patiently anticipates her appearing online. He's always been a big fan of this camgirl and he's always loved watching her live streams.

He glances over at the time in the bottom right corner of the laptop and sighs "Come on, where are you already?" He says impatiently as he grips the mouse tightly in his hands.

A few seconds later the stream finally starts, and there she was, His dreamgirl, "Hey everyone, it's Stargirl here! I'm sorry for the delay today, I got caught up in something" Your chat soon started to flood with your fans.

"Ah, a delay? What could she be doing that's more important than her stream?" Denji asks himself out loud.

He leans back in his chair and smiles as he watches his favorite camgirl turn on her webcam. He takes a second to admire her figure; her body is perfect and her curves are just right. He listens to her read the chats as he starts stroking himself to her voice.

Even though he had never seen the face of the girl, Denji had already fallen in love with her. He never missed any of the streams and made sure to donate as much as he could.

"I really missed you guys, Thankyou for all your love and support" You say to the camera in a low and seductive voice, watching as your chat gets flooded with thirsty comments

@mommymilkerssonlyy

The goddess is finally here

@slutfortittes

Show us your gorgeous tits mommy

@erensleftbutcheek

Why aren't you my girlfriend yet?

Denji glances back up at the screen and notices how flooded the chat is with messages to Stargirl. He looks at her and smiles widely before typing something himself, wondering if she'll reply.

@chainsawboy

Can you call me handsome?

Denji asks, making sure not to reveal his actual identity online.

It was so rare to be complimented by someone you find attractive so you might as well ask for it, right?

Your eyes brighten up as you see a chat from your most loyal viewer. "Oh! Here you are, my most loyal fan, Chainsaw boy. I knew you'd always show up for my streams. And yes, you are very handsome."

Denji arrives at your house again, knocking on the door as always and waiting patiently for you to let him in.

You open the door and let him in. "You're on time today"

He smiles gratefully as soon as the door opens and he sees you standing in front of him; he nods and walks inside.

"Yeah... I decided that if I want to pass, I should probably be on time." He chuckles slightly and puts his hands behind his back. "So, what are we studying today?"

"Let's start of with some chemistry, we have a test day after tomorrow" You lead him to your room and you both sit on the bed and start taking out the textbooks.

As the two of you sit down on the bed to continue studying, Denji notices something odd. The sheets on the bed looks awfully familiar, even down to the flower pattern on the bedspread.

The boy turns and looks at you, confusion filling his mind and heart for a moment before he shrugs it off. Maybe he's just imagining things, it can't be that similar, right?

"So do you understand about the tetravalency of carbon?" You asked the boy, who seemed rather confused.

"I think so, yeah. It basically means that carbon has four bonds that it can make with other atoms, right?" Denji glances into the textbook, the two of you studying next to each other while sitting on your bed.

His mind is still occupied with the fact that your bedsheet is oddly similar to the bedsheet used by his favorite camgirl online, although he tries not to think too deep about it. He's starting to think that it's all just a coincidence.

"Yes, exactly"

Denji looks up from the textbook, glancing at you briefly. He just realises that the sound of your voice is also quite similar to the camgirl he watches.

It couldn't be you though, that's just a coincidence, right?...

His mind was torn between believing the similarities in both Stargirl and You are just coincidences or not. Surely it's not possible that...

He shakes his head, trying to clear his confused mind. It's probably just a coincidence.

While you both continue studying, He can't help but notice the birthmark near Your thigh, it looks exactly like the one stargirl possesses. He's seen it more than a few times already.

His mind begins to race at the thought of the fact that what he's thinking may actually be true.

It can't be though, it's just a coincidence... right?... Denji glances over at you, a conflicted look on his face.

Why do you have the same birthmarks as his favorite camgirl? Why does you have the same bedsheet? Your Voice sounds so similar too... it's gotta be a coincidence. It's impossible for her to be the same person, right?

The boy continues to struggle with his thoughts, he can't help but want to believe that You and Stargirl are one and the same, it would explain all the similarities.

The sound of his favorite camgirl's voice fills his ears as you instructs him in studying, that mixed with the memories of him seeing you on stream fills him with confusion and doubt.

He feels a sudden urge to ask a question, but he knows that no good could come from asking that question. What if... it's actually you? What if you were Stargirl all along? He'll just sound stupid.

"So..." He hesitates to ask before eventually speaking up. "Do I look handsome?" He blushes heavily at his question.

You look at him with a confused expression. "What?"

"I... well uh..." Denji looks away and sighs, not sure what to say to you. 'Are you really the same as his Stargirl?' He just can't figure it out. "Well... I just wanted to know if you thought I looked... handsome."

You think to yourself for a moment before replying, your cheeks feeling slightly warm. "Well you are pretty handsome, not gonna lie"

"H-huh?... Really?" Denji can't help but blush at your words. "I never really thought I'd be... handsome to most people." He seems a little lost by your words but still can't help but feel happy at how you had reacted. Were you Stargirl? Were you actually his Stargirl? "Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure" You reply while solving an equation in your notebook.

Denji's heart is beating out of his chest as he prepares himself for the question with a nervous smile. It was such a weird question, but he just had to know if you really were Stargirl or not.

"Alright... so this is gonna be a kinda weird question, but..." He takes a breath, wondering if he has the strength to ask the question.

"Are you a camgirl by the name Stargirl?"

His heart is racing, it could just be a coincidence or it could be the truth. This was truly the moment of truth.

Your eyes widen and you drop your pencil. You couldn't believe he knew about your secret identity. "How do you know about that?" You ask nervously.

"I've watched your streams... a lot actually. I guess it's because I was pretty bored at home, so I just needed a distraction." He chuckles awkwardly.

"It's kinda funny, I remember watching a lot of your streams... especially when you first started out." The more he talks, the more comfortable he feels. He can't believe it, Stargirl really exists.

"Wait, you don't happen to be Chainsaw Boy, do you?" You could feel your cheeks burning at the thought of him being one of your most loyal follower.

"Uh... yeah." Denji nods slowly and sighs. He knew that he didn't even need to deny any of it. "I know... it's weird and kinda obsessive, but... I just don't have a lot to do."

"Please dont tell about this to anyone, I want this to be a secret between us" You don't even want to think what would happen if everyone you knew would get to know about your secret persona.

"I won't, trust me. I won't say a word." He smiles reassuringly at you. He can't believe this is happening. He's always wanted to be with Stargirl, and now he's sitting right next to her. "But, uh... I've got to ask you one more question, Why did you keep your identity a secret from your viewers?"

"I'm doing this whole camgirl thing to pay up my mom's hospital fees. She thinks I do a part time job, I don't want her to know that I strip infront of the camera for money, plus it's pretty embarrassing to admit to someone you know?" You open up to him.

"Oh..." His heart flinches at the revelation, he feels bad for you. You're doing this to help your family.

He looks at you with sorrow and concern in his eyes, he feels bad that you has to sell herself like this. Yet that doesn't stop him from looking at you with affection. "I understand, Stargirl. I'll never tell anyone."

"Thanks for supporting me and watching my streams tho. It means a lot to me" You smile at him softly.

"Thanks for all the streams! They kept me entertained in my lonely days. I'm really sorry you have to go through all of this just to help your family though." Denji smiles back, wishing he could do more. It hurts to see a girl so beautiful as you to have to be in such a situation.

"But I'll keep watching your streams, for both myself and your mother. You're gonna make it through this, I know you will."

His words melt your heart and you find yourself hugging him tightly.

He blushes as he feels the warmth of your touch, he's always longed to feel love. He can feel himself falling even more in love with you as you hug him.

He wraps his arms around you as he closes his eyes and enjoys the moment. He wants to stay like this forever.

He smiles softly as he opens his eyes and looks at you. "I'm just glad I get to spend time with you"

"I can say the same. It's an honor to spend time with my most devoted and loyal follower" You break the hug and look upto him, your faces only inches apart

Denji's breath catches in his throat due to the close proximity. He's lost in your eyes as his thoughts begin to fill with feelings for you. He wants you.

"I uh..." He can't think properly with your faces being this close. "I..." He doesn't know what to say as he looks back into your beautiful eyes. His heart pounds against his chest as the two of you look at each other silently.

"Do you... wanna..." He can't finish that sentence. The words are stuck in his throat. Denji takes a deep breath and leans in a bit closer, his eyes closed. If he doesn't do it... what if this moment never happens again?

You nod and slowly lean forward, Your lips touch his as time seems to slow down.

He feels as if he's on top of the world. He's kissing the girl of his dreams, She has thousands of fan, but yet she chooses him.

He continues to kiss you back, enjoying the feeling of your tongue exploring his mouth. His hands eventually come up under your top, massaging your smooth skin as your tongues continue to dance together.

You find yourself sitting on his lap and kissing him deeply, your hands running through his scruffy blond hair.

He wraps his hands around your waist, his fingers grazing against your skin. He leans towards you a bit more, wanting your lips to stay locked together forever.

He couldn't help but moan softly into her neck as he felt your breasts press against him. His hands roamed over your body, his touch possessive and loving

"Can I?" He asks while slowly tugging at the hem of your top, as soon as you give him the green light he tosses away your top and his hands moved to unfasten your bra, freeing your perky breasts from their confines.

Seeing your beautiful breasts bared, Denji's mouth went dry with desire. This was a scene straight out of his dreams. He groaned softly as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling greedily as his hands slipped down to grasp the waistband of your panties.

With a final tug, He pulled down your panties and tossed them aside. He looked up at you, his eyes hungry as he took in the sight of your wet folds. "You're perfect," he murmured before leaning forward to taste the sweet nectar.

"Fuck, you taste so good" Denji mumbled against your folds, his tongue dancing over your clit. He couldn't get enough of you. His hands moved up to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples as he continued his sensual assault.

You could feel yourself slowly drowning in pleasure as you moaned his name while gripping onto his hair and squeezing his face between your thighs.

"Mmm, that's it" He encouraged, his voice thick with lust. "Ride my face, baby. Let me taste you." He lapped eagerly at your sweetness, his tongue pushing deep inside you as you ground your hips against his face.

You could feel your eyes rolling at the back of your head as he continued his ministrations.

He knew you were close, and so did you. The knot in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter as he increased the intensity of his actions, sucking hard on your clit while thrusting his fingers deep into your core. "I'm gonna make you cum, my stargirl" he promised, his voice rough with desire.

A sudden wave of euphoria washes over you as you finally reach your building climax, releasing in his mouth. "Yes baby, cum for me" he urged, loving the taste of you on his tongue. Your sweet juices filled his mouth, and he drank greedily as he continued to lap at your sensitive flesh.

He finally pulls away, his hair messy and sweaty with your juices dropping down his lips. The sight of him like this made you loose control as you sit up and kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Denji kissed you back deeply, his tongue dancing with yours. He pushed his cock against your lower stomach, feeling her slickness on his skin. "I'm going to fuck you now," he growled against your lips.

He began moving his thumbs in slow circles over your nipples. He watched as they hardened under his touch. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, leaning in to take one of your nipples into his mouth.

With gentle sucking motions, Denji teased your sensitive nipple, his other hand moving down to tease your soft folds once more. He pushed a finger inside you slowly, feeling your tightness around him. "Are you ready for me?"

You nod eagerly, wanting to feel him inside you already.

Denji smiled against your skin as he felt you nod against his cheek. He picked up the pace, sucking harder on your nipple while his fingers began thrusting in and out of your wetness.

He finally pulls away his fingers, and with a low, primal groan, he positioned himself at your entrance and pushed inside, feeling your tightness engulf him.

"You feel so damn good," Denji panted, his eyes closed as he thrust into your body. He moved in and out slowly, feeling your tight walls squeeze around him. You could feel him brushing against your G spot with each of his thrusts.

You cling onto him tightly and look deeply into his eyes, pulling him in for a kiss. He kissed you back deeply, your tongues tangling in a passionate dance. His thrusts became more urgent as he felt the familiar fire building within him. The sensation of being connected to you like this was exhilarating for him.

He gritted his teeth and moaned your name, knowing he was close. The feel of your nails digging into his back only served to fuel his desire. "Fuck, you feel so good," Denji growled, his hips pistoning as he drove deeper into you. He leaned down, kissing your neck and nipples, anything to keep himself from cumming too soon.

His breath hitched, feeling the edge of his control slipping. He looked into your eyes, seeing the desire mirrored within them. With one final, powerful thrust, he released himself inside you, their bodies shuddering together in climax.

He pulls out and body collapses on top of you and hugs you tightly while laying between your breasts.

"Ah shit, sorry for well.....doing it inside" He looks upto you and caresses your cheek.

"It's fine, I'm on birth control so we're safe" He lets out a sigh of relief.

"Be my girlfriend" He says while his face is buried between your breasts, his hand massaging your sides.

"Sure, boyfriend" You stroke his hair as you both find yourself drifting off to the land of slumber.

[koqabear]

Like Cat and Mouse!

☆ Playlist! ☆

"You seemed to have garnered quite the reputation for you on campus— one that had the word “trouble” following you like a shadow. But when you give Beomgyu an offer he couldn’t possibly turn down in exchange for helping you get your grades back up, how could he refuse? You can’t possibly be that hard to handle, right?"

Beomgyu x fem!reader, ft. Hueningkai

Genre: college au, slowburn (kinda..?), tutor!gyu x rich girl!mc, fluff, angst, smut

Word count: 37.1K

Warnings: mc is a bitch, and maybe a bimbo? gyu wears glasses, and he’s like super super shy, mc gets sick for a scene, she rambles but its part of her character ok!, toxic relationships, pining/unrequited love, Yunjin is so fake here im sorry Yunjin, mentions of alcohol/drinking, the puppy gyu agenda is fucking strong here !!!

Smut warnings: multiple smut scenes first of all, fwb!huening, dom!hyuka, switch!mc, sub!gyu, (the worst case of sub gyu yet), virgin!gyu, breast play, dry humping, biting, pet names (f rec: princess, m rec: puppy, good boy, baby, slut, etc.)  mentions of bondage (f. rec.), spanking (f. rec.), degrading, praise, praise kink, finger sucking, oral (f. & m rec.), handjobs, mouth fucking, cum eating (?), explicit, verbal consent is not stated in two scenes but both parties are willing! Semi-public sex, overstimulation, slight thigh riding, marking, hair pulling (m. rec. lol), begging, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, cockwarming

notes: i don't even know what to say... there's really no reason for this to be so long, how did we get here. i hide my face in shame.

It all starts as an accident— a very inconvenient accident.

Really, it wasn’t your fault; how were you supposed to keep up with these endless assignments that only seemed to get worse as time went on? You had better things to do with your life— studying is way too much of a headache for you these days. 

Instead, your days have been filled along the lines of parties and trips your friends hold, gaining connections with people that always help things go next level; Empty vacation homes, yachts, even a private jet once— you were lucky enough to land a friendship with these type of people, the thought of taking things slow and worrying more about your education not crossing your mind anymore once you got a taste of the fast life. 

Which is exactly how you got where you are now. 

“There goes your man,” Yunjin’s elbow is sharp against your side as she whispers teasingly, the jab only making your frown deepen as you weakly attempt to shake her off. 

“Shut up.” That’s all you can manage as you go to lay your head down on the dining hall table, your appetite long gone as your head swims and your stomach twists with nausea; her single jab is enough to remind your body of its terrible shape, your eyes shutting tightly as you fight through the urge to hurl then and there. 

You’re not even sure of what she might mean— you don’t remember telling her about any recent hookups— hell, you don’t even remember gawking at anyone in your vicinity; so for her to be teasing you about this “man” of yours was strange, a pout forming on your lips as you try to focus on the cool feeling of the wood beneath your skin.

“I gotta go,” Yunjin says abruptly, your eyes opening to send her a confused look. All she can do is give you an eager smile, patting your head as she grabs her now empty coffee cup from the table. “Your man is coming this way.”

Before you can ask her what man she could possibly be talking about, she’s off, not bothering to look back as she sends you a little wave over her shoulder, perfectly manicured nails glittering under the sunlight that shines through the windows. 

The seat in front of yours is quickly filled. 

“You weren’t at our study session yesterday.”

Jesus. 

There’s not much you can say to that, clearly guilty as you choose to press your forehead against the cool table in response. Maybe, if you close your eyes, he’ll disappear— if only it were that easy. But instead, you’re stuck with Choi Beomgyu and the warm scent of coffee that follows him— god knows how many cups he drank as a substitution for sleep. Your lashes flutter against the table as you attempt to drown out his whines, surprised that he hasn't taken your unresponsiveness as a hint to go away.

“Have you ever gone to Paris?” You ask, the sentence flying from your mouth and interrupting his rambles. It’s enough to shut him up, sitting up as you plant your hands firmly on the table in a weak attempt to not lay your head back down.

“No, I haven’t.”

His response is typical— you didn’t care whether or not he would say yes, leaning into the table as you stare into his eyes; it’s clear he’s flustered by the action, leaning back in reciprocation as his pupils land everywhere but on you. 

“If you had the chance to go to Paris right now, would you?” It takes a moment before Beomgyu nods his head hesitantly, mouth opening as he prepares a new line of questioning for you. But you’re quick to cut him off again, clapping your hands in satisfaction as you stand up— his eyes follow your every movement, face resembling a lost puppy as he watches the way you get ready to leave.

“Exactly; Paris really is beautiful by the way, definitely recommend going. So you can’t blame me for ditching our study session yesterday, can you?” Tilting your head, you watch the puzzles connect in his mind. “We can always make it up or whatever, not that big of a deal.”

Turning around, you don’t bother saying goodbye to Beomgyu; your only thoughts center on your beautiful, comfy bed and how you’ll spend the rest of your day in it. You can hear him calling out to you, the sound of a chair scraping against tile catching your attention as you force yourself to walk faster. 

“We have class in fifteen minutes— where are you going?!”

He’s gaining up on you. You don’t care if you have to sprint out of the building, but the last thing you’ll do is get stuck in another of Beomgyu’s self-righteous rambles as you curse wildly under your breath. 

“Home— I’m sick!” 

Carelessly, the exit door is slammed on Beomgyu’s face— by accident, of course. Glancing back, you’re able to catch a glimpse of his pathetic puppy face, clearly discouraged from trying to continue chasing after you. 

Normally, one would be compelled to feel guilty— but the day is simply too nice, the weather so perfect as a spring wind brushes past your skin; the sun that slightly worsens your headache truly doesn’t seem that bad anymore. 

A perfect day to drive around and shop, in your humble opinion. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 

This new purse would be divine in your collection. 

The luxury bag in your hands is sleek and smooth as your fingertips glaze over the details, entranced by its chic beauty as you let your thoughts wander— formal events, birthday dinners, oh, the places you could take it…

The price tag is no joke— it has you counting numbers in your head, pondering just how much of your monthly allowance you have left; if you buy it now, you’ll have to say goodbye to the girls’ trip at Yunjin’s beach house in Cancun…

Treat yourself, a tiny voice whispers in your mind, you can always beg your parents for more money. 

The devil on your shoulder is compelling— it warps your vision, a pout forming on your face as it practically forces your eyes to see the item in a heavenly light; the last item in that specific collection, and it’s right at your disposal, only a card swipe away…

“Pretty bag,” your little devil hums, “It would look nice with that little black dress you’re always looking for an excuse to wear.” 

His hand is delicate and teasing on your shoulder, his hold on you tight as he pulls you into him protectively. You’re not as surprised as you should be as you look up at Hueningkai, pouting face innocently looking up at him as you shake your head in distress. 

“I shouldn’t. I’m supposed to go with Yunjin to Cancun during spring break,” you whine, petulant as always as you refuse his reasoning— yet also refuse to let go of the bag and walk away. 

Anyone who knows you knows how you get about accessories— how obsessive you become with collecting them, your closet always filled to the brim as your need to buy becomes a borderline addiction. 

Maybe that’s why Hueningkai finds your dilemma so amusing, deft fingers snatching the purse from your hands and walking away wordlessly, leaving you to trot behind him as you continue to rant and stall, lingering by his side as a new item catches your eye; you inspect it curiously while the words uncontrollably fly out of your mouth. 

“I mean it’s not like I don’t have enough money, cause I could always ask my parents for more— and they’d gladly give it to me— but I always feel so horrible to ask for more, especially now that I’m supposed to be getting more independent, even though they always talk about spoiling me because I’m their only daughter, but still, I really want it but if I buy it I’ll have to ask them for more money, and it’s not even a big deal but it feels—“

“Oh my god, okay!” It seems you were too distracted by the tweed Chanel bag in your hands to anticipate the shopping bag that Hueningkai thrusts into your hands, exasperated at your ramblings as he swiftly manages to shut you up. 

You’re left speechless, sorting through the filling paper dumbly as you’re greeted with the same bag that Hueningkai snatched from you— your sparkly eyes look up at him in awe, unsure of what to say as he simply smiles at your reaction. 

“Huening…” you pout, clutching the bag to your chest with one hand as you slap his chest with the other— his very firm, strong chest… “you shouldn’t have.”

He’s quick to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you into him and guiding you out of the store as he leans into you; you can smell his cologne so perfectly, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers softly into it.

“It’s okay,” he smiles, endeared by the way your eyes shine with anticipation to his words, “I know of a few ways you can make it up to me.” 

There’s no need to call your driver— Hueningkai knows the way to your apartment like the back of his hand, one relaxed at the steering wheel while the other plays with the hem of those skirts you always like to wear.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

“You’re such a tease,” Hueningkai’s lips are plump and bitten at as you smile against them, his hands never straying from your ass as he grasps at it, enjoying the way you grind against him expertly.

“Just wanna make you feel good,” you pant, the warm feeling of his hands on your tight-clad thighs making you whine, your pussy slotted perfectly against him as you feel the way he grows harder underneath you.

“You’re always so good to me…” you trail off the moment his lips begin to wander down your neck, attempting to pull off your thin sweater as his hands immediately find themselves on your breasts. He can only let out a breathy laugh at your words, his teeth sinking in the plump flesh softly before his fingers are working your bra off. 

“Always buying you your favorite things?” He rasps, groaning softly at the sight of your breasts, fingers playing with your nipples as he looks up at you teasingly, “my princess will do anything for a pretty purse, hmm?” 

Frantically, you nod, his hips bucking into you as you feel the way his cock presses against you effortlessly; he’s as eager as you are, warm tongue on your skin making your thoughts run wild as you imagine what it would feel like to have him pressed against your cunt, helpless to your needs as your fingers card through his hair.

“Come on pretty girl, show me how grateful you are,” your thoughts are immediately dispelled as Hueningkai pushes you off, a gentle hand pushing away your hair before he’s guiding you down to your knees; his favorite sight, your doe eyes fluttering at him innocently as your hands make quick work of his belt. He can’t help but groan at the sight before him, lip caught in his teeth as he silently wishes for you to hurry. 

Hueningkai takes the belt from your hands, placing it to the side as he smiles down at you coyly— you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation, your mind going back to the many memories of your face pressed into the mattress as your bound hands desperately begged to touch him. Your fingers are delicate as they pull down his zipper— he’s become impatient, lips parting as he gets ready to make a witty comment. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a persistent ringing of your doorbell. 

He’s devastated as he flops back into your mattress— a loud groan escapes him, brows furrowing as he grows irritated at the ringing that echoes throughout your apartment. 

“Jesus, what the fuck is their problem?” He complains, running a hand through his hair before he sits back up; he’s smiling fondly at you as he caresses your cheek, sighing softly as he nods his head towards the door, “go see who it is, won’t you princess? Make it quick.” 

The look that you two share is nothing but mischievous, his lips connecting with yours in a chaste kiss as he helps you up; he’s tugging your sweater roughly over your chest, straightening your skirt before he’s sending you off— not without one last feel of you, the stinging sensation that lingers on your ass making you yelp as you send him a playful glare— he can only send you a sly look in return. 

This better be important, you can’t help but think, sighing heavily as another three persistent rings of your doorbell echo throughout— you groan, rolling your eyes as you swing the door open wildly.

You can’t say you’re surprised as Beomgyu stares back at you in shock, his wide eyes blinking rapidly as he takes you in.

“What.” Your tone is unwelcoming as you lean against your doorframe, arms crossing to cover your chest as you raise a brow at him in anticipation— he stutters uselessly, pushing up his glasses as his eyes fly about your apartment wildly— refusing to look at you for more than a second. 

“You didn’t answer my messages,” or calls, he whispers weakly, tugging at the hem of his sweater as he stares down at his dirtied shoes, his other arm hidden behind his back. He clears his throat, gulping as he looks into your eyes, pushing past the annoyed look that greets him as he continues, “You didn’t look well this morning, so I wanted to check up on you.”

You’re not sure what to say as Beomgyu whips out what was hidden behind his back—you’re leaning back as you stare at the cute, floral lunch bag that Beomgyu thrusts into your face, hesitantly taking it as you look back at Beomgyu in confusion; it feels warm in your arms.

“It’s soup.” He says, his ears reddening as he takes in the bewildered way you’re staring at him, “It’s my mom's recipe, it’s— it’s really good.”

“Yeah? We’ll be the judge of that,” Hueningkai has snuck up behind you as he wraps an arm around your waist, effectively pushing you back against him— you can feel how hard he is against the swell of your ass, eyes widening as you get what he’s hinting at, impatient fingers digging into your skin softly. 

Beomgyu seems just as surprised as you are at Hueningkai’s appearance, if not more. It becomes your turn to become embarrassed as you look over your shoulder to meet Hueningkai’s smug smile, his eyes glistening with curiosity as he looks back at Beomgyu, tilting his head as he frowns.

“Who are you anyway?” 

Beomgyu seems quite offended by his statement, looking at you in shock. You’re scrambling to cut Hueningkai off, letting out a soft laugh as you place a firm hand on his chest— the last thing you need is for Hueningkai to drive away one of the few people that would be willing to tutor you. 

“He’s just helping me out in some classes, that’s all,” you say, placing the lunch bag in his hands before you’re shooing him away, “Put this on the kitchen counter— I’ll see you in a bit.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t miss the look the two of you share— if anything, it makes his stomach twist in embarrassment, wanting to do nothing more than turn around and pretend as though he hadn’t interrupted you while you were— whatever it was. Hueningkai is cheery as he walks back into your apartment, not bothering to spare Beomgyu another glance as he disappears from your sight; your clearing throat is what gets Beomgyu’s mind back on track. 

“Right. Well,” you say, smiling awkwardly as you reach out for the door, “I’m feeling better. Thanks though!” 

Beomgyu is unable to get out another word as you’re closing the door on him, sneaking in a last comment as you cheerily yell “tell your mom I said thank you!” Uncaring of his reaction as the door shuts in his face; he suddenly thinks back to this morning, shuddering at the memory of him having to walk back to the other exit of the dining hall, towards the building his classes were in— your shared class, specifically— forced to ignore the strange looks everyone gave him as he stared straight at the ground. 

“Isn’t he younger than us? Why was he talking to me like that,” he quietly pouts, his protests left unheard as he’s forced to walk back home, eyes glued to the sidewalk in dismay— the feeling is dreadfully familiar.

“Well that’s sad,” Hueningkai remarks, peeking through your blinds as he watches Beomgyu’s figure grow smaller, “Are you actually gonna eat that?”

His eyes flick back to the lunch bag that sits innocently at your counter—you simply shrug, feeling oddly protective of the item as you tuck it behind you, leaning against the counter as you sigh softly.

“His mom made it, I’d feel bad if I didn’t,” you say, biting at your lips as you watch the way Hueningkai laughs in disbelief. You feel a bit bad as you think back to the way you turned him away, his expression pitiful and sad as you slammed the door on his face for the second time today. Yet you don’t get much time to think about it as Hueningkai begins to approach you, hands effortlessly finding themselves on your waist as your head tilts to meet his lips in a sweet, slow kiss. 

“Can’t believe he interrupted us for so long,” you feel him smile against your lips as he presses you back against the counter, ready to hike your skirt up as his other hand is eagerly wrapping your leg around his waist, “will you make it up to me?”

Beomgyu disappears from your mind like smoke— the smile against your lips is contagious, your hand gently pressing against his chest as you roll your hips teasingly into his, a broken moan falling from both your lips. 

“Of course.“

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

The rest of the day is quite underwhelming. 

You’ve been left with a good fuck and a nice purse, but as you lay in your bed, you can’t help but notice the way your headache never really left— it’s been nothing but a dull ache until now, the pain persistent and growing as you sigh in exasperation; none of your usual remedies have worked for you so far. 

Your body feels hot and weak, yet you’re left shivering as the blankets keep endlessly stacking on top of you. Not even your weighted blanket can lull you to sleep, your figure restless as you toss and turn in your bed, your phone buried in your puzzle of fabric. You’re in nothing but pain— you hate feeling like this, and the sudden grumbling of your stomach truly isn’t helping either. 

Left with no other options, you trudge to the kitchen, opening your fridge as you mentally brace yourself— it’s been a while since you’ve shopped for groceries; there’s not much in there that you could eat quickly, and you can’t find any energy within you to cook. 

The cool fridge door is welcoming against your skin— yet it’s also bothersome as you begin to shiver at the cold, closing the fridge quickly as you frown to yourself; whatever your body has come down with, it sure is annoying. Taking a moment to think, you suddenly find your eyes gravitating to a certain item; ergo, the floral lunch bag that remains untouched on your counter. 

It hasn’t been that long— an hour or two, at most. Whatever Beomgyu gave you couldn’t have spoiled by now, right? 

It’s soup, you recall him saying, biting your lip as you take the lunch bag to your small table, my mom's recipe. 

Unpacking the contents, you hum in surprise— yeah, this looks like a mothers cooking. The Tupperware he’s provided you with is filled to the brim with a nice broth that is still warm to the touch, a side of rice and vegetables also packed inside for you; you’re unable to stop a small awe from escaping you as you take out a small container of tea that has been stored inside for you as well, surprised at how much Beomgyu’s mother packed for you. 

Does she think we’re friends? Is this her way of making me stick with him? You wonder, biting at your lip as you hold back a laugh at the thought— a poor momma’s boy, struggling to make friends as his mother attempts to subtly help him. 

It’s no secret that Beomgyu was a bit of a loner— that’s why you reached out to him in the first place. You knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse you, because he couldn’t even give you the excuse that he had no time; that, and the hefty sum you gave him in exchange for tutoring someone as difficult as you. 

To a degree, you were self-aware— but it only came after the fifth person rejected your offer, saying that you probably wouldn’t even commit once you started. No matter how pissed you were when you were first told that, you were unable to disagree; unfortunately, it also sparked a deep spiraling of self-reflection as your new self-awareness brought you to Beomgyu; by then you were so desperate and ashamed that Beomgyu probably only accepted because he felt bad. 

Tutoring with Beomgyu had its benefits; he was nice, and quite the pushover as well. He never protested too much when you canceled on him, and the most you ever got from being annoying was a long scolding or an exasperated sigh from him— plus, now it seems that free food has been thrown into the mix.

Settling down at the table, you found yourself oddly restless as you went to fetch a small blanket from your bed— it was only then that you were able to find your phone, gasping as it landed roughly on the floor. Going back to the kitchen, you were now able to make yourself comfortable, sitting at your table as you took off the lids of everything that was packed for you— even the tea was still nice and warm in its thermos, everything packed with such care and attention to detail that you couldn’t help but take a picture of it. 

It was delicious as well; the soup was comforting and not too overwhelming on your senses as you mixed in bites of the white rice, fluffy and cooked to perfection as you melted in your seat with every spoonful. The vegetables were steamed and well seasoned; you practically squealed from happiness as you ate, not used to having such a big meal cooked by someone else these days. 

It filled you up quickly— the ginger tea was soothing against your throat, the taste of honey and lime mixed in leaving you warm and fuzzy as you tiredly trudged to bed; you’d have to beg Beomgyu to invite you to his mother’s house later. 

Maybe it did work, you briefly think to yourself, your mind quickly emptying as you make yourself comfortable in your bed, that only made me want to talk to Beomgyu more— maybe it wouldn’t be too bad being his friend. 

A soft laugh escapes you at the thought— your eyelids feel heavy as you struggle to stay awake, eager to sleep through this brief sickness that threatens to overtake you. After this, you’re sure it’ll be an easy recovery.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

You think you’re dying. 

You’re hot and sweaty as you kick away your blankets for the umpteenth time, irritated as your body quickly begins to shiver instead. You’re only able to sleep for a few hours at a time, on the verge of tears as the clock on your bedside table reads nine pm— you’re unsure of what to do, already taking medication a few hours ago that seemed to do nothing. Your body is burning up as you toss and turn a bit more, dreading the new train of thought that enters your mind.

Maybe you should call someone.

Maybe they’ll know what to do, you think, holding back nausea that threatens to knock you out as you slowly sit up; scrolling through your contacts, you hesitantly press call to the first person you could think of. 

It rings once— then again, then a few times more before it goes straight to voicemail. 

“Hey, you’ve reached Yunjin’s voicemail. Please leave a messa—“ you sigh as you hang up, attempting to call a few times more before you give up entirely. 

She’s probably at a party. Or with some boy. 

Scrolling through your contacts, you choose your next person carefully— you’re sure they’re not busy right now, they’ve never been one to go to parties as often— 

Ning Ning’s phone goes straight to voicemail as well. 

Groaning, you lay back as you feel your head pounding, your mind racing as you attempt to go through a mental checklist of who you could call— but all you can conclude is that they’re busy, wouldn’t want to help, or you’re simply not that close to them.

“What the hell,” you mumble, pressing your face against your pillow as you sniffle softly— your headache has become unbearable, and you’ve always been a big crybaby whenever you got sick. 

“Do I not have any friends?” You ponder, your stomach sinking at the thought— there’s no way! If anything, your phone was always on silent from the number of notifications you got in a day; you always knew at least ten people when you walked in a room, the elite definition of a social butterfly— the last thing you would consider yourself is friendless. 

Maybe it’s just an unlucky time, you think, playing Russian roulette with your contacts as your finger presses on a random one; Hueningkai <;3 glares back at you in bright letters, your eyes narrowing as you consider calling— he’s always been one to spoil you, so it wouldn’t be too far-fetched for him to help you this once, right?

You’re nervous as the phone rings out into your room, your fingers tapping on your bed impatiently as you wait for him to pick up— just when you think he won’t, his voice greets your ears like a miracle. 

“Hey baby, what’s up?” His voice is a bit rough as he speaks, his speech slow and relaxed as your eyes narrow at the sound; he’s probably high again. 

“Hueningkai,” you cry out softly, unable to help the way you become emotional in your state— your voice is muffled, your face buried in your pillow as the pain becomes far too overwhelming. 

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His voice has become more alert at the sound of your sniffling, the sounds of rustling from his side making you wince, your hand going to lower the volume of your phone. 

“Dunno. I’m sick,” you say, flipping over onto your back as you stare up at the ceiling— you feel tired, yet you’re unable to get comfortable enough to sleep. You hear more rustling on the other side of the phone— Hueningkai sighs, mumbling something to himself before he clears his throat.

“Why don’t you go to the doctor, hmm?” You frown at his words, shaking your head at the thought— you weren’t really expecting this outcome. 

“I— I can’t really get up, I feel dizzy…” you confess sheepishly, the realization that you truly don’t have enough energy to even stand for too long weighing down on you, “I was wondering if you could come over?” 

“Come over?” Hueningkai echoes, humming softly at the thought— it’s silent, the tension leaving you biting at your lips as you wait for him to respond.

“Listen, uhm,” you sigh softly at his words, closing your eyes as you attempt to ignore the way your stomach dips with disappointment, “I’m kinda busy right now. But if you want, you can call me tomorrow and I can take you to the doctor, ‘kay?” 

Attempting to swallow down your disappointment, you nod, a moment of silence passing before you realize that he can’t even see you. 

“Yeah. Okay.” There’s a lump in your throat as you speak, and you can’t help but feel the way your body heats up as the line falls silent; from embarrassment, this time. It’s awkward, but you can’t bring yourself to care as Hueningkai mumbles a soft “okay then. Goodnight,” the sound of him hanging up the last thing you hear before you’re shrouded in complete silence, the darkness of your room threatening to swallow you whole. 

The sound of your stomach growling angrily is the only thing that breaks the silence. 

A frustrated groan tears through you— you’re oddly emotional as you force yourself to sit up, pausing as you attempt to maintain balance; your head is spinning, and you’re beginning to realize how long it’s been since you last ate. The floor is cold under your feet as you trudge to the kitchen; you can’t bring yourself to turn on the lights, your slippers lost somewhere in your room as you feel a shiver wrack through your body. 

What will you do? Your fridge is practically empty and takeout doesn’t sound too appealing to you; you can feel tears well up in your eyes once more, a pout forming on your face as you slump down on a chair in defeat. Sighing, you think back to earlier— the homemade food Beomgyu brought to you, so soothing and filling it almost reminded you of the meals your cook back at home would make for you— maybe you could call your driver to take you home for a bit. 

It’s hours away and he’s probably off right now, you frown, checking the time on your phone just in case— 9:45— yeah, he’s definitely home by now. Of course, nothing is stopping you from calling him and telling him it’s an emergency, but then you’d feel far too guilty about ripping him away from his family just for you. 

He spends enough time at our home as it is, you think, placing your phone on the table as you go to massage your temples weakly. You need to eat something— maybe you’ll get some energy from it. But, picky as always, you can’t seem to find anything that sounds appealing to you; even the restaurant you frequently eat at doesn't seem to be doing anything for you, your mind inevitably going back to the one thing you were avoiding. 

Hesitantly, you pick up your phone— you can’t believe you’re actually going to try this, you think, biting at your lip before you finally press call; then again, this isn’t entirely out of character for you.

A lonely college student that doesn’t have many friends— if anything, he’s probably up studying right now, you think, frowning as you press your phone firmly to your ear, and if he was willing to check up on me, he should be willing to do this small thing for me too. 

“Hello?” The relief that floods through you is surprising; you’re becoming lax against your seat as the sound of Beomgyu’s uncertain voice meets your ears— his voice is gruff and soft as he speaks, unsure of whether or not you called him on purpose. 

“Choi Beomgyu,” you whine, already feeling yourself becoming unnecessarily emotional as you allow yourself to rant to him, “I’m sick. Can you do me a small favor?” 

On his end, Beomgyu is oddly surprised— why would you go to him of all people? He’s a bit weary as he listens to you carefully, thinking back to the way you were able to shut him out effortlessly; if anything, he must’ve been your last resort.

“What is it?” 

You’re unable to hold back the sigh of relief that escapes you— a smile graces your lips, and for the first time during this miserable experience, you don’t feel helpless. 

“Okay, hear me out please,” you start, sitting up as you clear your throat; unbeknownst to Beomgyu, you’re about to begin one of your infamous ramblings. 

“I know you might be busy studying or whatever, but I promise I’ll be quick. So, you remember the food you gave me earlier? I actually ate it, and it was really good! Your mom is a good cook, but then again, I’m pretty sure all moms are pretty good cooks. But like, I’m gonna be honest with you, I forgot to get groceries earlier this week, so I don’t really have much to eat— I could go order takeout or something but the thought of eating something greasy right now makes me wanna puke. I was thinking that since you probably don’t go out that much your mom might have given you extra servings of that soup, and I know it sounds really entitled and a bit bitchy but do you think you could please please please drop some off? 

“I promise I’ll pay you whatever and you seriously only need to drop it off at my door, it’s just that her cooking was really good and I almost started crying when I ate it— I get really emotional when I’m sick so I also think it’d be best for you to leave as quickly as you can; please please please please I promise I won’t ditch our study sessions for a good week at least, I’ll be good and study! I just think I’m gonna pass out right now and your mom’s food is the only thing I can think of right now… please?”

You feel out of breath as you finally finish your seemingly endless ramble— on the other side of the line, Beomgyu lets out an exasperated laugh. 

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there.” You’re not sure when you began to get emotional over nothing, but you’re surprised to feel hot tears streaming down your face at Beomgyu’s words, a few hiccups escaping you as you let out a soft really? “Yeah, I’ll just leave it at your doorstep.”

Standing up, you stumble a bit as you wipe your tears away. If you hadn’t scared Beomgyu away before, you surely did now. 

“Drop it off inside. My door’s gonna be unlocked.”

There’s an odd pause after you say that; you’re about to question what happened before you hear rustling on his side of the phone, Beomgyu’s soft hum the last thing you hear before he lets out a soft “okay. I’ll be there.” You’re unable to thank him as he’s quick to hang up— and the exhaustion that has been building up inside you all day is suddenly released, the promise of food making your brain at ease as you slowly make your way over to the couch. 

You’re so tired— a small nap wouldn’t hurt, right? It would be nice to wake up to the sight of food at my doorstep, you think, a small smile easing onto your face as you find yourself curling up at the end of your couch; oh, you really can’t help yourself— your eyelids are becoming excruciatingly heavy. 

For the umpteenth time today, you allow yourself to sleep— even if it’ll only last twenty minutes at most. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Beomgyu is a little off-put as he peeks inside your apartment. 

He feels odd, extremely guilty, and a bit shameful as he pops his head inside, all of his calls have gone to voicemail as he chose the next best option— you did say your door was unlocked, after all. 

He expected you to be scolding him for taking so long after forty minutes had passed, but he found himself pleasantly surprised (and somewhat worried) when his phone remained entirely unbothered; so now here he stands, multiple heavy bags filled with ingredients in his hands as he kicks off his shoes clumsily. 

He finds you fast asleep on the couch; he’s extremely concerned at how trusting you are, but he decides to chalk it up to the fact that your skin is burning hot to the touch and you’re probably not thinking straight— Beomgyu is quick to pull his palm away from your forehead the moment you stir even slightly, jolting into action as he flees into your kitchen instead. 

Placing the bags on your table, he looks back at you in worry— all he can do for now is wet a few paper towels, wringing out as much water as he can before he’s making his way to you cautiously; you’re burning up and sweaty as he dabs the towel on your skin, tutting softly as he finally places the towel on your forehead. 

“I knew you weren’t feeling well,” he scolds you softly, pulling the blanket that has fallen off your shoulders back on you carefully before he’s pulling away, rolling his eyes at the sight, “you’re lucky you practically pay my bills.”

Quietly, Beomgyu gets to work— he feels a bit bad for rummaging through your kitchen so boldly, but he’s sure you wouldn’t really mind if you woke up; you’re the one who invited him in the first place. 

At some point, Beomgyu finds himself quite comfortable in your kitchen— it’s quite spacious and allows him to get lost deep in his thoughts; he gets so comfortable, in fact, that he’s unable to pick up on the fact that you’re wide awake and slowly trudging your way to him. 

“Choi Beomgyu,” the sound of your voice is enough for him to practically jump out of his skin, narrowly missing his finger as he hurriedly drops the knife in his hands, spinning around wildly as he presses himself tightly against the counter— your tired and puffy face is eerily close to his as your lidded eyes stare up at him, still heavy with sleep as you frown softly. 

“What,” you mumble softly, taking in his flustered expression before your eyes are wandering to the mess behind him— the cutting board of vegetables, the stovetop that is busy with two pots simmering away, a familiar aroma filling your apartment; your eyes flick back to the way he seems both guilty and embarrassed, your head tilting as he watches you slowly piece everything together, “what is all this? Where’s your mom's food?”

Well, maybe not.

Beomgyu sighs— the sight of him shaking his head in dismay is enough to have your eyes widening with surprise, watching as he slowly turns his back to you; the constant rhythm of him cutting vegetables is the only sound that fills the room, and it seems that Beomgyu won’t be answering your question any time soon; you’re ready to protest and annoy him until he talks, but it seems he’s quick to beat you to it. 

“My mom wasn’t the one who made it,” he sighs, putting his knife down as he quickly goes to the pot of soup to give it a mix; your eyes are fluttering shut at the smell, a small smile gracing your lips as you fight the urge to have a taste then and there; but you’re snapped back to reality from his words, stammering as you look at him in confusion. 

“But— you said it was—“

“My mother's recipe,” he draws out, dropping the seasoned vegetables into a third pot as you watch them get steamed, “I’m the one who made the food.”

You think back to the floral lunch bag he handed to you hours earlier; how he seemed so hesitant to give it to you, oddly pouty as he watched the way you were quick to hand it to someone else— you feel yourself become embarrassed by your behavior, oddly defensive as you remember how much you begged for him to give you another taste.

“Oh. Okay,” you say, clearing your throat as you slump back down on a chair— you found it entirely too exhausting to be standing for that long, “it was the next best thing for me anyway— my driver is off right now so I have no one to take me anywhere.”

“I see you’re feeling better,” Beomgyu mumbles, rolling his eyes at your actions as your usual bratty self resurfaces; he almost found your delirious, emotional self from earlier more welcoming than this, forced to listen to more of your ramblings as you watch him cook. 

“No. Not at all actually,” you complain, the ache in your body suddenly much more noticeable than it was a few minutes ago as you cross your legs on the chair; you’re huddled up in your blanket again, staring at his back as you practically take out your pain on him, “my head feels like its gonna explode— my body’s so fucking hot but I can’t take this blanket off or else I’ll feel like I’m freezing my ass off. I don’t know what to do because I never get sick like this; if anything, I should’ve called our family doctor instead of you.” 

You feel a bit bad as the words come out sharper than you intended— Beomgyu is easy to read as he flinches at your statement, head ducked down and an awkward silence permeating the room as he says nothing in response. 

“…you’re lucky your mom taught you how to cook,”  you backtrack, your voice oddly soft as you press your lips together; you refuse to say anything more as you curl up tightly on the chair, laying your head down on the table as you attempt to let your blanket shield you from the world— you’re back to your unpredictable, emotional self as you feel a lump forming in your throat, a feeling of longing forming inside you as you wish you were home instead of here, pestering your poor tutor in exchange for a hefty sum of money.

“Hey,” his voice is much closer than you expected it to be as you peek up from your small fortress, raising a brow as you stare at the glass of water and pills in his hand, “take this. I’m guessing you haven’t taken any medication for your fever in a while.”

A soft ‘hmph’ is all that leaves you as you reluctantly accept the medicine (because the truth was that he was right). It isn’t until he shows you what he’s giving you as you take the pills begrudgingly; you hate that he can see through you so easily. Chugging down the glass of water, you fail to notice how he waits beside you patiently, sending him a petulant look as you wait for him to say something— instead, he raises a small thermometer to your forehead, taking your temperature as he lets out a soft tsk.

“Your temperature is way too high. Eat, then go back to sleep,” he says, only leaving your side to get you a proper serving of soup; it’s the same meal you had earlier, but you’re oddly excited as you notice the hefty amount of rice he gave you, a new side of him peeking through as he watches you carefully— it’s only when you send him a questioning look that he becomes red in the face, clearing his throat awkwardly as he points back to the mess behind him.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it,” he mumbles, not bothering to look you in the eyes as he quietly begins to take care of the dishes. 

“I wasn’t going to,” you remark, your mouth still full of rice as you scoff softly at his excuse— you find yourself oddly annoyed with him as you take in just how much he’s doing for you, unable to fathom anyone else doing all this for you, unprovoked.

He must really need the money, you reason with yourself, unsure of why else he would do such a thing— you roll your eyes at the thought, any intimacy that might have come from all this dissolving into thin air as you become oddly irritated with him. 

But you will admit, this soup really hits the spot. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

You’re out like a light moments after. 

If Beomgyu said he was surprised, it would definitely be a lie; you were barely awake on your couch for more than five minutes, and by the time Beomgyu finishes cleaning up and putting away the leftover ingredients in your fridge (which was criminally empty for someone who had so much money) you’re already curled back up in your corner of the couch, your temperature only having gone down slightly as you begin to toss and turn in your sleep. 

The wet paper towels that Beomgyu had placed on you earlier are folded neatly on your coffee table— Beomgyu huffs softly as he discards it, wetting some more before he’s placing it carefully on your forehead; he’s unsure of what else to do now, standing back awkwardly as he considers staying to watch over you— your condition seemed pretty serious from how high your temperature was, and it certainly didn’t help that you straight up rammed into the kitchen table and injured your shin from how unstable you were. 

And that’s when you became a crybaby once more. 

He can still see the lingering tears that cling to your lashes, a soft pout forming on your lips as you shiver slightly at the touch of the cool towel. What to do, he ponders, sitting on the couch opposite to you as he watches over you carefully, he’s not sure if there’s anyone else that could take care of you. 

Hell, the fact that he’s here of all people is enough to prove that to him; but also, he should really be studying for that upcoming physics exam that has been concerning him a bit. He glances back at you— calm, undisturbed, only shifting every once in a while as you tuck yourself deeper into the blanket you wrapped tightly around yourself— and he sighs, finding himself oddly torn as he wonders whether he should leave you or not. 

He could go back home and study, but he knows that he wouldn’t get very far, thoughts of you and your condition plaguing his mind as he desperately tried to focus. His thoughts are disrupted as you groan softly in discomfort, shifting restlessly on the couch before your eyes are fluttering open, locking with his instantly. 

“You’re still here,” you murmur, squinting at him as you cough softly, “thought you’d be gone by now.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him; it’s oddly condescending as he finds himself standing up instantly, clearing his throat as he looks away from you and your searing gaze. 

“Yeah,” he says, feeling strangely flustered as he makes his way to the front door; your eyes follow him the whole way there, and he feels so small under your gaze as he goes to slip his coat on. “I was just leaving.”

“Oh. ‘kay,” you shrug, shifting restlessly on the couch before you’re turning your back to him, curled into a ball as you wave at him weakly, “I’ll Venmo you later.”

He can’t help but feel bristled at your careless attitude, still not used to the way you’re always ready to spend money at the drop of a hat despite tutoring you for weeks now. Tying his shoes, he can’t help but glance at you one last time; it pains him to admit he’s slightly worried for you, but the rational part of him tells him it’s just because he doesn’t want you calling him to come back the moment you’re feeling nauseous again. 

Yet you remain still, resembling a rock as your figure is hidden under countless piles of blankets— judging by the steady rise and fall of it, he figures you already fell back asleep. 

It takes Beomgyu an embarrassingly long time to leave— but only because he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t wake up spontaneously and start whining, of course— you remain dead to the world the whole time he watches over you. 

By the time Beomgyu finally makes it out of your doorway, he feels more frustrated than anything. Because even once he gets home to study, he can’t help but keep his phone close-by, worried that you’ll call out of the blue asking for help. 

His phone remains silent all night.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

The next time Beomgyu sees you, he’s reminded as to why you had so many difficulties getting a tutor.

You’re flashy and perfect as always as you stand in the doorway of his apartment, arms crossed and eyes no-doubt narrowed behind your expensive designer shades. Your foot is tapping impatiently at the concrete outside as you tilt your head in annoyance— Beomgyu had made the mistake to ignore the first few rings of his doorbell, much too distracted by his game to remember that it would be you waiting for him.

“So? You gonna let me in, or do you need to tidy up first?” Beeomgyu’s mantra consists of how short your lesson will be today and the paycheck he’ll get out of it— one of the perks of you being desperate was that Beomgyu got to raise his rates shamelessly— and it takes Beomgyu a second to push past your intimidating and prickly demeanor to nod his head and step aside, watching as you push your shades up and secure them on your head.

It takes you a second to slip out of your shoes as you daintily put them aside, and Beomgyu can feel his ears become hot as he watches the way you wince slightly at the pair of guest slippers he hands you— though he tries to tell himself you don’t mean to be like this, a soothing lie that lets him lead you to his living room as he ignores his insecurity.

“Wait, can’t we just go to your room? I don’t feel like studying on the couch right now,” the yawn that rips through you is uncontrollable as you face away and cover your mouth politely— Beomgyu tries to not let his jaw drop to the floor in response. For someone who had never been to his apartment, you sure were demanding. He shouldn’t feel too surprised though, given how blunt you’ve proved to be the entire time he’s known you. 

He’s unable to say no as he gathers the textbook and notebooks on the table and leads the way; he can feel his heart pounding against his chest in fear that you’ll judge him, heart pounding slightly as he goes to lead you to where his room is. (He just hopes you’ll judge him internally, at the very least.)

Meanwhile, you’ve been biting back a smile this whole time; you know you’ve been quite bitchy to him this whole time, but you’d like to think it’s karma for making you study first thing at nine in the morning— his excuse had been the long shift he’d have to cover straight after the tutoring session. 

You’re quite surprised at the size and state of his apartment, expecting something much… cheaper, as you kept in mind how quick Beomgyu was to do something whenever you offered him money. Yet as you walk to his room, you’re left quiet as you take in the way everything in his home practically shines; his coffee table, the couch that lacks any crumbs or trash, and his carpet that seems to be recently vacuumed. 

You find yourself so caught up in the appearance of his apartment that you fail to notice another presence in the living room; specifically, one that lets out a loud chirp, your body jumping back from the startle and eyes growing wide as you search for the source of the sound— your eyes land on a cage tucked in the corner of the room, a bright green bird with big eyes staring at you curiously from within. 

“What the fuck is that?” you say softly— much louder than you intended, really— and Beomgyu is turning back around to see what you’re talking about, eyes widening as he realizes you’re currently staring down his bird with a slight wonder. 

“Oh— that’s Toto,” Beomgyu says, rushing to put everything in his arms down and scurrying after when he notices you beginning to get closer; he’s hovering over you, taking in your expression of curiosity carefully before he continues. “He’s my parrot.”

You let out a soft oh. You seem rooted to your spot as you watch the bird continue to climb around the cage, clearly much more active now that Beomgyu is nearby; the said man notes your obvious curiosity, and before he can stop and have any second thoughts, he’s reaching over you to open the cage. 

“Wait wait, what’re you—” a yelp escapes you and you’re jumping back the moment Beomgyu is reaching inside, hiding behind him and peeking over his shoulder to watch the way he extends a finger out to the bird— Toto— your mouth falling open dumbly as you take in the way the bird immediately climbs onto his hand.

Beomgyu is careful to take him out; you’re still peeking from behind him as you stare down his bird with wide eyes, body tensed as though it could fly away any given moment— you’re flinching in surprise when he’s turning to face you, hands coming up in defense as the bright green bird swings along, not a thought in its beady eyes as it’s suddenly thrust into your face— you step back again, the movement sudden and startling the bird as its wings flap slightly, which in turn startles you again— Beomgyu merely watches in amusement, and he tries his best to contain his laugh in fear of facing your prickly attitude. 

“What the hell,” you breathe out softly, brows twitching and knitting together as you stare at Toto as though it were a foreign creature you’ve never seen, “It’s so… weird looking.”

Beomgyu can only gawk at your comment. 

“He’s— he’s not,” is all Beomgyu can say in rebuttal, offended as he looks over at Toto, examining him in reassurance before he pulls his pet closer to his chest. 

“He’s a handsome little bird,” Beomgyu mutters, and you’re sure you definitely weren’t supposed to hear that, watching in amazement as Beomgyu strokes Toto’s head fondly, the said bird bowing its head so he can get better access, “you’re such a cool guy, don’t listen to her Toto.”

Glancing back at you, Beomgyu seems to realize what he’s just said, and blushes a soft pink— though you’re not sure why he’s acting so shy, you’ve literally been standing there the whole time— and he clears his throat awkwardly, casting his gaze back to his pet and running his finger along the bird gently before he’s speaking again. 

“Do you wanna hold him?”

“I— what?!” you say indignantly, eyes growing the size of saucers as you stare at him, acting as though he’s just told you something extremely offensive, “I don’t want that thing near me, what if it— it…”

You’re trailing off slowly— Beomgyu looks absolutely dejected. You can tell he’s trying not to show his hurt, avoiding your gaze and staring down at Toto instead, but he simply reminds you too much of a kicked puppy to let you continue your baffled ramblings; a moment passes where the two of you don’t say anything, but you finally break the second Beomgyu looks like he’s about to put Toto back in. 

“Fine.”

He looks back at you immediately; his eyes look like they’ve been filled with stars. 

“Give— give me the bird,” you mumble offhandedly, outstretching your hand awkwardly and finding yourself unable to look at him for once; you can feel the heat of embarrassment threatening to creep onto your skin, but you will it away and bite your cheek as you wait for Beomgyu to do something.

After a second, you feel it; the pressure on your finger, the weird texture and the claws that dig into your skin as the bird’s little feet wrap around you, unable to contain the way you shudder at the feeling; your arm has gone rigid and you’re reluctant to look at the pet that is now perched on your hand, afraid that it might attack you or something— but after a deep breath and some mental encouragement, you do it anyway. 

This thing is so fucking creepy, you find yourself thinking, face screwing into one of disdain as you take in the way it simply remains still, freaking you out even further when it suddenly tilts its head in curiosity. 

It begins to climb up your arm. 

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” you breathe out in a panic, extending your arm away from you as steadily and quickly as you can, the thing now perched on your forearm as you bite back a squeal of fear— you’re looking over at Beomgyu in a haste, expression blatantly screaming help me!— and he quickly springs into action the moment your eyes meet. 

“Toto,” Beomgyu coos, clicking his tongue and reaching out to place his hand at Toto’s feet; but the bird only continues to climb up and runs away from Beomgyu, a long, slightly terrified, groan leaving your lips as you can only watch it in horror, much too afraid to jerk your arm and send Toto flying; the moment it’s talons find its way onto your shoulder, you find yourself looking away and praying. 

“Toto,” Beomgyu tries again, a little stressed now as he watches his bird perch peacefully on your shoulder— you, on the other hand, are in utter distress, shoulders tense and eyes screwed shut as you mentally pray for the thing to not peck at you— you think you’ve started to hold your breath now. 

Through your eyes that peek slightly in fear, you’re able to see Beomgyu reach down at the storage unit beneath the cage and grab something; Toto seems to shift on your shoulder from the sight, and you grow tense as you wonder what the hell the man could be up to— with another call of Toto’s name, the bird finally jumps off your shoulder and over to Beomgyu.

Your body practically slumps in relief. 

Beomgyu is back to holding Toto in his hand; your brows furrow at the sight of it eating something strange, your obvious confusion making Beomgyu smile slightly.

“It’s millet,” he explains, slowly moving to put Toto back in the cage before he places the said millet inside as well; with one last gentle scratch at Toto’s head, Beomgyu closes the cage. “It’s like a treat for him.”

“Whatever,” you say dismissively, glancing at Toto one last time before you shudder and turn away, “I don’t wanna see him again.”

Beomgyu isn’t too offended by your comment; if anything, he smiles in amusement, muttering softly that Toto seems to like you— you make a point to blatantly ignore his comment.

Any confidence Beomgyu had built up from before disappears the moment you finally arrive before the door that leads to the room; he’s found himself nervous once more, shifting the materials in his arms and reach out to open his door cautiously; he hopes you didn’t take notice of the way his hand shook slightly.

His room is no different than the rest of the apartment as you stand in the doorway, curiously surveying it all; your brow raises in amusement as you take in the way his personality is scattered throughout the small room. His bed is neatly made and the sheets are pressed to perfection, and the nightstand contains a stack of books that are both thick and annotated. 

In front of you, you watch Beomgyu awkwardly place the books in his arms down on the bed, pushing up his glasses as you allow your eyes to continue drifting around— they instantly land on the desk setup in the corner of the room, your eyes widening as you’re able to recognize how expensive the setup is; two monitors display a random game you seem to recognize, and you let your curiosity get the best of you as you approach it slowly. 

The keyboard is lighting up before you and a headset is hung on one of the monitors, and you let out a soft tsk as you take in the empty coffee cups beside the mouse, the only messy thing about his whole room; you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s spilled the liquid over the setup before. 

What surprised you the most however, are the countless picture frames and cute figurines that are scattered all over the room— a lucky cat is perched right at his windowsill, waving at you repeatedly as you’re unable to hold back your laugh of bewilderment; everything seems to be dusted and well taken care of, you’re surprised Beomgyu can ever find the energy to do such things. 

“You play League of Legends?” Is all you say, turning around as you meet Beomgyu’s flustered face; Beomgyu had been on the verge of melting into a puddle of embarrassment the entire time you looked around his room, unsure of what to say or do the moment you approached his gaming setup. He was sure you’d make fun of him, but instead he’s pleasantly surprised as he silently hopes his face isn’t a raging red at the moment. (It definitely is, but you’re kind enough to give him a break and not tease him about it.)

“Oh— yeah. You play?” It’s oddly adorable to watch the way his eyes light up and his whole body perks up excitedly, but you find it even more adorable to watch the way he deflates as you bark out a laugh of surprise, your whole face lighting up as you cover your mouth in apology, feeling a slight pity for managing to make him look like a kicked puppy again. 

“Fuck no!” You say in amusement, unable to imagine yourself doing such a thing, “Huening used to be obsessed with it though.” 

You roll your eyes at the memory, recalling all the nights back in high school where he’d leave you alone in his bed, staying up late gaming with his friends while you hid in his room during social gatherings— but now he “outgrew that childish game,” according to him. If anything, you think he outgrew gaming all together, especially after you expressed how ridiculous the whole thing seemed to you. 

“Huening, the guy from your apartment?” Beomgyu says meekly, eyes downcast as he flips through his notes mindlessly; you scoff, flopping on the bed next to him as you cross your legs daintily.

“Yeah, the guy from my apartment,” you say, leaning in to try and catch his gaze, “what, you jealous?” 

Your comment is enough to have Beomgyu a sputtering mess; you don’t think he could get any redder than he is now as he shoves his notebook into your lap, clearing his throat weakly as he scoots away from you, leaving an offending amount of space as he squeaks out a defensive no. 

“Wouldn’t blame you if you were,” you tease, staring down at the notes as you try to decipher what the hell it could all mean— it’s embarrassing when you’re left on your own for a good minute, unable to say anything about the material before Beomgyu is finally jumping to your aide and explaining things to you; slowly, you settle down and allow him to begin the session. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

You’d like to pat yourself on the back for lasting so long. Lasting so long without being difficult, that is, because the hour of peace Beomgyu got was short lived before you became a short-tempered brat before him—the only thing that surprises him at this point is the confidence you get to be like this all the time.

“I seriously don’t get this stuff,” you whine, kicking Beomgyu softly as you hold back a smile— it was clearly done to tease him— laying back on his bed as you cross your arms childishly, “I think I should just change my major.” 

Beomgyu isn’t surprised that you find that so easy to say— for a moment, he dreams of being able to do the same when times get tough, but he was quick to come back to reality as he watched you kick at him petulantly; you managed to lay on his bed and make yourself comfortable, splayed over his pillows as you continued to mess around with him. 

“Can’t we take a break? I’ve been good,” you pout, tapping your fingers on your bicep as you look at him sweetly— Beomgyu has to look away in order to say no, tapping his pencil on his notebook as he quietly prays for you to settle down and focus again. 

“Come on, you’re lucky I showed up in the first place,” Beomgyu’s gaze is glued to his notebook as you roughly sit up, your denim shorts riding up your thighs as you kneel close to him; taking a deep breath to calm himself proves to be a mistake as he gets a good smell of your expensive perfume, biting his lip as he watches you try to get his attention by getting closer to him.

“You only showed up because I did you a favor,” it’s odd that you find the way his voice trembles and his ears turn red adorable, but then again, you’d be a little sad if a man didn’t react that way to you. 

You have him wrapped around your finger— it’s a fact that dawns on you as you watch the way he doesn’t shut you down and forces you to study. Scooting closer to him, you lean down, pressing your cheek against his bicep as you stare down at the countless notes that lay before him. 

“Well, that and because you’re kinda cute,” you admit, holding back a smile at the way he flinches at the sudden contact, “But seriously, I’m so bored.” 

Beomgyu thinks you might have gone insane as he watches the way you take the materials in his lap away from him, setting it to the side before you’re stringing yourself across his lap, stretching cutely as you stare up at him with wide doe eyes— he’s quickly looking back up as he fails to find the strength to push you off. 

“I can’t believe I actually came here this early,” you say, adjusting yourself on his thighs before you’re grabbing his hand, playing with his sleeve coyly as you wonder how far you can take this, “How’d you afford this place all by yourself? It’s in a good area too.” 

“I didn’t,” Beomgyu stutters out, clearing his throat as he pulls his hand away from your grasp shyly, “I have a roommate— Yeonjun.” 

“Choi Yeonjun? Captain of the baseball team?” You say, eyes widening as you watch Beomgyu nod softly; you’re sitting up, ignoring the way Beomgyu visibly relaxes at the action, “Is he here right now?” 

“No, he’s out,” Beomgyu frowns, watching as the gears turn in your head, your pout obvious as you take in his response, “he won’t be home for another three hours.” 

How in the hell did he and Beomgyu become roommates? It’s a question you’re quite literally fighting the urge to ask, but knowing that one of the most attractive guys you’ve had your eye on currently lives in the same house as the man before you makes you want to stick around longer— though you think you might be too obvious about it, judging by the way Beomgyu’s frowning at you. 

“That’s nice,” you hum, feeling a bit bad for the way Beomgyu looks away in defeat, “but that means we’re all alone here?” 

Your question is enough to have Beomgyu sitting up straight— your tone is so dangerous, the way you slowly crawl to him even more so.

He quickly finds himself scooting back, eyes flying around wildly as he almost falls off the bed— you’re quick to catch him, pulling him by the collar of his sweater as his adam’s apple bobs visibly. His long hair falls back and his face is left exposed to you, your body finding comfort on top of his as you straddle his thighs comfortably. His glasses are left on the tip of his nose as his ears quickly turn red, cheeks dusted with the same color as he uselessly props himself up on his elbows; you’re practically nose to nose as you tower over him, your cute blouse hanging and exposing your breasts in a way that has Beomgyu staring straight above your head— in return, the reflection of your sunglasses is all that meets him. 

“Do you ever take a break?” You ask, letting go of his collar before you’re gently smoothing it out; he’s shivering at your touch, eyes fluttering shut nervously as he exhales at the feeling of your warm hand— he knows you can see the way he tenses as you begin to trail your palm down his chest, pressing teasingly where his heart resides as you tilt your head cutely.

“Ever stop studying and just…. Take care of yourself?” The implications of your words couldn’t be more obvious with the way your voice drops, your thighs clenching around his body as you watch his breath hitch at the action; your fingers delicately drum against his chest as you wait for him to say something, to push you off and tell you to never speak to him again— instead, he shakes his head, his shyness intensifying as his eyes remain shut. 

“Will you let me take care of you?” You breathe out, entranced with the way his eyes finally open to meet yours— within them, he sees no malice or mockery, just an intense fire and need that has his stomach twisting and his hands grabbing at his neatly pressed sheets in anticipation.

Softly, he nods. 

You’ve never experienced this before; you’ve never had a man pliant and weak under you, ready to take whatever you give him with adoring eyes that sparkle under the lights. You’re so used to being the one in that position, of allowing yourself to be used and molded how they’d like— so to say you’re quite surprised at the thrill you feel is an understatement. 

“You’re like a little puppy,” you mumble sweetly, reaching up to caress his heated cheeks— the whine that escapes him is involuntary, your eyes clouding with lust as you take in the way he reacts to your nickname; leaning up, you grab the collar of his sweater as you guide him to sit up with you— you’re in awe of how obedient he is as he follows your command, hands hovering politely as he waits for your next move. 

“Do you like it when I call you that?” You tilt your head, laying your hands by Beomgyu’s collar bones before they’re sliding up, intertwining lazily behind his nape as you’re leaning in teasingly; you’re so close to him, you can feel his breath fan on your face as you tease the corner of his lips with your own— you’re pulling away the moment he tries to chase you, giving him an expectant look as you wait for him to answer your question. “Puppy?” 

“Y—yes, I…” he’s unable to finish his sentence the moment he feels your chest press against his, soft breasts teasing him as he squeezes his eyes shut; you’re everywhere, your lips planting feather-like kisses on his cheeks as you begin to overwhelm his senses. Your warm thighs that encase him, your hands that play with the nape of his hair, your perfume that he gets to inhale as you tilt your neck closer to him— hell, as you reach his jaw, he’s able to smell your shampoo, the scent addicting and no doubt expensive as you press yourself firmly against him.

This is insane. There should be no universe where Beomgyu should have one of the richest girls in his university pressed against him and on his lap, and there’s no way he’s the one submitting himself so pathetically in it. Yet here he is, practically leaning into your touch and chasing after you the moment you pull away, feeling a whine escape from his throat as he finally finds the courage to place a hand on your hip; keeping you in place, fingertips splayed over the swell of your ass as you try and fail to hide the smile that breaks out on your face. 

“Stupid puppy wants me to kiss him?” You pout mockingly, and instead of feeling the usual shame bubbling within him from your condescending tone, Beomgyu can only feel himself melt pathetically, pouty face and shining doe eyes begging you to give in as you brush away a strand of hair that fell in his eye; Beomgyu’s eyes flutter shut at the gentle touch, lips parting before he finally feels you swoop in and take him by surprise. 

Your lip gloss is sweet and sticky as you ravish the boy below you, able to feel his inexperience and eagerness with the way he’s practically ready to push you back into the mattress— but he holds himself back, allowing you to swipe your tongue along his lip and tease him before you’re venturing further. 

It’s all so lewd and desperate, and Beomgyu feels dazed by the time you’re finally pulling away, a Cheshire grin on your face as you swipe his bottom lip that’s shining with lip gloss and saliva; like instinct, his lips part and close around your thumb, eyes never straying from yours as you feel his tongue swipe over the finger teasingly— your gaze darkens at the sight, mind racing with all the things you could do to him as you watch the way his plush lips circle around the digit. 

The pop that sounds throughout the room when you pull away is enough to make you let out a soft groan, your eyes tracing along his body until you finally find the very thing you’re curious about— smiling, you’re not as surprised to find his dick straining against the neat fabric of his trousers.

“Can I touch you, pup?” You ask, your voice breathy and deep as you wait patiently for his answer; once again, he gulps, shining eyes just as dazed as you are before he finally lets out a soft yes; slowly, your perfectly manicured hand makes its way down to his khaki trousers, playing with the button before you’re finally undoing it— the sigh that Beomgyu lets out once you undo his zipper is practically lethal, your lips twitching in delight at the sound.

It’s cute to see the way his hips buck up into the air as you reveal his boxers, helping you pull down his pants until you’re face to face with the very thing you’ve been wanting the most. It’s odd, but it seems as though Beomgyu brings out a side you didn’t think existed, a teasing smile creeping its way onto your face as you plant your core firmly on him; he’s letting out a strangled gasp at the sudden pressure and warmth, his eyes screwing shut as his lips are falling open, the sight tempting as you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

Beomgyu is like an instrument under your touch, and you’re eager to learn how to play as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth; the reaction is instant for him as he bucks up into you, whimpering cutely as his eyes remain shut the whole time. Your thighs feel so soft against his own, and he’s sure he won’t last long if he’s forced to inhale your intoxicating scent the whole way through. 

It isn’t until you’re climbing off his lap that Beomgyu’s eyes are finally flying open, meeting yours in a confused haze as he allows you to push him back and tower over him as he lays; he looks so enticing and pretty with his hair splayed out around the sheets, lidded eyes and fucked out expression oddly addicting to you as you go to straddle one of his thighs. 

“You’re so cute,” you coo, pushing his sweater up as you run your nails teasingly over his stomach— you laugh softly as he flinches at the feeling. Slowly, you’re pulling the waistband of his boxers down until his cock is finally springing out and smacking against his stomach; his tip is red and sticky as a line of precum is left connected to his stomach, his eyes shutting in embarrassment once more as he turns his head to the side in an effort to turn away. He’s so long as you take him in, appreciating the vein that runs along the curve of his shaft with a soft hum.

“Please,” he whines, covering his face with his hands as his body grows hotter the longer you stare at him; you can only laugh fondly at the sight, watching the way his hips buck up uselessly at the sound. 

“My puppy, you’re so pretty,” you sigh, spitting in your hand before you’re finally reaching down to grab ahold of him; the feeling is unexpected as Beomgyu lets out a soft yelp under you, his cries dying out the moment you’re beginning to stroke him teasingly. 

“How long has it been since you let out some steam?” You tease, running your thumb across his tip and spreading the precum along as he simply moans in response; he’s so whiny and breathy as none of your words seem to register in his head, enamored by the pretty girl that’s sitting on his thigh and stroking his cock so well. 

You can’t help yourself when you readjust to kneel between his legs, his face still covered by his hands as he doesn’t anticipate your next move— Beomgyu swears he almost came the moment he felt your mouth wrap around his tip. Your mouth is practically watering around Beomgyu’s cock as you slowly take him in, surprised by his length yet determined to hear more of his pathetic gasps and whines as you slowly take him in. 

“Oh god, oh god, you’re so— y-you’re so warm, oh,” Beomgyu is a babbling mess as his hands land helplessly on your head, unsure of what to do with them as he feels the tip of your nose press against his navel; his eyes are practically rolling back as he feels the mess you’re making on his cock, your mouth so hot and wet he can’t help the way he subtly thrusts into it.

“I’m sorry, I— I didn’t mean to…” his words are dying on his tongue the moment he feels you reach for his hand and pull back, guiding him to set the pace as you run your tongue over his tip— that’s enough to have Beomgyu whining and out of breath, but he’s able to pull himself together as he slowly begins to fuck your mouth. 

“Shit, you’re so pretty, I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” Beomgyu breathes out, fascinated with the way you remain completely cool even as he begins thrusting his cock into your throat, “so good.”

The sudden confession doesn’t process in Beomgyu’s mind, but it has your mind reeling as you close your eyes, determined to make this man fall apart under you as you ignore the flutter of butterflies in your stomach. 

It takes Beomgyu a second to find his pace as he’s gently stroking your hair, face warm and shining with embarrassment as he tries to ignore how inexperienced he may seem— contrary to what he might think, you don’t really care; the only thing you care for is how melodic he sounds as his hips begin stuttering into your mouth, the feeling of your tongue running along his shaft too much for him as his breath hitches pathetically. 

“Wait wait wait— oh my god, I’m so— Ah, please don’t stop,” he’s whimpering and babbling at your touch, his hand attempting to pull you off as he nears his release; you only sink further in retaliation, the loud moan that Beomgyu lets out giving you satisfaction as you feel his cum spurting against the back of your throat— your eyes are barely able to catch his expression as he throws his head back, hips stilling entirely as he rides out his orgasm. 

Beomgyu is still trying to catch his breath when he feels his hips bucking subconsciously, the feeling of you pulling away making him whine softly from the sensitivity. Slowly, his eyes flutter open, his glasses skewed and his vision a haze as his gaze meets yours— he’s able to catch the way you swallow, your mouth empty as a teasing grin sneaks onto your face.

His stomach flips at the sight. 

He’s unsure of what to do as you sit up, your hair mused and your clothes in disarray as you take him in with an intense stare— he feels oddly shy as he tugs down his sweater to cover himself, gulping nervously as he begins to wonder if this was all a twisted joke— some sort of childish dare, anything that was meant to humiliate him. 

Instead, he feels you reach forward to fix his glasses, brushing away the hair that was stuck to his forehead as you smiled sweetly; Beomgyu thinks he forgot how to breathe as he takes in your proximity, left frozen as you leave a slow, chaste kiss on his lips. 

“I should go— you have work, right?” The question is enough to snap Beomgyu back to reality, nodding softly as you finally get up from his bed; turning to his mirror, you fix your appearance, brows raising in curiosity as you notice the guitar that’s propped up beside it— you briefly wonder if he’s good at playing it, and find yourself wanting to ask if he can sing; you refrain. “I’ll let you get ready then.”

There’s not much Beomgyu can say as he watches you go to his door like nothing happened; he flinches in surprise as you turn back to him one last time, a grin on your face as you send him one final goodbye. 

“This was fun.”��

Beomgyu is left to decipher your words and intentions as you walk away. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Why did you do that. 

“Oh god, why did I do that?” 

You’re a puddle of embarrassment as you roll around in the back of your driver’s car, your hands plastered on your face as you try to melt away from this reality— instead, the memory of Beomgyu’s flustered and fucked out face is the only thing that meets your eyelids. 

You’re not sure what took over you— what in the world possessed you to fuck your tutor? You knew that if you told your friends you’d never hear the end of it, but you think you might be at risk of losing the only thing that was helping you get your grades up after this. 

It was already difficult to get Beomgyu to agree to be in a room alone with you— and now you had to absolutely fuck up and push the boundaries to a place where you’d never return. 

Out of all the men, it just had to be Choi Beomgyu. It’s a fact that makes your face heat up and your head hit the back of the car seat in defeat as you stare out the window in dismay; instead of going for someone who was in your league, you chose to go after a nobody. 

You didn’t even get anything out of it! The thought is humiliating as you shut your eyes and groan, ignoring the way your driver glances back at you in concern; you sucked his dick and dipped— that is so unlike you. 

Everything about the situation is unlike you— you would never go after someone like Beomgyu, he didn’t align with your type at all! The feeling of dread in your stomach is only worsened as you mentally go through the people you’ve been with in the past, cringing the more you realize how much of an outlier Beomgyu is. 

“Mr. Kim,” you call out, pulling down your shades as you avoid the rays of sunlight that are hitting your face. He’s perking up in response immediately, glancing at you through his mirror before he nods his head to indicate he’s listening. 

“Take me to Hueningkai’s house please,” you say, taking your phone out of your purse as you absentmindedly text Huening that you’re on your way— Mr. Kim’s yes ma’am is left unanswered as you watch Hueningkai respond within seconds— all you can do is sink further in your seat at his eagerness to see you, the implications of his message more than clear to you.

The drive to his home is long and silent, and you’re forced to reflect on yourself the whole way through— the more you do, the more flustered and confused you feel, forcing yourself to set those thoughts to the side as Mr. Kim pulls up to Huening’s driveway.

Yet even as you’re walking to his doorstep, an eager smile forced on your face as you wait for Huening to answer, you can’t help the way your thoughts stray. It all seems to linger on the same subject, gulping nervously at the way Beomgyu’s small whines still ring out in your head. 

“Hey,” Hueningkai smiles, leaning against the doorway as he takes you in; you try to ignore the way his hungry eyes take you in, greeting him softly before you’re pushing past him and going inside, kicking your shoes off at the doorway. 

“What’s up?” Hueningkai immediately asks, noticing the way you don’t indulge in any of his games or teasing, your face blank as you plop down on the couch. “You need something?” 

“No,” you say, oddly defensive as you lay along his couch, crossing your legs as you proceed to do the same with your arms, “Can’t I just chill at your place without needing anything?” 

Hueningkai raises a brow at your huffy comment. Tilting his head, he smiles, a gesture sly and teasing as he watches the way you stand your ground. 

“Well, whenever you come over it’s usually not to just chill,” he says, repeating your words with clear amusement, “so forgive me for thinking something was off.” 

You’re in a bad mood today; Hueningkai is quick to pick up on it as you scoff at his words, looking away from him and pouting as you remain silent. Slowly, he makes his way to you, testing out the waters before he’s sitting down at your feet. 

“What’s wrong baby?” He asks, slowly beginning to hover over you until you can’t help but look at him; he’s everywhere, a holding himself up with a hand by your head while the other finds its way to your hip— playing with the hem of your shirt, slowly teasing you until he’s pushing past and caressing your skin— you flinch at the feeling of his cold hand. 

“Come on, we can talk,” he says, but you know he doesn’t really mean it with the way his leg is trying to pry your thighs open, pressing up against your core as he feels something unexpected— his eyes are lighting up as he smiles down at you, raising a brow as he takes in the small change of your expression. 

“Or maybe you don’t wanna talk?” He says, the surprising heat that meets his thigh is more than welcome as he watches you become flustered under him. 

“Fuck off Huening,” you groan, pressing a hand against his chest as you turn away from him— all you get in return is a dark laugh, his lips ghosting along your jawline as he presses a firm kiss under your ear, his hand pushing your shirt up as it wanders towards your breasts. 

“Hmm, are you sure?” He huffs, adjusting his position so that he’s able to place a hand on your hip, grinding your hips against his thighs as he bites his lip at the sight, “won’t you put those pretty lips to use at least?” 

The irritation that had been brewing inside you is far too much to handle as you scoff at his words, your head snapping back to glare at him as you push against his chest firmly, catching him off guard as you knock him off his balance entirely; he’s knocked out of his lusty reverie as he stares at you with wide eyes from the other end of the couch, lips parting as he attempts to say something, only to be cut off by you. 

“Seriously Huening, I’m not in the fucking mood!” You snap, pulling your top back down harshly before you’re standing up— he’s left to watch in confusion as you readjust yourself, your brows furrowed in a mean frown as you glare at him once more— and to think you thought you’d be able to spend more than five minutes with Hueningkai without him wanting to fuck you. 

“Come on baby, you know I didn’t mean it like that—“ 

“Do you ever think without your dick when you’re around me?” It’s annoying to see how nonchalant Hueningkai is as he laughs off your words, crossing his arms defensively as he tries to play off what just happened. 

“You didn’t even think to check up on me when I was sick!” You thought you were over the bitter moment, but the memory still seems to sting as you remind him of a time where you needed him the most, “ever since we started this whole… stupid friends with benefits thing, you’ve been acting like such a prick!” 

“Don’t be like this,” Hueningkai groans, throwing his head back as he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re being dramatic.” 

“Oh my god!” You bark, left in disbelief as you pace around his apartment, “like seriously, are you listening to yourself right now?!”

You’re more than fed up as you make your way back to the entrance, gathering your things and slipping on your shoes as you hear Hueningkai following close behind, spouting excuses and other nonsense to try and make you stay. 

You’ve opened the door when Hueningkai grabs onto you desperately, tugging you back into his chest and asking you to listen to him as he sets firm hands on your hips; you’re looking at everything but him as you remain silent, your hands pressed defensively against his chest as you give him on last chance to redeem himself. 

“Come on baby, you know I don’t wanna lose you,” he says, his voice soft and vulnerable as he leans in, watching as you tilt your head away from him and continue to refuse to meet his eyes. Feeling him press you harder against him, your jaw clenches as he places a sweet kiss on your cheek. 

“Lemme make it up to you. Please?” 

You know perfectly well what his words entail as you push him away from you once more, swinging your purse and smacking him harshly as you let your anger out on him. He has the audacity to laugh and cower away from you as he apologizes, telling you that it was just a joke as you continue to hit him relentlessly. 

“Fuck you!” You say, out of energy and left a huffing mess as you swing the door open behind you, “asshole!” 

You don’t stay around to see his reaction as you slam the door shut, storming away and walking along the sidewalk as you pull your phone out. 

Pick me up please. 

Huening’s being an asshole, I’m waiting outside. 

It’s moments like these where you regret being irresponsible with your car, left with nothing but your driver as you still wait for your precious baby to come out of the repair shop; to this day your parents still scold you for an accident that happened over a month ago, the words “bad driver” tacked on along with the rest that curate your reputation.  

In a perfect world, Hueningkai would’ve come out by now; he would’ve gone after you, apologizing and hanging his head in shame in regards to his behavior— in a perfect world, he wouldn’t have turned into the person he is now, forgoing your friendship entirely to satiate his needs— you hadn’t given much thought to what the consequences to this “friends with benefits” thing would be, but if you could go back in time to the moment where he drunkenly proposed it to you, you would’ve been quick to shut him down with an incredulous laugh. 

It was your fault for having a soft spot for him. Your fault for wondering what his lips would feel like one too many times, for being caught staring at him back when you were just kids and you were forced to attend dinner parties together, trying and failing to conceal the way he could fluster you with just a single smile. 

Now that his desires have been satiated, you doubt he has any use for you now— which is why you find yourself waiting pathetically outside his apartment, not used to this feeling that festers in your stomach as you wait patiently— whether it’s simply for your driver or for the glimmering hope that Hueningkai will own up to his actions and take you back, you’re not sure.

But what you do know is that you’ve never felt so small. 

Moments later, your driver arrives; you swear you try to hold back, but you can’t help yourself from turning around and taking one last peek at Huening’s quiet, dull apartment— gritting your teeth, you flop inside, groaning obnoxiously as you rub your temples in annoyance; your driver is unfazed by your behavior— meeting his eyes, you sigh. 

“I need to go shopping.”

Wordlessly, he nods— you don’t bother to stare out the window once you finally feel the car moving, in fear that your mind may begin to imagine scenarios that simply won’t happen. 

The car ride is silent, and you realize with a frown that you may have left with a mood worse than before.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

This department store is useless.

Geez, did you piss off some god above or something? Because as you stand in your tenth store in the past hour, nose scrunched and brows furrowed unpleasantly, you feel as though you may be getting karma for something— though what it may be exactly, you’re unsure. 

Everything around you is either already in your closet or simply outdated. Your fingertips tap rhythmically against your crossed arms, eyes narrowed as you take slow strides around the aisles of the stores— a part-time employee follows closely behind you, hands folded neatly and a pleasant smile glued to face as she comments on every item your eyes fall on, even if it’s just for a second; your jaw ticks at her cheap tactics to sell to you. 

There’s only one thing that would make your mood at this time— a limited edition purse you have had your eyes on, trying your best to catch your usual stores at the right times in hopes of getting your hands on it. Yet, with every failed attempt, your frustrations and efforts only grow, and you’ve found yourself visiting these stores more often than you’d like, always leaving with an item or two despite telling yourself not to do so. 

“Excuse me,” you say sternly, your steps coming to a halt as you slowly turn to the employee. She’s meek and her voice is airy as she speaks to you, eyebrows raised as though she seems genuinely interested in what you might say next— her act only displeases you more. 

“I’m trying to shop in peace, please leave me alone.” you say, watching as the woman simply flinches at your comment, smile stiffening on her lips before she’s swiftly apologizing seconds after— if you weren’t careful, you could’ve missed the way her lips turned up with irritation as she turned, muttering quietly to herself as though you weren’t two steps away to hear it.

Rich snob, you pick up, blinking in surprise as you watch her steps becoming hasty with her retreat. You don’t allow yourself to be fazed by it, a smile tugging at your lips from amusement before you turn back around; scanning the store, you glance at the mannequins on display, taking in the outfits briefly before you catch onto something else— and before you can control yourself, you’re walking again. 

Don’t be stupid, your brain tells you, yelling at you as you exit the store with haste, pushing past the people standing around as you make your way to the store across, Don’t do this, this is a bad idea, don’t—

Do it, your heart tells you, pounding against your chest as you adjust the purse strap on your shoulder, gulping slightly as you swing open the door, you’re not here for him, you���re here for the very thing you’ve worked so hard for. 

And if it so happens to be in his hands right now, then is it really your fault that you find yourself standing before the very man that hurt you mere moments ago?

“Cute purse,” you breathe out, eyes glued to the way it shines beautifully under the lights of the store, “Though I don’t really think it’s your style.”

Hueningkai doesn’t bother looking up. He’s too busy handling the limited edition purse that you’ve so desperately been searching for, nimble fingers running over the details as though he were actually taking his time to inspect it; instead, he hums softly at your words, pretending to ponder for a second before he’s frowning. 

“You really think so?” he asks, tsking softly to himself before he’s shaking his head, straightening up before he runs a hand against the surface; you watch the way his fingers slide across the material, teeth tugging at your lip as you fight the twitch of your brows, wanting nothing more than to take the item from his hands and walk away. 

You stand there in silence, for a moment; you wonder slightly if Hueningkai is simply ignoring you, and the idea is enough to have you bristling with anger, your jaw clenching as you decide that it’s better to leave now than to look helpless before him— but he’s looking up at you, lidded eyes catching you in a daze as he tilts his head, sending you his signature charming smile. 

“It wasn’t for me,” he says, looking down at the purse in his hands and holding it close to him, as though gauging its weight, “It was going to be a gift.”

“A gift? Quite the gesture on your part,” you scoff, looking at the display area in exasperation— fuck, the only purse in this awful store is in his hands, you realize— leaving you with no other choice but to hope that he’ll stop playing games and leave the purse he clearly never had any intentions of buying, “But I don’t think those other girls you talk to would be very interested in such a specific item like this— I’d suggest appealing to their own interests a bit more.”

With gritted teeth, you reach out to take the bag; an impulsive move on your part, not exactly surprised with the way Hueningkai immediately backs up and holds the bag close to him. You can practically feel your blood boil from the sheer anger that’s taking over from his antics, unamused entirely at the way he merely sends you an innocent smile. 

“Don’t be rude,” he smiles, taking yet another step back, making more distance between you two, “Who are you to say what they would or wouldn’t like? Plus, I saw this first, and I had full intentions of buying it.”

You remain silent— whether you’re too baffled to speak or are simply trying to not explode and yell at him in the middle of the store, you’re not entirely sure— but, as you watch him raise a brow challengingly, you can only find yourself thinking one thing. 

Fuck this. You’ll just order it online. 

The idea takes away the very joy of being able to find it by chance, but you’d rather die right now than grovel to Hueningkai— like he very clearly wants— in hopes that he’ll take pity on you and give you the purse; spinning on your heels, you make your way out with brisk steps.

You don’t get very far before you hear him calling out your name— but you ignore it, a baffled scoff escaping you in response to his sheer audacity to act so shameless after belittling you a few hours prior; you’re a few steps away from the exit when you feel a tug on your wrist, jolting you back and preventing you from leaving.

“What, Hueningkai?” you say, huffing exasperatedly as you shake off his grip on you, “Can’t you just leave me alone for once? I’m not in the mood to play your stupid games.”

“Well then why don’t you talk to me instead of running away childishly?” he says sharply, and you have to bite your tongue in order to not point out his hilariously hypocritical statement, “you’re acting so weird, what the hell happened?”

You think you might just do something that’ll get you banned from the store— but something catches your eye before you can act out on your impulses, and you’re ripping your wrist from Hueningkai’s hold with one last harsh tug. Your gaze is no longer on him; he tries to follow your line of sight, but fails to catch onto what you’re looking at. 

“Get out or leave me alone,” you say, giving him one last cold look before you’re brushing past him, “I’m not interested in talking to you.”

You’re weaving through the displays and getting out of his sight quickly— and Hueningkai is left with a purse he had no interest in buying, looking down at the item before he scoffs; he throws it off at a random shelf and exits promptly after. 

Your footsteps are haste and your heels click rhythmically on the tiled floor; you’re making your way to the cash register, watching his meek stance and the way he flinches under your gaze, a flush running up the back of his neck and coloring his ears red— but you don’t dare to look away from him, placing a rough hand on the counter and leaning close as you inspect him.

“You didn’t tell me you worked here.”

Beomgyu is attempting to stutter out a weak response; his cheeks are colored and his hair is tied back neatly, and you can see the way his hands twitch, undoubtedly resisting the urge to run a hand through the neat style. 

“Why— why would I tell you? It’s not something you’d need to know. Or– is it…?”

You’ve confused him, that much you’re sure of. His brows have knitted together and he remains flustered beyond belief— you’re sure you can guess what’s running through his mind right now, and you fight the twitch of your lips at the mere thought.

“I thought you worked as a server.”

“I– I do?” he’s tilting his head in confusion, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose slightly, “I have two jobs.”

“Three,” you quip, drumming your nails against the counter rhythmically, “you tutor.”

“I… guess…?” Beomgyu says, fighting back the urge to correct you that he really doesn’t— you’re the only one he’s ever tutored before.

“Why would you need to work three jobs? How do you get the time for this?” you don’t really know why you’re pestering Beomgyu about this so much— but you’re also fascinated by it, now beginning to understand where Beomgyu’s lack of social life stems from. 

He’s unsure of how to answer your question again; you don’t seem to be particularly patient today, (but then again, when are you?) so you’re waving him off with a dismissive swat of your hand, shaking your head and clicking your tongue before you’re changing the subject; Beomgyu is left to watch as you pull your phone out, scrolling on it for a bit before you’re placing it on the counter and spinning it around for him to see— his eyes are narrowing in concentration as he takes in the picture.

“This purse,” you say slowly, tapping your nail on your phone screen, as though Beomgyu wasn’t currently looking at it, “do you have it in stock? This guy already got one, but I need to know if you have others— I’ve got to have it.” 

The urgency in your voice is a bit surprising to Beomgyu— he takes in your expression, solemn and a bit scary, and gulps— then he watches the way you melt in relief the moment he nods hesitantly. 

“I’m sure we just got a shipment in today— we, haven’t really, uhm, stocked up properly yet,” he stutters, wincing slightly at the sound while you remain unfazed; your brows lift expectantly, and he’s snapping out his daze and sending you a shaky smile, “I’ll go check.” 

He scurries out of your sight and into the employee door quicker than you can process— and when he turns around to take a peek at the small window, he finds you leaning on the counter and on your phone— probably texting, judging by the way your thumbs fly by on the screen— and he feels another heat of shame wash over him, his head spinning and his legs turning into jello. 

How can you act so casually? He wonders, glasses slipping down just a bit farther down his nose, nimble fingers pushing it back up with ease, like you weren’t just in his bedroom a few hours prior… like he wasn’t under you… 

Beomgyu practically jumps the moment your eyes flicker up and meet his; you simply smile, glossed lips stretching slowly before you give him a wink. 

In response, he spins around and begins to actually look— his heart hammers in his chest.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

So pretty. 

So perfect and smooth to the touch, cool under your fingertips— you take your time to feel, to trace over every detail, intricate and crafted by the gods as you let out a shaky sigh— your eyes meet Beomgyu’s, and you have half the mind to feel a bit sheepish, retracting your hand quickly and returning to a socially acceptable state of mind. 

“Sorry,” you say, beaming at him before you’re reaching into your current bag and handing him your card; his eyes widen comically at the smooth black plastic you place in his hold carelessly, “It’s just… all I could ever ask for. I can’t believe I finally have my hands on this…” 

Meanwhile, Beomgyu rings up your inexplicably expensive item, swiping your card and watching the way you don’t even flinch at the sum that shows up; he feels a bit jealous at your nonchalance. 

You’re carrying the purse like it were a baby; it isn’t until Beomgyu offers to bag it for you that you finally let it go, placing it gently on the counter and smiling fondly as you watch Beomgyu place it carefully in the equally luxurious gift bag, placing filler paper on top and handing it back to you, his movement practiced and calculated as he says his usual lines— his mind is running on autopilot once more, but you’re particularly eager to break him out of it as you reach out to take the bag from him, warm hand wrapping around his and tugging him slightly towards you. 

“Thank you for all your help today,” you purr, shining lips stretching into a coy smile, leaning against the counter and watching as he gulps, adam's apple bobbing, “I think I’ll do well on our upcoming quiz— you’re such a good tutor.”

You don’t bother to stick around after that; your steps are brisk and you’re hugging the purchase close to your body, as though someone were after it and ready to take it, confidence in your step as you exit the store— Beomgyu, on the other hand, practically crumbles the moment you’re out of sight, fingers turning white from how hard he grips onto the edge of the counter; his heart pounds and the sound of blood rushing fills his ears, mind inevitably going back to your teasing action before he’s flustering again. 

You’re laughing to yourself the whole ride home— his reaction plays on your mind like a loop, beyond amused by the sight as you pat yourself on the back for being able to come up with something so clever on the spot. 

What you don’t realize, however, is that there are consequences to your actions— consequences that are far beyond your control.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

“Are you for real?”

“Uh-huh,” you grin, placing a fond hand on your cheek and batting your eyes at Yunjin, “totally aced it.” 

“That’s something I never thought I’d hear from you,” your friend says, poking her fork at her salad before taking a bite; she furrows her brows as she takes in your expression, mouth agape and eyes wide, as though you were offended. “What? It’s true.”

“Okay, first off— I’m not stupid, just lazy,” you clarify, pointing an accusing finger at your friend as you pout, “and second of all, you should really believe in your friend a little more.”

“I mean, it was a little hard to when all you would do was skip classes and go shopping instead,” Yunjin says, raising a challenging brow when you open your mouth to refute her claims— then proceed to promptly close it again, finding that you really can’t deny that— and a small smile tugs at her lips, the kind that lets you know that she’s about to say something really annoying, “but I guess your study sessions with your little boy toy really did work.” 

“Boy—?!” you’re in the middle of taking a sip from your iced coffee when she says that, the straw slipping from your mouth and a bit of the liquid escaping from the sheer surprise of her comment— you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling a slight heat rush to your face as you stare at her incredulously, “boy toy?” 

“I mean, am I wrong?” Yunjin challenges, tilting her head in curiosity while you simply try to deny her claims, “you were literally just telling me about the way you had him wrapped around your finger a while ago—”

“Not like that though!” you huff, feeling worked up from the mere idea of Yunjin finding out the complete and utterly stupid slip up you had a while ago, “god, he’s literally such a fucking loser, don’t try to pair me up with him— other people might get the wrong idea. It’s already bad enough that I had to get a tutor, because it’s not like I was doing bad in my classes until recently. I mean, it’s still my fault and I did let myself go, but I didn’t think I’d have to stoop so low! And now I have to take so much time out of my day to spend my time studying with him and even worse, you’re trying to insinuate something that definitely isn’t true—!”

“Yes! Okay! Enough of that please!” Yunjin says exasperatedly, glancing over your shoulder briefly before she’s taking another bite of her salad, muttering something about you having a motor mouth, “god, it’s just that… people have seen you two together a lot, you know? And with the way he’s looking over at you right now, anyone would think that he’s like… in love with you, or something.” 

You’re sitting up straight and whirling around at that; following Yunjin’s previous line of sight, you’re able to pinpoint the said boy immediately— sitting a few tables away, catching him staring at you over his laptop, clearly distracted from his work— the moment your eyes meet, he flinches, hunching down so the screen hides him; it doesn’t work very well, and you’re able to see his downcast eyes and reddening face with ease. 

Oh my god, you think with horror, a cold wave washing over you as you stare at him longer— and after a few seconds, he’s peeking back up from his screen, meeting your eyes once more and scrambling to hide unsuccessfully yet again. You decide to turn back around before anyone else around you catches on to this interaction. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, meeting Yunjin’s gaze as she simply nods at you, her face screaming I told you so, “how long has he been there?” 

“Like… basically this whole time,” Yunjin says casually, not fazed in the slightest by your horrified expression, “been staring at you for a while too.”

“Ugh, gross,” you groan, throwing your head back in defeat and staring up at the ceiling with a frown, “I think I might’ve gotten his hopes up too much.”

“C’mon, go easy on him,” Yunjin teases— your head is straightening up to look at her again, but a single glance is enough to tell you she merely finds this situation amusing, “it’s probably his first time properly interacting with a woman.”

“That’s even worse,” you mourn, slumping down and placing your head in your hands; a sudden reminder of your schedule is popping back into your head, and your peeking through your fingers in dismay as you relay the information to your friend, “and I have a study session with him today too.” 

“Aww!” she coos, clearly having a blast as she grins, glancing behind you and undoubtedly at Beomgyu once more, “I’m sure he just can’t wait to see you again.”

“God, please shut up,” you whine petulantly, but your friend brushes off your pleas with a mischievous smile, “you’re making me wanna throw up.”

“What, you gonna cancel then?” 

Silence. Any other day, you would’ve immediately jumped to say yes, pulling out your phone to text him and bailing like it was nothing. But today, you find yourself oddly reluctant to say this three letter word, unsure of why the answer is difficult to voice before you finally give in to the truth— your head slumps with defeat and you’re too ashamed to look Yunjin in the eyes.

“No.”

“Oh wow,” you hear her say, still blatantly teasing you as she laughs giddily— you don’t bother to react at this point, choosing to ignore the unspoken question of why you’re not ditching him this time.

“Hope you have fun,” she muses, taking one last glance behind you before she’s giggling to herself, “try to go easy on him, m’kay?”

Fuck, this was so embarrassing. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Today, you’ve changed up your meeting spot quite a bit; Beomgyu was thoroughly surprised when you asked him to study later on in the day, in a more secluded area on the upper levels of the library, telling him to pick a table and wait for you to get there after— usually, you tried to make your meetups as convenient for you as possible, choosing places that you could easily flee from. 

When you finally come into his line of sight, Beomgyu frowns. You carry your bag with you, along with a troubled expression and tense posture, glancing around you continuously even if there was no one around, even if the table was hidden behind bookshelves— as though you were afraid of getting caught for something. 

You’re dumping your things onto the table unceremoniously— and instead of taking your spot across from Beomgyu like always, you’re sitting next to him, catching him off guard and missing the way he tenses at the action— you’re scooting your chair closer to him and filling his senses with your scent, making him gulp thickly as he tries to not let his mind wander off; he realizes with dread that it’s really not working. 

Beomgyu is a stuttering mess today; you pick up on it with ease, frowning at the way he continues to blunder through his explanations and having to repeat things to you multiple times, hands shakier than usual as he points out certain things in the text before he’s relating it back to the assignment. 

“That— that’s one of the things the… the uhm, the professor said would be important to remember,” Beomgyu stutters, feeling his body heat up at the way you raise your brows at the sound of his cracking and meek voice. With one glimpse at your (clearly) judgemental and demeaning expression that you didn’t even bother to hide, Beomgyu is scrambling to get his act together. 

It works, for a while; the two of you are left in silence as you work on the homework your professor assigned to you, and you remain unfazed at the feeling of Beomgyu catching glimpses at you from time to time; whether that be to look at what you had written down or simply to look at you, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. 

You’re snapped out of zone of concentration at the sound of rustling; a peek from your peripheral vision allows you to watch as Beomgyu has now begun to dig through his bag, wondering what he could be up to; with a roll of your eyes, you’re focusing back to the question you were working on, not bothering to glance back again even once the rustling has ceased. 

Without warning, something is placed gingerly on the open surface of your textbook; you’re blinking in surprise before you’re registering what it is that has been put before you, brows knitting together as you wonder how you should react.

It’s a… mini paper flower bouquet. 

You’re staring at the item for a solid few seconds before you slowly turn to look at the culprit. Beomgyu meets your intense gaze the best he can, putting up a confident front and fighting back the heat that threatens to engulf his face. 

“Y–You— I heard you did well on your test.” He says, glasses slipping down his nose and bangs falling into his eyes, gaze flickering away for a split second before he wills himself to look at you again. Your stare is dead and unreadable.

“I never told you that.” 

Beomgyu is losing this battle, his confidence visibly wilting away as his cheeks begin to get dusted with pink. His eyes are wide like a deer caught in headlights, unsure of what to respond as you give him a look that is expecting an explanation— his cheeks are now a bright red. 

Even without his explanation, you both know how he got a hold of this news— and you’re thinking back to Yunjin’s teasing, the fear of being seen with him during today’s study session, and the flustered boy in front of you— and your mouth is running faster than you can stop it.

“Choi Beomgyu, do you like me?” 

If the floor around you was already quiet before, it’s dead silent now; you’re even able to pick up on the stuttered breath Beomgyu lets out, his eyes growing comically wide as he simply stares at you; almost as though he couldn’t believe what you just asked of him. 

“Actually, don’t even answer that,” you wave him off, choosing to ignore the way this seems to spring him into action, stuttering and failing to put together a proper sentence to tell you that no, he definitely doesn’t— you just caught him off guard! 

But it’s not like you would believe him anyway, with the way he remains flustered long after you asked the question, unable to even look your way for the rest of the session, staring straight at the textbook and nowhere else whenever you would ask him a question— after a while, you begin to tire of his behavior. 

“Choi Beomgyu,” you call out again, soft and dangerous as you turn to face him— he was attempting to explain a question to you, words dying on his tongue as he took in your sudden proximity— leaning in toward him, you tilt your head as you observe his reaction, watching the way his lips press together and his adam's apple bobs as he gulps softly; his puppy-like eyes shine as he waits for you to say something.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, your voice beginning to dip into that coy lilt that you’ve used on him only one other time— and that’s enough to have Beomgyu’s mind spinning, the poor boy thinking thoughts that he’s tried to suppress this whole time— your affect on him is beginning to show once more. 

“You look a little…” your eyes flicker down beneath the table, a smile tugging at your lips before you’re looking back into the boy's eyes; catching where you were looking, Beomgyu can’t help but tug his sweater over his lap in embarrassment. 

You’re leaning even closer now— your breath is fanning against the shell of his ear, the boy’s face practically on fire as his hands remain clenched and tense on his lap— he’s practically a statue due to your proximity. 

“Distracted.” 

Your hands are mischievous; curious, setting your pencil down carefully before they begin to wander, sliding across the table before it falls off the edge, nails scratching at the wool material of Beomgyu’s sweater before it lands on top of his hand that covers his lap— you grin at the choked breath of surprise he lets out from the simple touch. 

“What— what, what are y–you—?” Beomgyu is about to bite through his lip at this rate, eyes wide and panicked as he watches your hand push his away, taking in the bulge in his pants as a flush of shame rises up his neck; you’ve caught him, but you don’t seem to be fazed in the slightest as you’re cupping him gently, looking up at him with doe eyes and lashes that flutter innocently— he thinks his heart might just explode from how quickly it’s pounding. 

“Wait, wait wait— we’re in— other people might—” he’s tripping over his words, saying so much yet nothing at all, but the way his eyes skirt over the perimeter is enough to tell you what he’s thinking— yet all you see are bookshelves that surround and hide you well— beneath the warmth of your hand that has yet to move, you can feel Beomgyu hardening within seconds. 

“It’s late. There’s no one else here right now,” you say sweetly, too sweet, a bit patronizing as you lean in close and coo the words directly into his ear— you’re brushing back his long hair with a gentle hand, tucking it behind his ears that he always seems to hide; they’re a pitiful bright red and decorated with silver piercings, absentmindedly caressing along his jaw with the back of your hand; his eyes flutter shut at the tender action, along with the feeling of your hand finally beginning to rock against his cock gently— and he melts into the chair, like putty in your hands as you watch his shoulders slump and cave into himself, his head hang at the stimulation; you’ve barely done anything, yet he’s already a mess— the sight surprises you.

“Go ahead,” you continue softly, hand cupping his jaw and cradling it carefully, attempting to get him to look at you again— and he follows your commands effortlessly, pretty eyes fluttering open and his head turning at the gentle push of your hand— and he’s looking at you with glassy, wide eyes, cheeks flushed pink and mouth parted as his eyes begin to flutter shut again— and your thumb is rubbing soothing circles along his cheekbone teasingly, leaning in slightly to whisper again, close enough that he can feel your breath fanning against the tip of his nose, “Puppy, look at me.”

He follows your command in a heartbeat; he’s met with another of your sickeningly sweet smiles, deceiving and comforting all at the same time. 

“Go ahead now puppy,” you murmur, any movements of your hand ceasing entirely as you watch him with eager eyes, watching the way he seems to sober up at the loss of your touch, “take my hand off— c’mon, take it off if you really want to.”

A moment passes— he really should be taking your hand off, shouldn’t he? But his mind is clouded now and you look so pretty under the warm library lights, pristine and perfect as always, glossy lips and lidded eyes encouraging him with a deceivingly fond look— but Beomgyu loves it, and he loves the way you laugh mockingly at him, unable to control the way he whines petulantly and shakes his head, giving you your answer by thrusting his aching cock into your hand desperately.

“Good boy,” you utter absentmindedly, a compliment that makes Beomgyu’s hips stutter as you finally begin to inch up his bulge, careful fingers making quick work to undo his pants— and with one last glance at the deserted area around you, you’re slipping your hand inside and past the tight waistband of his boxers. 

“Haah—!” Beomgyu is slapping a hand over his mouth and beating you to it, eyes wide and face even more flushed than before as he stares down at the way your hand disappears beneath the material of his boxers, expertly wrapping around his length and slowly beginning to jerk him off underneath the table. 

You don’t seem to be worked up by any of this at all; your eyes are lidded with a slight boredom, a tiredness he’s seen at every one of your study sessions, watching the way you turn back to your homework and begin reading the instructions, hand still working expertly at his length as you do; Beomgyu has to press another hand firmly against his mouth the moment your thumb is swiping over his tip, collecting the constant arousal that collects there and using it as lube— you don’t even bat an eye at him during all this. 

After a few minutes, you’re able to hear the slick sounds of your hand working against his cock effortlessly; the poor boy is aroused and leaking beyond belief, now sporting a wet patch against his pants that you seem to be dead-set on worsening— your pace is picking up and you don’t bother to glance at Beomgyu to check up on him, though you also don’t bother to hide the way your lips quirk in amusement at the sight of him trying (and failing) to keep his composure. 

“M–mmh, agh— close, s’close…” Beomgyu stutters out pathetically, bucking his hips up messily and turning back into that desperate and rambly mess from the first time you sucked him off; his voice is deep and breathy as he whispers out these pleas to you, begs to not stop, to go faster, to—

“Beomgyu,” you whisper coyly, using this chance to finally put your plan into action, “Beomgyu baby, d’you wanna cum? Hmm? Want me to make you feel good?”

He’s nodding thoughtlessly; of course he’s nodding, his mind has gone blank and there’s nothing else in there that seems to make sense except for the way your warm hand wraps around his cock so perfectly, unable to stop the choked whines he lets out every time he feels you squeeze him teasingly. 

“Then you gotta do something for me, okay pup?”  you coo out, making sure to use the nickname you know he loves so much— he lets out a choked whimper at the sound, brows knit tightly together and hair falling in front of his face with the way he hangs his head— and you’re leaning in close to him again, breath fanning on his skin and your palm slapping his cheek softly, tapping at it to get his attention; it works like a charm, and his glassy eyes are meeting yours once more. “Puppy, are you listening?”

“I’m—” his words get cut off by a weak whine, feeling your hand tighten teasingly around him, “I’m listening— I’m listening.” 

“Good,” you coo out, feeling the way his hips buck and he starts becoming restless, “now if you wanna cum, you gotta promise me something, okay?” 

Anything, anything for you, he breathes out absentmindedly, and you’re sure he has no idea what he’s even agreeing to at this point. 

“Don’t act like you know me when we’re in public,” you say sweetly, muddling his mind by increasing your pace, by doing exactly what you’ve noted makes him squirm and cry the most, “I don’t know you, you don’t know me— we’re strangers.” 

You notice the way his face is twisting up in confusion; his mouth is parting and he’s fighting to say something, to ask why— but you’re not giving him a chance to, brushing his hair back and cupping his face, turning him to look at you and digging your nails into his cheeks to get him to meet your eyes; through the intense pleasure you give him, you can still see the hurt that swims within. You let out a soft coo at the pathetic sight.

“Come on, promise me, okay?” you pout, “you’re a good boy, right? You’ll keep your promise?” 

His hips are stuttering and fucking into your fist again; you’ve got him pinned down precisely. Any coherent thought is fading out of Beomgyu’s mind and the only thing he’s concerned himself with is his impending orgasm, the feeling of pleasure that is only heightened with every string of praise you say to him. 

“Be a good little puppy and say you’ll promise me,” you say, thumb swiping over his bottom lip before you’re pulling at it, dark eyes observing the way he melts before your touch and finally gives in— he’s nodding, you’ve got him right where you want him, and all you needed was a little bit of mindless praise. “c’mon, say it, say it and you can cum.”

“I promise,” he breathes out, whiny and high pitched and strained, as though speaking was a challenge for him, “I’ll do anything, please— pleasepleaseplease, let me cum, I’ll— I promise.”

“There we go baby,” you hum in approval, pressing a peck to his pouting lips and taking in the way his waterline is filled with tears that hang precariously, “such a good boy— my good boy.”

His hips stutter, rising off the seat, and you’re feeling warm spurts of cum land on your skin. His mouth is falling open and you’re sure he might just let out a loud noise, so before you can think twice, you’re pulling his face close to you and smashing your lips against his; he whines weakly into mouth, and you’re swallowing it greedily, kissing him languidly and guiding him through his high with praise that makes his breath stutter and his knees weak. 

You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and good.

It takes a while before Beomgyu is finally coming to his senses. He’s panting softly against your mouth, lips swollen and bitten at, his cock sensitive as the feeling of you continuing to pump him slowly suddenly becomes too much; with a shaky hand, he presses against your shoulder and attempts to signal you to stop. You’re pulling away immediately. 

Beomgyu looks, for lack of a better term, absolutely destroyed. His face is flushed and his eyes are droopy with exhaustion, hair mussed and messy and his clothes in complete disarray; you look down, and you’re wincing in half amusement and half pity at the sight of the wet spot against Beomgyu’s jeans. He’s following your gaze, and if he could turn any redder, you’re sure he definitely would’ve; his ears burn. 

Your hand is messy; his cum is still coated on your skin, sticky and incriminating as it sticks to your fingers and pools in between, a grimace twisting your face into a look of dismay as you stare down at the mess— before you can even think of what to do about it, Beomgyu is handing you a tissue. 

His hand is shaky as he extends it out to you; your gaze is snapping up to meet his, only you’ve found that he can’t look at you at all— it seems as though the fog in his mind has already subsided and he’s realized what you’ve asked of him, lips pressed together and face still flushed as you finally take it from him. He turns away from you immediately, pulling his sweater over his lap and staring down at the disarray of textbooks and notebooks before him. 

The silence is suddenly unbearable. You feel awkward as you wipe at your skin, even more so when you’re stuck with nothing but a soiled tissue and a hand that’s still undeniably dirty, the tension between you two now growing tenfold by the second as you finally decide that you should probably just go— it’s not like he’d be surprised by it anyway. 

You’re opening your mouth to excuse yourself— to ignore the elephant in the room, to simply run away with a coy smile like you always do— but Beomgyu is beating you to the punch, and you can’t even hide the startled flinch your body does as he stands and begins to pack up hastily, shoving his materials into his book bag without a second glance to see if everything is perfectly aligned and neat.

You can only sit there and watch; it’s clear that your words seem to have gotten to him, and though you were expecting the awkwardness that would stem from it, you didn’t expect Beomgyu to be upset; your mind races to find reasons why, to try and wrap your head around why he would be feeling this way. 

“I asked the professor how you were doing in the class, since you never seem to want to tell me,” Beomgyu finally says, breaking the tension and adjusting the materials in his bag to be just the way he likes it; he zips his bag shut in one aggressive swoop, and you can’t help the surprise on your face when he sends you a harsh glare. 

“He says you’ve been improving greatly; said you were a good student from the very start, that you only needed to catch up on the materials.” he’s slinging his bag over his shoulder, pushing the chair in and taking a step back from your dumbfounded figure, “so it looks to me that you achieved your goal with our sessions.”

A moment passes— and your eyes widen slightly, catching on to what he’s trying to tell you, finding that you really want to deny the professor’s claims, even if they are true. But your pride impedes you from uttering a single word, knowing that it would kill you to try and coax Beomgyu to stay with you, to keep these study sessions going— and through this sudden urge, you catch yourself wondering why you would even want this to continue.

“I’m glad my help seemed to work— but it seems that you don’t even need it anymore,” Beomgyu finalizes what he needed to say, and you can see the way his shoulders practically sag from the relief of getting his thoughts across; his hand goes to tug his oversized sweater down, completely covering his lap and the mess you left— he grimaces softly. 

“What? So that’s it?” is all you can say, watching his face harden at your words, “Just like that? What about me?”

His face twists up in anger— your words have struck a nerve, and suddenly, he’s remembering why no one wanted to tutor you in the first place. 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” is all he says, taking another step back and increasing the distance between you two, “anyone would be willing to tutor you with the rate you like to offer.”

You both know what he really wants to say— just use your money on someone else to get what you want, like you always do. You find that you can’t really say anything to that. You remain silent.

Beomgyu turns around, and leaves; he doesn’t bother to say goodbye, and you’re left to watch his retreating figure, the hastiness of his pace and the way he continuously tugs his oversized sweater down over and over, even if it doesn’t move an inch. 

That’s it, you tell yourself, leaning back against your chair, staring down at the display before you, at the notes you were actually taking, the work you were finally doing, you finally got what you wanted. 

After a moment, the seat next to you is feeling a lot emptier than it did seconds ago; the room feels endless, as though you were left alone in this lonely labyrinth. Beomgyu’s words echo in your head, and you frown. 

Is this what you wanted?

 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Beomgyu has kept his promise well; you haven’t seen him in weeks. 

Not around campus, not around the dining halls, not even in the library, a place you’ve found yourself actually attending regularly— not even in the only class you shared— and it seems as though he’s vanished off the face of the Earth. 

You’ve found yourself thinking about him more often than you’d like; wondering if he’s okay, if he’s off at one of his many jobs again, if he’s resting— it makes you shiver with disgust every time you catch yourself, grimacing at the idea that you would even find yourself worried about him— and while you tell yourself that you’ve finally gotten rid of one of your biggest burdens, you can still feel the nagging feeling to talk to him every time you see his contact in your phone.

“Did you finally get him off your trail?” Yunjin asks you one day, when you’re busy checking the due dates for this week’s assignments online, making a mental schedule of what to work on first as you leave your food untouched; her words are snapping you out of your trance, looking up at her with a gaze that screams I wasn’t listening, what? 

“Your little plaything— the loser guy?” she drawls, watching your face carefully, taking your small reaction as a sign that you’ve caught on, “did you finally shake him off?” 

“I— yeah, I did,” you say apathetically, letting out a soft tsk as you’re looking back at your laptop, “finally.”

“Wow, look at you,” Yunjin awes, seeing the way your brows furrowed in concentration and you have yet to eat, too immersed in your course load to roll your eyes at her clear, mocking tone, “looks like he really did a number on you— I didn’t know you used your laptop for anything other than shopping.”

“Yunjin, come on,” you sigh, jaw clenching as you suddenly don’t find yourself in the mood for her teasing, “I mean, I know I’ve been slacking really bad recently, but you know that’s not true.”

She doesn’t seem to take you seriously— then again, no one ever really does, a constant in your life that makes you jaw tick and your eyes mentally roll— and she laughs, shaking her head and pouting as though you were a thing to be pitied. You wonder how much of this is supposed to be friendly teasing. 

“Yeah sure,” she sighs, leaning her chin on the palm of her hand and leaning over to look at your screen, “Don’t work too hard though, it might hurt your brain.”

You ignore her comment; Yunjin doesn’t seem to care about your silence, doesn’t bother to gauge your reaction as she continues to poke at yet another of her salads, pushing the contents around with her fork in boredom as she speaks up again. 

“You know, hopefully he has the same effect on me.”

This gets your attention immediately. Yunjin is looking at you with surprised eyes that feign innocence, raising a confused brow at your narrowed eyes. 

“What do you mean by that,” you ask slowly, attempting to keep your tone indifferent as you speak.

Yunjin shrugs, as though what she was about to tell you next wasn’t of any importance— and it really shouldn’t be, but you still can’t ignore the way it makes your body feel like you’ve been shocked with a wave of electricity. 

“I mean, your little tutor seemed to be such a good influence so…” she stabs at her salad lazily, bringing up the fork to her lips before she’s sending you a small smile. “I thought I’d give him a try.” 

You bristle quite visibly at that; your mind is running a million miles an hour, wondering where this sudden idea is coming from, being friends with Yunjin for longer than you can remember as your mouth begins to run before you can stop it. 

“You said your parents have tried to set you up with multiple tutors— the best in the country,” you say, brows knitted together as Yunjin simply shrugs her shoulders, raising her brows as if to say and? “You said you’d rather die than to get tutored— you said it was a waste of time.”

“Yeah… but…” Yunjin shrugs again, and you wonder how much of this is just an impulse from her as she continues, “I don’t know, my parents are on my ass again about giving me a tutor, and I don’t wanna deal with all those stuck up pricks they send to me.”

She admits her true motives with her next words. 

“And I don’t know… he’s kinda cute?” she says, laughing like a schoolgirl who was embarrassed to admit a crush, “In like, a pathetic kinda way— and now that he’s done tutoring you, I’m sure he has a slot that opened up.”

Your mind is spiraling with things to say to her; you want to tell her to stay away from Beomgyu, to not try to mess with him— tell her that he’s a loser that isn’t worth her time, a nerd with an obsession with a lame game and the owner of a creepy bird— but you catch yourself, biting your tongue and taking in the way Yunjin simply looks at you expectantly; as though waiting for your embarrassing outburst, you realize.

With a scoff, you’re slamming your laptop shut— Yunjin flinches in surprise. 

“I’m sure one did— I’m leaving,” is all you say, knowing that nothing would change, even if you tried anything. Yunjin scrambles to try to get you to stay, but all attempts fall short— you tell her there’s an exam you need to study for, and she sighs in defeat. 

“You’re coming to the party this Saturday, at least?” she says, clearly annoyed at your sudden sensitivity, at your sudden change in attitude, “you promised you would.”

Your mind is attempting to remember what she could be talking about— then you’re finally remembering the event she spontaneously planned a few weeks back, telling you that she hasn’t seen everyone together in one place in so long— and while you found yourself agreeing excitedly back then, you don’t have much energy to do so now. But Yunjin is staring at you expectantly, raising a brow at your silence, and you find that there’s really not much of a choice for you. (There is, but you know there’d be consequences if you chose wrong.)

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Perfect!” she beams, eyes crinkling and her hands clasping together happily, as though there was no previous tension between you at all mere moments before, “I’ll see you then.” 

You merely nod, turning around and taking your food to the nearest trash can— you weren’t really hungry, anyway. 

You can feel Yunjin’s eyes pinpointed on you the whole way out. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

You’ve always loved parties. 

You loved to dress up, make yourself look pretty and catch the eyes of everyone with your pretty dresses and makeup done to perfection; loved the attention that came with it, the way you could let loose for once and not worry about your image, drinking and feeling your body become loose, mind finally being allowed to forget about any worries you had. 

You were known to be a social butterfly; the pretty airhead that couldn’t stop talking once you got her started— always the life of the party, never one to cling to the wall and stare at the dance floor wistfully. 

Standing before the beach house of Yunjin’s parents, one they didn’t use as much as they once did when Yunjin was only a little girl with an affinity to the sea, you begin to wonder where that part of you has gone. 

You feel dreadfully out of place. You haven’t even gone inside yet. 

Music is blasting and the windows are dark, save for the bright neon lights that come from an unknown source; Yunjin has always been a sucker for that club vibe, anyway. You want to go in, want to walk inside and pretend like it’s nothing, but this time, you can only stand at the bottom of the steps and tug your dress down a little more. You feel like a prude. 

Deep breaths, you tell yourself— one in, one out, your chest rising and falling slowly as you  try calm your racing pulse— and with a silent okay of reassurance to yourself, you will your body to begin its trek up the steps. 

The door is unlocked; it’s not like you needed to knock to get in, anyway— only those with an invite even knew this party was happening. The place isn’t packed— nor is it meant to be— but it’s a bit crowded at least, filled with familiar faces for the most part; all people you grew up with or around, sons and daughters of influential families that grew to be nothing but partiers and troublemakers. In other words, your usual crowd. 

There are some exceptions to these guests, however. People you’ve seen around campus, student athletes with a scholarship and business majors that have already found themselves internships to the companies others in the room are a part of— and it seems that no matter how much everyone here tries to pretend and deny, they can never really separate their personal lives from the responsibilities passed down to them at birth. 

Your first instinct is to beeline it to the kitchen; in other words, to the makeshift bar Yunjin always sets up, an impressive display of alcohol and even a hired bartender making drinks left and right— you immediately ask for two jello shots, something Yunjin always made for herself and in extension, you, not in the mood for anything stronger as you opt to get this nervous energy out of you instead; you proceed to get two more a second after, just out of habit.

You should find Yunjin; let her know you’re here, make sure she doesn’t try to scold and bitch at you for promising to go to her party only to end up ditching— you’re sure she’d never believe you unless she saw you with her own eyes. 

The kitchen is empty. The makeshift dance floor seems to be empty as well, spending a few minutes scouring the place and shrugging off any passing advances; with a heavy sigh, you decide that you should check upstairs, just in case, ready to make your way up before a rough hand is grabbing at your elbow and tugging you back; the smell of alcohol greets you before Yunjin can. 

“You actually came!” Yunjin yells over the music, her face flushed from the alcohol and her balance off as she stumbles slightly; you make a quick move to catch her, eyes drifting down before you’re catching sight of the uncomfortable heels she dons— meeting her gaze once more, she pouts. 

“I don’t even know why I wore these,” she groans, running a hand through her auburn hair, watching the way it falls back into place perfectly— she then proceeds to scan over your own outfit, letting out a sound of awe as she smiles, “you look great! Pretty as always.”

She’s muttering something else, but you can’t really hear it over the sound of the music; eventually, you find your eyes drifting away to the dancefloor, wondering if there’s anyone else you could recognize— your eyes lock with a particular, infamous athlete’s, one that you’ve been dying to get with since the beginning of the semester— and you’re suddenly thankful for the buzz the jello shots provided you, Yunjin eventually following your gaze and cheering at the realization of what you were planning. 

She’s pushing you forward before you can even think things through; the man with dark hair simply smiles at you, coy eyes beckoning you closer— and with a deep breath, you decide to let go of any worries you had and go back to being your airheaded, carefree self— even if just for a moment. 

“Hey,” he says simply, a hand going to rest on your waist; the music is much too loud for you to converse properly, but you don’t really seem to mind as you allow yourself to get lost in the rhythm instead— that, and because your tipsy brain has forgotten his name, and the low lights that obscure his face aren’t exactly helping either. 

But it seems as though he was thinking the exact thing; he’s leaning down to ask the exact question you were wondering into your ear, deep voice and pouty lips that brush against the shell of your ear making you shiver— you’re muttering your name into his ear, tilting your head toward him to allow him to do the same.

Yeonjun. Your head seems to clear for the moment. 

“Looks like we finally meet,” he grins, still close to your face in order for you to be able to hear him; your face twists up in confusion, and he laughs softly before continuing. “You’re just as pretty as I’ve been told— my friend talks a lot about you. You’re trouble, hmm?”

“Your friend?” is all you can say in response, placing a hand against his chest and leaning in closer, the music muddling his words slightly; his hand continues to hold you steady, and the two of you continue to sway to the rhythm. 

“Yeah,” he laughs, staring at your face that’s twisted up in obvious confusion, “My roommate, Beomgyu? I heard he tutored you for a bit.”

His name is enough to clear your head entirely, as though a bucket of ice water has been poured over your body and drenched your figure. 

“He— he told you about me?” you ask, mentally slapping yourself for sounding so pathetic, for feeling so curious as you stare at Yeonjun with undeniably hopeful eyes; instead, all you get is another amused laugh from him. 

“Are you kidding? You practically traumatized him!” he jokes, though you don’t find yourself laughing along to that, lips twitching and a frown threatening to take over your features, “You’d think he was scared of you from the way he talked about you.”

You don’t respond to that; you’re not sure how you would respond to that anyway, letting out a weak laugh and falling silent as you look over his shoulder and fall back into the beat of the song— but it seems as though Yeonjun is too drunk, and frankly, unaware to take in your reaction, because he’s leaning into your ear and murmuring words that strike the final blow into your heart.

“He’s here, actually— Yunjin and him really seem to be hitting it off. Didn’t think he had it in him”

You chose to bite your tongue, biting back a bitter comment about how he really doesn’t have it in him to woo someone like Yunjin. But Yeonjun is too amused by his own comment to pick up on the sudden sourness of your mood, mouthing the lyrics to whatever’s playing and guiding your hips with a hand, a smile tugging at his lips as he sends you a wink. But you’re too shaken by this sudden news that you no longer feel the need to play along, much less try to hook up with him tonight. Now that you think about it, the once superficially important goal of chasing after the athlete before you had been pushed down the list of your priorities long, long ago. 

“‘M gonna get a drink,” you mutter miserably, pushing against Yeonjun’s chest and ignoring the way he immediately begins to complain, untangling yourself from his grip as you leave with one final, half-hearted sorry!

Screw jello-shots, you think to yourself, stumbling back to the kitchen with sore feet, I need something stronger. 

Something stronger comes in the form of a mysterious drink you let the bartender make for you; you didn’t exactly keep track of the ingredients he listed off to you, simply nodding instead when he asked if that’s what you wanted— if you think it’s strong enough, you replied with a smile, choosing to ignore the hesitant nod he gave you in return. 

The speed at which you downed the drink was enough to have the bartender at your side with a water and a warning look— you ignored it, of course, drinking the water with a slight pout, only bothering to drink half before you were back to the dancefloor; maybe you could distract yourself with Yeonjun for a while, you think. 

But any plans to track down the said man come to a glaring halt the moment you’re stepping out the kitchen; your eyes widen, surprised expression mirroring Hueningkai’s as he stands before you— his eyes scan over your figure, running back up and stopping at your hazed eyes and flushed face, the slight sway in your movement helping everything click in his mind; you’re a few drinks away from getting utterly wasted, and it seems as though that’s the path you’re getting ready to take. 

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” Hueningkai says, watching your face scrunch in confusion, taking a step forward to hear him better, “Thought you’d be too busy doing another study date to come.”

“Shut up,” you sneer, rolling your eyes and scoffing at the implications of his words, “And why do you care? I’m surprised you’re not fucking a random girl in Yunjin’s bathroom right now.”

“I tried,” Hueningkai rolls his eyes, smiling in that obnoxiously smug way as he watches you frown. He leans in, placing a hand on the doorway and above your head as he reaches out to grab your waist; tugging you close to him, lips ghosting the shell of your ear as he mumbles quietly, “but she wasn’t anywhere as good as you.”

“You’re gross,” you glare, leaning back as you let your lips upturn in disgust, already knowing what he’s implying— asking of you— with a simple look at his face. “Leave me alone, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Are you still mad?” Hueningkai asks, beginning his chase even after you’ve successfully escaped his clutches, ignoring him with a roll of your eyes as you cross your arms and make your way out to the living room, “you never even told me what was wrong, you just ran away and kept bitching at me.”

You huff; it doesn’t seem like Hueningkai will give up anytime soon, so you’re whirling around and sending him a pointed glare as you finally give him the closure he so desperately keeps asking for. 

“I did tell you what was wrong,” you start, clenching your jaw at the way he immediately opens his mouth to refute that, “you treat me like nothing more than a fuck buddy, acting as though we weren’t actually friends before that! All you do is make me feel worthless, then you have the audacity to turn around and play the victim?! Like seriously, Hueningkai, is this all you see me as? A body to fuck?”

Hueningkai began asking you to keep it down the moment you felt yourself get riled up; volume rising, face heating up, you ignored him, ignored the odd looks you got from others, deciding that since the man before you wanted to hear your thoughts so badly, you’d let it all out.

“We used to be friends. We grew up together!” you say, feeling ridiculous for continuing to grieve the past, the days where things weren’t so complicated and all you felt for Hueningkai was a harmless crush. “I can’t believe I let you use me like this, just because I thought I liked— god, I’m so stupid.”

You don’t give him a chance to retaliate; you’re turning around and ready to weave your way through the faceless people and go outside, only making it halfway before Hueningkai is grabbing at your elbow and asking you to wait. His persistence garners yet another roll of your eyes.

“You what? Hang on, what was that last part?” he asks, trailing behind you and desperately asking for an answer— because of course he would hone in on that part. You continue to ignore him, tugging your arm out his hold and beginning to push through the crowd at the dancefloor— seriously, how many people did Yunjin invite? You seem to have severely underestimated the capacity of this place.

“You— did you like me? Do you like me?” Hueningkai’s last attempts to get something, anything from you are childish and do nothing but make your stomach churn, “Come on, we can talk this out, be mature about it— I can fix things, I can make it up to, yeah? Hey, don’t bail on me now—”

“Enough!” you yell, getting yet another round of side glances and strange looks from others; listening in like always, pretending horribly to be ignorant to it all.

You’re right before the doorway; so close, yet you know that if you leave now, Hueningkai will continue to follow and pester you— so as horrible as the timing is, you realize with a heavy feeling that now is your chance to do what you’ve been debating on for so long. 

“Please, I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say, your words weak as you look right into his eyes— and everything surfaces into your mind once more, the innocent hope you once had of stealing his heart one day, “Let’s just end this— everything.”

The words feel familiar on your tongue, only this time, you realize that this is the person you should’ve directed this message to in the first place.

“We don’t know each other,” you say, jaw clenched at the way it takes Hueningkai a second to process things due to the music that tries to drown you out— you still catch onto the exact moment where it all registers in his head, eyes widening and mouth opening to protest— but you beat him to it, not giving him another opportunity to try and haphazardly fix thing, albeit momentarily. Your eyes meet his, and your heart wrenches upon seeing that he’s more annoyed than hurt. 

“Don’t talk to me— we’re strangers now.”

The final blow is like a weight that is immediately taken off your shoulders; you reach to open the door and slip out. This time, Hueningkai doesn’t follow. 

The air is cool on your face and a nice contrast to the stuffy air inside the house. Slowly, you make your way to the corner of the porch fence, stumbling over due to the soreness of your feet and the alcohol that still runs through your system. So many emotions course through you, seemingly wanting to bring about a wave of nostalgia and sadness, lingering feelings for the man you’ve just let behind— but you won’t allow yourself to cry over him, scoffing instead at the way you allowed yourself to foolishly bend over backwards for him for so long. 

“Wow,” you hear a voice say, not bothering to look back as you immediately recognize who it is; Yunjin joins you, leaning against the fence and craning her head forward to properly survey you— you don’t bother looking at her, even more so when she finally continues,“That was harsh back there.”

You sigh. Because of course Yunjin heard that, and of course she’s the one to bring it up immediately after. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually cut him off— I thought you’d always be like, head over heels, hopelessly in love with him— like a little girl, you know? You never seemed to grow out of him.” You glare at her, but continue to remain silent; she laughs, throwing her head back at the sight, only to wobble back slightly from the sudden motion.

“Oh come onnnnn, you know it’s true!” she coos, proceeding to poke at you teasingly and twist her voice to sound like you, “Huening called me pretty. Huening bought me the purse I really wanted. Huening wants me to go with him to dinner with his parents. Huening Huening Huening—!”

Her laugh is obnoxious, even after you’ve hissed at her to be quiet; she continues to mock you under her breath, drunkenly quoting things she overheard from your outburst, and you realize with a disappointed sigh that she definitely won’t be stopping soon. 

“Heyyy, don’t get all sensitive on me now!” she whines, grabbing your hand and tugging you back when you attempt to leave; it doesn’t work, and you merely tug yourself out her grip, not even bothering to respond to her cries to stay.

Yunjin pauses her dramatics the moment you’re turning and leaving, scoffing at the way she offhandedly apologizes, words slurring together as she says that she’s sorry if you feel offended! You’re shaking your head at that, making your way back to where the stairs are, glancing back at the home one last time— and you’re freezing for a second when you meet Beomgyu’s gaze, the boy wide eyed and awkward as he stands at the doorway. Behind you, Yunjin cheers drunkenly. 

“Beomie! Hey, could you tell her to stop being so dramatic? Like come on, I’m just trying to have fun,” Yunjin’s rambles are left unacknowledged by you both, and you finally find strength within you to walk away after a second; it’s not like you and Beomgyu had anything to talk about, anyway. 

Behind you, Yunjin calls for Beomgyu to go to her and give her attention; her pleas fade from your ears and you’ve finally made it onto the beach, pulling out your phone and fumbling through your contacts before you’re finally ordering an Uber to pick you up instead— it was too late in the night for you to bother your driver. 

The closest driver will be here in fifteen minutes; you’ll spend those fifteen minutes sitting before the ocean, clothes riddled with sand and body still sobering up slowly, your shoes placed to the side as you dip your legs into the water— fifteen minutes of silence, allowing you to ponder if these people are really the ones you’ve chosen to affiliate with for half your life. 

You’ve become so entranced with the white noise of the waves that you couldn’t pick up on the approaching footsteps of another; it isn’t until the said person is sitting at your side that you’re finally snapping out of your trance. 

Beomgyu settles down beside you without a word. You watch him for a second, taking in his appearance— he must’ve been dragged here, if anything, his attire not straying from the usual sweaters and jeans— and you look away, staring back out into the horizon as silence continues to drag down between the two of you. 

“You’re not sensitive,” Beomgyu suddenly says, his voice so quiet and hesitant you almost missed it, “Or dramatic.”

You laugh humorlessly. 

“I know.”

“You deserve to feel wanted,” Beomgyu adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, taking in your troubled expression and distant gaze, “...And, your friends are all assholes.”

“...I know.”

It’s quiet. You’re staring down at your feet, at the waves that slowly make their way up your shins before they retreat. Tonight made everything clearer than ever— why did you ever bother to associate with those people? Family and social status was the answer, but as you sit on the beach and away from the rowdy, ruthless crowd, you realize that you feel much more comfortable where you are. 

“No one ever takes me seriously,” you say suddenly, staring at the ground and tracing shapes into the sand, “I mean, I never really gave them reason to; it was all just fun and games at first— since I was a girl, I mean. Everyone thought that because I was so obsessed with superficial things that I just didn’t have anything going on in my head, and I guess that was enough to let me become a joke to everyone. A pretty airhead who just thinks about makeup and clothes and purses.”

“I mean, I worked hard to get to where I’m at, y’know? There’s more to me than just that. I won’t deny that my parents and their wealth helped get me a lot, and I certainly won’t deny that I seriously slacked this semester, but I— I don’t know, I just wish people wouldn’t take the shit I say and do like an absolute cosmic joke sometimes; that everyone I know and surrounded myself with wasn’t so superficial and fake.”

Your mouth just began running without you realizing it, forcing you to spill everything that’s been weighing on your mind; you don’t even bother stopping yourself, refusing to glance at the boy beside you as you continue. 

“And you wanna know what the worst part is? For a while, I started to believe what they thought of me, started to play into it if it meant them… liking me more. Ugh, that sounds so pathetic, seriously. I need to get it together.” You roll your eyes, tossing your head back as you scold yourself midway through your rambling, “I thought that if I acted all cute and stupid, if I just molded myself into what they liked, they… he would choose me. Would decide to keep me around for more than just a fuck. Would reciprocate years and years of pining and pretending to be cool with him fucking around with other people— all while he got all sulky if I even mentioned other guys.”

Silence. You go quiet for a moment, hand stilling for a moment, brows knitting together as you stare at the mess you’ve made in the sand; Beomgyu opens his mouth to say something, but is swiftly cut off by the sight of you sitting up straight abruptly. 

“But I’m worth more than that, y’know? I deserve to have someone take it slow with me, to like me for who I am, to really take me seriously. Even if I act ridiculous sometimes.” You sigh, your lips twitching in a soft smile as you finally look up from the mess in the sand and at Beomgyu; his eyes meet yours, doe-like and wide as always. You laugh at his expression, and his face heats up at the sight. 

“God, I’ve been really insufferable, huh?” you laugh, looking away from him the moment you felt your heart beating a bit faster, “I just never shut up, I’ve been told it’s really annoying— I didn’t mean to dump that all on you like that.”

“It’s alright,” Beomgyu says hastily, biting at his lip and averting your gaze as he continues, “I like listening to you talk.”

Your eyes widen and his words echo through your mind, bouncing off the walls and repeating the message over and over. I like listening to you talk. 

Your mind seems to have entirely blanked out at that; how do you even respond? All you know is that your body seems to heat up entirely after a second, shivers running through your spine as you attempt miserably to find something to say, something that’ll probably shatter the mood entirely— but you can’t, and you’re stuck in a silence that grows tense as minutes pass. 

The ding of a notification sounds from your phone; the two of you are looking down at the screen that lights up, and you immediately scramble to leave the moment you read that your car is here.

“I— I have to go,” you say lamely, wincing at your accidental stutter; you don’t give Beomgyu a chance to say anything more, wiping the sand off your clothes and giving him a half-hearted wave goodbye. “See ya.”

If anyone accused you of running away like a coward, you wouldn’t even bother to deny such claims— because it’s true, and you all but sprint away in order to get out of Beomgyu’s sight, eyes frantically sweeping over the street until you finally spot your Uber, sending a small wave and getting inside quickly. 

“Sorry about the mess,” you say sheepishly, glancing down at your shoes that tracked in remnants of sand; slowly, the car begins to move, and you’re staring out the window and watching Yunjin’s beach house pass by— in the very distance, your eyes catch onto Beomgyu, who remains sitting still by the shore. 

Your mind echoes his words to you, and you’re failing miserably to push down the way your stomach seems to be filled with a flurry of butterflies, the way your face heats up and a smile threatens to break through your face. 

Fuck, you think to yourself, realizing with dread that you’ve only felt something this intense one other instance, many years ago.

Fuck. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

It’s been a few weeks since Yunjin’s party; a few weeks since you stopped talking to her, a few weeks since you dropped all your snobby friends you only made for connections, a few weeks since you finally broke things off with Hueningkai. 

A few weeks since you realized that you might see Beomgyu as more than just a nerdy, pathetic loser. 

You’ve found that you have a lot more free time these days; now that you’re no longer worried about attending worthless cocktail parties or going golfing to help Yunjin impress a CEO’s son who she’s had her eye on for days, you’ve found that your life has become a lot more peaceful— or rather, boring. 

Your social life is nonexistent; what else did you expect, after cutting off practically everyone you knew? You’ve become a homebody, much more focused on your work and finding more mundane hobbies— your grades have never looked better. 

Avoiding Yunjin and anyone associated with her was simple; it was nothing, passing by her and pretending like you two never knew each other, like the two of you weren’t once attached by the hip. It never phased you to be in the same room as her, not even batting an eye when she found herself sitting a table away from you in the dining halls. 

You just wish you could say the same about Beomgyu. 

God, what the hell has gotten into you? You’ve become a fumbling, ridiculous mess, not even able to look him in the eye when you spot him in the halls, in the library, in cafes; your body heats up and words get stuck in your throat whenever he’s so much as close in proximity, always finding a way to flee as soon as possible— you don’t even bother being inconspicuous anymore. 

It was apparent to anyone who knew you that this behavior was a complete switch from your usual self— cocky, flirty, bold— and Beomgyu, who had to spend hours on end with you, knew that better than anyone. 

He’s able to spot your odd behavior immediately. Though unfortunately for him, he’s unable to come to a proper conclusion as to why you may be acting like that, and simply decides that you must be holding up your promise still; the promise to act like complete strangers, that is. 

Beomgyu frowns, staring at your back as you stand in line at the cafe across the campus library; you’re rigid, as though turning around and acknowledging the man behind you could kill you. Did you really hate him that much? He thought he made progress back at Yunjin’s party, your moment of vulnerability allowing him to see you in a completely new light— because after a moment of thought, after you fled the scene with an awkward wave and an empty smile, Beomgyu began to think; he really didn’t know anything about you. He didn’t even know your major.

All he knew about you were superficial things— and Beomgyu found himself oddly irritated by the thought, wondering if he was any better than the very people you were complaining about; it weighed his mind, finding himself prattling off to Yeonjun about it one day, laying on the couch and petting Toto absentmindedly as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“She’s an architecture major,” Yeonjun said from the kitchen, looking up from the stove and meeting Beomgyu’s surprised gaze, “Yunjin told me once that she’s been working to try and get an internship at her father’s company— starting from the bottom up and everything. Heard it’s super competitive over there.”

You were a lot more hardworking and studious than Beomgyu— or anyone, really— gave you credit for. And as he watched you recite your order to the cashier, something so convoluted that the boy wondered if it was even good, he found himself wanting to learn more about you. You stood off to the side, staring down at your phone with a concentrated pout, and he wondered if he should bite the bullet and finally attempt talking to you. 

Just as Beomgyu was mustering up the courage to say something, just as he was about to open his mouth, your name was called and you picked up your drink with a swiftness he’s never seen before, making your way out and passing Beomgyu in the blink of an eye. He’s left waiting for his drink long after, snapped out of his reverie by a text notification. 

Huh Yunjin:

im at the library rn r u coming ??

dont keep me waiting :(

Beomgyu sighs, and trudges his way to the library with a pout; the feeling is reminiscent, but he can’t help but find himself thinking that it was you he was studying with instead. He spots Yunjin’s bright head of orange hair instantly, eyes glued to her phone and brows knitted together in a soft frown— and though Beomgyu apologized for being late and asked her to start without him, she didn’t seem to bother to even get her materials out. 

Internally, Beomgyu finds himself rolling his eyes— But he’s masking that with a soft clear of his throat, his calm voice asking Yunjin to get her textbook out so they can start their session— and she finally looks up from her phone, bright eyes filled with confusion before she smiles sheepishly. 

“Oh right, the textbooks,” she murmurs, looking over at the seat next to her where she’s placed her bag, then across where Beomgyu sits; his eyes widen at the sight of her collecting her things, standing up and rounding the table before she sits next to him— before he can question what he’s doing, she scoots her chair closer to him, shoulders touching as she sends him an innocent smile. “I… forgot mine… you don’t mind if we share, right? You said you took this class last semester.”

Beomgyu can’t contain the way he lets out an exasperated breath; he pulls out his laptop, pulling up his digital copy as he mentally complains about how unprepared and demanding Yunjin always seemed to be— he can’t remember the last time she actually brought her own supplies; if anything, Beomgyu was sure she hadn’t even bought her required texts. 

And as he scrolls through the index in search of the needed chapter, he feels Yunjin leaning in closer; all under the guise of seeing the screen better, but Beomgyu knows better than to believe that her intentions are all innocent. And despite Beomgyu’s multiple attempts to scoot away from her, he quickly finds himself trapped by the girl again, frowning at the way she laughs at everything little thing he says and tugs at his sleeve when she’s confused about something. 

For a moment, Beomgyu wonders if she might actually be hitting on him— but he soon catches onto the way she peeks over his screen after each attempt to be touchy, how she glances in the same direction after every soft coo of that same nickname that makes him wince— and he follows the path of her gaze eventually, not entirely surprised at what he sees; if anything, it helps everything click together. 

Beomgyu spots you sitting two tables away, face twisted up in concentration and headphones obstructing your ears, head bobbing rhythmically as you scribble things on your notebook, glancing back at your laptop’s screen ever so often; he catches sight of numbers and equations, and he realizes that you must be working on math homework. 

Without realizing, he’s found himself staring at you; this side of you that he never saw much, private and calm and hardworking, the image you said you wished others saw in you— and, as though you could feel it, you’re looking up from your work, meeting Beomgyu’s eyes instantly and watching as he flusters and looks away; your eyes then fall onto the girl who has him backed into the corner of the table, who leans into him and glances over you with a slight quirk of her lips— she sends you a small wave, then turns back to Beomgyu, calling out his name softly. 

Undeniably curious, you lower the volume of your music slightly— you didn’t expect Yunjin to actually go through with her plans of getting Beomgyu to tutor her, and much less her lasting this long— you’re bringing up a hand to your head as subtly as you can, moving the right side of your headphone away from your ear slightly and allowing yourself to listen in to whatever it is they talk about. 

While Beomgyu attempts multiple times to tutor her and teach her materials, Yunjin can’t seem to stop steering away in a completely different direction; asking him entirely unrelated questions, blatantly flirting and acting coy as she pulls at his sweater everytime he seems hesitant to answer— the sight is slightly amusing, but you can’t deny the way it makes you wince with annoyance. 

“Today’s your day off, right?” Yunjin asks eventually, smiling widely when he nods, albeit hesitantly, “Great! You know how you said you’d take me to dinner if I got a good score on my test?” 

You hear the sound of Yunjin’s nails clicking against a screen; undoubtedly searching for something, the soft mutters of Beomgyu’s you were the one who struck up the deal, making you bite your tongue in a desperate attempt to remain inconspicuous; from the corner of your eye, you’re able to catch the way the said boy glances over at you. 

“Well… ta-da!” Yunjin squeals happily as she shoves the phone into Beomgyu’s face, allowing him to see her results for the said test. Beomgyu hums absentmindedly at the sight. 

“Your place at seven?” Yunjin grins, poking his shoulder teasingly; Beomgyu doesn’t answer, but she chooses to take that silence as a yes. “Great! I have to go actually; promised my girls I’d have brunch with them— you understand, right?” 

Instead of fumbling with his words and asking her to not leave so abruptly, Beomgyu simply nods and hums a soft uh-huh. The sight is enough to have Yunjin scoffing, slinging her purse on her shoulder and reaching over to grab Beomgyu’s chin— she tugs it and makes him face her, the action so sudden that his eyes widen drastically— and she smiles, squishing his cheeks teasingly and pouting at his distant behavior. 

“Don’t get all pouty with me— I’ll see you soon ‘kay?” before Beomgyu can even process anything, Yunjin leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling her lipstick transfer onto his skin— he’s slightly dazed, reaching up immediately to place a hand over the spot, staring at Yunjin with furrowed brows; she simply laughs and waves at him one final time, practically skipping out from how giddy she seemed.

From a distance, you watch Beomgyu quietly reach for his bag, his expression blank as he pulls out a tissue and his phone; you watch him use his front camera as a mirror, wiping at the lipstick with a soft frown. 

From a distance, you laugh to yourself— the distaste that appears on his face is obvious to you, and you can’t help but shake your head at Yunjin’s ridiculous behavior; god, was that what you looked like whenever you would bail on him mid-session? The very thought was terribly humbling to you. 

Yunjin’s attempts to get back at you by using Beomgyu were more than obvious; you think back to her actions, the way she blatantly flirted with him, the plans she suddenly tacked on him— on his day off, not to mention— and you roll your eyes, deciding that you might as well put an end to all these dramatics; not just for your sake, but for Beomgyu’s as well. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Beomgyu is groaning to himself the moment he hears a sharp knock on his door— the last thing he wanted to do on his day off was spend his time entertaining a girl who was clearly using him for some odd, petty reasons— but he got ready nonetheless, texted Yunjin his address hours prior after being told that her driver would come pick him up, (he hadn’t gotten a response in relation to that message, but she’ll probably see it soon) and waited patiently on the couch, albeit much earlier than the proposed plans. 

Another sharp knock— Beomgyu wishes he had some proper excuse for her, told her that he already had plans with his roommate, but the said man was off on his shift already— he trudges over to the door, twisting the doorknob with a heavy reluctance, and sighs. He braces himself as he swings open the door to greet Yunjin with a halfhearted smile. 

“Hey,” you pant instead, leaning against the doorway and ignoring his confused— and shocked— expression, “I— am I late? I thought I was early, did you get ready early?” 

You gulp; since when could Beomgyu clean up so nicely? He’s forgone his usual, comfortable and casual outfits in favor of a perfectly pressed button up and a clean hairstyle— Yunjin must’ve planned to take him to quite the expensive place, you think to yourself. 

“Of course you’d be the type to get ready an hour early,” you mutter bitterly to yourself, the comment enough to have the said man glancing at the nearest clock in confusion— and just like you said, a bright six o’clock greeted him on the digital clock. 

“You— what’re you doing here?” Beomgyu stutters pathetically, unable to do much but relent to the way you step inside, closing the door behind him and turning around to face you, “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“Yeah well, I lied.” you simply say, the words confusing the poor man even more, “I came to tell you to cancel your plans with Yunjin.” 

“Can— huh?” he searches your expression for the traces of a joke, but finds that you’re dead serious. “Why would I cancel? That’s rude.”

“Jesus, can’t you see?!” You say exasperatedly, reaching out to place your hands on Beomgyu’s shoulders, fingers digging in so he can look at you— it’s only when he finally does that you continue. “She doesn’t want to do this— she’s using you. She’s doing this to get back at me.”

“But why would she…” Beomgyu utters, and you wonder with a roll of your eyes where that boy genius of yours went. 

“Beomgyu,” you start, the sound foreign to the said boys ears as he blinks at you owlishly. You bite at your lip, brows furrowing at you think over what to say— you start again, but your words are hesitant and muddled. “She’s using you because she’s petty and because… because…” 

He gives you a look encouraging you to continue.

“Because— god, are you really gonna make me say this?!” you break, letting go of his shoulders and taking a step back— your face feels like it’s on fire and your stomach feels like it’s been twisted into knots, your hands clammy as you glance over at Beomgyu again— and he looks at you with the most stupid, oblivious expression known to mankind. 

You take a quick, deep breath, and you start again. 

“Choi Beomgyu. She’s using you because I…” you say sternly, reaching over suddenly to grab his face, cupping his cheeks and taking in the way he becomes red at your touch. You bring him close to you, pressing your lips in a fine line and hesitating before you observe his face— and god, he looks so pathetic and lost that you don’t even seem to mind the way the next words tumble out of you, fluid and clear and true. 

“Because I like you.”

Silence. You’re waiting anxiously in response, looking into Beomgyu’s eyes in anticipation, but all he does is stare. He stares and stares and stares, and for the first time in a while, you’re unsure of what to make of this reaction. 

“And I’m not lying either.”

Still nothing. His skin is warming up under your fingertips, and his mouth opens hesitantly to say something, only to close again— he must still doubt you, so you decide to take a leap of faith and reassure him the only way you know how.

“I think you’re cute and kinda pathetic in an endearing way, I think that those glasses really compliment your face and make your eyes look super doll-like, and I don’t really mind Toto. I think he’s still a bit weird to look at but I love that you love him, and it makes total sense to me that out of all the pets you could’ve had you decided to get a big freaky green bird of all things, and I think it’s super cute that you’re attached to him— I think you look kinda hot when you get frustrated on a problem, and I think it’s really hard to hold myself back from kissing you when you start stuttering at me like an idiot— also, it’s really not that bad that you play League of Legends, and I can’t believe I’m gonna admit this, but I started playing it myself and it’s not that bad— but that’s not the point, what I’m saying is that you’re— you’re a nerd and a loser but I don’t mind because I really— fuck, I really like—”

His lips are mashing onto yours before you can process his sudden movement, rough and sloppy and desperate that all you can do is slide your hands into his hair and pull him closer; his hands wrap around you in response, one on the small of your back and the other against the back of your head as he pulls you closer still, close until your bodies are pressed flush together. 

The two of you are so rough with your movements that he’s stumbling back, knocking against the wall and groaning softly at the impact; you’re sneaking your tongue into his parted lips, listening to the way he pants and moans against your mouth, slotting a leg between his and feeling as his thigh is quick to retaliate and press against your core. 

“Mghh– ugh, fuck,” you moan mindlessly, feeling his hand press against the small of your back, forcing you to arch and push your weight onto his strong muscle, allowing yourself to rock against it desperately; your mind is running a million miles an hour, pulling away from his lips breathlessly and staring at the gloss that has transferred onto him; his eyes look dazed, lips parted and in need for more as he tries to lead your head back to his. 

“Can’t believe she tried to use you against me,” you mutter, going back in to press quick, chaste kisses all along his face; he curls in shyly at the gesture, weakly grasping at your clothes as he feels the way you begin to trail them along his jaw, sucking and biting until you’re seeing the beginnings of marks that will bloom there, “shame it didn’t work— cause you’re all mine, right gyu?”

Like clockwork, he nods; his face heats up and he feels a bit ashamed at how quickly he’s melted under your hold, but any embarrassment is washed away the moment he feels your hand begin to fumble with his belt, clumsily undoing it before you’re moving to undo his jeans. 

“Wait,” you breathe against his neck, feeling him shiver softly; he’s confused, whining softly at the sudden loss of touch until he’s watching as you pull away, glancing behind your shoulder before you’re meeting his eyes with a blank expression, “take me to your room.”

For a second, he’s confused about the sudden switch of your behavior— but then he’s looking over your shoulder and right at the direction you glanced at, a sudden laugh breaking through him when he spots Toto in the corner; sheepishly, he nods. 

“Okay,” he says, smiling shyly at the way you reach out for the hand placed on the small of your back, intertwining your fingers so naturally it’s almost instinct, “yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

He watches you kick off your shoes and allows you to lead him straight to his room— he’s surprised you even remembered where it is— and smiles at the way you tug him closer by the collar the moment you step inside, palms pressing flat on his chest and making him walk backwards until his knees are hitting the edge of the bed— he falls back, hair splaying prettily on his sheets as he looks up at you with expectant, adoring eyes. 

You’re straddling him immediately after; planting your core directly on his prominent bulge, taking in the way he lets out a broken whimper at the feeling of your heat pressing against him so well— his hands fly to your waist, fingers weakly digging into the meat of your hips as he attempts to subtly buck up into you; you tsk, shaking your head and leaning down to place a hand firm on his chest. 

“Bad pup,” you say softly, hovering above his lips and watching as he desperately chases them, “You need to be patient, okay?”

He nods frantically, eyes fluttering shut the moment you press your lips against him slowly, feeling the way he desperately seeks to taste you— you allow him to, wandering hands beginning to unbutton his pristine white shirt slowly as he remains distracted. 

Beomgyu is a lot more fit than you expected; lean muscle greeting you the moment you slip his shirt off his shoulders, leaning up to let him take it off and raking your nails down his skin— his stomach flinches at your nails scratch at it, and you smile childishly at the sight, the action reminiscent to the first time you got your hands on him. 

“So pretty…” you mumble to yourself, tracing a path along his chest, down to his navel, watching as he shivers at your touch; a shaky gasp escapes his lips, hands grabbing at his sheets and eyes fluttering shut as he fights back the urge to buck up into you again— your eyes flicker up to study his expression, titling your head curiously as a smile tugs at your lips. 

“You’re so pretty, Beomgyu,” you say again, leaning down to plant soft kisses along his neck, beginning to trail down until you’re at his chest— you’re able to watch the way his skin flushes a soft pink at your words, shy gaze averting quickly the moment you’re looking back up at him— and you laugh softly to yourself, hovering over his lap and trailing a hand down as you begin to undo his pants with ease. 

“Y’know, I’ve never seen you so dressed up before,” you comment offhandedly, taking a moment to observe his pristine clothes, his styled hair— and your jaw clenches at the thought of Yunjin seeing him like this, an inkling of jealousy beginning to rear its ugly head the longer you think about it; you’re tugging at his pants, watching as his hips lift to help you tug them down more, and scoff at your wandering thoughts. 

“Bet you would’ve loved to have her attention on you, hmm?” you say, beginning to roll your hips against his the moment he opens his mouth to protest— a sharp moan leaves Beomgyu instead, mouth falling open at the feeling of your cunt grinding against his, the only thing separating the two of you being your thin panties and his boxers that are quickly becoming ruined; his eyes flicker down to where you continue to roll your hips, the sight of your skirt riding up and bunching up at your thighs enough to have his cock twitch. 

“Just can’t control yourself when you’re with a cute girl— just can’t say no,” Beomgyu’s hips jump and he lets out a long whine at a particularly harsh roll of your hips, feeling his cock slot perfectly against your cunt, the material of your panties soaked and sticking to your pussy, able to feel you better the more pressure you add; his hands fly to your hips once more, but instead of trying to guide your pace, they simply remain there, grabbing at your skirt and fisting the material in his hands, flushed face and shining eyes begging silently for more. 

“No— can’t, can’t say no— ah!” Beomgyu begins, unable to speak properly with the sight of you on top of him and the feeling of your warm cunt on his aching cock, “can’t say no to you… fuck…”

His words are enough to catch you off guard; your pace is stuttering and your eyes are widening, the brief pause enough to give Beomgyu enough confidence to continue— his eyes are glassy as he stares up at you, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles on your hips as he speaks. 

“Could never say no to you…” he says softly, face reddening as he continues, “you’re too pretty to say no to.”

He doesn’t quite meet your gaze after that; he’s too shy to, but with the way you immediately begin to undress before him after a moment, he’s sure that he must’ve flipped a switch inside you. 

“God, you’re so cute…” you mutter, throwing your shirt off in a random direction before you’re sliding your skirt off— and Beomgyu is growing flustered at the sight again, practically malfunctioning from seeing your body for the first time. 

You’re left in only your underwear when you finally decide you’ve had enough of his shyness, grabbing his face with a firm hand and turning it to look back at you; your nails dig into his plush cheeks and his eyes grow wide at the gesture, meeting your eyes as you simply give him a coy smile and a peck to his lips. 

“So pathetic too,” you continue, watching his adam’s apple bob at your condescending words, “I love it.” 

You lean close to his ear; slowly, you take his hands and begin guiding them along your body, feeling the way his breath hitches and his chest begins to take shallow breaths, shaky fingertips grazing against your skin, up your biceps until you’re leading him to your back, straight to your bra strap.

“Undo it,” you murmur against the shell of his ear, able to listen to the way he gulps softly; nervous hands fiddle with the clasp, the way you place chaste kisses to the spot behind his ear not helping in the slightest— and after a moment, you’re finally able to feel the garment loosening around you, along with a soft sigh the boy lets out. 

The straps slip off your shoulders slowly, and with a coy smile, you make a show of discarding your bra, sitting back and watching as Beomgyu’s face turns impossibly red; his eyes are wide and his hands are frozen, unsure of what to do as you simply huff at the sight— and your hands are taking his once more, guiding them slowly until he’s cupping your breasts; he gulps again, and you pout at the sight. 

“Don’t you wanna touch me?” you pout, tilting your head and watching as the man underneath you remains reliant on your instructions to do anything; his eyes snap back up to meet yours at your words, shaking his head softly and opening his mouth to stutter protests.

“I– I do, I do,” he says, licking his lips nervously before looking back down at your breasts, thumbs experimentally swiping across your nipples; you shiver at the feeling, the sight of even your smallest reactions making Beomgyu’s cock ache, “I just… I’m not sure what to do….what you’d like.” 

“It’s okay,” you immediately say, absentmindedly guiding his hands to touch and caress your breasts just how you like, your back aching slightly at the stimulation, “I can teach you.” 

“Please,” Beomgyu whines out, hands finally beginning to move on their own as a smile grows on your face, watching the way looks at you with needy, fucked out eyes, “Please, wanna make you feel good.” 

“Do you now?” you tease, titling your head and raising a brow at him questioningly; he nods his head fervently, eyes filled with an undeniably desire that leads him to take your body in hungrily, trailing from your chest down until he stops right at your cunt thats pressed so perfectly against him. 

His line of sight is terribly obvious— though you don’t think it was Beomgyu’s intention to hide his desires anyway, not with the way your back is suddenly colliding against his bed, a gasp escaping you the moment you feel warm hands prying your legs open; you’re propping yourself up with your elbows, wide eyes meeting Beomgyu’s; the said man kneels on the floor and is now at eye level with your soaked cunt— his fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, and with a soft laugh, you realize that Beomgyu is yet again waiting for further instructions. 

“Can I taste you?” He asks meekly, eyes shining behind the lenses of his glasses, the sight endearing and a complete switch from the words that leave his mouth, “will you let me?”

Silence— all he gets in response is a slow sigh, the boy peeking through his lashes to get a gauge of your expression; he gulps at the sight of your narrowed eyes and pinched brows, mind undoubtedly thinking of scenarios that sour your mood— but the sight of you like this is much too tempting, and Beomgyu will be damned if he doesn’t get to lose himself in your pussy at least once; his cock pathetically twitches at the mere thought. 

“I don’t know puppy,” you murmur, sneering at the way he pouts immediately, strong hands tugging at you and pulling you towards him more, body sliding at the movement— and though you can feel him breathe against your clothed cunt, he still refrains from doing anything, waiting loyally for your okay with pleading eyes. 

“Do you think you deserve it?” you ask, throwing a leg over his shoulder, digging the heel of your foot in between his shoulder blades roughly— he practically keens at the feeling, a poorly stifled whimper escaping him, followed by a shaky sigh, “after seeing the way you’ll give anyone who approaches you all your attention like a slut, I don’t think you do.” 

You make sure to punctuate your words with another dig of your heel, but Beomgyu remains unaffected— if anything, it manages to spur him on more, and you’re left to pretend as though his next actions don’t leave you terribly weak. 

“Please…” he whispers, the sound so soft you barely miss it— he’s pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, lips lingering on the skin before he looks back up to meet your gaze; his eyes are glazed with nothing but need. The single word continues to leave him like a mantra, unable to do anything more than watch as he begins to litter kisses all over your inner thighs, soft begs slowly increasing their intensity the longer you deny him. 

I deserve it, I do; please, please let me make you feel good, promise you’re the only one for me— please? Please, please please please…

It’s quiet, save for the sounds of Beomgyu’s broken, repetitive begging— his hair brushes against your sensitive skin that has been peppered with endless kisses, and if it weren’t for the way Beomgyu’s eyes were beginning to become watery from his desperation, you would’ve allowed yourself to enjoy the show a little more. 

“You want it that much?” you seethe, a hand going down to tangle itself in his long hair— and, just as expected, he lets out a broken whine, followed with an immediate, breathy “yes” that affects you much more than you let on, “Go on then.” 

You’re guiding his head to your cunt without another word, fingers still entangled tightly in the roots of his hair; he begins with a soft kiss to your cunt, the sight making you roll your eyes— for someone so eager, he sure was hesitant. 

His tongue is hot and heavy against your clit; he’s running the tip of it along your slit, listening to the hitch of your breath and taking in every miniscule reaction you provide— he’s teasing you, albeit unintentionally, and the realization has you tightening your hold on his roots in warning; you feel the way he lets out a shaky breath at the action, and soon after, his fingers are tugging at the waistband of your panties, making slow work to properly take them off. 

Beomgyu’s every movement is feather-like and hesitant; it’s clear he’s testing out the waters, unsure of what to do in order to please you— and while a part of you is endeared at the messy kitten licks of his tongue and the way he circles your clit sloppily, the other part of you seems to be feeling much more unforgiving— you’re tugging his hair and telling him to look at you with a harsh voice. 

“What happened to wanting to please me? To deserving this?” you mock, lips quirking to a satisfied smile the moment his face heats up, ears tinting a soft red, “are you too much of a virgin to know how to eat a girl out?”

His face turns a bright red and he remains silent— you can only manage a bewildered laugh at the sight. 

Of course, how did you not piece it together before? It seems as though you were much too generous to give him the benefit of the doubt before, because as you stare Beomgyu down with a gaze that’s nothing short of predatory, you’ve realized that his silence tells you more than enough; He’s a total virgin. 

“Oh, you don’t know anything, do you?” you coo softly, letting go of Beomgyu’s scalp to caress his face softly, a grin threatening to break through your face from the simple sight of the man melting into your touch, “you need me to guide you through it?” 

With a shaky sigh, Beomgyu nods— it barely takes a moment before you’re pushing at the back of his head and guiding him back to your cunt. 

He didn’t bother to take off his glasses; you didn’t bother to remind him, smiling cruelly as you murmur soft instructions to him, telling him to suck on your clit or guiding his mouth to lick at your entrance, responding with soft sighs of pleasure whenever he does something particularly well; he’s sloppy, inexperienced, and undeniably nervous, but you suppose he makes up for its with his eagerness to do well as he continues, slowly taking note of what makes your hips buck and your fingers tighten against his hair— and after a few minutes, you’re no longer instructing Beomgyu step by step, but instead throwing your head back and letting your mouth fall open with unabashed moans. 

Beomgyu’s eagerness is abundant and blatant. He’s pressing his face against your cunt after having gained confidence, mouth sloppy and hanging open as he allows you to grind against him, feeling his glasses slip down the tall bridge of his nose and fog up with every pant of breath— but he finds that he doesn’t really mind, eyes fluttering shut and lips circling around your clit as he hones in to the sounds you make instead. 

You think Beomgyu’s head is completely empty at this point; his fingers dig into your thighs and he continues his attempts to bring you closer against his face, greedy mouth drinking up any arousal that slips from your entrance before he’s fucking you with his tongue— your hips buck unintentionally against him at that, and from the way he only increases his efforts even further, you think he might’ve enjoyed that. 

“Beomgyu— puppy, fuck,” you hiss, grinding your hips against his face, feeling the way his nose is now pressed against your clit from how close he’s attempting to get to you. Your chest heaves and you can feel a tight knot forming in your stomach, body beginning to become restless as Beomgyu remains unfazed at your sudden squirming— you’re close, so close, and Beomgyu wants nothing more than to feel you fall apart against his face. 

“Shit– right there, just like that— don’t stop, god, fuck—!” Your eyes are screwed shut as a sudden wave of pleasure breaks through you, your hand pulling at Beomgyu’s hair and your heel digging sharply into his back as you cum; the boy only lets out a pathetic whine at the feeling of you rolling your hips smoothly against his face, mouth left ajar and eyes fluttering shut as he lets you use him, riding it out with twitchy legs and soft moans. 

Beomgyu only moves after your grip slips from his head entirely; your whole body is falling slack, a deep sigh escaping you as you attempt to catch your breath, eyes bleary and slowly opening after a moment— you’re able to watch as the said boy goes to stand, a weak hand of yours stopping his motion and grabbing at his shoulder— and you’re guiding him to hover over you, smiling coyly at the wrecked sight of him. 

His glasses are completely skewed— a slight heat burns at your face from the sight, but it’s all washed away by the lopsided smile Beomgyu gives you, entirely unaware of his flushed and messy appearance; gently, you reach out to slip off his glasses, putting them off to the side as you reach to adjust his mused hair next— he merely watches your face with doe eyes as you brush his hair away gently, tucking it behind his ear before you cup his jaw, tugging him down to kiss you again.

“You’re sure you wanna do this?” you mumble against his lips, hands absentmindedly running along his skin soothingly, lips beginning to wander off as you trail soft pecks against his jawline, smiling at the way he doesn’t hesitate to nod, “you want it?”

“Need it,” Beomgyu whines, letting out a shaky breath as he grabs your hand, guiding it down his chest slowly, adding pressure once you’ve reached the bulge of his boxers— you can feel the way he twitches the moment you touch him, gulping softly before the continues to plead, “need it, need to feel you.” 

His voice is sweet and soft in your ears, and you find that you can’t really bring yourself to put up a front and resist; it’s physically impossible to, especially with the way he ruts his cock against your hand, leaking pathetically and twitching at even the slightest stimulation.

Beomgyu’s attempts to remain calm and collected falls apart the moment you relent, face red and eyes wide with anticipation the moment he feels your hand go to pull his cock out; he falters above you for a split second, teeth sinking into his lip to suppress a whine that builds up in his throat. But his attempts are futile as always, a broken whimper leaving him the moment you press the head of his cock against your cunt, tightening around the shaft and proceeding to run it along your slit teasingly. 

He’s practically panting above you, fingers gripping onto the sheets as he allows you to toy with him, eyes glassy and meeting yours as you simply coo mockingly at him, teasing him for being nothing but a toy for you to use.

The moment you press his tip against your entrance, the two of you tense; a shaky sigh escapes you at the stretch, looking up at Beomgyu and whispering for him to just put it in already; and he swallows, eyes watering at the feeling of him finally pushing into you— warm, wet walls that flutter around him, stretching and adjusting to his size; your hips that jolt with every inch he slides in, eyes widening and mouth falling open as you try to contain your composure— but his size is no joke, and curses leaves your mouth endlessly at the feeling of him filling you up.

“God— you’re so… so warm, so tight,” Beomgyu cries above you, hips stuttering and making him push himself deeper into you; a yelp escapes you at the feeling, hips pressed flushed against his as you stare up at him with wide eyes, cunt clenching at the anticipation of him fucking you. 

But he simply remains still, and you’re just about to complain for him to move when you catch sight of his expression, screwed up into concentration as he lets out a deep breath— probably trying not to cum, you muse to yourself— and he sits up, no longer hovering over you as his hands move to your hips, thumbs rubbing circles on the skin as he looks down where the two of you connect; he looks up at you, puppy eyes begging for one thing. 

“You— you can move,” you breathe out, cringing slightly at the weak sound of your voice, the way you trip over your words; Beomgyu nods, sighing shakily again before he finally begins to move, slowly pulling out until the only thing you feel is his tip catching at your entrance— then he thrusts back in, and you don’t bother to swallow down the moan that manifests from that. 

Beomgyu isn’t faring any better than you; his brows are knitted together and his fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your hips, voice pitchy and whiny as he attempts to fuck you properly— but his thrusts are sloppy and rough, and it seems as though he’s too concentrated on the feeling of you around him to find a good pace. 

You’re opening your mouth to tease him about it, only to get cut off at the feeling of him bumping his cock against your sweet spot; a whine leaves you unexpectedly, the sound accompanied with the feeling of your legs attempting to wrap around his waist to pull him in enough to snap him out of his pussy drunk daze. He’s drinking up your expression, his pace slowing down enough to allow him to search for that spot again— it takes a few attempts, but once he catches onto it, he doesn’t relent. 

“Sh–shit, just like that,” you whine, his thrust becoming more calculated as he begins to take note of what makes you feel good once more— though it’s still slightly sloppy and uneven, his weak pants and pitchy whines enough to tell you that his mind is much too hazy to care.

Absentmindedly, your hand snakes down to circle at your clit in search of more stimulation— only to get it knocked away roughly by Beomgyu’s, eyes widening at the action until he’s replacing you hand with his— and though you wish you could make fun of him for being such a desperate bitch, the stimulation has your voice getting caught in your throat.  

“Does— does this feel good?” Beomgyu suddenly asks, puppy eyes watering and glazed as he picks up his pace, one hand gripping onto your waist while the other continues to rub your clit, “Am I– ah… am I doing good?”

You almost miss the last part with how softly he says it— but once you process his question, you let out a breathy laugh, biting at your lip in an attempt to suppress the smile that tugs at your face; you fail miserably, but all the patronizing look in your eyes does is make Beomgyu’s cock twitch inside you a bit. 

“Does my stupid puppy need something? Need my approval?” you ask, pouting at the way he hesitates to answer, “I won’t know unless you tell me, baby.” 

The pet names are enough to have Beomgyu short-circuiting again; his face feels hot and he lets out a petulant whine at the way you continue to tease, ignoring his pleading look as you reach up to cup his jaw, cooing his name so sweetly he’s unable to be ashamed at how easily he breaks. 

“Tell me I’m doing good,” he whines, and you simply smile at him, stuttered breaths and soft moans the only thing leaving your lips as you notice the increased sloppiness of his thrusts, his erratic voice and face that slowly nears yours, hovering over you as he speaks.

“I’m— ‘m good, right? Your…” he trails off, punctuating his next word with a harsh, deep thrust that has you yelping, “your good boy— tell me, tell me I’m good, just wanna hear you say it, ah, wanna be good for you.” 

He’s a babbling, whining mess, hiding his face in your neck immediately after the words escape him— and with a request so sweet, how could you ever deny him?

“So good for me,” you immediately respond, listening to the muffled whimpers as he buries his head deeper into your neck, wandering lips sucking and biting at the skin, “good little pup— fuck, are you close? Gonna fill me up?” 

You feel the way he nods frantically against you, his hand leaving your hip to circle under your back, pulling you flush against him as he continues his rough, haphazard thrusts— and you turn your head to face him, pressing a kiss to his head before you lean in close to his ear, the sounds of your breathy moans and sweet voice enough to bring him over the edge. 

“C’mon, cum for me puppy,” you coo, listening to the long whimper he lets out in response, hips stilling and pressing flush against yours as he follows your command, warm cum filling you up as he rides out his orgasm, cock rutting subtly into you all the while, “that’s it— such a good boy, so perfect to me.” 

His chest heaves against yours; his other arm comes up to sneak under your body as well, successfully hugging you close against him, bodies pressed together and practically one with how tightly he’s got you in his grip— his cock remains inside you all the while, head nuzzled deeply in the space of your neck as you merely let out an amused huff, giving him a moment to catch his breath before you tease him again. 

The moment of peace between the two of you is cut by the abrasive sound of his phone ringing, the two of you looking at the source with furrowed brows; neither of you make a move to get it, watching it continue to vibrate on the bed before it goes silent— you’re both falling back against the bed the moment in bliss the moment the ringtone disappears, and you can feel Beomgyu’s arms tightening around you even more, not expecting him to be so openly clingy—

“You didn’t cum,” Beomgyu suddenly gasps, head popping up from his hiding place as he hovers over you with wide eyes. You simply reassure him that it’s alright, already feeling your body get heavy with exhaustion— but he isn’t having it, shaking his head and standing back up as he looks at you with an unbelievably solemn expression, wincing softly as he pulls out of you, “No, I wanna make you cum— wanna feel you cum on my dick, wanna make you feel good.” 

The words sound clumsy coming from him, oddly shy to say what he wants out loud— and it makes you laugh, attempting to tell him that you really don’t mind when you’re getting interrupted by the annoying sound of his phone ringing. 

“Seriously, who the hell is…” you’re trailing off as you watch Beomgyu’s eyes widen, leaning over to snatch his phone as he reads the contact name, his horrified expression telling you all you need to know. 

“Don’t answer it,” you seethe, ignoring the way he stutters about how he totally forgot to cancel, feeling a hot anger bubble in your stomach as he talks about how bad he feels for not communicating properly, “Beomgyu, don’t answer it!” 

“I— what if she’s waiting outside right now—?!”

Your movements are much too sudden and swift for him to process; he can only watch and allow you to snatch the phone away from him, rough hands gripping his shoulders and hissing at him to fucking sit; he’s quick to comply, and you’re even quicker to climb onto his lap and situate yourself just how you like— he cries softly at the feeling of you grabbing at his sensitive cock, stroking it for a moment and aligning it with your entrance before you’re sinking down on him slowly. 

“Who cares if she’s outside right now,” you scowl, digging your fingers in his cheeks and forcing him to look at you, swollen lips red and pouty as he merely whines at the feeling of you rocking slowly against him, “it’s the least we could do to get back at her for trying to fucking use you.”

His protests die down once you pick up your pace; oh, his face practically screams, eyes glazing over at the feeling of your warm pussy using his sensitive cock to get yourself off, soft cries leaving him as he merely watches you begin to ride him expertly, already feeling himself get hard inside you, the sight of you on top of him and the sounds of skin against skin riling him much more than expected.

“Hnng, wait, slow down please—!” he whines softly, hands flying to your hips yet making no attempts to control the pace— and you can only laugh at him, the sounds of his soft cries enough to encourage you more. 

You’re close— so, so close, and all Beomgyu can do is sit and take it, tears of sensitivity pricking at his eyes and falling along his cheeks the moment he feels your walls clench against him— but he’d rather die than stop you, sp entranced with the sight of your face twisted with pleasure that his body screams at him to do what he can to make you feel good. 

Like instinct, your hand tangles itself in Beomgyu’s hair the moment he latches his lips against your nipple, back arching and the tight knot in your stomach falling apart the moment his wandering hand goes to play with your clit; the way your walls spasm and hug him tightly is enough to have Beomgyu cumming inside you again, a pathetic keen sounding from him as he buries his head in your chest, beyond sensitive with the way you continue to ride your orgasm long after.

It’s quiet, save for the sounds of your panting and Beomgyu’s soft whimpers— but it doesn’t last long, a tired groan escaping you at the sound of Beomgyu’s phone ringing again; without much of a thought, you reach for it and finally answer. 

“Leave him alone. He’s busy.” 

You hang up immediately after— the girl on the other side didn’t get the chance to utter a single word, and you find that you couldn’t care less as you toss his phone to the side and look over at Beomgyu— you’re smiling softly at the way he seems mortified at your action. 

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you feel bad,” you sigh, placing your hands on his chest and pushing, gently guiding the two of you to lay down— he remains inside you as he pulls you in close, your limbs heavy and tangling quickly as he mutters a soft no, I don’t; you smile. “Good. Cause I almost got mad again.”

He chuckles softly at that, falling quiet after; you look up at him to gauge his expression, finding that he’s lost in thought. After a few minutes, he meets your eyes meekly and finally speaks. 

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

A pause. You said a lot of things earlier— but as you retract on every little thing that's come from your mouth, you realize what he’s talking about— and you laugh, reaching to cup his cheeks fondly as you nod. 

“Of course I did,” you grin, pecking his lips, your heart fluttering wildly at the way he immediately chases after you for more after you pull away, “I meant all of it— and more.” 

Softly, he smiles. His arms that were wrapped around you pull you in close, closing the space between you and bringing you in for a slow, sweet kiss— he pulls away, leaning into your ear to whisper something with a coy smile. 

“So do you wanna play League of Legends later?”

You let out an annoyed yell and punch at his chest— you practically fuck his brains out, and this is all he can say?

“You’re such a fucking loser,” you mourn, hiding your face in your hands. 

Beomgyu laughs, and places a kiss on the top of your head. 

“But I’m your loser,” he says sweetly, nuzzling against your hair with a content sigh, “all yours.”

Under the covers of your hands, you smile. 

All yours. You like the sound of that. 

[ybklix]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀

★ pairing: chris bahng & lee minho x popstar!femreader

✦𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Prima donna: someone who demands to be treated in a special way and is difficult to please.

The sweet and perverse play of a life hidden behind an acclaimed character created by someone.

Minho Lee, a frustrated young writer working in one of the most important music magazines, is about to find out what’s really going on behind the scenes of the mysterious girl everyone is wondering about.

With small steps in your career, you are discovered by a famous producer under the pseudonym CB97, whose vision of work is very specific and quite peculiar… yet you succeed in becoming a rising star, who manages to spark the public's curiosity. Hiding little secrets under the image of a mysterious internet girl with an angelic voice and face.

Once Minho is challenged to come up with a really good story to keep his job, he finds your unusual videos on the internet, wondering if he could have a chance to meet you… only to find himself with no way out, immerse in a dark world, hidden and full of beauty and desire.

♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 - 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, angst, daddy kink, soft bdsm, sex toys, sextape, est. relationship, cheating, threesomes, mention of sex workers, sugar daddy, dom!chan, toxic relationship, reader is slightly a nymphomaniac (current warnings appearing in each chapter).

♡⋆˙ FIC MASTERLIST

❀ inspired by the early career of poppy, the singer and her “weird” yt videos back in 2016, electra heart by marina and the diamonds and almost famous film.

main masterlist

current warnings: daddy kink, pet names, suggestive smut.

word count: 860

♡ PROLOGUE ♡

“Perfect, beautiful, but I feel you can do better, let’s do it again just one more time” your boyfriend said in a soft tone, focused on all his recording equipment watching once more your video, you nodded determined and quickly arranged your two pigtails back on your shoulders, “In three... two...”

You went back to your role and acted according to the script previously studied to perfection written by your boyfriend. It wasn’t rocket science, your videos were never longer than three minutes, and this was one of those that came out in one continuous take, but Chris, your boyfriend, was a total perfectionist freak.

Once you heard him say “Cut,” you felt yourself breathe again and were a little tired of the bright set lighting hitting your face.

“This is the good one, babygirl, you did excellent, I just edit it and it’s done” he said, cheering you on and still focused on his computer.

You approached him, this time he was so focused on the result of the video that he didn’t go straight to you to pamper you which seemed strange to you, like something empty, you missed his affection and compliments every time you did something well, or every time you did your job well and didn't complicate it for him too much.

You admired him, his handsome side profile, you sighed, you were dying to call him by his name, but he didn’t like when you called him that at all, according to him, it was like a lack of affection towards him.

“Daddy” you tried to catch his attention, stretching his clothes a little but he was still engrossed watching every detail of your recorded video, “Daddy” you called him again in a more needy tone.

“What’s wrong little one?” he replied without paying attention to you, deftly moving his long fingers on his computer.

“Did I do it right?” you asked.

“Of course you did, babygirl, I’m almost about to post it...”

“Then why don’t you show me how much you like it?” you whined, knowing full well that tone made every part of his body tremble.

He finally turned to look at you, your expression with a slight pout, your eyes bright, it was obvious you wanted sex to which Chris smirked as he couldn’t believe you were insatiable, you had a huge sexual appetite, you could last hours and hours, round after round until he left your body completely tired, until you cried and begged for no more. But you couldn’t help it, he had made you that way, he created you, from your dyed hair, to your feet with your socks and shoes on that he chose and dressed you in them. You were all his.

For a year now, you had this kind of relationship that was a little abnormal, but you were turned on by every part of it. It was a routine you kept, but besides the sex your favorite part was making music with your boyfriend, being able to share creative ideas, and ending up completely fascinated with the great work he did with your voice.

“That’s what you want, huh, babygirl?” Chris raised his eyebrows, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth watching you with desire, making your pussy throb under his penetrating gaze, “Wasn’t the good morning daddy gave you enough for you?”

You shook energetically, your heart racing at the thought of being touched again by him, igniting in you an inner flame that could only be extinguished by reaching your so intense orgasm that your daddy always makes sure you reach.

“I want more, daddy please, don’t I deserve a reward?”

“Mmm, the video wasn’t that hard to act...” he commented teasing you a little.

“Daddy, pleaseee” you begged, you were so wet that if he refused to touch you, you’d go to your room to lock in and give yourself an orgasm, without caring about breaking one of his rules, either way a very painful but sizzling hot punishment awaited you every time you broke one of them.

“Okay, come here” Chris turned from his chair, putting his body in front of you.

You moved closer, almost in a jump of happiness, wrapping your arms around his neck, Chris wrapped his arms around your body, squeezing it and dropping his heavy strong arms in you.

“What does my princess want?” he asked, close to your lips, brushing his big nose against yours.

“I don’t know, daddy, you decide...”

Chris moved one of his hands down to your wet center, starting to stroke your clit, making you gasp and moan.

“You’re so wet... You want daddy to play with you, don’t you?”

You bit your lip, aroused, every muscle in your pussy throbbing, so needy at his slightest touch. You loved him, you worship him.

You didn’t believe that anything or anyone could break such a bond between you. He knew absolutely everything about you, or at least you were so blinded as to believe so. But trying to figure him out was a constant game that sometimes you had to lose. And gosh, you really fucking hate to lose.

[stormgardenscurse]

at your service—!

Summary: Maid headcanons for May! When you’re invited into a rich family’s mansion to solve a murder mystery, who will you trust?

Warnings: mentions of death, assassins, poison and murder due to the theme.

Characters: Riddle, Deuce, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Epel, Lilia

If you liked this, consider checking out my TWST Isekai Fanbook, now digitally available on my kofi!

Riddle

The maid who you thought hated your guts at first, but it’s only because of how strict he is with both you and everyone else! You’re in the manor of the Queen of Hearts’ descendants after all, so Riddle will not allow you to fumble!

Honestly speaking, you felt like you could be scolded at any moment around Riddle. He teaches you dining etiquette, how to address certain people, how to dance…

...And saves your life, after your investigation ends up with you being chased by a masked assassin. Riddle surprises you with his abilities in horse riding and after a dramatic escape (stealing a horse from a previously wrecked carriage) addresses you informally for the first time (without realising it himself.)

After that, you start to take walks with Riddle in the rose gardens and listen to his explanations of the manor's history. It helps a lot in understanding background politics, and the sound of his voice is actually really soothing.

Could you say that you’re friends? You certainly trust him now, but can you be sure his would loyalties will lie with you and not his superior, if your investigation starts to point fingers in an unexpected direction?

Deuce

Deuce is well-meaning, but you’re warned by the other maids that he has a track record with delinquency. Cleaned up by the head butler when he entered the Rose Manor to work, but rumors are hard bugs to squash. 

And when you spot him speaking to some well-known thugs in town, well… You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Deuce has only been welcoming and earnest with you, and now you’re wondering if he might have some ties to murderer.

Some kind of friend you are, huh? But at the end of the day, you’re an outsider who’s been hired precisely because your employer doesn’t know who they could trust. 

Your apprehensions have no time to take shape however, because one morning you notice that Deuce is wearing makeup to hide bruises on his knuckles and arms, and you’re overcome by the instinct to help him treat his injuries before suspecting him of anything else.

There’s no way he would hurt someone on purpose, right?

Jade

Prim and proper, Jade is someone who’s often by your side when you’re in need of assistance (as instructed by your employer), yet remains as one of the only people you cannot get a read on.

Just what is he thinking whenever he watches you scribble in your notebook, crossing out theories and names? Does he have something to add? Or might he actually be in cahoots with the murderer, keeping you away from the truth with his convenient position by your side?

As it seems with most things, it takes a serious incident to make the both of you open up. Jade rescues you from a poisoning attempt, but you don’t wake up in your usual room. Instead you’re in one of the empty studies, so that nosy witnesses during the dinner party can’t disturb your rest.

You don’t make sense, Jade tells you. But based on the way he’s calmly giving you another dose of medicine, he finds it fun rather than stressful. You’re glad. And now you know a tiny bit more about him.

He starts off the conversation by telling you he has a twin that works in a neighboring manor. But despite all the trouble Floyd gets into, Jade hasn’t felt as hopeless about a person than when you fainted last night.

Even with how weak you are in comparison to knights or trained assassins, you still fling yourself into mystery with a headstrong manner that makes his mouth quirk up in a smile.

Jamil

Shortly after that, you allow yourself to rely on Jamil for the investigation. He’s quite willing to help, and you can tell Jamil enjoys having something to puzzle out, demonstrating his own strengths and resourcefulness.

Early on, you realize Jamil is one of the only normal people here. In this noble household with its foreign etiquette and social expectations, you’re relieved that Jamil doesn’t expect such things from you, and even offers a space for something familiar to exist.

He brings you lunch once during your investigation of the gardens. And instead of sitting somewhere too exposed, Jamil leads you to a hidden corner with pleasant shading and a safe enclosure of hedges. It’s nice, and you speak casually to one-another. You discuss the town and best shops for food. You feel human again, rather than just ‘the detective’.

…But the more you notice these traits, the more aware you become that Jamil could easily be related to the murderer. The spark of someone forced to lie low in the shadows despite their brilliance can lead to drastic incidents.

But still, you want to believe in the Jamil who brought you out for a picnic because he noticed you’ve been feeling suffocated. You want to believe this friendship isn't a hoax.

Rook

Despite how you were intimidated by his extrovertedness at first, Rook has proven to be a genuinely friendly person and willing to help during your stay here. Which is more than you can say for the rest of the manor—which was nice and respectful, but see your job as a taboo. A ‘what if we get involved and become the next targets,’ type of thing.

You can’t blame them, but it makes you naturally get closer to Rook over the course of your job. You realize one day that despite how much you’ve told him, you barely know anything about Rook.

He’s quite mysterious, as one who sweeps the floors while whistling a tune, always with a smile on his lips as he tells you about how beautiful the building and gardens are. His physique is a bit too toned for someone who only does housework. You suspect he has some other role in the manor too, and wonder if it might be related to the mystery's culprit.

It doesn’t help that Rook seems very knowledgeable about hunting. He helps you figure out where the victim must’ve run and how long it took for the murderer to catch up with them. And sometimes, when you’re caught up in your thoughts and theorizing, Rook surprises you with his soundless steps.

Epel 

Epel has always done his best to assist you, despite how he’s only worked here for a year compared to the other maids. He seems to be trustworthy and willing to help, on top of proving he’s reliable.

You find out that before you came along, there were already groups of maids and other staff who tried to piece together the mystery themselves. But in doing so, created distrust between them and rivalries of suspicion. He thinks that the culprit is definitely a staff member, but can’t be sure of who.

You don’t think he’s directly related to the murderer, but there are times when Epel’s mouth purses during a conversation you’re having with another noble, and you feel like he isn’t telling you everything he knows. Maybe out of privacy or because it’s personal—but when both of you seem to be the targets of an attack, you can’t ignore it any longer and are forced to interrogate Epel.

Now that he’s been helping you with investigations however, there’s definitely a target of sorts on Epel’s back. A few of the maids are unhappy that he might be spreading false ideas to you in favor of one theory or another. And he’s too prideful to shrink under their demands, so they haven’t been on talking terms for a while.

You can only hope that he isn’t indeed a poisoned apple placed before you, unknowingly used by the murderer themself.

Lilia

Very knowledgeable about the hidden rooms around the manor, you can’t help but be a little wary about the clever glint in Lilia’s eyes. He’s explicitly been assigned to keep an eye on you for the sake of the manor’s secrets, and you can tell he isn’t trained to be a maid, despite how it's the pretense he’s using to stick to your side 24/7. 

You sometimes get distracted by the mystery of who Lilia himself might be. He speaks about knights familiarly, yet none of the ones at the manor seem to recognise him when you both pass by. He’s not very good at chores or cooking (to the point where you took over at some points out of concern for the upholstery and kitchen), so how is he still blending in with the other maids?!

Lilia’s saved your life twice now, and you slowly learn that he has weapons hidden beneath his maid dress. Also that he can scale rooftops and the town in less than a minute, but you don’t want to ponder on his scary amount of agility just yet.

Thankfully however, it seems that Lilia is only hired here on a contractual basis. His true, deep rooted loyalties aren’t close to this manor. Which means when the both of you find some very incriminating evidence, Lilia helps keep it a secret from your employer. The both of you are shouldering the weight of the mystery now, but Lilia promises he’ll keep you safe.

You hope there never comes a time where you have to worry about his safety, or that he’d stick his neck out for you more than he needs to.

[vagabond-umlaut]

beckoning you, slowly, subtly

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Absence makes the heart yearn stronger.

Or: Gojo grapples with himself in the wake of you preparing to leave Tokyo Jujutsu High– in the wake of you preparing to leave him.

▸ Gojo x Fem!Reader; Former Teacher x Former Student; Reader has graduated from high school and is moving overseas for college; Gojo is 24-ish while Reader is 18; He's such a sad pathetic boi here; You think Reader is better? She's worse; Angst and Fluff; Use of humor as a coping mechanism [until it fails]; Very soft character study

▸ I wrote this as a prequel set minimum 10 years before the fic 'ensnared' -> You need not read that to read this, though. This is a standalone fic, through and through! 😊

Gojo feels nothing towards you.

No, he doesn't. He really, truly bears no feelings, whatsoever their nature might be, for you.

But... if it indeed is so... then why the hell are his knuckles so hesitant to strike the wood of your door, eh?

Gojo stays in this position for a beat or two more, before dropping his fist back to his side. Exhaling a mute yet deep sigh as his gaze travels over the tiny flowers and trees painted on the door. Next moves to the shoe rack beside, filled with neat rows of sneakers and flats. And finally reaches the cheery yellow paper taped to the door, your name written on it in smooth letters–

Before he can even realise it, the sorcerer finds his fingers over it, so wary yet wanting as they traverse the lines and the loops of the letters, eliciting a very soft murmur of the same from within, the latter darting past a dry throat and a heavy tongue...

"Sensei!"

The door suddenly springs open. Of course, with no one but you behind it.

Were here anyone else except him, Gojo is certain, they would have jumped feet in the air in response. Good thing, he isn't just some 'anyone else'. The sorcerer quickly withdraws his outstretched hand to stuff it into his pocket. And grins, the way he always does when caught in contemplation.

Big. Bright. Happy. So much so that it will either puzzle, or better yet, piss the other person off, eventually making them leave him to his devices...

"Heyyy," he drawls, decidedly making a show of his infamous breezy image— jarringly contrasting the manner his Six Eyes study your once decorated–now empty room, "Packing and everything's done, wow. Thought I might visit you one last time before you leave for..." Australia, but he chooses not to say it. Breezy image, remember?

Borrowing a beat to think– to make you think he's thinking, that is– the man resumes with a noisy chuckle, "Before you leave for wherever you're headed. When's your flight, by the way? Tonight or tomorrow morning?"

Whatever reply he might have been expecting from you, two shiny eyes and one o-shaped mouth certainly weren't on the list... You're pretty swift to erase them, however. Wiping your sweater paws over your face, you mimic his posture and grin back.

Cheeky, obviously, but much too strained than the ones you've given him so far... Your amused voice intrudes on his quiet scrutiny of you. "Why, Sensei? Missing me from this moment itself, eh?"

"Nah," he shoots back with a dismissive wave of his hand. Noting then ignoring the stinging twinge in the middle of his chest— no matter the fractional fall in your features; no matter anything, everything. "I'm literally waiting for when you'll walk out the school's torii gates— even more for when your plane will take off the tarmac and leave Japan! I was stuck teaching you for the better part of the past four years. What makes you think I'll miss you, heh. I'll be incredibly relieved, if anything."

"Ah," you say, following a moment's pause, "I see."

Quite an unenthusiastic reaction, if he's being honest; Gojo doesn't mind it, though. Not in the slightest.

Not even when he watches you regard him, oddly intense and pensive for a while, before you return to clearing your desk. So neat and tidy and dead with no books nor pens nor stray sketches strewn over its surface. The same way the rest of the room now seems: dreadfully dreary and dull, now that you– you with your bubbly self, shining in this damned dark school, jujutsu world– is moving away–

Oh.

Oh no.

You're moving away.

Which is... okay. Yeah, it's okay. But, but, but– "When will you come back?" The question escapes the confines of his mind into the stillness of your room, soon joined by another– one he bites his tongue and draws blood for, the second it leaves his mouth.

The tiny quaver in the words betraying the steady front he has put on very well– Until now. Until you— Too bad [or maybe, good] you've always read him rather well– so much so that you whirl round the instant the sentence flies into the foot in between, your crumpled features meeting his crumbling mask.

"You will come back, right?"

"I–" you start, eyes brimming with the same tears you wiped away so insistently then; he never hears you finish your answer, however.

Two tiny hands fling themselves round his neck, and before he can realise it, the sorcerer finds himself bent at the waist, nose nudging your temple while your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck, the collar of his jacket growing progressively wet with every passing second.

The man stops himself from returning your embrace— You were his student. He was your mentor. Your door is open. His Six Eyes sense Shoko and Utahime coming this way. He isn't meant for such empty shows of sentiment. He isn't sure if your gesture is as unfeeling as he hopes it is—

Screwing his eyes shut, he sighs. Yet offers no resistance when he feels your fingers unclasp from his shoulders then move to his hands, lifting them to keep them lightly on the small of your back.

Oh, well, whatever.

Gojo is still certain he feels nothing towards you.

Except, maybe, this steely resolve of his, engraving itself a cliff-like niche in his mind: To protect. To cherish this sweet feeling of you both in each other's grasp.

▸ Divider by @hitobaby. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

▸ masterlist

[cockslutpadalecki]

Hello

Summary: You’ve given up on love. That is until a stranger walks up to you in a bar, and starts off a chain of events even you couldn’t dream up.

Characters: Steve x F!Reader.

Words: 1.2K.

Warnings: some angst, pregnancy/giving birth, mostly tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: Formerly a Patreon exclusive. Based off of song of same name by Allie X. Definitely give it a listen. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

It all started with a hello.

In the corner of a bar, you hurriedly swallow down the last of your now room-temperature rosè. Your date had stood you up. Again.

Last week, you’d made arrangements to go out for sushi, and he failed to show— coming up with some lame excuse about work commitments, forcing him to remain at his office. Then he called last night out of the blue asking if you were free, that he wanted to make it up to you. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, and agreed.

But of course, two hours have gone by without a word. After the first forty five minutes, you convince yourself that he’s still just running late— hoping he’s just caught up in traffic and can’t get to his phone. But once the big hand has surpassed ninety minutes, you’re adamant he’s done it again.

What is it with you always attracting these pathetic jockstraps? They either arrive and end up being the most pretentious, sexist creeps known to man, or they just don’t bother to show up in the first place. And that isn’t even counting the string of failed relationships that follow you like a bad smell. Men who, after only a couple of months, realize that commitment isn’t for them. Or maybe you weren't.

This is your last ditch attempt to find someone, in the hopes he wouldn’t turn out to be a complete jerk. After all, he had reached out to you for a reason— maybe he felt something more, a flicker of attraction you hadn’t picked up on yet? But the longer you sit alone, the more it becomes apparent that you’re destined to sit by yourself forever.

That’s how you ended up here, hidden away in the corner of the room, nursing a large glass of alcohol— or five. You don’t pay attention to anyone coming or going after a while, too preoccupied with your own sorrow to notice him enter.

-

He notices you though. Shielding yourself from the crowd, melancholy fraught in your features. He wonders what your story is— how you put yourself in full view of people, but still managed to remain so closed off.

He studies you as he sits at the bar, choosing the perfect spot to watch you without looking too conspicuous. Every woman that sidles up against him, batting their long eyelashes and flashing him a little too much cleavage, he politely turns down— nothing about them intrigues him. They have everything on show, thus the mystery he seeks is already gone.

Eventually, when he thinks you are getting ready to leave, he takes a chance and approaches you.

-

You’re unaware of the man’s presence until he’s stepping up to the table, clutching a full measure of amber liquid. And even through the dim light, his sapphire eyes sparkle, and his wide genuine smile almost blindsides you completely.

You half-expect him to ask if someone is sitting in the empty chair opposite you— ready to watch him walk away with it to the gaggle of women eyeing him up at the next table.

Whatever you imagine he’ll say, or what his voice would sound like in the few brief seconds are nothing compared to the deep husk, or the singular word that falls from his parted lips.

“Hello.”

-

Smoothing out the satin skirt of your dress, you glance at yourself in the mirror— taking in the intricate way your hair has been styled, and the subtle tones of natural make-up framing your eyes.

This is it. The moment you’ve dreamt of since you were a little girl. You should feel terrified that something could still go wrong— he could still walk away, but somehow the reassurance that’s been forged into your skull over the years reminds you, in his voice, that this is forever. Fate has prepared you for this. Fate has led you to him.

You suck in a huge breath before releasing it through your pursed lips, formed into the shape of an O. You can hear your mom on the other side of the door, her voice muffled but raised slightly as she talks to somebody in the corridor.

“You can’t go in there,” the older woman chastises. You don’t hear the response, if any, but a soft knock at the door gives you a pretty good idea of what it would’ve been.

Slowly, you glide over, pulling the door towards you as your heart hammers away inside your chest. For a moment you’re fearful you might throw up on your gown, but the second you catch sight of Steve’s azure gaze, the feeling subsides as quickly as it came.

He temporarily stands awestruck, before muttering, “Hello,” with the same wide grin that had you smitten the moment he approached you in that bar.

“Hello to you too,” you reply, matching his smile with your own.

“So, I was wondering,” he starts, taking a slow step towards you and holds his arm out for you to take, “if you fancied getting married today?”

You reach forward, hooking your arm through his. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He slowly escorts you back the way he’d come, and you catch sight of your mom tearing up as she steps back to allow you to pass, giving you a proud smile.

As you reach the stairs to take you down to the ceremony, you begin to loosen your grip around Steve’s elbow, but he places his spare hand on top of yours, giving you a light chuckle. “Don’t you let me go now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

-

You’re certain the sound of that first tiny cry will stay with you forever— no matter how much time passes or how your memories may dwindle. You’ll hold onto it like the world’s most precious pearl, protecting it with every fibre in your being.

Laying your head against the mountain of pillows behind you, you let your eyes flutter closed for a second, somehow oddly comforted by the muted sound of nurses out in the corridor and beyond, before a deeper, more familiar voice floats amongst them.

“Can I see them now?”

You can hear the anguish in his tone, knowing how desperate he is to make sure you’re both okay after you were whisked away to recovery.

“Yes, of course Mr. Rogers, she’s right in there,” comes a light, friendly reply.

Steve suddenly appears from behind the blacked out door, the worried look etched into his features instantly melting away as his eyes catch yours.

“Hello.”

“Hello Daddy,” you whisper, casting your gaze down at the tiny bundle laid on your chest. Steve moves to stand beside you, and rests his hand gently on your forehead, stroking your temple with the side of his thumb— just like he always does.

“She’s perfect,” he sighs happily.

You glance up, flashing Steve a soft smile, before gazing lovingly back down at the little girl— your precious Pearl— noticing she’s inherited the same beautiful, cerulean eyes from him. “Yes, she is.”

Five years ago, you never would’ve dreamt this is where you’d be.

Steve may have found you sitting alone that night, but there hasn’t been a moment since that he ever left a chair beside you empty.

It’s finally real. I found my fantasy. Remember the day when I heard you say…

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @kellhems @ladybug05 @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wintasssoldier @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

[temis-de-leon]

Day 21 - Comforting while crying kiss

Characters: Solomon x fem!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: college anxiety, memories about bad friends, worried Solomon, established relationship

A/N: not the most relatable because I made it as a continuation for this, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless <3

.

Studying in the human real again wasn’t something she ever thought would become a reality, especially when she didn’t want to do it at all, but she should’ve learnt long ago that no thing in life was impossible.

Her best friends, if not her only friends, were demons and angels; she was dating King Solomon the Wise. Going back to college should not feel that weird.

And yet.

There she was, sitting on her ankles in a hidden corner under the staircase of the main entrance. The heat of June burned her hair and made her cupid’s bow sweat, but it was the stress of finals what made her feel feverish. Her backpack laid pathetically near her, the zipper opened enough to let her see some crumpled papers full of scribbles and a couple of pens with no caps.

It was draining. Sitting alone at the table, remembering the presence of those who left her behind laughing at her jokes and helping her study, acting like true friends when God knows what they were saying behind her back. The tiles of the floor and the graffiti on the benches remained the same, but the walls were different and the buildings had gone through some serious renovations. What hurt her the most, surprisingly, was the sight of the brand new cafeteria, which now looked like a hospital ward.

MC’s lips trembled at the thought of change and evolution, of coming so far just to return to the same place that made her feel so lonely.

First periods on Mondays, back when she was eighteen, were hectic. The hallways were cold and the elevator was always occupied because a blind guy with his guide dog had to go to the last floor and whoever decided to be stubborn and wait for the elevator to be free was always late to class. One of the coffee machines forever remained out of service and the other one only had one flavour worth paying: hazelnut. MC didn’t even like coffee and still bought a couple of those every now and then.

The blind guy already graduated, she supposed. Both coffee machines worked and they even had other vending machines filling the empty spaces of the hallways. Warm hallways, that is. The Styrofoam cups didn’t smell like hazelnut anymore, but rather something more generic and impersonal.

MC couldn’t recognize the scent and it made her mad. It made her cry. And the foolishness of the situation made her cry even harder.

Her weeping filled the corner she was hiding in and she felt incredibly grateful that the evening classes had already started, but not much time would pass until anyone inside would open the windows in search of any possible breeze.

Determined to not let the damn building see her cry more than necessary, MC grabbed her things and pitifully walked down the street, looking at the flowers with deep yearning like she too wished she was buried underground and left alone to absorb light and look pretty.

Fortunately for her mood, her phone vibrated in her pocket and showed a very familiar name. She tried to swallow tears and clear her voice before answering.

“Is everything okay, MC?”

She’d never fool him.

Solomon sounded extremely worried. The sheer surprise at his reaction made her stop in her tracks to wonder just how much he knew her. Before she could ponder about it too much, however, someone near her called her name.

There he was, sitting on the hood of a car that MC knew wasn’t his. He called her once more to urge her and, thankfully, by the time she reached him the crying had already stopped. Her skin felt sticky with sweat and fallen tears and she felt an incipient headache threatening to break her mind.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah”

She forced herself to swallow, hating the blockage in her nose, and Solomon looked at her in pity, clearly wanting to console without going too far.

“You know you can trust me, right?”

His eyes turned sad and MC felt the familiar sting in the back of her throat. Although her first impulse was to continue denying her pain and leave the whole thing behind, she knew that if she didn’t ask her boyfriend, of all people, to take care of her, then the turmoil would become much worse.

“I do” she assured him, holding his hand in slow movements. He immediately held her back and her eyes watered again “I’m just really tired, you know?”

There, under the sun, where no one was there to see the scene, Solomon opened his arms and sighed when she rushed towards him. MC tried to ignore the tears staining his white coat, hugging him instead to hide from the rest of the world. There was a gentle pressure on top of her head, a soft kiss that made her shoulders relax and lean into him further.

“Do you want to go back home? Take a nap?”

MC didn’t know what home he was talking about, but she didn’t care. Without letting him go, she nodded against his chest and made herself comfortable. Home was wherever as long as he was there with her.

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @craftysclown @mehkers

[wutheringmights]

After I finished reading The Epic of Gilgamesh today, I entered a fugue state where I sat down and read the entirety of Alanna: The First Adventure by Tamora Pierce.

On the record, I have had a lifelong love and adoration for Pierce's Tortall books. I first read the Song of the Lioness quartet when I was 11, and they rewrote my brain. I love them so much. I reread them and the other Tortall books on a semi-frequent schedule.

It's been a while since I reread any of the Alanna books, if only because my sister took our shared copies when she moved out. I've been meaning to buy my own set for a long while now but haven't been able to justify the purchase. The other week, I just so happened to find the first two volumes at my local indie bookstore. I bought them immediately, as well as ordered the third and fourth book. (And discovered that the store owner knows me by name-- when I went to pick up my order, she saw me and said, Hi Frankie! I got your books over here.) (I may be spending too much money there.)

So I have been in a bit of an emotional rut these past few weeks. Work sucks. Life stinks. The temptation to run off to Tortall and curl up in the fantasy story that captivated me as a kid has never been stronger.

Ergo, I ran off to read the first book as soon as I could.

If you're looking for any critique of this book, series, or Tortall in general, I will never give it. Sure, it's problematic and dated, and in many ways imperfect, but someone else can list out all of its issues. They're all perfect to me.

Anyway, the book. I should say something about this book in particular.

One thing I appreciate about Pierce's writing is how she handles school settings in fantasy. Learning and training is so mundane. All of her heroines have to work hard and put in extra hours of study in order to improve, much less keep up with their peers. It's so normal that it circles around to being weirdly refreshing.

Also, there is still no other fantasy author who handles period talk and birth control the way Pierce does. We make fun of the trope of fantasy birth control nowadays, but I rarely see it presented as it is here: as a part of normal puberty lessons and given long before sex is in the girl's radar. And even today with the glut of YA fantasy stories out there, I still have yet to see menstruation be portrayed as frequently or as bluntly as Pierce writes it.

There was a period of time publishers really tried to push the Tortall books as straight YA, which doesn't work for that reason alone. You gotta market them to middle schoolers. They're the ones just starting puberty talks, and getting scenes like this is so good for their brains.

Moving on: I fucking love these characters. Alanna was an icon of brash, temperamental heroines that have shaped my taste to this day. I love how even in the first book, Jon is kinda shitty. I adore George Cooper. Talk about a taste maker the way this man sets a standard.

I just can't be coherent when it comes to any Tortall books. I have no thoughts. Head empty. I am going to binge the rest of this series as quickly as I can before my library book comes in. Then normal book content will resume.

Before I go, I need to talk about the book covers.

Growing up, my sister and I had these covers:

Which, god. I love them. The black is striking. The art is incredible. Alanna looks so good. They were the perfect pocket-size too. I was going to buy the same edition for my copies, but instead I got the 40th anniversary reprints:

Not bad at all! These books have had some seriously bad covers, and these look great! Very anime, which will appeal to the 11 year olds who need to have their socks rocked by this series.

But, man. I really miss those black covers. One day I will splurge and buy a second set of them just so that I can stare at the art.

[oddinary4bts]

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

                “You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

                The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

                The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

Taglist:

@btsborahaee

[roguehongsami]

Celluloid Scenes.

—★ pairing/s: professor!yunho x fem!student

—★ genre/s: smut, fluff, au

—★ synopsis: you're having difficulties grasping this chapter. your professor offers you extra classes, in which they end in the most unanticipated manner.

—★ content: teacher-student (late & early 20s, consensual), filming, pet names, oral sex, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (condomize), rough sex, degradation (barely), belt collar, breath play, creampie, cum eating, face fucking, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism.

—★ word count: 6k

—★ author's note: cliché plot but this is my first piece since i got out of my 4-year writer's block. xoxo.

* DISCLAIMER: THIS IS FICTIONAL. IT IS NOT REPRESENTATIVE OF JEONG YUNHO'S CHARACTER, PERSONALITY OR BEHAVIOUR. THIS IS SOLELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. *

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ lana del rey // cherry

Y/N has never had trouble with music theory. If anything, it was her favourite module. Never raked in a score below a 75%, even if it was a mock assessment that held no weight towards the final pass mark. Chapter 9: Time Signatures. It all went downhill from there. She had collected nothing but 35% and lower on all her mock tests. It was humiliating, to say the least. She was not comprending anything that wasn't in 4/4. This streak of perpetual failures was swallowing her whole, and the shame of it all had found residence in the crevices of her mind.

Professor Jeong Yunho sauntered towards Y/N's desk and laid a paper in front of her, facing down. Facing down. The shame is growing.

He wore a bored expression when he looked down on her, releasing an exhausted sigh, and said, "Ms. L/N, a word after class?"

He continued down the row, handing out everyone's mock tests. She buried her face in her arms on the desk, contemplating her next steps. She's made use of study guides, peer assistance, and even sourced help outside the school, but all she knew was 4/4.

Her friend, Aaliyah, hugged her and said, "You have the best ear in this class, and everybody hits a bump in the road sometimes. But I promise, you will get this before the official assessment."

"Do you know how many hours of prog metal and jazz I listened to, just to get another face-down paper?" She sat upright, lifting Aaliyah's weight off of her body, and whined "My spotify wrapped, Aaliyah."

"Wrapped is in five months. That's enough time to get Lana back at number one." Aaliyah waved her off absentmindedly. "Try blues. It is the mother of modern music, so the answers are in there somewhere."

Class came to an end. The hall started airing out as the students bid adieu. Aaliyah left Y/N behind as she found her way back to their shared apartment. Y/N remained planted in her seat, tucking away yet another inglorious mock test into her tote bag. How the earth could just open up and swallow her. Y/N made her way down to Yunho's desk, while he stood at the door sending off his last students for the day. Once the class emptied, he closed the door and sat himself on his desk, in front of Y/N.

"Your last few mocks have been quite... appalling. I'm not a stranger to failing students but this is certainly not your M.O." he dawned a disappointed look. "You're my star student, talk to me."

She pouted as her head hung low, "I've asked the other students for help and even went to the music store across town. It's just not clicking."

He furrowed his brows, concerned, "Is there something going on in your personal life that's hindering your progress?"

"Nothing I'm aware of, no."

"Be honest, Y/N. It's your last year and I wanna see you graduate in record time." one of his eyebrows arched.

"I'm telling you." her voice was high as she responded. "You think I willingly listened to Dream Theater just to make sense of the work? Emphasis on 'willingly'." She threw her hands up in exaggeration.

He let out a chuckle and mumbled, almost as if he was embarrassed, "I love Dream Theater..."

"You also love post eighties Metallica," she said, mockingly, "but I'll shame you another day seeing that I actually need help." she bat her eyelashes coquettishly.

With a wheeze, he said, "I won't dignify that with a response."

Yunho smirked as he made his way around the desk and sat down is his chair. With his body occupying the space, the chair looked more like a throne beneath him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, unleashing an exasperated sigh. He was trying to make sense of Y/N's little hiccup. As he pondered on all the possible causes of her lack of understanding in the material, silence blanketed them.

During what felt like a voyage to the moon and back, but was actually a minute, Y/N had entertained herself with the Spiderman action figure on Yunho's desk. It was a Tobey Maguire edition. Its limbs could be moved and it had built-in web shooters.

"Okay," he broke the silence, which startled Y/N. She sat the figure back down on his desk, "since you're a practical learner, I can only assume that listening isn't enough for you. So we need to get physical."

"I don't know what that means." she deadpanned.

"Another way to learn time signatures is using drums. Wooyoung is expecting a delivery of new drumkits for his class but they won't be here until the third, which is-"

Y/N cut him off and finished the sentence. "After the official assessment." Panic materialised on her face, as her mind convinced her that her failure was bound to compound.

"Exactly. Now," he leaned forward on his desk, grabbed a note and pen, and scribbled on it as he spoke. "I do have a drumkit back at my place. I can privately tutor you until we complete this chapter." He handed her the note with his address and phone number on it. "We only have two more mocks left, so let's bring your grade up before the official assessment."

Y/N's face beamed as she swiped the note out of his hand, and glanced at it with hope in her eyes. She let out a squeal, which made Yunho jolt out of his seat. He looked at her with much adoration in his eyes, proud that he had just given his student a second chance she assumed was not probable.

Official testing was Monday. Yunho tutored her Fridays through Sundays. On Fridays, Y/N would arrive promptly at his loft at 18:00 and leave at 20:00. On weekends, their sessions begun at 15:00 and concluded at 18:00. Each lesson was very much routine; Yunho would demonstrate a time signature on his drumkit, Y/N replicated it, he would play a song on the speakers, and she would have to identify the time signature.

With each passing lesson, her pattern recognition skills improved. She had went from identifying time signatures after a verse and a chorus, to half a verse, to thirty seconds into a song. Averaging 35% and lower on mocks became a thing of the past, hauling in a 50 and 68 on her last two mocks. Never one to score anything less than a 75, Y/N was growing accustomed to the idea of a 70 for this chapter. She was just appreciative of the assistance Yunho offered, which allowed her to absolve herself of the shame that had befallen her.

The lessons weren't without their own... complications. At least emotional ones, that is. Piddling instances of small talk ranging from casual topics such as movies and music transformed into hour-long personal revelations about dreams and desires. Having peered into each other's hearts and minds, and divulging their truths, they saw each other in a new light.

Behaviours taking up new form, Yunho would always steal glances of Y/N while she was doing classwork. He started wearing much stronger colognes with a sweet touch. Y/N became more mindful of the way she dressed, abandoning her usual sweatpants and tank tops for mini skirts and blouses. These changes did not go unnoticed; they saw but never spoke.

As she trode to the door, about to begin her trek to Yunho's apartment, Aaliyah called to Y/N with her eyes glued to the television. "Make sure you have your keys with you. I probably won't be here when you come back." Aaliyah's eyes landing on Y/N's form, offering a warm smile. "Have fun at your lessons."

She responded softly, with a shy smile dawning her face, "Got my keys. I'll see you at the show." she begun walking out the door but she quickly backtracked, remembering to say, "Also, please learn how to open the window after showering. It's humid when I step in."

She arrived at Yunho's loft a little bit past 15:00. When she arrived, he asked if she could wait for him to take a shower. She sat on his couch, watching the television. Starting to feel a bit unimpressed with what the television had to offer, she occupied herself with his drumkit, practicing everything she had learned in past few weeks. Yunho entered the living room and lessons went on as usual.

"I think you're ready for Monday's test." Yunho sat on the couch, right beside her, resting his arm behind her head.

Y/N turned her body to face him, crossing one leg over the other with her skirt riding up her thigh, revealing a black lace garter embellished with floral designs. His eyes danced between the garter and her eyes, not certain what was more mesmerising. She picked up on this and truthfully, her heart fluttered.

What Y/N never admitted to anybody, not even the big man upstairs, was that she always had the cutest little crush on Yunho. Since first year. These extra lessons only made her innocent infatuation inflate by ten folds. Conversely, Yunho was lured in by the praises that were sung repeatedly by Professor Kim and Choi. He would always find excuses to be in Hongjoong and Jongho's classes, just to hear Y/N either play guitar or sing. What truly trapped him was hearing her rendition of the 'Sweet Child O' Mine' guitar solo. A true beauty who could make a guitar sing as beautifully as she does.

"That 75 was looking very bleak two weeks ago. This chapter had me praying to gods I didn't worship." she grimaced as the words left her mouth.

He inched closer to her face, speaking in a low tone, "I knew you'd turn things around with proper guidance." He begun sliding his hand right up her thigh and tugged on the hem of her thong. "My star student." he whispered in her ear, sending chills down her spine.

He planted wet kisses on her neck, nipping her skin. A sharp gasp escaped her mouth; she impulsively grabbed a handful of his t-shirt and cocked her head back, giving him more access. He trailed multiple kisses across her neck, biting her skin along the way, marking her. She swiftly put herself up on his lap, straddling him between her legs. They shared a passionate kiss that only made their bodies radiate. The growing bulge in his sweats grazed her clothed sex, illiciting a sensual and breathy moan on her part.

They both knew what they were doing would warrant harsh consequences, should they ever be caught. In that moment, they cared only about what their hearts truly yearned for; each other's companionship.

"Fuck, Yuyu." she moaned as she would grind her clothed part against his bulge.

Yunho reached into her thong, separating her folds with his fingers. He was met with moisture. "Jesus, Y/N. You're already wet and we haven't even gotten to the best part."

In a flurry of motions, they were in Yunho's bedroom. He put her down on the bed and walked to the film camera in the corner of the room. He positioned it at the corner of the bed and begun filming. Hovering over her, he lifted her chin to make her face him.

Brushing his thumb on her cheek, he said, "You're gonna be a good girl for me, right?"

She hummed at his words, nodding in agreement. He leaned down to kiss her, unbuttoning her silk blouse as he went down on his knees. His hands snaked around her back, unclasping her bra, and cupping two handfuls of her mounds. His lips circled one of her nipples, licking and biting, forcing moans out of Y/N. He alternated breasts, abandoning one of them and leading his hand back into her thong. She was gushing.

With one hand still cupping her breast and his tongue teasing her nipple, he pulled her skirt off and proceed to remove her thong with his other hand. He exhanged her breast for her lips, longing for a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck in an attempt to keep balance. His fingers separated her folds once more, his thumb playing with her clit. She gasped into his mouth, making him smile against her lips, feeling ever so proud of himself. He slid one finger into her hole, thumb still on her clit. He started pumping in and out of her slowly. A second finger. A third. Pace accelerating.

It was nearing. The knot in her stomach reporting, her walls clenching around Yunho's fingers. He could feel it approaching, it was right there but he wanted to make her beg for her release. He broke their kiss and pulled his fingers out of her, a whine escaping on her end. With haste, he took his t-shirt off and positioned his himself between her legs. Trailing kisses inside her thighs, he grabbed the garter with his teeth and slid it off her leg. He laid her down on the bed, one hand playing with her breast and the other fingering her into oblivion. His mouth wrapped around her clit, licking and kissing it. Softly nibbling her clitoris here and there, causing her back to arch. Y/N had a tight grip on Yunho's hair, not knowing what to do with her hands.

"Yuyu, please, I'm so close." she let out a moan that was bordering on a sob.

He purposely ignored her, knowing it would make her fight harder to not cum. Her walls clenched tighter than before around his fingers, the knot in her stomach getting uncomfortably tight. Tears welling in her eyes, breathing laboured, legs shaking uncontrollably. She was coming undone. He was pushing her to her limit. He felt her every reaction but still withheld those words.

Her tears escaping, running down her temples. With each passing second, she was finding it difficult to control her breathing.

"Yuyu, please." she croaked. Her grip on his hair only getting tighter.

Letting go of her breast, he grabbed her wrist and squeezed it, signaling her to leave his hair, which she reluctantly did. He peered from beneath her.

"What's my name?" he spelled out. His fingers were dancing right there by her sweet spot. She was overstimulated, seeing stars. The stimulation was making the nerves in her body cause an immense level of discomfort because her release was being withheld.

"Yuyu..." she cried in between incoherent mumbles.

"Someone doesn't wanna cum." he scoffed, burying his face back between her thighs. His tongue continued to draw circles around her clit, his fingers only getting faster.

"Yunho! It's Yunho!" she cried after a string of nonsensical ramblings.

He removed his mouth from her core, fingering her even faster than before, delivering the final blow. Those magic words. "Cum. Now." he commanded her.

The knot in her stomach snapped. Without a second to spare, her legs shook violently. Short hitched breaths. Tears streaming down her face. The thick, white, creamy nectar leaking out of her sex, seemingly neverending, came in vast quantities. He laid right beside her on the bed, enveloping her in a hug as she rode out her delirious high. Kissing her forehead, singing praises in her ear, talking her through her orgasm. Her body presumably sensitive, Yunho gently positioned her vertically on the bed.

He planted a soft kiss on her lips and stroked her hair, as he hovered over, whispering, "Don't fall asleep just yet, princess. We're not done."

The bulge in his sweats was throbbing, causing him mild discomfort. He was ready to finally relieve himself, and his favourite student was there to make it happen. He left the bedroom, Y/N trying her hardest to not drift off. Yunho returned and he leaned against the doorframe, hands behind his back, taking in the image of every curve and crevice of Y/N's body. Appreciating the goddess that laid nude in his bed, hair covering her face, awaiting an imminent awakening.

"Tell me, Y/N. Do you ever think of me while you... touch yourself?" Yunho enquired. A dark look in his eyes, with a hint of mischief.

Y/N lazily propped herself up against the headboard. Heat arose in her cheeks, feeling embarrassed. "I really don't wanna answer that, Yuyu."

He walked to the bed, revealing a digital camera, a belt and handcuffs in his hands. He put everything down on the bed except the camera, and caressed her cheek. She leaned into his touch. She felt safe, as if he was exactly who she had been waiting for her entire life. He grabbed her chin and rubbed his thumb on her bottom lip. She instinctively opened her mouth and sucked on his thumb. Yunho positioned the digital camera over her face and photographed the moment.

"That's okay. Personally, I've been thinking of ways I could touch you once I got the chance. Find new, exciting ways to stimulate you." he pulled his thumb out of her mouth, a string of saliva lingering. "See the way you were crying when you came? That was beautiful." he leaned in to her, brushing her lips with his own. "That's what my star student deserves as a reward, for being so hardworking and obedient."

She nodded in agreement as she closed the gap between them. A very short but heated kiss. Yunho pulled away and began to position her. Her knees pressed into the pillows, with her wrists handcuffed to the headboard, he pressed his hand down her back to make her arch. He looped his belt around her neck and let it hang on her back.

Once he took off his sweats, he positioned himself behind her, spreading her legs a bit wider. His member was long and girthy, a large vein running along the base. His slit leaking profusely with precum. He took the tip of his cock and ran it between her folds, as he was pumping it to get it harder, still slick with her nectar. The tip slid into her entrance. He slowly begun stretching her out, proving difficult as she was tight and he was... oversized. With every inch he fed her, they both started shaking. By the time he bottomed her, they were sweating buckets. Both his hands on her hips, slowly, he started pulling out and thrusting in with a bit more speed and impact, grazing her cervix. As they both grew accustomed to the rhythm, he looped the belt around his hand, gently tugging on it.

Although she did not verbally say, Y/N enjoyed the way Yunho tugged the belt. Breathy moans bouncing on the walls with each pull. Yunho watched how Y/N's ass recoiled everytime he pounded into her; a sight to behold. He loved it. Slowing down the pace, he took camera right beside him and begun taking pictures of his cock inside her. He tugged on the belt so that her head would face the ceiling. Smile for the camera. He put the camera back down and picked up the pace. His arm snaking around her waist, rubbing her clit vigorously.

With Yunho still tugging on the belt, slowly beginning to cut her air circulation, but leaving enough room for her to breathe, he pounded even harder. Skin clapping. Laboured breathing. Grunts and moans. Her cunt squelching. All these sounds melding together within the walls. It was amazing. That knot in her stomach paid her a second visit. There it was again. She feared he would repeat what he did before.

She spoke with a slight rasp in her voice, "I- I- I'm gonna c-cum..."

He rubbed her clit even harder. "Not yet, my little cocksleeve. Just a little longer."

Her nerves were getting overworked, yet again. She started sob-moaning as she did her utmost best to keep herself from unraveling. "Yuyu, I feel like I'm gonna explode. Please!" she cried hysterically.

Yunho tugged on the belt, causing her head to cock backwards. "Just take it like the good girl that you are, okay baby? Don't be a brat." he groaned in her ear.

"Yunho, I'm trying." she cried.

He released the belt and stopped rubbing her clit. Grabbing either sides of her hips, he rammed into her relentlessly. "Come on, princess. Cum on daddy's cock." he groaned. Without changing rhythm, he grabbed the camera again. As he felt her clamp around his cock, she released. A beautiful moan leaving her mouth. A white ring started forming around his cock, and he photographed this glorious creation. Y/N rode out her high on Yunho's cock, with bits of her juices dripping out, as she waited for him to get his.

Yunho's hips moved erratically as his own orgasm crept in. The tension in his stomach vanished as soon as he came inside Y/N. His cock was twitching inside her pussy. He plastered himself on her back while he came, his arms snaked around her waist. Whispering praises and promises in her ear. Planting kisses all over the side of her face. Taking nips of her skin.

After a few fleeting minutes, he then took off her handcuffs. As he pulled his member out of her pussy, a white, thick stream made its way down her thighs. Some of it dripping on the sheets. He quickly cleaned her up, rushed to the kitchen to get her a glass of water, and changed the sheets. She was out cold as soon as her head hit the pillow. He truly drained her.

Yunho stopped the recording and put the camera back where it initially was; in the corner of the room. He snuck into bed, cocooning Y/N in his chest and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. She was a true beauty to behold. He was boasting.

Almost two weeks had passed since Y/N and Yunho's sexual congress. Y/N earned herself a 73 on her official test, the lowest she'd ever gotten. She took it with stride as the alternative could've been worse. That Monday of the test was the last time she saw Yunho. As soon as she completed her test, she left her script with her professor and sped out of class, not allowing an opportunity for him to speak to her to present itself.

Y/N got what she wanted for the longest time but she didn't know how to navigate its aftermath. She felt awkward, didn't know how to act. Afraid that Yunho would tell her that it was just a one-time thing. She did not want to hear that. However, Yunho was feeling regretful of that fateful Sunday. Not because of the sex, but because of how Y/N was avoiding him. He was gutted. Losing sleep some nights. Never having seen her in class since Monday's test. Worried of her whereabouts. She wasn't answering his texts nor calls. All he could do was wait until the next time he saw her.

Waldorf Music Academy was hosting their annual mixer, where final-year students were given the opportunity to socialise and make connections with industry executives and artists. WMA was a hotspot for anyone seeking an educated individual who could turn 'generally favourable reviews' into 'universal acclaim'; a magnum opus. Its alma maters ranging from musicians to teachers with their own practices to executives. Industry titans from all over the world could only hope to get an invitation.

She knew this mixer was a once in a lifetime opportunity and couldn't miss it. Her dream of being a songwriter and composer was right there. Y/N spent the whole week preparing herself. Looking presentable was a must. She would not have her moment marred by poor etiquette.

A red, low-back floor-length silk gown with thin straps that criss-crossed in the back, was her choice. Paired with white strapped heels and a white quilted clutch. Her ensemble was embellished with a pearl choker necklace and a 3-piece pearl bracelet with a gold clasp. Breathtaking was not a testament to how magnificent she looked.

Yunho was sporting a black suit with a black tie, a white button-up shirt, a black waistcoat and patent leather oxfords. A silver lapel chain connecting two rubies, hung from the lapel down to the front pocket. His look complete with ruby cufflinks.

The mixer was in full swing. Artists and executives, students and professors were interacting. Some students were lucky enough to exchange contacts with people could open up doors for them. As Y/N spoke with a few songwriters who were behind multiple 2010s pop and hip-hop hits, a longing Yunho was burning holes into the back of her head with his stare from a few feet away. In all honesty, he was enticed by her bare back. He was waiting to go in for the kill.

As Y/N concluded her conversation, she slowly walked away. Yunho took a few strides towards her. He discreetly touched her lower back, which made her gasp. She took a quick glance to her side and faced front just as fast. They walked aimlessly together, side by side.

"Princess, you look otherworldly." he whispered, enough for her to hear but for no one to catch on. "Who's attention are trying to get?"

Maintaining the same tone, she responded, "You look ravishing, Yuyu. But certainly not yours."

"I haven't seen you since your test and you haven't attended any of my classes. You're my star student, talk to me." he recited. That succint statement creating a déjà vu effect.

Her steps faltered momentarily at 'star student' before her step was restored. "I've been feeling under the weather so I thought-"

"Don't lie to me, Y/N." he gently grabbed her wrist and yielded their stroll. He gave her a grave look. "I know you've been avoiding me because Hongjoong told me you were at every guitar lesson." he let go of her wrist to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

She gulped and sighed, defeatedly. "I felt... weird, after we... you know... had sex." she gestured with her hands. "I started avoiding you so you wouldn't get the chance to tell me it was a one-time thing. It sucks because I..." she released a shaky breath. "think I have feelings for you."

"That's on me for not prompting the conversation sooner. But do you realise how worried I was? How bad I felt when you didn't answer my texts or calls?" he shook his head. "Y/N, you can't just disappear on me whenever you don't understand your own feelings."

"Approaching you with matters unrelated to school is difficult because I don't know where we stand."

From the inside of his jacket, he produced a gold ring with an obsidian stone. "I was planning on giving you this after class, once you got your test results. But you've been M.I.A. So I brought it with me, hoping I would see you, so we could talk about, I don't know... a relationship?" he said, suggestively. The look in his eyes was softer. "I'm a grown man. No games, I want something serious."

She took the ring in her hand, admiring it with wide eyes, "There's no harm in talking, right?" she slid the ring on her right index and looked up at Yunho. "I don't wanna get you in trouble, Yunho."

"Don't worry, princess. We'll only meet in my loft since it's in the inner city, away from campus. After your graduation, we'll be free." he smiled reassuringly.

"Thank you for being so understanding." she returned the smile.

"I booked a room in the hotel. Ten-oh-three. See you after the mixer?"

She nodded quickly. "Midnight."

The hall was slowly emptying as guests departed. It was quite easy for Y/N to slip out without anyone noticing. Yunho had already disappeared by 23:00. As she rode silently in the elevator, she was hoping nobody from school would see her. The idea of getting caught was brewing anxiety inside her. The doors opened and she was met with a giant "floor 10" silver lettering. She walked down the hallway and stopped before 1003.

After a few knocks, Yunho opened the door and pulled her in while snaking his arm around her waist. Locking the door, he bridal carried her and plastered soft pecks all over her face. Y/N was very giggly. She dropped her clutch on the coffee table. They laid in bed, with Y/N beneath him. He tucked hair behind her ears, and started stroking her hairline. She toiled with the hair at the back of his neck. A few moments of silence passed as they enjoyed each other's embrace.

He started kissing her sensually, cupping either side of her face. She returned the kiss enthusiastically. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist. He got up off the bed and took off his waistcoat and shirt. Grabbing her by the ankles, he dragged her to edge of the bed and put her legs on his chest. He took off her heels and started massaging her legs.

"Tell me, princess. How far do you want us to go?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Our relationship."

She pondered on her thoughts. Not wanting to be so vague that it planted doubt in Yunho's mind, but not so honest that she sounded desperate. "Right now, I'm okay with this. I don't wanna set expectations that could be beyond our reach. Let's just... go with it."

Y/N sat upright on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge. She gently tugged on his waistband, bringing her lips to his stomach. He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath. His hand played with her hair. She unbuckled his belt and brought his pants down low enough for his cock to spring out.

It stood long and hard in front of her face, grazing her chin. She took him in her hand and placed a wet kiss on the tip. As she wrapped her lips around the tip and licked it, she slowly begun pumping his shaft. He let out a shaky breath. Her mouth felt warm around him. She worked his cock all the way down her throat, stilling for a few seconds.

When she pulled him out, a string of saliva lingered. She pumped him again, looking him in the eye and saying, "Tell me you want this, Yuyu. That you want me." she licked her upper lip.

He groaned. "Fuck, I want you and more, baby girl."

She planted her mouth back on his cock, sliding down halfway and leaving enough room to keep pumping. Her tongue laved him, wetting his cock immensely. Sucking on his cock and creating a suction effect, that paired with the rapid pumping was driving him to imminent euphoria. The feeling was sensational for him, expressing his pleasure with multiple breathless moans and praises.

Yunho looped her hair around his hand and said, "Let out your tongue, princess."

Y/N laid her tongue flat and stopped pumping. She put her hands on her thighs as he started thrusting in her mouth. The walls of her throat felt like velvet around his member. The thrusts accelerated gradually and he was pounding hard. Try as hard as she may, her gag reflex betrayed her. She started crying. He was just too big for her. He stilled deep in her throat, holding her steady for a few moments. His cock was throbbing against the back of her throat. Shortly after, he pulled out, only leaving the tip in. He came in her mouth. She was sucking him, milking him dry of all he had. She pumped out as much of the cum as she could. All of his nectar collected in her mouth, some going down her chin. It was warm and tasted a bit salty, with a creamy consistency. She swallowed all of it. She peered up to him, doe eyed, wiping the residue on her chin with her thumb and licking it.

Yunho bowed down to meet her eyes and smirked. "You're such a pretty crier." he cupped her face, wiping away her tears. "My pretty little plaything."

Their lips crashed into one another, Yunho forcing his tongue into her mouth just to taste himself. She moaned into his mouth, squeezing her thighs together to stimulate herself. He grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. Her nipples stood at attention at the feel of the slightly chilly temperature. Her lace thong was the next to be discarded. Tucking his cock back in his pants, he pulled away from her.

"Play with yourself." he said with authority.

She guided her hand down to her sex as she spread her legs open on the bed. As she held Yunho's gaze, she used the slick that had gathered in her cunt to lube her clit. She rubbed that little sensitive bud, slowly picking up speed. Her body temperature started rising. She slid two fingers into her hole, thrusting them. She knew she couldn't crest an orgasm without help, but that didn't stop her from trying. Her moans filled the room as she pleasured herself for her partner. Yunho took his cock out and started rubbing one out. He was so aroused by Y/N. It didn't take long until he was leaking precum and she was dripping arousal on the sheets.

"Don't you wanna help me out, Yuyu?" she said, almost out of breath. "I can't cum without you."

"Anything for you, princess." he dropped his pants all the way down to the floor.

He positioned himself between her thighs, running his tip through her slick cunt. The tip slowly stretched her out. Gasping into his mouth, she supported herself using his broad shoulders. He filled her all the way up and started slow stroking, getting faster as the rhythm smoothed out. Taking one hand, while balancing himself with his forearm, he had his hand on her neck. Applying pressure to her sides. He told her to open her mouth and he spit inside.

"Yunho, faster!" she begged.

Yunho was getting aroused with the way her breasts danced with every pounding. Her moans were the single most beautiful song he had ever heard. Her sweet cunt was only getting warmer and slicker. The unholy squelching as their hips moved in tandem. This was his heaven. He brushed against her sweet spot hastily. She felt the pressure build up in her stomach, and her walls clenching around him. She was going to crest it; sweet, sweet release. This time she was going to comply just to get a hit. Yunho's wasn't far either as he moved erratically inside her.

"I'm not gonna make you beg." he grunted. "Cum. Now."

"Fuck, yes!" she moaned with pleasure.

Y/N locked her legs tightly around Yunho. As the pressure in her stomach eased, her high hit her like a tidal wave. She dug her freshly manicured nails into his back. His cock spasmed inside her, releasing his second load of the night. Both trying to gather themselves, the ecstasy slowly subsided. Yunho slid his cock out of her and left a kiss on her forehead. She was brought into a bear hug in bed.

"I really love how you say 'Yuyu'. It's cute, adorable honestly." he kissed the top of her head.

She beamed as if hearing the most life-changing news. "I knew you'd love it. But you kept pretending like you didn't." she pouted.

"I was just teasing, princess. You get worked up so easily." he chuckled into her hair.

"You know, I love 'princess'. Makes me feel important."

"Because you are, and I intend on treating you like one." he cooed in her ear as he brought her hand to his face, and kissed the obsidian stone.

[sassyandsodone]

Mother

(A bit of a character study of Raphael. A lot of mommy issues, and a look at his relationship with his father's consort, Baalphegor.)

Baalphegor was not the mother of Mephistopheles’s cambion brats. But she had known many of them. Some had seen her as a threat, some had seen her as a potential ally, she was not a mother to any of them. But she liked this little pup.

Raphael was bold for such a puny thing. Once he had survived to an age where he could talk, everyone in Cania quickly learned, he could not stop. Every situation he foolishly backed into, he tried to talk his way out of. And while child-like charm was hardly useful against hellbeasts, he did have a gift for convincing any that would crush him like an ant that his father actually cared about him. That was usually enough.

In spite of his age, or lack thereof, he did excell at magic, unsurprising really considering who the child’s sire was. Even at an age before he could read, Raphael could teleport, not exactly perfectly but he could do it. Teleporting seemed to be his preferred method of transportation as he got better at it. He was always appearing and disappearing without warning, something everyone in the palace had gotten used to.

So, as Baalphegor relaxed in her chambers, a book in her hand as she lounged on her settee, she barely even looked up when young Raphael appeared on her floor in a flash of cinders. She could hear him panting, breathless, he must have been running before he teleported himself to her.

“My, my, little prince,” she said, “what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Raphael picked himself up off the floor and brushed his hands across his clothes. He was still so young, she wouldn't even consider him an adolescent yet, merely a child. His horns were small and a second set was just beginning to grow in. He stretched out his little wings that had gotten ruffled with his fall.

“Gelugons are mean,” the child said, there was a huffing pretentiousness in his voice.

“No arguments.” Baalphegor turned the page of her book. “How exactly did you manage to upset one, pup?”

He huffed. “I'm not a pup.”

Baalphegor put down her book and looked at Raphael. It could not be said that most fiends cared for “cute” things but there was something very endearing to her about this child wrinkling his nose in disgust just like his father did.

“And yet, your fur is all ruffled like one. Sit. Let me fix your hair.”

Raphael’s nostrils flared as he gave another huff, but, like a good boy he came and sat on the settee. Baalphegor ran her fingers through his hair, catching her long nails on a number of tangles.

“So, what did you do to that gelugon?”

“I did nothing wrong,” he declared but Baalphegor highly doubted his assessment. “I am a son of Mephistopheles. It had no authority to bar me from going anywhere!”

She could still remember a time when Raphael couldn't pronounce his father's name. And she had been the one to coach him into doing it correctly, lest he insult his father to his face and incur his wrath.

“Oh dear,” she chuckled. “Did someone go snooping where he did not belong?”

Raphael stiffened, his tail flicked back and forth. Still too young to lie with complete confidence. His hand moved to his left pocket. He had something in there, didn't he?

“I'm a prince. There is nowhere I don't belong.”

He knew he had done something he wasn't allowed to. And he most certainly had taken something that wasn't his. Baalphegor smiled, one hand glided through his hair while the other summoned whatever he had in his pocket directly to her. A small crystal ball appeared in her empty hand.

Raphael quickly turned around feeling the item gone from his pocket.

She examined the sphere. It was dark as Abyss with reflections of scenes playing in it. A scrying tool. Her little prince seemed to be interested in spying on something.

“Oh dear,” Baalphegor said, “what would your father say if he knew his son was stealing from him?”

“I'm not stealing!” He twitched as he said it, though, not even believing this defense himself. “It's mine by birthright.”

“Mmhm, I'm sure your father will listen to that.”

Raphael reached for it, only for Baalphegor to make it disappear.

“Give it back!” Raphael huffed and his little wings flapped at her.

She smiled, a giggle escaping her lips. “Now, now, pup, that isn't how a devil would do things, is it? There is an exchange to be made. Or does your mother's blood dominate you?”

She knew that would stir him. The first insult that was always thrown at him was his half-human ancestry.

The little prince’s brow furrowed and he wrinkled his nose. “I am a son of Mephistopheles! I have nothing in common with sorry mortals!”

“Now, now, pup, we both know that isn’t true. And besides, for all its disadvantages, your mother gave you a great gift upon her death.”

He raised an eyebrow, quizzically, but said nothing.

“Her blood.” Baalphegor began to pet his hair again. “With your half-mortal blood, you were gifted a strong connection to the material plane. You can go where other devils cannot.”

He relaxed at her touch, his tail curling gently against her leg.

“The material plane is a trove of things we, devils, desire. And you, pup, can go and take it for yourself. You can slip between the planes.”

“I can?”

“Of course. If you're any good at magic, that is.”

His tail flicked. “Of course I am!”

Baalphegor gripped his shoulders. “Then why don't you prove it? I will give you back the crystal ball when you bring me a treasure from the Prime.”

Raphael was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. “...what do you want from there?”

“Oh, pup,” she sighed, “never give your client a chance at getting more than they asked for. If you had taken my deal before, you could have brought me anything. Now, I get to name my price.”

“That's not fair.”

“Devils do not play fair.” She tapped a finger against his nose. “Well, since you need to learn a lesson…” she trailed off, considering what would teach her little prince best. “...bring me an item that belonged to your mother.”

His tail stiffened and a look of confusion blossomed on his face. “My…mother?”

“Do your ears not hear, pup? Yes. Your mother. She was from the material plane, some trinket of hers must remain there.”

“But…” he paused, breaking eye contact as he tried to word what he wanted to say. “But I don't know who she is.”

“Oh? Well, my apologies, pup. I had a thought a child of the Cold Lord would be smart enough and skilled enough to discover that information on his own. My mistake.”

She watched to see the anger build up in him. Little Raphael may have only been a child but his pride was vast as his ambition. She could see a rage building in his eyes, a fire to fuel him.

“I'll do it!” he snapped. “Lady Baalphegor, I swear to bring you the greatest trinket of my mother's I can find!”

She smiled. Her little prince would grow up to be great, she would make sure of it. Baalphegor snapped her fingers and summoned a parchment. The infernal ink glowed red, the terms of their little agreement laid out plain for the child to read.

“Just sign here, Raphael.”

—

The years had not changed her little prince. Not in the slightest. From childhood into his teenage years, his skills had progressed. He was exceptional at magic, and had developed a flair for song contracts (much to the annoyance of any who contracted with him.) His silver tongue had gotten out of more trouble than it had gotten him into. His fire never calmed, his ambition never dimmed.

Raphael was no longer constrained by Cania, he had become powerful enough that he needn't remain if he did not want to. The material plane was his playground. Raphael had even given himself a human form, to make it easier for him to do whatever he wished there. He galavanted across kingdoms. He performed music and poems in taverns across Faerun, though he had tried to hide it, he could not hide from Baalphegor’s scrying.

And all the while he had yet to deliver on his vow to her.

It wasn't as if she never saw him working on it. Many times she had caught wind of him being in places in Mephistar he shouldn't be looking for information on his mother. But, considering how smart the little prince was, it was surprising how long this was taking him. Now, it could not be said he had a particular need for the crystal ball she had taken from him anymore, he was more powerful than it was. But a devil must hold true to its word. So, she had faith Raphael would deliver.

Baalphegor was adjusting her appearance, gazing into her reflection in the mirror, when a second figure appeared. She did not hesitate or startle. Baalphegor knew who would intrude on her personal time uninvited. It was Raphael who had teleported behind her.

“Well, pup, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He bristled at the nickname but let it go. She had called him “pup” his entire life, he no longer fought it like he had when he was young.

“Lady Baalphegor,” he said. Raphael carried himself professionally even though she knew it was a front. “I have come to fulfill our contract.”

A smile parted her lips and she stood to meet her little prince face to face. He was no longer so little, no longer did he sit by her side and allow her to play with his hair. He thought himself a man, a mature devil with immense power. She didn't have the heart to tell him he was still hardly more than an ant compared to those who ran in the same circles as him.

“So you have. Well, what have you brought me?”

Raphael did not smile back at her, his lips pursed tight like the grumpy little boy he was. He held out his closed fist and into her waiting hand, he dropped a single golden hairpin.

One look at it and Baalphegor could tell he had succeeded. The thing practically oozed magic, every perfect twinkle in the light was a miniature dancing lights spell attached to it. The pin itself was in the shape of a magic sigil, and it was warm to the touch, almost like it was alive.

Baalphegor secured the pin within her own hair. “Congratulations, Raphael.”

His expression was still dark. “...she was Netherese.”

So he had uncovered it. Baalphegor gave a small chuckle. “Sit down, pup. Tell me what you learned.”

She took a seat on her settee and, despite the bad mood he was clearly in, Raphael joined her.

“She was human. From Netheril.”

Baalphegor waited, letting him speak at his own pace. His gaze was worlds away, his eyes dreamy. She could tell he wanted to speak, wanted to regale her with the tale. But he was holding back.

“I saw the cities in the skies.The arcanists. The enclaves…” There was a reverence in his voice. He almost sounded proud. Proud of his mother's home. Proud of his mortal side.

That tone itself was more than enough to prove he was still a child. Still naïve.

“Would you have liked to live there?” Baalphegor asked. She kept her inflection gentle and welcoming, like she was luring a mortal into a trap. Perhaps she was. Perhaps that's all Raphael really was at his core. In which case, he would be better off purged.

The little prince gave her a sideways glance, eyes narrow. He seemed to have noticed the trap. But he, curiously, did not speak up right away. And Raphael always spoke whether he had something worth saying or not. It was clear, he was genuinely contemplating.

“...No,” he said after a worrying silence. His tail may no longer have flicked involuntarily but it was just as obvious that he was lying.

Still, Baalphegor waited for him to explain why, to affirm that Cania was superior in every way to those sky rocks, that Baator was the only realm that mattered. But he didn't. He didn't prove he understood the lesson, just told her what she wanted to hear. Baalphegor sighed. If her pup was to stand a chance he needed this lesson drilled into his skull.

“Do you think you could have had a life there?” Her voice was restrained, she wasn't yelling, she wasn't crying, but displeasure rang through her words.

“...what?”

“I asked you a question, Raphael. Do you think you could have had a life there?”

“...I—” he began but he did not meet her eyes. A liar.

“Look at me, pup.”

Raphael took a breath and looked into her eyes. He looked so human. His orange eyes were sparkling with the foolish human notion of hope.

“...There was a wealth of things to learn there.” His voice was weak, small, just like him. “I was there for only a day and I saw things I never knew possible.”

Baalphegor smiled, her tone staying calm even as she contemplated punishments for him. “There is much more to learn here, little prince. All the souls in that empire aren't worth one book from our Archduke's library.” She chuckled. “Yet I know you and your ilk.”

Raphael quirked an eyebrow at that line.

“You're a creative, a dreamer, a sensitive sort. You've been living in fairy tales since you were old enough to read them.” She turned her gaze from him. “Perhaps you're right.”

“Lady Baalphegor?”

She put up a beautiful false smile. “I mean it. If you think you belong there, who am I to argue it? I'm not your mother. How could I be? I am a pure devil; you don't resemble me in the slightest.”

He bristled.

Baalphegor pressed ahead. “Your sensitive nature could have flourished in the prime. You'd never be studied in magic, no. Why would you need to be? You'd be nothing. But you could play your music, just like you do now when no one's watching you.”

She looked back at him and watched as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“You could sing your tales of greatness that would be worthless outside of your empire, your city, your filthy taproom. But you'd have admirers of course. There are always types who fetishize monsters.

“And be assured, Raphael, you would be a monster. Your devil wings, such a lovely feature your father gave you, they would be nothing but a lead weight around your ankle. I suppose you could always say a prayer in the dead of night to those gods mortals seem to love worshipping that some hero would come and slice them, rend them from your back. Then you'd look like a common tiefling. And no one would be able to tell the difference.”

“No.” Raphael’s voice was stern, commanding, devilish. “You will not speak to a son of Mephistopheles in that way.”

She smiled. “A son of Mephistopheles and who, exactly?”

Raphael did not flinch, did not falter and she knew her lesson had reached him. “A son of Mephistopheles and a mortal broodmare whose only contribution to any realm was dying to birth someone far greater than she could ever be.”

Baalphegor pushed a stray hair behind his ear and leaned in to gently kiss his forehead. “That's right, pup. Never forget. You are superior to them in every way. Bearing you was the only good thing your mother ever did. Would you like to know what our lord did with her soul?”

His eyes did not sparkle. There was no place for hope in them. But they burned. They burned with his ambition, an insatiable fire.

“It doesn't matter.”

“Correct.” Baalphegor stood up and gestured to the hairpin she wore. “Pretty as she might have been, this is just as pretty. And it is worth more. I think you could sell it for 10 soul coins. Ten times what its owner was worth.”

Raphael stood. “Thank you, Lady Baalphegor. But I'd only give you 3 for it.”

“A hard bargainer.” She smiled. Her little prince would be great. She just knew it. “Alright.” She removed the hairpin, her lesson finally taught. “Shall we call it a deal?”

Raphael snapped his fingers and summoned an infernal scroll. “Just sign here.”

[sleepw-me]

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪‧₊🪼˚‧ ✧𓍢ִִ໋˚. SWEET BOY✩⸝

SFW

You are moving to Japan, you were afraid of your first day at a new school. New culture, new language and new people. You didn't really know the language yet, you only knew how to introduce yourself and ask something, so you were very worried about how your new classmates would welcome you.All you knew was that you were assigned to a linguistics class to make it easier for you to communicate with others in English.

You're getting ready for your first day, you wanted to make a good first impression, you put on your makeup and hair, you put on your school uniform. It was a new and strange feeling for you that you would now wear form-fitting clothes at school, but you still liked the colors that represented the school.And here you are, a pleasant melody rang out in the corridors, signaling that the lesson was starting, it was a really pleasant surprise than the earlier bells in your country that often gave you a heart attack. When you first entered the school, you were met with curious glances and whispers that you couldn't understand.

You enter the classroom nervously and greet the teacher and the class politely, then stand next to the teacher who also greets you with a nice smile and calmly explains your situation to the students and then asks you to introduce yourself.

The look of all these people made you feel a little nervous.

Hello everyone, I'm [name]... I came from [...] and I hope we will have a nice time this year.

Bowing slightly, the teacher pointed to an empty seat next to the unknown boy for you to sit there.

You sat down, trying to unpack your bag and get ready for class.

You noticed the boy sitting next to you.He didn't seem too bothered by this change in class. The only thing you noticed was when his eyes sometimes moved towards you, he tried to hide it so as not to be nosy, but he was a little interested in you.

The way you wrote Japanese letters made him laugh a little because you did it slowly and very carefully. His lips trembled when he saw your desperate face when you wanted to read something on the board but you didn't understand anything.And so the days passed and you still hadn't exchanged a single word with your friend next to you, until one day when your pen ran out and you didn't take a spare one. The first thing that came to your mind was to turn towards him, so you did.

Hey...do you have an extra pen?.

He turned towards you, wondering whether to lie or give it to you, but he decided to be kind and took a pen from his bag and gave it to you.

Here.

His honeyed voice rang out, you won't lie but you would love to hear it when he reads something in front of the class.

Thank you…

You uttered sweetly and went back to writing.You swear you don't know how that brief exchange turned into a sweet friendship between the two of you.

[boy]! Have you seen this new cafe that opened a few days ago? It seems really worth seeing. Shall we go there after school? Please.

You go to your desk and call your friend. The boy with whom you never exchanged a single word is now your only best friend. Despite his character, he is a really nice person and you can rely on him.

We can.

Even though he answered casually, you could feel the note of sweetness and honey in his voice that he pours into the words he says to you. [boy] often taught you Japanese, took you to nice places, such as cafes, where you could talk and learn together in a nice atmosphere.

Maybe you didn't notice it because he was trying to be discreet about it, but he always gave you that warm look when you spoke passionately about something. Or when you leaned over to write something in your notebook. Even when your hair got into your eyes while you were studying and he was sitting next to you, it was natural for him to tuck your hair behind your ear.

It didn't go unnoticed to you but you didn't say anything and just let the butterflies fly in your stomach.

He bought you drinks and placed them on your desk, and you spent lunchtimes together, leaning on each other's shoulders.

Such small and sweet gestures were felt from both you and [boy] but neither of you broke the silence yet, you wait for these feelings to develop and maybe then you will think about something more. For now, you are enjoying these moments.

m.fushiguro, t.inumaki, m.tokito, o.iguro, s.todoroki, h.shinso, t.kageyama, k.kozume, k.tsukishima, h.iwaizumi, o.miya, k.sakusa, k.akaashi, r.suna

[mayullla]

Hi! Can I request cyno 🍁+🦋 please?

Title: Friendship Chocolates

Character(s): Cyno (Genshin Impact) Warnings/tags: Yandere themes, fem!reader, stalking, unrequited pining, jealousy, Cyno watching you sleep, soft yandere Cyno, 1k words

[ - A little present~! Event - Closed - ]

Is... is this for me?" Cyno asked, staring at the chocolates in front of him. An open bag of chocolates was in his hand, which he had opened when you placed it in his hands, telling him that it was for him.

"Yes, it is for you, silly," you laughed at his surprised face, blinking at it as if he expected it to just vanish from his hand. "I made them with Lisa, actually. Me and her wanted to try making chocolates ourselves, and it was surprisingly easy. We made a ton of them, and I am planning to pass them to all our friends." You looked away, listing names in your head that you wanted to give, not seeing Cyno's reaction as he froze for just a moment.

He was quiet for a moment, and you assumed that he was listening when he cut you off. "They... they are good." You looked at him, about to complain that he cut you off, but when you saw his face looking at the chocolate with a little bit of surprise and fondness, you could not help but smile a little. The chocolates were bite-size, some were just chocolate while others were chocolate-coated nuts and berries. You also got a few biscuits (not enough time to make them from scratch) and coated them with it.

"I am glad you like them," you told him, thinking to yourself that you should have given him a bit more if he liked them this much. "If you want more, just tell me, alright? Me and Lisa made milk chocolate and dark chocolate versions, so drop by my place if you want to grab some more." Telling Cyno that you were going to head out, you said a quick goodbye and left him to himself as he looked at the chocolates.

You had been a little bit worried, to be honest, that the chocolate would have melted under the sun and made sure to pack them well in your bag with an ice pack to keep it somewhat cool. Layla had been kind enough to make a small ice shield on your back to keep the heat out when you met her.

As the sun went down, you finally reached your home, placing your now empty bag of chocolate down. What was left was your study books in another section, while you had already gotten rid of the watered-down ice pack in the middle of the day. Stretching as you thought about the day, quite happy with the reactions your friends gave you when you gave them the chocolates. You felt happy to give, and while none of them were romantic, you wanted to give your friends a little something for the day.

It was fun making the chocolate with Lisa from scratch. Stretching and yawning, tired from the day, you started to get ready for dinner after doing a bit of house organizing and cleaning. After that, you were ready for bed. Tired, darkness quickly took you away into a deep sleep, unknown to you, someone was standing and guarding your house on top of a tree branch.

Cyno watched you sleep, even from far away, he felt as if he was so close to you. So close that he could hear your breathing and watch as your chest moved up and down, slowly breathing as if indicating your sleep. Unlike you, who found today to be relatively nice, Cyno had mixed feelings towards today. He still could feel his heart beating in his chest when you gave him those chocolates.

For a moment, he thought that you were confessing to him, admitting that you loved him just as much as he loved you. Yet those thoughts were quickly dashed when you mentioned that you were giving chocolate to all your friends. He felt heartbroken and almost betrayed, but then he fell in love with you again when he saw how excited you were as you chatted about making the chocolate with Lisa. In his eyes, you were lovely... so lovely.

He quickly headed to Lisa when you left, demanding to know why she didn't tell him that you and she were making chocolates. "I can't invite a boy all of a sudden when it's a girls' time, don't you think so?" Lisa teased him, laughing when she heard about what happened between you and Cyno. "That girl is so cute, having the famed Cyno wrapped around her finger yet none the wiser. How many could do that? Probably only enough to count on one hand."

Lisa laughed again as she watched Cyno huff in annoyance. "You are also quite adorable, so in love to the point that you would follow her wherever she goes. I heard that you beat up those men who tried to hit on her a few days ago. Does she know about it?"

"I wonder how she would react if she found out what you are really like. That matter is rather tame compared to the other things that you have done. Be careful, dear, with that little obsession you have there. Only one misstep and it's over for your cute little relationship."

Cyno knew that. He had known for a long time that he was so in love with you to the point of insanity. He wanted to protect you, he wanted to hold you. He craved your touch and his hand on yours. There were days when he just could not bear it and wanted nothing more than to take you away for himself.

The many things that he was willing to do just for you... there were already too many that he did. Too many to count. He was willing to do anything for you, willing to do anything to protect you. All the dark thoughts, he hid them, and all the gruesome things he had done just for you, he hid everything.

He loved you so much that he would do anything.