#he has his own place and car and look well adjust too and rich good family I guess

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

It was only supposed to be a one-night stand (Part 1)

TW: suicide attempt, mentions of self harm, smut (kinda), yandere shenanigans

okay i mayyy have made this after like seeing a bunch of hot construction workers around my campus doing tinkering and shit and my saviour complex is also kinda flaring up too

and also this is my first ever cringefail yandere, he's not rich and he barely has connections and mans was suicidal

enjouy

Part 2

Everyone doesn't know why you didn't just block him, call the cops on him, or just... anything! You don't either.

This man has been following you around for months now. Leaving you flowers on your office desk, dropping parcels of gifts in front of your door, and visiting your workplace to give you boxes of freshly made takeout.

He's not much of a talker. Maybe it's because he can't exactly speak English well. But that was the only language he had ever spoken or written in before, as far as you know.

He's definitely intimidating everyone around you. Standing at an imposing height of what you think is 6'5, his back alone is usually enough to block the sun from your eyes. With his shaggy, brown hair covering his eyes, unkempt stubble covering his face and scruffy clothes; he usually wears an olive green shirt under his very worn chore jacket and a pair of shabby khaki pants. The man wears a pair of mildly tattered combat boots. He isn't ugly, perse, but he definitely isn't the standard of beauty in society. Your stalker has this rugged and disheveled vibe to him that some may like and most look down upon.

You think he's homeless, living in his beaten car and going to public gyms to shower. You've never seen him eating something he cooked himself, it's either he's eating something out of a styrofoam box, or a package good from convenience stores.

But he isn't unemployed. You know he is a construction worker, you caught him many times staring at you longingly as you hasten your pace, fleeing the soon-to-be shopping complex near your office. He was carrying a heavy set of wooden planks on his shoulder effortlessly, the stranger wiped his sweat using the back of his hand before adjusting his hard hat.

You didn't know that he worked in this field when you first met him. You always had a good heart... or at least a heart that simply cannot handle bystander guilt.

You were walking towards the subway one day, and it was late because you agreed to work overtime. The sky was pitch black, and the only thing that illuminated the path ahead was the lamps swarmed by millions of moths.

Entering the tunnel, there were only a few people around; either waiting for the train, for someone, or for a miracle. Regardless of what they're there for, they're all occupied in their own little world.

You were about to be immersed in the world of social media too, but your blasted phone died. So you're forced to stand in silence and become aware of your surroundings, nothing to numb yourself from the daily mundaneness.

And it was this awareness that led you to notice the man in the first place. You were guarded, taking a few steps away from him as he seemed extremely intoxicated. He was swaying and stumbling, in his calloused hand, held a brown glass bottle with liquid sloshing in it. The man was mumbling something, but it was too soft and incoherent for you to hear. He kept wiping his face using the back of his knuckles.

He, just like everyone else except you, is in his own personal hell too. He spared no attention for you or anything else except his own drunken stupor, so you deem it relatively safe to watch him from where you're standing. The stranger is your only source of entertainment at the moment anyway, the train is coming soon, so why not watch him for a bit more and laugh at him internally for being at his lowest? Certainly, it would never happen to you.

You were snapped out of your own thoughts when you saw him going dangerously close to the ledge, crossing over the yellow line. At the same time, the sounds of wind rushing and rumbling reached your ears, if he falls onto the rails, he will definitely be done for. You looked behind your shoulder and saw bright lights coming from one end of the tunnel, calculating that you only have a couple seconds to make your decision.

You shouted for his attention, catching it and a few others around you. He stared at you with bloodshot, glassy eyes. However, he lost his footing and was about to fall to his ultimate demise.

The adrenaline rush amplified by the roar of the train wheels made you propel your feet toward him. You stretched your arm, grabbed him by the back of his jacket, and yanked him out of the danger zone with all your might. It definitely wasn't easy to move this hunky mass at all, but you did. And you saved him just at the nick of time, as the train rushed by, blasting a gust of wind against the two of you.

You must have underestimated your strength because he was flung back at high speeds. He grabbed your arm by instinct, trying to re-balance himself, and brought you down to the grimy subway floor with him.

You groan as you rush to sit up, cradling the arm that made contact with the ground. Scowling at the stranger for pulling such a stupid stunt in his inebriated state, upset that now you had a few pairs of judging eyes on you. You froze when you saw his eyes though, a unique glimmer made its way to his dark irises. His mouth is slightly ajar, he is staring at you with such intense reverence and adoration which you mistake as a mere alcoholic's intoxicated stare.

You screeched when he suddenly emptied the contents of his stomach on your work blouse. Shouting angry curses at him as his head was slumped to the ground and his eyelids shut.

You got up and tried to swipe as much puke away from you as you ran to the train. The last you saw him that night was in an extremely pathetic state, unconscious in his own puddle of vomit, a bottle of booze rolling away from him. People either crossed over him or walked over his body, sparing a few glances of pity or contempt before boarding the train themselves.

You thought that you were never going to see him again, with that much alcohol in his system, you would be surprised that he could even remember his own name. And you couldn't be more wrong.

A few days after that, you were in the same station, taking the same train because your boss needed you to finish the report by that day. This time, you're exhausted. Not sleeping, eating or enjoying your hobbies puts a toll on your energy levels, what a surprise.

You were nodding off in the train, struggling to keep yourself awake.

Maybe if you let yourself doze off, you'll wake up just in time for your stop. And so, you did, you let yourself drift into slumberland.

It was a mistake.

You were harshly woken up with a torch shining in your eyes and a booming voice telling you that the both of you have to leave, as this is the last stop. Lifting your head from a headrest, which actually was someone's broad shoulder. But you didn't realize that.

You were still half asleep, groggily and hastily gathering your things, not registering that the employee was also referring to another person in your proximity.

You muttered a small good night to the staff before exiting the train, yawning and stretching. Smacking your lips as you realized that your briefcase wasn't with you, must've left it back on your seat. So you turned around and walked forwards, only to ram yourself onto what you thought was an oddly shaped pillar. Cussing under your breath as you stumbled backwards, rubbing your head.

You let out a shocked yelp when you realized that it's the man instead. You were about to say something to him but your eyes landed on his side; he was holding the suitcase for you.

You stammered a quick thank you as you snatched it away from him, picking up the pace as you walked away. Howeever, you heard footfalls behind you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw him following closely behind.

Perhaps he is also looking for an exit, so you silently lead the way to the nearest opening. But as you walk, you start to wonder; did he purposely stayed on the train with you? If he had to go somewhere he would have gotten off by then, if this was his stop, he would have left before the lights went out.

Finally, having to breath in fresh air once you exit the dusty station, you turned to look at him. Trying to discern which way is he heading.

He isn't moving. The man stood next to your side, staring straight ahead. As if he's waiting for you to take another step. After a few more seconds of idling, he turned his gaze to you.

Understandably being creeped out by this, you told him not to follow you. He blinked a couple times before continuing to stare.

Sighing, you asked him if he is lost. And you got no response.

You asked him if he is stupid. And you got no response.

Not giving a shit anymore, you picked a direction and walked. It's a long walk home and there will not be any trains left until the sun rises. As expected, he followed you all the way.

He is useful in warding off midnight catcallers and other seedy individuals that hang around alleys and empty streets. Who wouldn't be wary of him? He looks like he could easily pick them up by the scruff and fling them to the rooftops. But that means he could do that to you too, and that isn't comforting to know at all.

You reached home after an hour and a half of walking. The man is still on your trail, crowding you around the door as you unlocked it. You opened the door and immediately slipped in, he tried entering as well but you slammed it against his face. He watches you lock and latch your door through the window, he placed his hand on the glass and clawed at it a bit. You simply drew the curtains shut, praying hard that he isn't going to be there by sunrise.

Your prayers wasn't answered because you decided to check up on him an hour later. You saw him laying on the porch with his eyes closed and that tugged at your heartstrings a bit.

Maybe it's the sleep deprivation that is lowering your inhibitions, or you're just lonely and he doesn't look half bad. It could also be the cold one you cracked open that's screwing up with your soberness. Either way, you would have given yourself shit for opening the door and letting him in your house while the world is still asleep. If you get murdered, at least you won't need to go to work next week.

It was a blur, you remembered bits and pieces of his hands roaming your bare back, his cock impaling into you as he sloppily kissed you from the jaw to your neck. How his rough fingers fondled your genitals and how you were gripping your bedsheets as if your life depended on it.

Bouncing on him while you shoved your tongue down his throat was fun, especially when he wrapped his hand around the back of your head, preventing you from escaping him. Feeling the pleasant pressure on you as he pinned you to the firm bed. It was kind of him to shield your head with his hand from hitting the bedframe while he plows you from behind, iron gripping your hips with the other.

You remember starting it, demanding that he gives you something in exchange for staying a night here, you remembered pulling him into a deep, passionate, drunken kiss before he has a foot into the living room. You didn't give a shit about knowing his name or if he had any STDs, you just need to release a lot of frustrations.

You woke up hungover, with you being the small spoon while he held you tightly in his strong arms. They were littered in old scars, some clearly self inflicted.

You turned your head to see that he's still asleep, soft snores escaping his lips. Annoying to some.

Squinting as you let the sharp rays of light stab your eyes, you saw that your clothes and his were strewn all over the bedroom, the door wide open with a stray shoe resting next to it's hinges.

You looked at the clock and realized that you're going to be late. Being the workaholic you are, you shook the stranger in your bed awake. He was groaning and quietly whining about not wanting to get up, but shuts up as soon as you hurled his clothes at his face.

He shot up and cowered behind his arms as you continued throwing his articles of clothing at him, telling him that he has to leave because you need to go to work.

While he's composing himself, you rush to the bathroom to take a quick shower, pretending the cold stream of water is washing away all your sins from the night before. You lather up some soap before scrubbing your skin, internally beating yourself up for your irresponsible choices.

A familiar pair of arms snaked around your torso as you're pulled back into a strong chest, a pair of lips decided to flutter smooches on your temple and ear. His hands explored your naked body, utilizing the suds and the water to give you that electrically tingling sensation.

Of course, this intrusion wasn't taken lightly. You screamed and kicked him out of the shower, telling him to leave your house. You caught a glimpse of his confused and crestfallen look in his eyes, paired with his dripping wet hair and sopping wet body.

You finished your business, threw on a set of fresh clothes and rushed out of the door. And definitely dragging him out of there with you too, not giving a crap that he was in the middle of wearing his shirt.

You ran as fast as you could, wanting to catch the next train. And so did he, he chased after you and squeezed himself into the carriage.

Everyone was also rushing to work, there were no seats left nor were there any standing spots. Shoulders were bumping shoulders and the shorter passengers were at an all time disadvantage. You couldn't reach the handles; but he could.

As the door closes, the man held you close to him and rested his free hand on the small of your back. To outsiders, you and him looked like a run of the mill couple having each other. They couldn't be more wrong, you don't even know a single thing about him.

You just endured it, having no choice but to stick next to him. He yawned and frowned, looking quite displeased that he was not in your bed. Well, that's his fault, no one forced him to follow you back home, and no one forced him to stick himself inside of you.

Among the busy chatter in the train, you and him stayed silent. Gradually feeling comfortable in each other's embrace.

You mumbled curses under your breath, he knows where you live and he is going to know where you work. Couldn't this year get any worse?

As soon as the doors open, you make a mad dash out of the station. Running as fast as you could, not caring who you had to shove to clear your way.

You never looked back, but you made sure to take as many detours as possible to mess with his direction if he somehow managed to catch up to you. But your lungs and your out-of-shape-office-worker legs can only take you so far, you reach a nearby tree in a park next to your building.

You panted as you scanned your surroundings, only seeing the elderly, children, athletic adults, and their pets. No sign of that man you slept with last night.

You took a couple more minutes to catch your breath, knowing fully that your boss would chew you up for being close to an hour late. Whatever, you're here now. Let's earn your salary.

So you walked, it's just a couple minutes away. Nothing else should go wrong today-

You had an incredulous look on your face when you saw him loitering at the entrance. Your colleagues glance him up and down, some admiring the way his muscles slightly stick out of his shirt, some wondering what an unkempt hunk like him is doing in front of such a corporate, sanitized venue.

There was no way to sneak past him, you just had to face him. It was... cute that his eyes lit up as soon as he saw you. So you sighed as you marched up to him, requesting him to leave you alone as politely as you could. There was an edge to your tone, he must either be oblivious to it or he's simply choosing to ignore the fact that you're unhappy with him here.

During mid-sentence, he presented you with a paper plate that had a hotdog on it. You were speechless, it had everything on it: ketchup, mustard, relish, pickles, mayonnaise, cheese, Jalapeño slices, onions, beef chili, and other heaps of things that you couldn't identify. With the number of toppings, you couldn't tell that it was a hotdog in the first place, it was just a mountain of random savory foodstuffs. Your eyes darted to his other hand, it also had a hotdog wrapped in a napkin, except his one only had relish.

"I didn't know what you liked..." He mumbled, voice so deep that you could feel the vibrations in your own chest. The man looked at you with hope, wanting you to accept the plate of everything as breakfast.

You shook your head and said you were late to work. Pushing him away from the door before entering the building, some of the topping amalgamations spilled onto his shirt. Probably staining it forever with its oil content.

He stood there with a frown, he craned his head downwards to stare at the spill.

Then, he looked back up to see that you were out of sight. His shoulders sagged as he placed his own hotdog on top of your plate of horrors.

The man walked away as he pulled out a plastic spoon that he tucked in his pocket, it was given to him by the vendor because it is impossible to eat your order with hands.

He began digging in, throwing one last glance at the main door behind him.

[the-girl-who-walks-with-mutants]

Uncanny Icon Chapter 1: Call to Action

Kurt Wagner x Original Female Character (Adrian Grey)

Rating: M

Chapter Summary:

The X-Men are missing!

Adrian Grey has been called back to the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters after a year away at college. Her old teammates have been lost on the island of Krakoa, and she needs to step up as second-in-command for a rescue mission.

Pre-Giant Size X-Men 1, but references the missing X-Men plot told by Scott Summers.

Westchester, New York, six years later…

Staring up at the stone of the mansion, Adrian isn’t sure how she was convinced to come back. She’s paid the cabbie, waiting for her change as the well-known walls and turrets of the place she once called home stare back at her.

‘You live here or sumthin’?’ the cabbie asks, taking far longer than necessary to count out the coins. Adrian’s hand taps a rhythm on the doorhandle, the pressure rising as she attempts to stabilize herself. One-on-one interactions were easier to control, but far more tedious to listen in on when the other person was trying her patience.

‘Or something.’

‘You rich, then?’

Adrian has never been a patient person. Snatching her change as soon as the cabbie offers out his hand, she quips, ‘not enough for that tip you’re gunning for.’ And then she slides out of the backseat, grabbing her bag from the trunk without another word. The annoyance of the cabbie spikes in her brain, a faint tone of well fuck you too, lady.

As the car drives off, she rubs a temple, the silence a welcome change. A few months ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem. She had been doing so well, she had gotten into Barnard and was on the art history course. Of course, it was a compromise. The expressive, creative energy of real art school is too much for her brain, and had nearly sent her into a panic attack when she visited them the year before. Art history, at least, gave her something close, in a more controlled environment.

Or so she had thought.

It had only taken a year before she was brought into the Dean’s office. He had attempted to keep a kind smile, but Adrian always senses falsity, always knows when people are lying. And when he suggested that she take a semester off to reassess her academic future, in light of several concerning incidents involving both students and staff, she knew what it meant.

Adrian Grey is crazy. Adrian Grey is unstable. Adrian Grey does not belong.

Of course, they didn’t know the real reason they were so afraid, made so uneasy by her presence. It is not just because Adrian is a problem.

Worse.

Adrian Grey is a mutant.

XXX

Six years ago…

‘Don’t hold my hand, you’re too old for that, you can handle your own thoughts for once.’ Jean says as the two Grey sisters enter the Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters for the first time. Adrian drops her hand out of Jean’s, holding it around her teddy bear instead. Jean always said that Adrian was too old for teddies now, but he was her friend. A little ratty bear that her parents got for her the last time she was well enough to go to the zoo. Adrian would cling to him, the silence of the teddy with no mind, he could provide comfort in a way no human could.

She adjusts the teddy’s bow tie, so he looks prim and proper, making a good impression to the rest of the new students.

They were to be part of a first-generation. Six youngsters, six children with great powers. Mutants. That’s what the Professor had called them. Those born with something different inside them, that made them hated and feared, but also made them special. Here, they would have an opportunity to train in their abilities, to learn to control them and give them a cause to help others, both mutant and human.

Adrian tries to hide behind Jean as they meet their new classmates, but Jean is far too extroverted to let herself become a wall for her little sister. Walking into the room with pose and grace, she presents herself for everyone’s hellos and sweet words, her smile perfect, her eyes shining with joy. They were all boys, all older than Adrian. She clings to the bear again, holding him against her chest as if the silence would melt into her brain.

‘That’s a nice bear,’ one of the boys says. Her eyes snap up, meeting a pair of red glasses. The boy was Jean’s age, his brown hair nearly trimmed, smile soft. ‘Does it have a name?’

She blinks, confused that he’s having a normal conversation with her. People don’t talk to Adrian. People didn’t like Adrian. The idea was foreign, but she likes it. Holding the bear out, she whispers, ‘Kirby.’ She makes the bear extend its fuzzy paw, as if offering a handshake.

The boy with the red glasses takes the paw, giving it a little shake between a finger and thumb. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr. Kirby.’

The trust is palpable, tasting like a warm cookie on her tongue. So she takes a risk, saying in a hushed tone, ‘I’m Adrian.’

‘And nice to meet you, Adrian. I’m Scott, but you can call me Slim.’

‘Why?’ she never had a nickname, and neither did Jean. Nicknames were never a thing in the Grey house.

Slim shrugs, ‘I think it’s just because I was really tall when I was your age. Why, does it not fit me? Should I be Shortie instead?’

And that makes her giggle. Adrian can’t remember the last time she giggled unless it was someone else’s joy bubbling over in her mind. This was her own amusement, her own feelings, her own joy. As each of the boys take their turns introducing themselves – Slim, Bobby, Hank, Warren – she finds herself smiling, her grip on the bear loosening as she realizes that, maybe, she won’t need the silence as much as she did at home.

XXX

In the mansion, she finds it silent. She knew the Professor wouldn’t be here, he was getting the other members of the team assembled. But the Mansion had always been abound with sounds and smells, a constant chaos that was once so comforting to her.

The silence was cold, an intrusion that didn’t provide the calm that she once so craved. Walking down the halls, she takes in the photos around. One catches her eye. Stopping, she looks at the first photo of Xavier’s first class of students. Six students, six mutants. She stares at each of the members, the class list first handed out fresh in her mind, listing their names, ages, and mutations.

Jean Elaine Grey, 16, telepathy and telekinesis

Scott ‘Slim’ Summers, 17, concussive eye-beams

Warren Kenneth Worthington III, 17, angelic wings

Henry ‘Hank’ Philip McCoy, 18, super-strength, agility and intelligence

Robert ‘Bobby’ Louis Drake, 14, cryokinesis

Adrian Louise Grey, 13, empathy and psychic manifestation

Her gaze shifts to the next, taken two years later, just before some of them would graduate from the school to go off to college. New additions were there. There was Alex Summers, Scott’s younger brother, and the green-haired girl, Lorna Dane. Photos of the group at picnics, birthdays, and, of course, newspaper clippings. Her eyes narrow, the emotions that pushed her back to this place rising once more.

Because Adrian didn’t return to the school out of a need to visit and relive the good old days.

Adrian came home because her family is missing.

The students of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters are not merely mutants attempting to control their gifts to protect themselves from a world that does not understand them. They were the X-Men. Teen heroes, fighting in a war against the forces that would seek to destroy mutantkind, led by the Professor, who believes in a dream of mutant-human cohabitation.

Looking back at the original class photo, she looks at the training uniforms they all donned, yellow and black outfits that would become their original costumes out in the field. Her gaze drops to the label.

Jean Elaine Grey a.k.a. MARVEL GIRL

Scott ‘Slim’ Summers a.k.a. CYCLOPS

Warren Kenneth Worthington III a.k.a. ANGEL

Henry ‘Hank’ Philip McCoy a.k.a. BEAST

Robert ‘Bobby’ Louis Drake a.k.a. ICEMAN

Adrian Louise Grey a.k.a. ICON

‘Reminiscing?’

She sighs, turning her head towards the voice as she says, ‘Hey, Slim.’

Scott looks stressed. Granted, he was always tightly wound of course, but now, he looks tired. The Professor had only given her the basics of what had happened. The X-Men, without Adrian and Hank, went out on a mission to the island of Krakoa in the middle of the Pacific, but it went wrong. Scott was the only one able to escape. Jean, Warren, Bobby, Alex, and Lorna were all still captured, held prisoner by some unknown villain. His hair is dishevelled, and Adrian can tell he hasn’t slept very well.

When she frowns, Scott shakes his head, ‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘If I don’t, who will right now?’

The two look at each other for a moment, then meet in a hug, holding each other close for the first time in months. Adrian and Scott always had a complicated friendship. Beginning as a little kid looking up to an older teen, turning into fights and disagreements as Adrian began to have her own, often contradictory, opinions. But at the core of it all? They were found siblings, a brother and sister that would die for each other, do anything for each other. Scott’s feelings for Jean and Jean’s need to be the centre of his attention may cause them problems sometimes, but at the end of the day, they were the model for the beauty of Xavier’s dream of brotherhood. The ties that only mutants can hold, the connections only they can understand. By being different, they’re brought together, bound in a way that can never be broken.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he says, his tone softer than a moment ago as Adrian feels his walls begin to fall. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d take up the Professor’s offer, after everything…’

She pulls away, her hands on his shoulders, giving him a sense of stability that had been missing since Krakoa. ‘Well, it isn’t an offer, now is it? It’s a call to action. And no matter what, I’m not going to let my family suffer.’ Then her face hardens a bit, ‘Is Hank coming?’

Scott’s expression matches hers, the disappointment barely hidden behind his ruby quartz glasses. ‘No, he’s needed on Avengers business, said he was indisposed.’

‘So he said no.’

‘Adrian –’ he starts, but she holds a hand up to cut him off.

‘C’mon, Slim, he said no. You barely made it back and you’re still here. I fucked off from this place ages ago, and I’m back because you asked. Hank said no, didn’t give a good reason because he never does and you’re pissed about it.’ Her expression softens once more, biting at her cheek. ‘Look, I know you want to be high and mighty about it, but just let yourself be a little upset that he’s not coming. And if you aren’t yet, well, I can always make you.’

That makes him crack a smile, shaking his head. ‘I see college hasn’t matured you.’

‘Oh, I’m very mature, Slim. But that doesn’t mean I have that stick up my ass that you do.’

He ruffles her hair, just like he did when she was little, in the year when Xavier said she was too young to go on missions and would watch the rest go off to fight villains and criminals. ‘Okay, fine I’m upset. Happy?’

She nods, grabbing her bag and swinging it over her shoulder so they walk and talk along the way. ‘I’ll make sure to give Hank some choice words the next time I see him.’

‘Sure, buds, sure.’ They walk down the hall, his hand reaching out to take her bag for her, ever the boy scout. ‘But, Adrian, please stop calling me Slim. It’s not funny anymore.’

‘What,’ she says with a grin, one that far too often got labelled as maniacal, ‘you’re telling me the kids don’t know about Slim Summers anymore? When did he fall out of fashion?’

‘The sixties?’

She huffs, grabbing her bag back from him. ‘You’re no fun, Slim.’

‘Adrian –’

‘Oh please, using that tone with my name isn’t the threat it used to be,’ she cuts him off again, something she is all too good at. ‘Now gimme the run down… who are our new X-Men?’

[see the rest, follow along with the latest updates, and see fun facts about references and comic book lore over here at my AO3!]

[the-fiction-witch]

Soon I Promise

Media IRL

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster

Couple Thomas X Reader

Rating Flirty

Concept Sugar baby’s toy boy

I sat at my vanity fixing my face to look as beautiful as possible watching the clock as closely as possible. When I was done with my face I got up and grabbed my tiny little satin dress leaving little to the imagination, and as soon as I slipped on my dagger heels to match I saw the Bentley pull into the driveway. So I scampered out of my suite and down the hall standing at the top of the stairs giving my dress an adjustment as the door clicked open so I stood looking as good as possible. And in stepped my husband in his black suit he smirked at he saw me

"Hello gorgeous"

"Hello darling," 

"You've been good?"

"Always" I smiled coming down the stairs he gave me a slight glare so I moved to press a kiss to his cheek 

"I did get the bill in for the gold card?"

"I was just treating myself to some new dresses" 

"Ask next time, alright pet?"

"I will"

"Good. Right I'm off out to the club I'm taking the BMW, don't wait up" 

"I won't you have fun" I smiled he happily took the keys and headed back out the moment I heard his car go I let out a breath relaxing thrilled my two minutes a day of having to look presentable was over grabbing my phone from the table as I wandered into the living room sitting in the chair by the fire looking out across the windows and pool typing the numbers in and letting it ring but it quickly picked up

"Awww hi y/n" hi sweet voice cooed 

"Hi Thomas" I smiled

"What is the nature of your call? Not that I don't like to hear from you"

"Lonely" I pouted

"Why don't you go snuggle with your husband"

"He's gross. And boring. Especially compared to you"

"How sweet"

"And he's not here"

"Isn't he?"

"Nope. Club with the boys he'll be gone all night"

"I can take a hint. I'll be over in ten minutes" 

"Pick up dinner on the way, pretty please?"

"Alright, usual?'

"Yeah"

"Alright see you in a bit" he smiled before hanging up the phone 

So I smiled and set the the tv up waiting rather impatiently until I heard the sound of the three motorbike revs at the gate so I unlocked it and opened it letting him pull inside and park up as I got up and went to the door as he pushed it open his helmet in his hand leather jacket over his blue button down and jeans his bag over his shoulder and he stopped short seeing me 

"Whoa-"

"Hi"

"Hi… holy fuck."

"What?" I giggled

"Look at you! You look fucking beautiful" 

"Awww you mean it"

"Of course I do." He Cooes setting his helmet down and wrapping his arms around my waist to give me a soft cuddle "how the fuck does he walk out of this house everyday with you looking like that" 

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Because you look incredible, I couldn't walk out of this place if I had to leave you looking like this." He says

"You're too sweet to me"

"Well someone has to be" he smiled pulling me into a kiss I happily kissed him back even if he tightened his grip clearly over excited till he pulled back

"Come on, I'm hungry" I told him tugging him down to the kitchen as usual where we set up for the two of us two cook the dinner he brought for us to make together often kissing and cuddling as we cooked 

"Where is Dan anyway?"

"Club"

"Ohh, so off with his rich buddies having eighteen year olds grind on him" 

"Pretty much"

"Not to be rude-"

"But?"

"But. Why did you marry him?"

"I didn't mean to"

"... Hu?"

"I just wanted a sugar daddy and that was going pretty well until he asked me to marry him, It was over text I didn't think he was serious so I said sure next thing I knew I had a plane ticket to my own wedding in Hawaii and a diamond the size of a babybelle on my finger" 

"You didn't have to go through with it"

"I know, I could have said no I could have gotten out of it but it's nice not having to work, or think about money. Just wish it wasn't quite so boring."

"The money really worth you being this unhappy?"

"Thomas. This dress was five thousand pounds"

".... Fuck"

"I have access to every card, every account, and every car I want. It's nice to no have to worry over things"

"Point taken. I mean I guess he's still your sugar daddy"

"He is. I just talk to him less" 

"I mean… he's also kinda my sugar daddy I guess?"

"Kinda he did buy you your last for suits, and our trip to Iceland last Christmas" 

"How are you explaining that away anyway?"

"He checks how much and what shop, not what it was."

"And he pays for our dinner every other day"

"He does?"

"Yeah I pay for our food on the black card you have me that's his isn't it?" 

"Yeah that's Dan's," I smiled nuzzling with his chest 

"You know… if you got a no fault divorce you'd probably sneak away with a comfortable amount of money"

"Yeah? Then what?"

"Then, you and I could get married?" 

"Very funny Tommy"

"I mean it"

"When he dies. I have a life insurance" 

"You… you are an evil little thing aren't you?"

"I am"

"Why not divorce him take all his money and then kill him for his life insurance"

"Because that's way more suspicious" 

"Good point" he nods "I assume you have a plan then?"

"Yep, he's going to Aspen with his friends in November, one will be bringing his assistant. We have an agreement that she wants her boss dead. I want Dan dead. She's going to flood them with alcohol, dress them in ski gear and shove them under a frozen lake to down. Then scampered out of the country on a pre planned trip to New Zealand where she will be changing her name and cashing the check I send her once this is all over"

".... Alright then. Then we can get married?'

"After a suitable five months of grieving and the checks have all cleared then yes"

"Fine. If I have to wait that long can't we atleast plan a nice little trip? Just the two of us?" 

"Soon I promise" 

[srabaskerville]

"haven't you watch too much drama, Akk?" The most true ever said

Revenge against the teacher that was actually a secret boyfriend?? Akk??? WTF my boy

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

journey, m | ot7

full title: journey to the dick

pairing(s): ot7 x reader

summary: A Cinderella story but it's a dick pic. Yup, that's right. You find a dick pic on your phone and make it your mission to find the owner of said dick. Time to fuck the seven hottest guys you know! Onwards!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of alcohol consumption / partying; horny crack, everyone radiates chaotic energy and wants to fuck; reader is comparing their dicks to above-mentioned dick pic so there's a lot of talk about dick, did I mention there's a lot of dick? dick; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics in some scenes, m-receiving oral, cowgirl, penetrative sex, doggy, spanking, handjob, thigh fucking, dance studio sex, overstimulation, fingering, dry humping, 69, face-sitting, photography during sex, m-masturbation, being cummed on (neck / chest [a cum necklace LMAO] + hand), film studio sex, wall-fucking, being overheard / walked in on during sex (and not giving a shit, oops), implied car sex, implied threesome); non-idol!AU - ot7 x sex friend!reader; each member has their own scene

appearances based on the 'Butter' jacket photoshoots yes, the opening line is #50 of my prompt list LMAO title comes from Journey to the West, except it's dick because that's way more important. also, yeah, this is basically a harem hentai, but it's you and BTS, woohoo! :D

--

"Whose dick pic is this and why it is so inspirational?"

Park Jimin craned his head over to look at your phone, black hair brushing against your forehead. "Damn! That is an incredible dick."

"What are you guys talking about?" Kim Taehyung muttered, yanking your phone out of your hand and peering at the screen. His eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up into his dark brown hair. "Oh, ho! What a high-quality specimen of a dick."

"Why is it on my phone though?" you frowned, taking your phone back from Taehyung. You were sitting next to Jimin on their sofa, contemplating the great mysteries of the world. The black phone case had a cute mouse holding a large sewing needle and sitting next to a spool of sky-blue thread. "I didn't take this one, sadly."

"Maybe you were real drunk," Jimin offered.

"I haven't been real drunk since I projectile vomited in your guys' parking lot."

"That was last week," Taehyung reminded you, smiling amusedly.

You narrowed your eyes. "Look, it was a bad breakup."

"You went on, like, two dates," Jimin laughed, smacking you in the arm.

"It had potential!"

"Yeah, a potential dumpster fire," Taehyung added, rolling his eyes as he sat down on the other side of you. "I know you go for the quiet, nerdy ones, but you're just–"

"Brash? Forward? Ready to sit on dick at any second?"

Jimin was being very helpful.

Taehyung shoved Jimin's grinning face away. "It's a conflict of personality and yours is quite intense, so maybe you should try and be more open-minded about other options."

You frowned, not enjoying this pep talk that you probably needed. In fact, you avoided said pep talk at all costs. You reached back and yanked on Taehyung's ponytail. He prodded you in the left breast in response, glaring. You smacked his hand. He smacked your hand back.

Hey, when you don't have a good reply, resort to violence, right?

You looked back down at your phone. Swollen, red-purple, a good thickness. Nice length too, so hard it was sticking up without the assistance of a hand. You could spy the white pre-cum beading at the engorged tip. It was a strangely clear and well-composed photo. Black boxer briefs. Blue jeans, white shirt.

Fuck.

Could literally be any guy in the history of existence.

You turned the photo to Jimin. "Someone must have taken it last night when I couldn't find my phone for those two hours."

Jimin nodded. "Yeah, seems like it."

"You remember anyone in this outfit?"

Jimin snorted, wrinkling his cute nose. "Everyone was in jeans and a white t-shirt. 'Cause there was that wet t-shirt contest later that night, remember?"

You scratched your head. Ah, yes. Taehyung won. Man looked fucking amazing thanks to working out his arms and chest the past month. Was it solely for the purpose of a silly party gimmick? Maybe. You weren’t complaining though. You did what any good friend would do.

"Oh, right. Who won?"

Taehyung grabbed your shoulders and violently shook you. "I did! Obviously – ah, fuck you!" His tone quickly changed when he realized you were laughing like a maniac, doubling over in a pile of giggles with Jimin. "You're the worst," Taehyung pouted, holding his arms protectively.

"I'm just kidding, don't be mad," you chuckled, reaching over to hug him. He accepted it, but not without continuing to pout. You nuzzled his neck, placing soft kisses on his skin. "I bought you your favorite breakfast when you were hung over this morning, come on now."

His dark brown eyes shifted back and forth before letting out a long, deep sigh and hugging you back. Damn. He had a nice hug now thanks to these arms and his broad chest. He smelled like warm chamomile.

"I worked hard for these," he mumbled.

You patted him on the back before releasing him and holding up your phone. Back to the first order of business.

"Is this your dick?"

Taehyung scrunched up his face. "No? But I don't look at my dick at that angle either."

You puffed your cheeks and turned to Jimin.

"Is this your dick?"

Jimin plucked your phone from your hand. He tilted his head to one side. Then the other.

"Lemme check."

Then he stood up and started walking to the direction of the bathroom. Still holding your device.

"Uh..."

You trailed off.

Taehyung blinked.

The bathroom door closed.

Pants unzipped.

"PARK JIMIN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

-

"You have to be kidding me, Jimin."

"Be reasonable. I can't get hard from this dick pic. Don't you want to know the owner of said dick?"

You pursed your lips and squinted at your phone, standing in Park Jimin's and Kim Taehyung's shared bathroom, because they were roommates and your friends. The mysterious discovery of said dick pic from last night's party sparked this Journey to the Dick, because it was a very impressive, intriguing, and, most importantly, inspirational specimen of the male genitalia. Clearly you had to investigate.

For science.

Which was why you were standing in the bathroom with Jimin's sweatpants off and begrudgingly getting to your knees. Begrudgingly, because...

"I thought we were supposed to be ordering pizza and watching Running Man."

"We are," Jimin answered cheerfully. "After you suck my dick."

You glanced at the photo once more.

It remained, indeed, very rousing of certain interests.

You gripped the waistband of Jimin's black boxer briefs.

Hmm...

Hold on.

You stood up suddenly and took your phone from him, sudden determination overtaking you.

"I have to do this correctly."

Jimin blinked rapidly, jumping with a yelp as you flung open the bathroom door to reveal Taehyung throwing himself into the wall, coughing awkwardly and hiding his face with his hands as you marched out purposefully. Jimin was still pants-less.

"In the proper order!"

Jimin and Taehyung shared a confused look.

"The hell does she mean, proper order?'

-

kim namjoon.

“Namjoon, may I look at your dick?”

Kim Namjoon looked up from his book and blinked at you over his round glasses.

“Pardon?” he replied in English.

“Your dick,” you responded in kind, in English and with succinct pronunciation. “Your penis. Your willy. Your ding-dong. Your–”

Namjoon removed a hand from his book and held it up. “My what?” he interrupted you, laughing.

Oh good, back to Korean so you didn’t have to flex all the different ways you knew how to say cock in English. “Take off your pants.”

He blinked rapidly, innocently sitting there in his flowy white button-up and brown pants. He even had suspenders. Fancy man. He had dyed his hair recently, a steel midnight blue. That’s how Namjoon was, attractive and book-smart. Absolutely won the lottery when it came to genes and brains. You couldn’t see the title of the book he was reading, but it was probably a self-help or philosophy book. He was into those nowadays, exploring the human mind, while you were more into exploring the physical aspects of humanity.

Fucking.

Luckily, fucking didn’t usually require reading.

(Usually, heh.)

“I have no objections to your proposition. I’m just confused on why so suddenly.”

You dropped your canvas tote bag on the ground. Your red, short summer dress covered in yellow lemons flared out as you shifted your weight to one hip. Your phone was in one of your hands and you waved it around like a baton as you talked.

“Aren’t I usually sudden when I want to fuck?”

Namjoon chuckled, rich and deep, shutting his book and putting it aside. Probably memorized his page number. Big sexy brain and all that jazz. A fantastic characteristic of his.

He also had a big sexy dick you were asking to see right now.

“You are, but sometimes you offer to buy me a meal or a snack first.”

“I mean, sure, if you want–”

He lifted a hand and cocked a finger towards himself, smiling. When he smiled, his dimples appeared. That was your favorite feature on Namjoon. You bounced over excitedly and sat on the couch, skirt flipping up and exposing your thighs, still holding your phone.

“I’m on a mission.”

He quirked an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses detective-style. “What kind of mission?”

You pointed to your phone. “Do you remember that party we went to, the one with the wet t-shirt contest?” You lifted your arm and flexed your rather defined bicep that made Namjoon raise his eyebrows and mouth a wow under his breath. Consistent handys really did the trick when it came to bicep muscle definition. “You remember, right? You showed off your guns.”

He burst out laughing, waving a hand. “They are not guns.”

“Sure, they are. I could do a lot of social justice with your biceps, Namjoon.”

He shook his head, grinning, dimples on full display. “And what’s with the dress? You don’t usually wear such a cute style.”

You ticked your phone to the apartment front door. “I’m meeting Seokjin later, but he said he’s going to play another round of bowling because Jungkook kicked his ass again. But anyway, back to what I was saying…”

“Ah, yes. I think I remember Jimin mentioning something to me now.”

You brightened, unlocking your phone and holding up the screen. “Right! I’m looking for the owner of this dick.”

His eyes widened and Namjoon leaned forward, readjusting his glasses again. “Wow. That’s quite a clear picture.” Then he coughed and averted his eyes.

You nodded quickly. “Well? Did you take this picture?”

He frowned and sat back against the sofa, sucking in a breath and ticking his head. “Mmm, maybe? I was pretty drunk. I don’t remember what I did…”

“Hah… Does this look like your dick, then?”

“How would I know?” he chuckled. “I don’t see my dick from that angle and I don’t have sober photoshoots with my dick.”

You pursed your lips. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to fuck then. Drop the pants.”

The thing about Namjoon was that he was a very reasonable man. You had a problem and proposed a solution and he, an avid learner who liked searching for answers to the great mysteries of this world, had the means to help you out on your quest, so he did. In addition, he thought you were hot, you thought he was hot, and you’d already fucked a couple times before Journey to the Dick, so the mutual agreement was already there.

Splendid!

The other thing about Namjoon was that he really liked to make you work for it.

Slightly less splendid.

“Are you choking?”

You squinted at him and flipped him the bird. He was well-versed with popular Western hand gestures.

Namjoon nodded sagely. “That’s good.”

And he put his hand back onto the back of your head and shoved your mouth down onto his cock once more.

You had half a second to breathe again before air was forcefully taken from you, Namjoon now holding you there, nose-first into his crotch, sighing contentedly as he expanded in your mouth. You planted your hands onto his strong thighs and pushed, but his hand didn’t budge. The safe signal was three taps and you weren’t tapping out yet. You glared and Namjoon closed his eyes, smirking slowly.

He left his round glasses on.

‘Course he did.

Damn you, Namjoon!

You reached up and pawed at the buttons of his white shirt, making Namjoon open his eyes to see what you were doing as you unbuttoned them rather deftly for someone who had his dick filling up their throat. He looked down at you, cocking an eyebrow. You cheekily cocked one back, poking his pecs with your pinky.

He grinned. “Hm? What’s that?”

You clenched your throat around the head of his cock and he gasped, losing grip for a split second.

In that split second, you threw his shirt open, glorious his tan skin and large muscular pecs now in view, and slapped your hands down onto his thighs, instantly starting a fast, rough pace, curving your neck with every swallow, sandwiching his cock between tongue and top of your mouth, pulsing your wet muscles all over his length, staring at that well-built chest, watching the muscles ripple with his sudden, abrupt inhale.

“Oh, fuck!”

Sometimes you let Namjoon have the reigns, but this time you were on a mission, although it was a little distracting now because presently you had an unobstructed view of Kim Namjoon with his shirt open, head thrown back, midnight blue hair fanning over the sofa, his full lips open and panting, tendons in his neck tensing, broad shoulders flexed, leading down his defined chest and abs, core tight from your intense pace, thighs hard under your hands, cock swollen and thick, pulsating in your mouth. His large hands planted on top of yours, squeezing them with his.

The three taps applied to him too.

Instead, Namjoon moaned your name and gripped your hands.

“T-The picture… f-fuuuuuuuck…”

Shit, that’s right.

You reluctantly slowed, tongue swiping all over the underside of his dick, tracing the veins, moaning hotly around his cock. He lowered his chin, panting hard, dark brown eyes half-open and framed by his lovely silver glasses. It was him who reached for your phone and unlocked it. He remembered your pattern lock and you had only told him once. All your consistent fucks knew how to unlock your phone.

That’s how you had so many pictures of, ahem, good times.

He placed the phone on his hip and his head fell back against the sofa, inhaling deeply as you continued lapping at the base of the head, slowly sucking on it at the same time to keep him hard.

“Mmm, fuck, that’s nice…”

You mashed the tip of your tongue against the slit and coated it with pre-cum.

“Ah, come on, look already and compare,” Namjoon chuckled in his deep voice, raising a hand to pet your head. “Then you can finish me.”

You popped your mouth off reluctantly. “Hmm.” You placed a few fingers on his cock and looked at it, positioning it to the correct angle that matched the photo. “Huh, it’s pretty close. But you have this noticeable vein here, and I think the head of your cock is slightly different…” You squinted and brought your face rather close to his stiff length. “The skin tone seems right, but it’s not exact, and I think you’re bigger…”

Namjoon wrapped his hand around his dick and smacked your cheek with the head.

“Oi!”

You puffed your cheeks, strings of saliva and pre-cum covering your face.

He grinned, dimples on full display. “Oops.”

You jabbed your finger at your phone. “I’m doing an investigation here!”

He shrugged cheekily. “You said it wasn’t exact. Get up.”

You put your phone on top of his book on the side table and glared at him. “Well, yeah, but no need to bop me,” you grumbled, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, standing up, and removing your panties as Namjoon reached over to his pants and pulled out a condom from the pocket.

You did say you were coming. Namjoon liked to be prepared for you.

“You said you liked it,” he mused as you straddled his lap.

“I do when I’m notin the middle of an important mission,” you huffed, picking up the hem of your dress and revealing your wet pussy, chin cocked in defiance.

“You don’t have to sit on my dick then,” he said, pausing with the condom right over his cock.

You frowned. “Hurry up.”

He cocked an eyebrow, dark brown eyes trapping you in his allure. “Doesn’t seem like you want it.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Growled.

Then you smacked his hands away and rolled down the condom yourself before sliding onto him with one swift motion, clenching your jaw at the sensation of being quickly and solidly filled up, not giving him or you time to adjust. Namjoon tensed his neck, grinning, large hands coming up to firmly grip your hips. Your own came up to grab his biceps and squeeze them, mustering up your most indignant scowl. He chuckled, smirking as you pulsed your walls around him.

“Hold your dress so I can fuck you.”

“Maybe I want to do the moving.”

He clicked his tongue and rammed his hips up into you, making you hiss at the feeling of his cock being driven into your tightness. Your nails dug into his arms, breaths shallowing into rapid gasps as he continued, firmly and roughly fucking you from below, hard thighs flexing and smacking into your inner thighs and ass.

“Hold your dress,” he repeated, voice low and commanding.

“You’re so bossy,” you muttered, reaching down with one hand to yank up your dress, pulling it up high so both you and Namjoon could watch as he very deliberately and very forcefully thrust upwards into your tight hole, smirking wider as he witnessed your expression and the strain of keeping the pleasure off your face.

“Don’t have to give orders if…” He jerked up particularly hard, hitting your sweet spot, causing you to gasp breathlessly. “You…” Smack! You bit you lip, moan trapped in your chest. “Just…” Smack!

“F-Fuck…”

“Listen.”

And then Namjoon seized your hips and fucked you hard and fast with you barely holding on his shoulder with one hand and the other clutching your dress, moaning his name shamelessly to his own face. Namjoon wasn’t a gloater. His face was serious and concentrated, brows furrowed and intent on giving maximum pleasure, maintaining clear control as you rapidly lost it, allowing and trusting him to lead you into carnal desires.

You leaned forward, hot exhale on his neck, changing the angle and letting him hit you deeper, tightening around him. You heard his breath hitch, hissing out your name. Your whispered against his jaw, close to his ear.

“You like it better when I don’t listen, Namjoon.”

So close, so close, so close.

He snickered, dark, devious, sensual.

“I dolove punishing you with my cock.”

You slid your hand into his midnight blue hair and shuddered, pleasure blooming from your core in heated throbs, savoring the intensity of the orgasm he gave you as Namjoon groaned in your ear, slamming you down onto his hard, twitching cock and moaning, spilling his own into the condom, thoroughly enjoying the vicious massage of your spasming pussy. You pressed your lips to his temple, flinching with the shivers that came after, riding out the peak by rocking your hips lightly, enjoying the fullness he gave you.

“Doesn’t seem like a punishment. I’m having a lot of fun,” you taunted, panting and mirthful.

He gave your ass a playful smack and you squeezed his length from top to bottom.

“We have time for round two,” he murmured, nibbling on your ear.

Kim Namjoon was a very reasonable man.

-

kim seokjin.

"Gah, fuck!"

"As a matter of fact, yes, let's."

Kim Seokjin nearly tripped and fell against the doorframe, gawking at you. His expressive brown eyes went wide, mouth open enough for a nice ice lolly to be placed between those plump lips.

"Why are you in my bed? Where are your clothes? Why are you holding Pink Bean like that?!"

You sighed exaggeratedly. Here we go. "I had a nice dress but Namjoon took it and said I can't have it back until after." You squeezed Seokjin's large Pink Bean plush that he usually kept on his bed, a fluffy representation of a boss from his favorite PC game, MapleStory. It had a bubblegum pink head, light purple horns, and a cute :3 face. You squashed it with your breasts and looked up at him, on your knees with your feet tucked under your ass, missing all your articles of clothing thanks to Kim Namjoon.

Such cute clothes only for him? I don’t think so.

Seokjin turned bright red, sputtering.

"D-D-Don't do that to Pink Bean!"

"Why not? You've fucked me from behind and I used Pink Bean as my chest support."

He strode across the room with two steps, his long legs making it easy, looking handsome and summery in his pastel yellow shirt and shorts two-piece set, flapping his hands helplessly.

"That was a special case!"

You started bouncing on Pink Bean, you and your tits. Seokjin's brown eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he actually tripped at the end of his bed, falling face-first with a high-pitched yelp.

"Seokjin, I need to see your dick."

He yanked his head up, chestnut brown hair flying everywhere, shooting you a confused glare.

"Yah! You can't just show up naked and start demanding dick while abusing Pink Bean!"

You reached up and scooped your breasts forward, squashing them between the purple horns, nipples poking out above Pink Bean's head. Seokjin looked like he was about to pass out. Probably from loss of blood to his head.

You balanced your phone in your cleavage, inspirational dick pic between your tits.

"Is this your dick, Seokjinnie?" you asked sweetly.

He started, squinting at the screen between your tits. "The heck? What is that?"

"A dick. Is it yours?"

Seokjin made a disgusted face.

"Are they really that ugly? Mine sure as hell isn't."

"Oh, so it's not? You know for sure?"

Seokjin scoffed. "Come on, there's no way that could be mine, look–"

And he sat up and yanked his shorts and underwear off, slapping them down on the floor and spreading his legs, presenting his very hard and quite pretty dick and balls. He huffed triumphantly, planting his hands in his hips.

"How could that thing compare to–gah!"

You crawled over Pink Bean, shoving the plush against your stomach and placing yourself between Seokjin's long legs, oblivious to his shriek of surprise, holding up his shirt as you compared his cock to the one on your phone.

"What the–where did you g-get that picture?!"

Your hot breath wafted over his twitching length as you held it delicately with your fingertips, ass up in the air, tilting his dick to adjust the angle so he mirrored the photo. "Remember that party with the wet t-shirt contest?” you explained nonchalantly. “The one where I said you'd totally win because of your broad shoulders, but Taehyung got more votes because he had been working out and looking all buff recently?"

Seokjin was gasping as you held up your phone. Hmm, not the same thickness. Plus, he seemed harder, sticking out straighter than this photo dick. But there was a small mole in his dick that seemed to match the picture. The length is pretty spot-on too. You scooted closer, cradling his cock with your palm and coaxing it with your fingertips, ass bouncing on Pink Bean's head.

"Oh, fuck..."

"Anyway, someone snapped this photo and I've been trying to figure out who, but everyone was drunk and, if I recall correctly, you were on a table dancing with a pool noodle and belting Kim Yonja's 'Amor Fati', so I don't think you remember much from that night."

Seokjin's voice was pitched, strained from holding back.

"I remember those... oh, fuck... those shorts you were wearing... ah, with your ass hanging out on the bottom... fuck, wanted to bend you over... but yeah, after that..."

Then you yelped when you felt his hands on your head dragging you forward and pressing your open lips to his cock.

"Ah, yeees..."

"Seokjin, wait–mphf!"

He shoved the head of his cock into your lips and looked down. You narrowed your eyes as he began to gently hump your face, filling your mouth with the hardness. You sucked in your cheeks a little, molding your mouth to him, still giving him your best annoyed face.

"Is it my dick?" he gasped, pushing deeper.

You made a confused noise and Seokjin frowned at you.

"Yes or no?"

Seriously? You held up your hand and hovered it in the air, wiggling your fingers up and down, the universal sign of–

"What do you mean, maybe?! Oh, it's because a phone camera isn't good enough to catch the majesty of my cock, is that it?"

You could had been annoyed, but then you thought about it. He brought up a good point. You hadn't considered that. Still, the shape wasn't exact though. A phone camera couldn't alter dick angle, right?

No time to think about it because Seokjin rammed his entire length into your mouth and down your throat in your moment of contemplation.

"Mmmphf!"

"Just, ah, don't move, let me fuck your face real quick–"

You didn't really expect anything less, so you pushed him down, sliding his shirt up his torso, changing the angle so you weren't straining your neck. Seokjin fell onto his elbows, hands letting go but hips still moving, groaning as you enclosed your mouth around him and rubbed your tongue all over.

"Ah, your ass is so sexy, damn, bounce it for me..."

He seemed to forget that in order to do that, you had to hump Pink Bean like a dog in heat but, hey, when the man who called himself World Wide Handsome (drunk and sober, that was the kind of man Kim Seokjin was) asks you to twerk for him, you do as you are told and give Pink Bean the best hump that plush is ever going to have.

"Fuuuuuuuck, yes, your ass is so perky and juicy, fuck, like a sweet peach..."

You tried not to choke with laughter in his dick, but the action made your throat muscles squeeze and spasm around the head, immediately making it jerk and swell at the added simulation, causing Seokjin to gasp your name and fiercely clutch his sheets.

"Fuck, yes...!"

You looked up, cocking an eyebrow, seeing his brown hair messy and fallen over his forehead, eyelids fluttering, panting as you took over the pace, firmly enveloping him all the way to the base, sandwiching him between your tongue and roof of your mouth, dragging the head over the slick wetness, pulsing expertly around his hardness. His dainty pink tongue flitted over his lips and made them glisten, full, plump, sexy as hell.

"I'm so glad Namjoon took your clothes," he wheezed.

This guy really said whatever thought that popped into his handsome head.

You smirked around his cock and wiggled your eyebrows.

Then you grabbed his hips and really gave it to him, fast and tight, angling your head so he slid into your throat deeply and easily, sending Seokjin into a sputter of curses, prayers, and blessings to who-knew-what, gripping fistfuls of his sheets and throwing his head back, beautiful neck on display and broad shoulders flexed, moaning loudly.

You almost stopped, awed by his perfectly sensual posture.

Then Seokjin thrust his crotch into your lips and gasped your name, shooting down your throat in swift, tense jolts, forcing you to stop staring at him and hurriedly gulp it all down, squeezing your eyes shut so you could concentrate, sucking in a short breath, and making him yelp, flinching to cram more of the head into your constricting throat.

You prodded his stomach sharply and drew an ‘X’, telling him to stop so you could swallow.

“B-But…”

You gave him a bunch of other hand gestures and none of them were nice. It contrasted the way you were lapping at his cock, coaxing him back to full hardness with soft tongue and delicate pushes against the roof of your mouth. He lifted one of his hands and started messing with yours, the one on his stomach making obscene hand signals. You felt him try and grab your fingers, poke at your palm, and, finally, grab your hand and tug it up, shoving your fingers into his mouth.

You popped your mouth off his cock in surprise. “Hey!”

Seokjin looked at you with giant brown eyes like a dog caught with a treat in his mouth. “Mmphf?”

You made a confused face at him.

His tongue started sliding between them, licking your joints and pads of your fingers, wiggling all around, covering you with his saliva and sending shivers over your skin at the strange sensation. You could feel the power in that squirming muscle, his brown eyes watching your reaction, your own eyes fixated on the way it looked, three of your fingers surrounded and crammed into those lush, soft, pillow-like lips, squirming, sensual tongue slipping between them, dripping saliva down your palm and back of your hand.

“H-Hey…”

It was bizarre, feeling an odd juxtaposition of the submissive nature of the act, and yet he was deliberate and forceful about it, staring pointedly as the tip of his tongue snaked out from the side of his lips, licking the side of your pinky.

“S… Seokjin…?”

He reached up and pulled your hand out of his mouth, the pads of your fingers dragging on his lower lip, wet streaks of saliva painted down his chin.

The ghost of a smirk on his open mouth, eyebrow ticking arrogantly.

You blinked at him, unaware that you were clutching Pink Bean with your other hand so hard that your knuckles were white.

Then Seokjin grinned and wrapped your wet hand around his dick and started jacking himself off with it.

“Hey! I want that in me!”

“What? Gah!”

Somehow, you convinced him to fuck you – read: threw Seokjin down on his own bed, put a condom on him, rolled him back on top of you and guided his cock to your pussy before grabbing his ass and yanking down, making you both gasp as he entered you with one smooth stroke, your back on top of Pink Bean.

Pink Bean was really seeing a lot of your naked body today, just like Kim Seokjin.

“F-Fuck– yah!”

That was his noise of protest as you yanked his yellow shirt over his head, throwing it as far as you could, out his still open bedroom door.

“Sorry, needed to get rid of useless things.”

“I like that shirt!”

You grabbed onto his wide shoulders and rolled your hips up into his crotch, wrapping your thighs around his waist and squeezing. He sputtered at the intense feeling of your pussy wrapping around him, arms shaking to hold himself up, brown hair messy and wild over his forehead, brown eyes wide in indignation.

“Sorry, my bad, I’ll pick it up after I get another out of this magnificent dick,” you quipped.

Seokjin turned red, unaccustomed to someone other than himself complimenting him.

“Why are you hanging onto me like a monkey – oh my God…!”

You used his mattress and Pink Bean to bounce up and down on his dick from below, fingers tangled in his hair, wetly smacking your hips into his crotch, panting his name into his ear, your cock feels so fucking good, love the way you fill me, fuck me up, Seokjin, giving him the praise that he wanted and that breathless moan he liked, the one where you added a bit of underlying mischievous depth, pulling back one of your hands and tracing his plush lips, his mouth opening and pink tongue lolling out, puling you into that wetness, locking his gaze with yours.

Soft and tight around two of your fingers as you slapped your hips into his, losing a bit of your power now that a hand was occupied, intense sparks shooting from your fingertips to your core, his tongue sliding sensually between them, your juices leaking out, getting wetter and wetter, head emptying and replaced with sinful pleasure as you stared into those dark brown orbs with blown-out pupils, sparkling eyes smiling at you.

Seokjin took over and started fucking you into his mattress (and Pink Bean).

Both of you completely forgot about the dick pic.

-

min yoongi.

"Ah, fuck, I forgot, I need to see your dick, f-fuck!"

"It's," Smack! "A," Smack! "Little," Smack! "Busy at the moment."

"Yoongi!"

The bed shifted and hit the wall.

"Oh no," came the most unbothered oh no behind you.

"Your damn neighbors are going to complain again," you hissed, planting your hands on the mattress and lifting your upper body up a little to scowl at him. "They're so annoying."

"Yeah, that's why I like fucking you," Min Yoongi snickered, looking back with his curly black mullet in complete disarray, smirking lips dark and swollen from making out. He raised an eyebrow at your displeased expression, dark brown eyes flashing. "Something wrong? Not rough enough for you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "I need to see your dick when it's fully hard."

He raised his eyebrows. "Sure. After this one."

"Yoongi–"

He cut you off. "Hand," he ordered.

You extended your left hand out back to him and he grabbed your forearm, long fingers gripping tightly, before proceeding his railing of your pussy from behind, your ass smacking into his crotch repeatedly.

"Yoongi – ah, oof!"

You slipped and fell face first into his pillows, gasping at the altered depth of each thrust, hard and deliberate, filling you up as you clenched around him, following his rhythm by pushing back with your hips and moaning as Yoongi slowly built up the pace, bottoming out each time.

"Why do you need to see my dick?" he asked nonchalantly as if he wasn't pounding you with it right this very second.

"Because, oh fuck, someone left a, fuck, Yoongi, yes, dick pic on my phone, aaah, right there, fuck, you're so fucking good, that night of the party, the one with the wet t-shirt c-contest, fuck, Yoongi, I love your dick so much, fuck!"

"Why would I do that?" he grunted, spanking your ass with his free hand and making you claw at his sheets, pain seeping into the pleasure and amplifying it, skin prickling hot, causing the excessive dripping between your joined legs. The headboard was now repeatedly smacking the wall.

"I dunno, you were drunk too, do you remember, mmm, yes, harder, yeah, like that, telling Taehyung you loved him and that he was your favorite little alien child?"

Behind you, you heard Yoongi choke slightly in embarrassment.

"No, I do not..."

"See, maybe you jacked off and snapped a memoir on my phone."

Yoongi let go of your arm and firmly gripped your ass with two hands.

"Memoirs are written."

"Maybe if they wrote their name, I wouldn't be on this journey – ah, Yoongi!"

You grabbed fistful of sheets and snapped yourself back up, your hair messy and cascading down your shoulders, meeting every vicious slap of Yoongi's hips to yours, his balls hitting your soaked clit and sending stings of satisfaction from your core to your limbs, so good, moaning his name, his growl of yours punctuated by his nails digging into your ass, give it to me, come on, and you fucked him back, pressing your palms into his sheets and feeling the shuddering ecstasy again and again, deep pulses tightening around his hardness, making him groan with want.

"One more, one more, I'm so fucking close, fuck..."

"You've been close, you're holding back, you're a dick, ow!"

Yoongi smacked your ass particularly hard and you clenched your core so tight that he gasped and probably delayed his orgasm even further.

"You're the one asking to see it," he panted, adjusting the angle to shove you further into his bed even though it wasn't possible, and continued his relentless assault in your pussy.

"If anyone has a nice dick, it's you, you bas... fuuuuuuuck, Yoongi, yes, I'm gonna c-cum, fuck!"

The pleasure shot through you like lightning, waves of tortuous triumph as you clutched his pillow and screamed his name into it, your juices leaking out from around his pumping cock and splattering onto his crotch and inner thighs, drenching his balls, saturating his skin with your sweet scent, Yoongi moaning your name and squeezing your ass as he fully sheathed himself in your shaking walls and exploded into the condom, his whole length twitching and shivering inside your spasming pussy, your ass prickling on pain, both of you gasping for air.

Someone on the other side of the wall was banging it and told you two to shut the fuck up, or at least you assumed that's what that muffled yelling was.

You and Yoongi ignored it.

"Are you... hah... okay?" Yoongi panted, rubbing your ass and kneading it.

"Of course, I am, what do you take me for, an amateur?" you chuckled, lifting your head, your breathing erratic and uneven. "Now let me see your dick, Yoongi."

The other side of the wall kept swearing. Very colorful, very loud, very upsetti in the spaghetti.

Poor thing must not be getting laid regularly.

"Fuck, fine, you know I like staying in there at least for a little while..." he grumbled, holding the condom down as you untangled yourself from his body, sighing exaggeratedly as you turned around and yanked it off. You tossed it into the trashcan that was already beside the bed.

Yoongi had the foresight to be prepared for a night with you.

"I don't have to leave soon. We have plenty of time."

The shouting through the wall seemed to have given up, kicking it once and swearing very heatedly before stomping off.

"You better not. I'm not finished with you."

You picked up your phone and unlocked it, opening your photo gallery, pushing Yoongi down so you could wrap your fingers around his slick, semi-hard cock. It throbbed contentedly in your hand as you began to move it up and down in smooth, tight strokes, flexing your fingers to add variation in the stimulation.

"Mmm, fuck, yeah, faster..."

You pulled the photo up and put your phone on the bed beside his hip and calmly continued your movements, looking down at him, him and fair-skinned cheeks with a slight fluffiness to them, him and his lightly upturned upper lip that gave him a cat-like appearance, him and his lowered lashes over black-brown orbs that held quiet, sensual intelligence. His hair was messy from fucking you so hard, but he was effortlessly sexy regardless, leaning back on his elbows, torso lifted to watch your hand. Yoongi noticed you staring and raised an eyebrow, wispy black strands grazing his dark brow.

“What?”

You smiled.

“Just thinking you’re really hot, Yoongi.”

He cringed slightly, ears turning pink and shifted his eyes away, closing them. Your own roamed down, down his defined shoulders and toned arms and chest, sucking in a breath at the sight, that slim waist and pretty hips, his cock filling up your hand, getting harder and harder, the head getting darker from sensitivity, the slickness of the lube and his own cum making it easier for you and better for him. Your other hand traced his side, running your nails over it and you heard his low moan, raising your head and your eyes found his. He was observing you again, glancing from the photo to you, the corner of his lips tugging upwards, ticking his head to the screen.

“That it?”

You ran your nails over his skin, just the way he liked it, light, pressing in a little when it came to the upper side of his hip, seeing his pupils expand and his breathing shallow, pink tongue licking his lips slowly.

“Yeah,” you replied breathlessly.

You increased the pace, pumping him from base to head, entranced by Yoongi’s expression, desire and cockiness despite becoming unraveled in your hands, his lower body trembling under you, your thighs pressed to his tense ones, tempting you to sit on and rub yourself all over them.

“Pretty dick.”

Slap, slap, slap. Hand on wet cock, sending shivers through you and through him.

“That’s why it could be yours.”

You saw his cheeks flush light pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he made piercing eye contact.

“Stop.”

You gasped sharply and ceased all movement, feeling his rigid stiffness pulse against your palm.

“Look,” Yoongi commanded in that low, raspy voice of his.

You bit your lip and removed your hand, strings of fluids snapping between your fingers and his hot, taut skin. His cock was so hard that it was sticking straight up, dark and imposing, twitching slightly. Long pale fingers picked up your phone and held it next to his erection.

“Well?” he chuckled.

You chewed on your lip, squinting at the screen. Reached over and ran your wet fingers over his twitching length, hearing Yoongi hiss and gasp at your touch as you angled his dick to match up with the photo. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult – the position seemed to match up perfectly. He was a little taller and thicker though. The shape of the head was similar, but also a bit off. The skin tone wasn’t quite correct either, the red-purple with subtly differing undertones. Still, lighting might affect that kind of detail. It wasn’t like you knew where this picture was taken.

“Hm… It’s really close, but not an exact match.”

“Well, damn.”

Yoongi tossed your phone aside carelessly, hand reaching out and you bent down, already knowing what he wanted, lips to lips, sliding against his body. You loved the way he kissed. Intense but soft, hand on your jaw and thumb caressing your cheek, nail grazing your earlobe, whispering into your lips, put me between your thighs, and you shifting up, closing your thighs around his wet cock, his lustful sigh and smirk on your lips, slowly thrusting in between your legs.

“Tighter.”

You hooked your ankles, one over the another and squeezed.

“Mmm, fuck yes, you’re so good…”

His words reminded you of the first time, crammed into the backseat of a small car, snuck out of a party to have Min Yoongi pull you into his grasp, tongue and lips all over you, your arms over his shoulders, wondering what you were doing because this kind of guy wasn’t your type, quiet, yes, a music nerd, yes, however he knew what he was doing, light bites on you skin making you gasp and slide down his jean-covered thigh, delicious friction to your soaked panties, tipping your head back to give that decadent mouth more access to your throat.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket. A certain someone was probably wondering where you were.

“Yoongi, how… fuck, yes, how are you so good… you’re so good…”

His deep voice over your vocal cords, vibrating them with his seductive tone.

“DND your phone,” he purred, drawing a line down your throat with his tongue, coating you with his saliva, his musky, woody cologne transferring to your shivering skin.

“What…?” you panted, unable to think straight.

He plucked it out of your back pocket, tapping it against your arm.

“Put it on do not disturb and I’ll make you cum so hard that you’ll be coming back to me all the time.”

You fumbled with your phone, strong hands scooping out your breasts from your top, those lips sinking into your cleavage and tongue ghosting over your nipples, moaning as you dropped it, ignoring Park Jimin’s text, lost in those skillful hands and that expert mouth that eventually kissed down to your pussy and drove you crazy, but not before setting your skin on fire and making you beg for it.

“Yoongi…”

His lips on yours, his eyes and your eyes both half-open, marveling at the way his lashes adorned those black brown orbs and the way he looked at you, drunk on lust and your body.

“You want me?”

Hands on your hips, grinding you down on his thigh, teasing you. He wasn’t your type, he wasn’t your type, he wasn’t your type… so why, why did that sly, knowing gaze do things to you? Why did it make your heartbeat stutter and your juices seep into the denim of his jeans, so turned on that you didn’t want anything else right now but Min Yoongi?

It just didn’t make any sense.

“Y… Yeah…”

That smirk.

“I know you do.”

You did end up coming back all the time.

He was very good and it wasn’t just his mouth.

Yoongi backed up and smirked, open-mouthed, mischievous, so fucking hot that you felt your pussy throb at the mere sight, his warm, pulsing length still jammed between your soft, closed thighs.

“You wanna ride my dick?”

You grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You completely forgot about the photo and spent the rest of the night on Yoongi’s cock and ignoring the yelling from his neighbors.

-

jung hoseok.

“Hoseokie…”

Teeth on your ear, a dexterous, teasing tongue flicking your earrings, your name coming out of that heart-shaped smile in a low, sultry whisper that contrasted it.

“You can’t come here looking like this and not expect me to want to ruin you,” Jung Hoseok purred into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Your lips curved into a smile.

You were on your knees, spread out a little, short black minidress hiked up your thighs, facing the mirrors of the dance studio. Hoseok knelt behind you, hands travelling all over your body. Deft fingers, neatly manicured nails, his sharp jaw grazing your shoulder, pulling down the thin straps. Your large hoodie was tossed to the side, scattered onto the hardwood floor in haste. The frosted door of Smile Hoya’s rented dance studio space was locked, hip-hop music blaring loudly, and in the center was you and Hoseok.

You knew he could hear your shuddering exhale well, already attuned to the sounds of your pleasure.

He smirked and kissed the top of your ear, yanking down the top of your dress.

It wasn’t like this the first time.

“Ah, well, I was hoping… wondering, ah… I don’t know how to say…?”

You were in his bedroom at the time, confused. “Yoongi said you wanted to talk to me about something? What is it, Hoseok?”

He had been very nervous, somewhat shaky, staring into your eyes. You reached over and squeezed his hand, tilting your head. He took a moment to speak, hiding his brown eyes under his blond hair.

“Uh, well, I was talking to hyung and I mentioned I… I feel like I have to put up a front sometimes. Because I’m so happy and stuff. Women expect me to be like that… in bed… And he suggested that maybe you could help me… chill out, but, uh, that’s really rude to say, ah, I shouldn’t have–”

He tried to yank his hand out of yours in panic but you held on, tugged forward by his movement. Hoseok squeaked, ears turning red, freezing in place.

“Hey.”

You held his hand and patted it with your free one, smiling gently.

“I absolutely can help you chill out when it comes to sex. What do you want to know? What do you want to do? I’ll teach you.”

You noticed his expression change from panic to worry, chewing on his lip.

“N… No, you misunderstand… It’s not having sex, I…”

He trailed off, suddenly silent. You frowned slightly, nudging him. Hoseok cleared his throat and looked you dead in the eye.

“I’m not nice.”

Now he squeezed your hand tightly, breathing in your scent.

“Or rather, I don’t want to be nice when I fuck. Sometimes I want to let go and just…” He frowned, not seeming to know the word.

You leaned in, whispering in his ear.

“Fuck?”

“Yeah, I just… don’t want to think about an image I have to uphold.”

You grinned. “Yoongi did direct you to the right woman.”

His blond hair was even lighter now, the tips dyed with navy, a soft, sexy contrast to his rich tan skin. This was now many, many fucks later, hooking up at parties, at random times at his apartment, and now at the space he rented to practice dance on his own. Hoseok liked to freestyle and feel the music. When he fucked, he liked to feel the moment.

His hands gripped your breasts and squeezed, sandwiching your nipples between his index and middle finger, tugging hard.

You gasped in his hands, just what he wanted, open-mouthed smirk and all.

“Hoseok… I have to… ah, ask you something…”

He shoved his hips into your back and you gasped at the thinness of his shorts, rubbing his hardening cock against the top of your ass. A brown orb watched you through the mirror and he was smiling that brilliant, heart-shaped smile, contrasting his forceful touch.

“What do you want to ask?” he chirped cheerfully, pinching your nipples and twisting them.

You moaned, savoring the swift, firm pain followed by the pads of his fingers rubbing the tips of your nipples, grinding your ass onto his stiff length. Your phone was in your right hand. You bit your lip, seeing him watch you carefully in the mirror. You raised the phone and unlocked it.

“Is this your dick?”

You noticed Hoseok pause and squint. You turned your phone and held at up so he could get a good look. His hands were still on your tits, although he had paused the moment to view the image, blinking rapidly at it.

“When was this taken?” He tilted his head, looking confused.

“The party with the wet t-shirt contest? The–”

“One where Yoongi grabbed Taehyung and told him he was his favorite alien child?”

“Oh? You do remember?”

Hoseok winced, as if the events of the night haunted him. “I remember… not much after that…”

“Oh…” You faltered. “So you wouldn’t remember if you took this picture on my phone, huh?”

“No, sorry.”

“Then… can I see it?”

He grinned. “You have to earn it.”

Earning it could mean anything.

Today, earning it meant cumming at least three times with Hoseok’s fingers before he even let you take off his shorts.

“H-Hoseok…!”

He always smelled so good, so fucking good, orange and musk complemented with the barely-there vanilla sweetness, a scent that always seemed to linger on your skin afterward. His lips were on your neck, leaving small bites, chuckling darkly. One hand on your nipple, the other between your legs, your dress bunched at the waist and your panties at your knees, not letting you take any of it off, forcing you to watch yourself as he wrecked you, teasing your oversensitive clit with his fingertips, slick and slippery, thighs shaking from the second orgasm and coaxing you to the third, sharp throbs of lust causing your eyes to roll back, head falling against his shoulder.

“Hoseok, p-please…”

He had no trouble holding onto you, flexible and strong, and you were grinding your hips down, lost in the feeling, leaking everywhere because he hadn’t actually put his fingers inside you yet, teasing you and teasing you and teasing you, driving you crazy, please put your fingers inside me, please Hoseok, your name murmured gently in your ear, no, not until the third time, and then I’m going to put my cock in you once you’ve shown me how good of a girl you are, and you were going to lose your mind, shivering in continued ecstasy, squirming in his hands, your own reaching back and fisting his hair and white shirt, moans masked by the loud music, so close, so close, your perfume mixing with his, sex and cologne, shivers and heat, teeth on your ear and circles rubbed onto your aching nerves.

Shallow gasps.

Peaking pleasure.

Seeing nothing but black, eyelids fluttering, wanton moans torn from your throat.

The song ended.

Hoseok removed his hand from your nipple and covered your mouth, muffling your scream as you came, taking your air and your sanity, pleasure rocketing up your core, crying out with need for something, anything, inside you, pushing your hips back into his crotch, feeling his cock swell at your bouncing ass, desperate for him.

The music began again.

Now you were on your hands and knees, suddenly released, gasping for breath, legs shaking from the aftershocks.

“Look.”

Turning around, your shaking hands pulling down his shorts hurriedly, still wearing your black dress and panties around your knees, hardly registering the inconvenience, not caring, completely focused on the semi-hard length in front of your face. No time. Hoseok gave you no time, grabbing your face and dragging your open mouth to him, sliding into your lips, his oversized shirt touching your nose, you whimpering at the hotness and tautness of his velvet skin. The fullness invaded your throat, taking your breath away. He buried himself all the way in before yanking his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside with his vest that was shed earlier, far too hot now, looking down at you through his lashes.

“Don’t choke.”

Hand in your hair, pushing you down, not letting you move as he rolled his hips into your face, the head rubbing against the rood of your mouth and your tongue pushing it up to make it tighter for him, taking him deeper, hazy and intoxicated on orange, musk and vanilla. His other hand held your phone up, unlocking it with ease.

Smirk on those lips, heart-shaped and teasing. “So? Is it mine?”

You whined, not wanting him out of your mouth.

“Your choice,” Hoseok chuckled, tone light and unassuming, the edge of danger only visible in those sparkling brown eyes. “Find out or I’ll cum in your mouth and not in that pretty pussy of yours I’m looking at right now.”

Right, because you were bent over, ass facing the mirror, wetness dripping down your inner thighs.

Fuck.

You backed up, growling, glaring at the picture you knew all too well now.

“Well?”

Fine, fine, fine, you were on this fucking Journey to the Dick, and it was starting to feel more like an annoying side mission than the actual main storyline, but, whatever, you reached up and angled Hoseok’s cock slightly, sucking in a breath with him as you looked from phone screen to the delicious real-life specimen. Hm, okay. Similar in length and color. Not in angle though. Shit. And not in width either, barely a hair slimmer and the vein placement was more prominent on Hoseok’s length than this dick.

“Fuck, it’s really fucking close but I don’t think it’s yours.”

“Shit,” Hoseok sighed, turning your phone off and tossing it onto his discarded shirt. “Oh well.”

You narrowed your eyes, pouting. “What kind of react–gah!”

Hoseok pushed you down onto the ground, pushing his shorts down to his knees and pulling out a condom from the pocket, cocking a brow. You sputtered, trying to untangle yourself from the labyrinth of your own clothes, but only managed to kick off your panties before he got the condom rolled down and pushed your legs up, lifting your ass completely off the floor.

“Can’t have this pretty ass on this dirty floor,” he snickered, lifting himself higher, bending you in half, almost on your upper back, nearly uncomfortable, but Hoseok was stronger than he looked, and when he gave you what you needed, you instantly forgot about the discomfort.

“Oooh, fuck, Hoseok!”

He plunged into you, into hot wet tightness, stretching you out easily from the previous wetness, clit throbbing as he smacked his hips down, his balls slapping against your ass, drawing out another moan as his fingers brushed your clit, making you spasm and clench around his cock as he teased the overstimulated bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, yes, so tight, so wet, so desperate for a cock to fill this hole, aren’t you?” he purred, still so sweet but with such dirty words, so handsome with his blond hair and navy tips, heart-shaped smirk and glittering eyes, and the way he said your name, dainty and serene, slowly thrusting into you, but so hard, he was so hard from being inside you, completely consumed by the physicality of the act and no longer the same man who had been worrying about how you would perceive him.

That seemed ages ago now.

Your hands reached up between your legs, running your fingers through his hair, completely forgetting about the photo of the mysterious dick and focused on the one thrusting between your legs, smiling up at him, those brown eyes and lovely jaw.

“You’re so good, Hoseok, so fucking good to me, fuck, harder, yes, ah…”

Both of you forgot about the music, fucking through the pause between them, hoping that everyone else was too busy with their own choreography to think about the hot gasps and moans exchanged between you and him in the middle of the room, the act reflected in the wall of mirrors, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing off the walls, your name and his name in breathless whispers, tight and full and hot and wet and soaring on sky-high pleasure, climbing altitude and running out of oxygen.

“Fuck, gonna cum, fuck–”

“Ah, Hoseok, yes…”

Tip, free-fall, you clamping a hand over Hoseok’s mouth and his hand over yours, screaming into each other’s palms at the intensity and the force of orgasm, smacking your hips together and holding them there, feeling his cock twitch inside you and your shivering walls clamp around him in rough, intense pulses.

It took a moment to disembark from the euphoric high.

“Hah… we should… probably not fuck here…” he gasped, falling a little, cradling your ass so it didn’t directly touch the floor.

“I’d fuck you anywhere, so that’s your fault. You need to be the voice of reason.”

He laughed, rich and infectious, and you grinned, holding his head against your breasts and hugging him tightly.

-

park jimin.

“I hate you.”

“Come on, Jimin.”

"I was supposed to be first!"

"Oh my God, are we going on about this again?!"

"You were supposed to suck MY dick first!"

"Stop being a fucking brat, Park Jimin!"

"No!"

You tackled him and you both fell to the floor, rolling into a mess of giant t-shirts, fierce kisses and your hands in his now red hair, fiery and hot-headed like he was being right now.

"You little–"

"Don't you dare call me little!"

"I was gonna call you a little shithead but if you wanna be a big shithead, that's fine with me!"

He pinned you down and you grabbed his waist with your legs and rammed your crotch into his black shorts, making him gasp in horny pain and crumple into his laundry that you were supposed to help him fold, but instead you were wrestling and he was complaining about not getting his dick sucked.

It was your turn to pin him down with your arms and your thighs, Jimin seeing stars as he struggled to breathe from your lower belly smacking his erection the wrong way.

"Why, ack, why did you run off saying there's a proper order?" he choked out, choking harder as your panty-covered mound sat down on his length and started rubbing up and down, smirking down at him, his red hair flaring out on his cream rug.

"'Cause there is," you replied, calm and cool.

"Order of what? Order of how you fucked us?"

"Nah, I fucked Yoongi first, remember? At that party, ages ago..." you hummed, extending the expanse of your movement, sliding up and down his thighs, his plush lips open and moaning softly, his grip on your large t-shirt tightening. It was actually his, because neither you nor Jimin knew the meaning of keeping your clothes on.

"Yeah, in my car!"

"Eh, you were drunk and playing pool with Taehyung, which, by the way, he mad cheated and you didn't even notice."

"Fuck!"

You weren't sure if that exclamation was related to your teasing or Taehyung cheating, but Jimin removed one of his hands from your shirt and flipped off the wall, in the direction of Taehyung's room.

Ah, so not you.

"Is it age order? But Namjoon isn't the oldest..." Jimin refuted himself, frowning.

"He’s first because he's kind of like the leader of you guys, isn't he? You all end up listening to his reasoning anyway."

Jimin squinted, pouting. "That's just because his tall and smart and has a fatty IQ."

You grinned. "148."

Jimin looked very annoyed that you remembered the exact number.

“I never thought about it, but other than that, it is age order, huh?” you mused, bouncing on his dick.

He shuddered with satisfaction, rolling his hips into you. “Then why would you…?”

You shrugged. “Your names sound good together like that. Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook…”

Jimin added your name last with an amused smirk. You bit your lower lip, cocking an eyebrow and sporting a devious smile, leaning down. Lips to lips, a soft sigh, remembering that night, stumbling out of Jimin’s car and tangled in Yoongi’s touch, still kissing Yoongi with your ass on the hood of the car. Jimin had been annoyed at you then too, how could you fuck him first and not me, Yoongi laughing in that raspy, sexy way of his, because I asked, dumbass, Jimin grabbing your face and kissing you right in front of Yoongi, the older man clicking his tongue and squeezing your ass tighter, unimpressed.

In some ways, that night started off the chain reaction of hey, why not me?

Okay, maybe you did have some frustrations about your dating life and ended up tumbling into their beds for, ahem, emotional support, but in your defense, they were all great when it came to emotional support.

“Sit on my face.”

“That’s not the angle of the dick pic though.”

“Then just take the pic from that position. That’s how it was taken, right?”

Sometimes, Park Jimin was a damn genius.

He was great at eating pussy too.

“Ah, fuuuck, Jimin…”

A little messy at first, humming approvingly at your taste, thrusting his tongue into you and moaning as your muscles closed in on it, your slick nectar painting those beautiful, soft lips, him pressing them to your heat, lewd kisses, tongue swiping up and down.

“Gotta clean you up so you can dirty me up,” he breathed, tracing sensual patterns in between your thighs with his tongue, small nips to make you whine, his hands on your ass, moaning into your pussy as your kiss came into contact with his rigid cock, dripping saliva and licking it back up, gyrating your tongue at the tip and licking off the pre-cum, savoring the taste, strong and almost sweet.

Everything about Jimin was sweet, even when he was frustrated with you.

“Fuck, give it to me.”

His hands on your ass, pushing you down, setting your pussy flush onto his lips, blocking off his airway and moaning hotly, desperate, needy, wanting your noises as you swallowed him, his length swelling in your mouth at the wet encasement, swirling your tongue all around.

You’re so mean. I can’t believe you wouldn’t ask me first, get on your knees, come on, aren’t you sorry?

You weren’t, not even in the slightest bit sorry for fucking Yoongi in his car, but you had enjoyed his little pout and twinge of jealousy, kisses up his muscular thighs, the same thighs you were clutching right now, one hand tucking your hair behind your ear, remembering his hand on the back of your head, pushing you down on his cock, the same cock you buried all the way into the back of your throat, blocking your own ability to breathe, suffocating on it as Jimin groaned, coming back up for air, rushing exhale washing over your skin before returning to his work on your clit, rapid, intense licks that shimmered pleasure through your veins.

Jimin made you choke on his dick after the Yoongi incident, but you were the one in control of it now, rutting the head against your throat muscles, feeling it get harder and harder. He always felt so good in your mouth, recalling him saying once, I just really like getting my dick sucked, shut up and stop shaming me, tongue and lips and saliva, remembering how much he liked it when you held the base and focused on the tip, his muffled whines getting more intense and vibrating your core, making sure to pop your lips over the bottom of the head every time you came up and then pressing them tightly as you went back down, doing it all at that fast, suffocating pace that made him stop licking you to throw his head back and moan, loud lust radiating off the walls, not caring about disturbing anyone, too absorbed into your pace to be considerate.

“F-Fuck, yeah, just like that, fuck, you’re so good…”

Jimin was part of the reason you were good.

He really liked getting his dick sucked. Your mouth was one of his favorites and usually readily available.

Win-win.

“Faster, fuck, oh, shit, I’m gonna cum, mmmphf!”

He grabbed your ass and smothering himself with your pussy, body trembling under you as his cock jerked and shot into your throat, your lips closing in, sucking hard to drink his cum, his moans filling your wet hole and tongue all over your clit, furiously licking as you rubbed the twitching head into the roof of your mouth, his hips squirming at the overstimulation, but his violent grip and nails digging into your ass was telling you to do it, telling you he loved it, telling you he needed it, begging you to do what you did best, gulping around the head and then jamming it into your throat, cutting off your air.

He sucked on your clit, hard, whining so loud that you could feel it in his chest and racing heartbeat pressed against your lower belly, almost lifting your lower half with his upper body alone, showing off his strength from dancing. You angled your head, taking as much as you could, nose in his balls, whimpering around his cock and the snap of orgasm making your entire body flinch, leaking all over his face and into his mouth, his nose buried into your pussy, tongue soothing your throbbing clit, wave after intense wave, barely breathing, lightheaded with pleasure, clutching his thighs tightly, naked bodies suddenly dirty, surrounded by clean laundry.

Jimin yanked his head out from between your legs, panting in satisfaction, diving back in to shove his tongue on your quivering hole and scoop out your orgasm, sucking it out to drink it, murmuring your name into your slick juices.

“You taste so fucking good, fuck…”

You came up for air, gasping, tongue lolling out, holding his cock and rubbing the slit against your wet muscle. His stiff length twitched, still hard because of your mouth.

“Take the picture, mmm, yes, did you forget?” Jimin gasped into your pussy.

You fumbled with your phone beside his leg, still reeling from orgasm and Jimin’s continued ministrations, putting it in selfie mode and seeing the lower half of your face, chin shiny with saliva, his cum dripping off your lower lip, his cock in front of your face and naked chest, your breasts pressed into his abs.

You thought about licking off the visible cum, but then you decided against it, snapping the photo with your tongue hovering close to his rock-hard erection.

You knew the composition of the inspirational dick pic now, so you brought it up in a photo editing app, putting the two side by side while wrapping your lips around the head of Jimin’s cock, sucking it leisurely like a lollipop. He didn’t ask you to get off.

Instead, he planted your pussy into his face and suffocated himself with it again.

You studied the two photos. Hm. Firstly, yours was much sexier. No offense to white t-shirt, blue jeans, and black boxer briefs guy, but your glistening cum-covered lips and squashed tits in the background of the cock made the photo eons better than his. Jimin would definitely be asking for yours later. Anyway, back to the picture. Hmm. Jimin’s dick was slightly shorter and straighter, with a warmer skin tone to his purple-red tip, although the head shape was spot on. Was that possible to have a different length but almost identical head shapes? Did dicks work that way? Did Jimin have an equally sexy twin brother or doppelganger somewhere?

Hm, a threesome with basically two Jimins would be hot as hell.

He patted your leg and you climbed off him, sighing as you rolled over and pursed your lips, concluding that his wasn’t the mystery dick. Once again, close, but no dick. Wait. That wasn’t the saying. Eh, whatever.

“Fuck, send me that photo later, I’m gonna jack off to it.”

You laughed, feeling him crawl beside you and roll you onto your stomach, pinning you down with his naked body. “You wanna jack it to your own dick?”

He was rubbing said dick into the crevice of your ass cheeks now, using your saliva was lube. “Fuck yeah I wanna jack it to my own dick with your lips covered with my cum and your titties on my stomach, sounds fuckin’ hot.”

“You’re such a pervert, Jimin.”

“And you aren’t?”

The front door slammed shut. There was a loud yell of your name in deep baritone.

“Aw, hell no, I’m getting it in this pussy first, I got time before he comes to collect,” Jimin growled, reaching into his discarded shorts and ripping open a condom, scrambling off you and rolling it down his still-hard length, grabbing one of your legs.

You shifted to your side, glaring at him. “What am I, taxes?”

The deep voice called your name again, asking where you were.

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer though, because Jimin thrust into you and you ended up moaning Kim Taeyang’s name to inform him of your whereabouts, causing Jimin to bend over and fuck you hard and rough.

“I can’t believe you would moan his name like that with my dick inside you,” Jimin growled, looking far too cute to actually be pissed at you. “Gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll be sore for him.”

Everything about Jimin was sweet, even when he was firmly fucking you into his floor and making you yelp as Taehyung burst the door open, sighing at the scene.

“Who would have fucking guessed what you two are doing…”

-

kim taehyung.

"You're so fucking stubborn."

"Wow, that's really rude, I don't make comments about your–"

"Shut up, I'm deleting his number."

You narrowed your eyes and frowned, sitting with one leg bent on Kim Taehyung's bed. He was currently in possession of your phone, clicking his tongue and pressing buttons on the screen.

"When someone tells you to leave them alone, you leave them alone," he scolded.

You cowered slightly, eyes shifting. "I was only asking if he was doing anything this weekend... I didn't have any ulterior motives..."

Taehyung squinted. You deliberately avoided his gaze. He sighed, crossing his arms. You were still wearing Jimin's shirt with nothing underneath so, uh, maybe he had good reason to be suspicious.

"You have a virgin kink."

You choked on nothing. "What, no, I don't–"

Taehyung reached over to his desk and put on the thin, gold-framed glasses he kept there. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. You abruptly stopped talking and gawked at him, breathless at the way his dark brown orbs were bordered by gold and his long, black-brown hair, the rest tied back in a small ponytail.

"And a glasses kink."

He took them off and you sucked in a tight breath, grimacing.

"That's why you keep going after these kinds of guys," Taehyung tutted, neatly folding the specs and placing them back on his desk. "And why you bonked Namjoon-hyung so fast, only to realize that he is not, in fact, a virgin."

"W-Well, he's still good..."

"Same reason why you got so excited when–"

"Look," you cut in, chopping the air with your hand, not letting Taehyung finish. His eyebrow seemed permanently raised. "I'm off my bullshit for now, no? I've got a mission–" You pointed to your phone and he held it out of your reach. You scowled and bounced back down into the bed. His eyes weren't following your face, but you ignored it. "–and I'll stop okay?"

Taehyung cocked his other eyebrow.

"Serious. You just deleted all the numbers except you and your friends, right?"

He turned the screen, thumb hovering over a certain number. Him and his friends were listed from one to seven, in order.

His thumb was over number seven.

"Don't," you whined. "Please, Tae."

His brows lowered, serious expression on his handsome face.

Then he smirked, dumping your phone on the bed.

"Silly girl," he drawled, crawling onto the bed, advancing towards you, sultry gaze and enchanting eyes making you forget about your device. "Why would I do that? He likes you so much."

You growled slightly, letting him push you down but not relenting. "That's really fucked up."

"That I wanna hear you say please?"

His hand lifted and cupped your chin, mischievous smile, unable to contain his pride for his little trick, sliding his leg between your thighs, tilting his head.

"Not just any please," he murmured, deep voice silky smooth, dark curled stands brushing against your cheeks he leaned in, hot exhale on your lips. "Your needy please when I threaten to take your precious Jungkookie from you."

You tried to close your legs but he stopped you with his knee, tilting his head, highly amused at your narrowed eyes.

"You don't like it?" He was leaning down, feathery kisses on your lips and cheeks. "I know you like it when I tease you." His honey voice was dripping into the fire, turning into fuel that fed the sparks of arousal, your hands coming up to clutch his black shirt, pulling down the center zipper, his deep chuckle in your skin, hand from your chin sliding up to your hair, the other tapping down your front, grazing the thin t-shirt material.

"Don't..." you gasped, his deft touch toying with the hem. “Don't use the others against me. That's not fair...”

“Mmm, yeah?”

Drawing circles on your inner thigh with his nail, nicking the skin.

"You only want to think about me?"

Your phone hummed with a notification. Taehyung chuckled, fingers creeping closer and closer.

"Aw, I wonder who that is? But that's too bad, because you're all mine right now."

You gasped, clutching his open shirt as his fingers slid in, two because you were already wet, shallow breathing and lidded eyes telling him enough, taking your lips with his, pace slow and steady and maddening, spreading your legs with his knees, forcing you to tip your hips up to him in an embarrassing position.

Then again, embarrassment during sex wasn't part of your vocabulary.

You pushed his black shirt down one shoulder and reached in, your fingers snaking to the hem of the white undershirt and stroking his skin, his satisfied exhale hot against your neck, you remembering the way the water drenched the fabric and stuck it to his golden tan skin, playfully flexing his defined chest and biceps, adorable and arousing because Kim Taehyung was both. He separated his digits inside your pussy to create a loud, sharp, wet squelch. You heard him grin, smug at the dirty sound, then begin plunging his fingers in and out, in and out of the tightness, trying to be as noisy as possible. You clenched your core to make him work for it, force him to be rougher with you, his fingers curling in your hair, yanking firmly, lips on your ear.

"See, how can those boys you pick keep up with you, hm? They won't know what to do with your pretty, sexy self," he purred, faster, harder, pushing you to the edge with your heated moan and your hands all over his chest, lifting your hips to meet his touch. "You need us to take care of you, don't you?"

Fuck, the way Taehyung said your name.

Like it was a decadent sweet he was craving, a taste compared to no other.

Your head fell back into the pillows, breathing in his warm scent in shallow puffs, his name pouring out of your lips, yearning and desire.

"Mmmm, Taehyung...."

Melting you into it, sweet bliss and sharp jerks of your hips into his hand, gasping at the flood of euphoria, trying to squeeze your thighs around his hand and stopped by his open legs. Your throbbing pussy gripped his fingers and made him hiss, his devious smirk growing as you lowered your chin again to look into those dark eyes, shivering under his intense gaze.

“Let’s play a little game.”

His tongue slid out, lickings your lips lightly.

“It’s called, how many fingers can I stuff in you before you’re begging for my dick?”

“What kind of – oh, f-fuck!”

One more.

Aching tightness, clenching your jaw, trembling at the ease of it, Taehyung cocking an eyebrow.

“Ah, yeah, three’s too easy, huh? You already warmed up.”

One more.

“Fuck, Tae, fuck!”

His dark eyes glittering, pleased at your reaction.

“That’s better. That’s what I wanna hear.”

Whines in your throat as he picked up the pace, fast and hard, clutching his shirt and his side, your nails digging in, stretched out and stuffed with four, your eyes rolling back and one leg sliding up to hook around his waist, meeting each thrust, so deep, so full, so wet, loud and obvious and uncaring of who was listening – probably Jimin with a huge smirk on his face – panting Taehyung’s name over and over, feeling the strength in his hold and his grip in your hair, pulling lightly, shooting pricks of pain down your head to meet the oppressive pleasure brimming in your core, closer, closer.

“What do you want?” Taehyung growled, that deep voice dangerously low.

“Y-Your c-cock, p-please…” you managed to gasp out, chasing it, chasing the fullness and the depth.

“Can you take it? Can you take it like the good girl you are?”

“A-Ah, yes, please Tae, want it,” you moaned, your fingernails digging into his back, scratching down as your orgasm shattered through you, making your whole body shake and shiver from the intensity, him pulling out. Your moan turned into a hoarse whimper, squirming as he rubbed your clit with his slick fingers, spanking it and teasing it, rocketing you into peaks and valleys of cut-off ecstasy that drove you insane, clawing at his clothes, desperate for his body on yours.

“What’s your magic word?”

“Please.”

He grinned at you despaired tone.

“That’s it.”

It took no time at all, your shirt flung aside, Taehyung losing his clothes that were already half-off, hot body to hot body, heated kisses and rummaging in his nightstand drawer, groaning into his mouth as his cock slapped your thigh, hard and thick and ready, dripping pre-cum on you before he yanked you up on top of him, ripping open the condom.

“Work for it.”

Lacing your fingers in his, sliding down onto that impressive girth and gasping as it twitched inside you, rolling your hips down onto it, better than his fingers, bouncing on it with your tits following your rhythm, squeezing his hands. Taehyung liked this kind of intimacy, the kind where he was grinning like the devil under you but still holding your hands as you railed yourself with his dick, rough and hard with your own smug smile, a little erratic but somehow good that way.

He made you work for it and you were good at working for it.

You found a good rhythm and – ba dum tss – rode it, leaning forward to deepen the angle and make it last longer, pulsing around his length with your tight walls, control and power and endorphins, each smack adding to the lewd melody that mixed with heavy moans and shuddering gasps, bringing Taehyung on your rollercoaster, his hips rising, your name rumbling in his chest, blood thudding in your ears at the baritone depth.

“Yes, such a good girl, gonna make me cum, don’t you want me to cum for you?” he panted, fishing for the magic word, bouncing one of his dark brows, his long hair flared out on his pillows, high cheekbones and strong features no longer hidden by wayward strands.

Your tongue between your teeth, grinning wide.

“Yes, please.”

The right inflection of winded want, maybe a little mischievous, but Taehyung liked that, for there was no fun in someone who was too easy.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.”

He squeezed your hands and thrust his hips up fiercely, shock bolting from your core to your spine to your head, your head snapping back, gasp torn from your throat, flooding his crotch with your juices, overstimulated clit rubbing on the base of his cock and Taehyung was gone too, husky groan falling from his lips, slamming his hips up and locking his legs, shooting jerks of cum into the condom, aftershocks causing you to lose hold on your knees, moan pitching higher as you slipped down on his throbbing length, trapped on it because Taehyung wasn’t going to lower you until he was done, the head pulsing inside you, squeezed out by your shivering walls.

“T… Tae… the picture…”

“Ah… yeah… hold on… lay down for me…”

He wasn’t going to let you leave without his mark anyway.

“Serious?”

“Deadly.”

You laid back against the pillows, spent, holding your phone, Taehyung straddling your chest and stroking his slick cock, plops of cum and lube falling onto your chest, messy dark hair curling around his handsome face. You could see the purple-red head peek out from between his fingers, hear the steady slapping as he pumped it back to full hardness.

“Alright, let’s see.”

Your chest was rattling but you raised your phone, bringing up the picture as Taehyung gripped the base of his cock, lifting it up slightly to put it in position. You squinted at the screen, looking from the photo dick to the real one. Of course. He was definitely bigger, a little thicker, but strangely, the color was almost the same. Was that lightning or similar skin tone? Or perhaps men with really nice dicks just happened to have Taehyung’s tan complexion?

You wouldn’t question it if it was true.

“You’re bigger,” you sighed, tossing your phone aside.

Taehyung smirked proudly. “What a surprise.”

“We all knew that, even before I saw it.”

He chuckled, going back to fisting his cock. “That’s because Jimin has a big mouth and likes to spread rumors.”

“You like that he spends rumors.”

Taehyung shrugged, but his sly expression wouldn’t be hidden even as he shook his head to cover part of his face with his long brown hair, curtaining half of it with darkness, teasing and effortlessly sexy.

“Ready?”

“Mhm, do it.”

You raised yourself onto your elbows, smiling wide, watching his breathing shallow and his eyes close, losing himself in it, faster and tighter, the wetness audible, strong thighs shuddering at your sides. Then he sucked in a breath, hissing your name and tipping forward, painting viscous white strings onto your collarbones and tits, pushing his shuddering cock up and down to spread it out, your clavicle now sticky and covered in his strong scent.

Taehyung ticked his head, lips in a devil’s smile, chest heaving with exertion.

“Your cum necklace is extra pretty today. Take a selfie for me so I can jack off to your cute face later.”

-

jeon jungkook.

“Jungkook?”

Jeon Jungkook shrieked your name like you were Michael Myers and he was Jamie Lee Curtis, flinging himself onto his computer monitor and mashing the power button to turn it off, his long purple hair flying everywhere, brown orbs like saucers, entire body shaking so bad that even his eyebrow piercing was vibrating.

He froze like that.

You blinked at him from the doorframe of his rented studio room, one hand on the knob and the other holding up your phone like a kitchen knife.

His leather bomber jacket was hung over the back of his rolling chair. The chair was currently slowly sliding across the floor, away from him and his panic. Jungkook was wearing a sleeveless black shirt and loose black jeans.

For a guy scared shitless, his pants were pitching a very impressive tent.

Had he been watching porn?

“Er… I knocked…?” you said slowly, pointing to the door. “Do you not hear me?”

“Um, uh, n-no,” Jungkook sputtered, looking you up and down. “No, I d-didn’t.”

“I said I was coming by today. Via text?”

“Was that today?” he echoed hollowly like a ghost in a shell, the end of his question pitching to a higher octave. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Ah. Sorry. I think I f… forgot…” He was not looking at your face, instead staring at your thighs and your shorts, tight and tiny, shredded black denim paired with a loose, long-sleeved black top that read in bold, white, graphic, letters...

REALITY SUCKS.

You pointed to the turned-off monitor.

"Were you watching porn?" you asked cheerfully.

Jungkook's ears turned red.

"Yes," he blurted.

Silence.

A bird cawed outside.

You nodded, closing the door. You tilted your head and locked it, just in case, before waltzing into Jungkook's film studio space, bouncing on the heels of your large black sneakers. "If you're gonna watch porn, you should lock the door. What were you watching? Is it lesbian porn again? Can I–?"

You reached over to turn the screen back on and Jungkook's tattooed hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you away from it and to him. You blinked rapidly, confused at his tight grip.

"N-No, you can't see. You can't," he sputtered, pinning you against his hard body.

You frowned, annoyed. "Why not? I like porn." You squirmed against him, but he sandwiched you between his forearms, forcing you to look up and face him, thinning your mouth into a line. He gulped, eyes shifting, holding your body against his. His lower lip trembled, mole underneath bouncing with his uncertainty.

"I... It wasn't porn..."

You stopped struggling, confused. "Huh?"

Those dark chocolate eyes found yours, looking guilty.

"I was looking at your pictures."

You blinked rapidly. "What?"

"You know... the ones I take of you sometimes... You said it was okay..."

Ah, yes. Jungkook liked to take pictures of you. He had mumbled that it was because he needed practice and, later in bed, he admitted it was because he considered you his muse, an inspiration of sorts, so would it be okay if, maybe, you just turned a little and laid in his covers just like... like that, yeah, could he take maybe one photo?

"Sure, knock yourself out, dude."

A bit later, far too late, you had realized that had been maybe too chill of a response, but Jungkook seemed to prefer that and he acted less awkward about it every other time he asked to take a picture. They weren't usually dirty pictures. Although you were naked in some of them, they weren't quite inappropriate, every single one framed with delicate, well-thought-out composition. You always sighed and told him he made you look better than you actually were.

Jungkook always insisted you were consistently beautiful.

You pointed between your bodies.

"Were you gonna get off to them or something?" you cheerily inquired, bumping against his pitched denim tent.

"N-No!"

His ears turned scarlet and he jerked sideways, but you held onto him, hands firmly on his hips, not letting him twist away. He quickly covered his ears and pouted at you.

"I was... I just missed you."

You smiled, squeezing his ass. "I missed you too, Jungkook."

Your tone was soft, gentle. He stilled and lowered his hands, lips parting at your words, slightly surprised, incredibly adorable.

His dick twitched in his pants and jabbed your crotch.

A pause.

Jungkook's eyes shifted to the side, mumbling under his breath. "And, yeah, okay, I got horny, but that's only because it's you..."

"That's great, since I definitely wanted to look at your dick as soon as possible!"

His eyes went wide.

You smiled widely.

Then he said something unexpected.

"Ow."

You looked down and backed up as Jungkook frowned and reached down to shift his rock-hard length in his pants, sighing in relief.

"Zipper was killing me..." he grumbled, running a hand through his purple hair.

"We should just take it off then."

"Pardon, we should wha–ah!"

You grabbed fistfuls of his black top and yanked it up and over his head, causing Jungkook to sputter in confusion, throwing his hands up as you unsheathed his muscular torso, leaning in, breathing on his skin, leaving him to untangle himself as your lips closed onto his dark nipple, tongue teasing the small nub.

"Ah, fuck!"

You lifted your lips, tongue still extended, looking up to see him flinging the shirt aside, his long purple hair messy and wild, tattooed arm and un-inked arm lifting, pushing his hair away from his face, his chest rising to your wet muscle, gasping. You had a clear view of that cute little mole under his lower lip, trembling with pleasure before Jungkook looked down at you, hazy chocolate orbs fanned by black lashes, breathing hard.

You ticked an eyebrow, licking slow circles, lips closing in again, sucking daintily.

He bit his lip and let it slowly tease out while you simultaneously teased him, your name leaving his lips in a low moan. You danced your fingertips up his thigh, nail tracing the seams of his jeans, kissing across his chest, his eyes following you, hips rocking into your touch, following your pace, letting you command it. His head tipped back as you kissed down his abs, whimpering with want, curling his fingers into fists.

Jungkook always made you feel like you were touching him for the first time.

"You're not a virgin?"

"No?" Jungkook had repeated after the first time you had fucked him, sounding confused. "I'm just like this? Is that bad?"

"W... well... no, and now that I think about it, you were suspiciously good..."

"You didn't like it?"

You had turned to look at him and, fuck, the way he looked at you, so cute and innocent, uh oh, and then the slightest hint of an open-mouthed smirk dancing on those shapely pink lips, reminding you of someone else.

"Namjoon-hyung said that's what you were into. Is he wrong?"

Voice so deep and so smooth, gliding over you like butter.

You almost hastily defended yourself but one look into those roguish, yet genuine, chocolate eyes and you couldn't lie.

"But... you should enjoy yourself too..."

Jungkook had grinned, endearing and heart-thuddingly handsome. "I do. I told you, this is how I am. You're just my type."

"And what's that?'"

He had pinned you back onto the bed, leaning in.

"Hot and horny."

Turns out.

Seemed to be a running theme with all eight of you.

Right now, his pants were falling and you were sliding up as your hand was sliding down, shushing him quietly, your other hand dancing up his neck and pulling his head down.

"Someone's gonna hear you," you whispered to his open lips, tone and touch implying you didn't give a shit who was listening, wrapping your fingers around his stiff cock the second he pushed his black boxer briefs down, his shivering moan tickling your cheek. His right hand came up to cradle your head and lean it against his, begging whines for you to move, pairing it with an irresistible, husky hiss of your name.

"Please..."

He liked it tight and he liked it rough, liked the way you could lock your fingers and keep that nearly suffocating pace, closing his eyes with a flutter and moaning into your skin, curtaining you with purple, his grip in your hair tightening as you built that speed, filling the rented studio with his silvery, erotic cries.

"Someone out there is going to think you're watching porn," you teased, nudging him with your nose, looping a finger back to smear the pre-cum over the swollen head. He bucked his hips into your hold, lips pressed to your cheek, intoxicated groan warming your skin.

"Kiss me and breathe into my mouth..."

You couldn't say no, not with his voice so soft and pleading like that, not with that edge of nervousness. Fuck, the way Jungkook succumbed to your kiss, uncontrollable tremors taking over his shoulders, hot taut skin twitching in your palm indicating he was close, and you almost broke away to say that he shouldn't cum like this, it'll be messy and get on the floor, but he grabbed your face and didn't let you go, whimpering in his throat, wordlessly telling you to do it, exhale into his throat and he groaned in his chest, long, drawn-out, consumed by lust, and maybe it was bad, but you loved it, loved the way he wanted it so bad, wanted you to push the air out of his lungs and suffocate his pulsating cock with your grip, pre-cum leaking between your fingers, finally pulling back and gasping, his lashes fluttering helplessly.

"G-Gonna cum, f-fuck!"

You had to think fast, looking down for a moment and feeling his cock jerk in your hand, swiftly switching to cupping the dark red head, thick white cum suddenly spurting your palm, Jungkook burying his face into your hair to muffle his wail, your scalp hot with his released exhale and your hand covered in his heated release.

You breathed in, smirking at the scent of dirty gratification.

"Jungkook..."

He whined softly, hips quivering as you covered his jerking length with your cum-covered hand, spreading it all over and getting him hard again.

"There's this picture..."

"Mmm, yeah, the h-hyungs told me... don't stop..."

You swung your hips from side to side, free hand running down his chest, your eyes roaming his toned body, his tattooed arm still hovering over your head, long fingers tangled in your hair still, squatting down and opening your mouth, tongue dancing out and licking your hand and the side of his purple-red length, wet sloppy kisses, slurping up his cum and moaning on the throbbing head, making sure that he could feel the sinful heat.

"Give me... oooh, fuck, give me your phone..."

Your hand left his abs reluctantly, tugging your phone out of your ass pocket and holding it up for him as your mouth closed around his cock, swallowing it all, eyes closing, cramming all of him until the head hit your inner throat and your lips pressed against his crotch, knees on the tile floor, thighs spread, hands poised in the air, unable to breathe.

Click.

You cracked open one eye to see Jungkook holding your phone above your head, teasing smirk on his shapely lips, mole winking at you.

“For me?” he asked, not quite innocent.

It was the first time Jungkook had taken an actual dirty picture.

You shrugged as if to say, sure, pulling back as he turned the phone around, the dick in question on the screen. You eased off his length, licking it clean, bringing up your wet hand covered in his cum, popping your lips off the engorged tip and sliding your fingers in your wet lips, tongue wriggling between your fingers, inspecting the two dicks. Jungkook was still hard – so hard that his cock was sticking straight out, almost mimicking the photo. You had to crouch a little more, tilting your head and placing your fingertips on his balls, raising his dick a little on the back of your hand, smearing saliva and pre-cum on your skin.

Yon continued to lick, grazing the underside of his length with your tongue and then pulling back, eyes going from the photo to the real thing.

Jungkook moaned above you, clutching your phone tightly, knuckles white under black tattoos.

Hm.

You tilted your head.

One way.

Then the other.

Hmmm?

Hmmmmmmm.

“W… What?” Jungkook stuttered above you.

You pursed your lips at the tip of his cock, swiping your tongue over it and sucking off the pre-cum. He gasped, hips shaking, threatening to shove it into your lips.

“It doesn’t look like your dick at all.”

“What?” He sounded startled.

You pointed with your dry hand. “The shape is a little off, you’re longer and slightly bigger, and the color is different.” You sighed, whooshing hot air over his soaked, taut skin, Jungkook whimpering. You squinted slightly.

“Still…”

You tapped your lips with his cock, thinking.

“I think he wears the same underwear brand as you.”

“He does?” Jungkook squeaked, spinning the phone around and blinking at it.

You shrugged. “And for some reason, the position of his hips reminds me of you. I don’t know why…”

He chewed his lower lip, staring at the phone.

“Oh well.”

You stood up abruptly at your words and plucked the phone out of his hand, putting it on his desk.

“If it’s not you, it’s not you. Let’s fuck.”

Jungkook yelped as you grabbed the bottom of your shirt and began stripping off your clothes.

That was his reaction that one time you lost strip poker to Kim Seokjin and him at that one party, not that your cared because you didn’t bother learning the rules. You had other priorities and they involved getting mostly naked and then pinning Seokjin down to make out with him as Jungkook gawked at the other side of the table, half-clothed, clutching his cards.

“I can… go…?” he had sputtered.

You surfaced from Seokjin’s plush lips, his hands around your bare waist, the taller man gasping for air, reeling from your kiss.

“I still have one more piece of clothing to go, Jungkook.”

Side of your lower lip between your teeth, cocking an eyebrow, swaying your panty-covered ass at those huge brown eyes.

“You can help, you know.”

Fun night.

His eyes were huge now too, your back against the wall and him rolling the condom down, lifting your leg and sliding into you, gasping at your tightness, leaning down to kiss you again, greedy and ravenous, his hips jerking upwards, forcing you on tiptoe. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails digging into that soft skin and strong muscle.

“F-Fuck me, Jungkook, mmm, fuck, yes…”

You didn’t really get to talk during that strip poker night because your mouth was full of Seokjin’s dick as Jungkook’s pounded you from behind, but it would be a crime to complain about such things.

You met your hips to his to deepen his thrust, enjoying his strength, powerful and steady, fucking you against the wall, wet slaps and soft moans filling the room between harsh kisses, lips swelling from the fervor, your ass even rhythmically smacking into the wall, but neither of you cared, your leg around his slim waist and his right arm wrapped around it, his fingers digging into your thigh, black tattoos and tan skin gleaming from sweat, his other hand clutching a fistful of your ass and ramming your drenched pussy down on his stiff cock, grinning at your soft cry of his name, staring into his eyes and not looking away, spellbound by chocolate orbs framed by wispy strands of purple.

“You always feel so fucking good…”

You pulsed around him, feeding the fire, wanton exhales mixing, dick pic forgotten.

-

“Hah…”

You rolled over, sighing loudly.

“Haaaaaaah…”

“You still fixated on that dick?” a deep, unimpressed voice said next to you.

You frowned and planted your phone with the inspirational dick on your face, praying for it to come to life and choke you.

“I never found out who it was…” you mumbled.

“Well, it is Saturday night. We can go crash a party and maybe you can find that dick!” exclaimed a joyful voice, poking your side. Your phone slid off your face and clattered to the floor. A cheerful hand covered in colorful clay rings waved at you and your gaze shifted to Jung Hoseok and his blond and pink hair. He was too cute and you were unable to help yourself as you looked at him, matching his heart-shaped smile.

“Nah,” you tutted. “If it’s not one of you guys… the dick isn’t worth it.”

You closed your eyes and sighed again, long and with longing.

“If it makes you feel better, we don’t know who it is either.”

You laughed hearing Kim Namjoon’s deep, serious voice. “How would you guys find out?”

“I know a lot of things,” Park Jimin’s angelic, light voice chirped.

“Too many things,” Kim Taehyung’s baritone voice remarked coolly.

“Are you gonna eat that slice of pizza, Jungkook?”

“Yeah, hyung, I am, no, stop–”

“Give Seokjinnie-hyung a bite!”

“Over my dead body!”

“Then you’re dead to me, boy! Respect your elders!”

You heard some slapping and flailing about, but didn’t open your eyes.

“He’s probably not a virgin anyway. Virgins don’t snap pics like that on strangers’ phones.”

You cracked an eye open and narrowed it at the form laying on the ground beside you. Min Yoongi was messing with his phone. His head was on a huge pillow that he wasn’t sharing. He seemed to notice your glare and turned his head to raise a lazy eyebrow at you, cat-like eyes shrouded by black hair.

“Isn’t that what you’re into?” he taunted.

Your eye twitched.

You growled, sitting up. “I’m not into virgins, damnnit! I just like listening to people who are knowledgeable about their interests, like how Namjoon goes on about human philosophy, and how Seokjin never shuts up about MapleStory, and like how you talk about music theory. Just because I don’t understand right away doesn’t mean I don’t try,” you snapped, prodding Yoongi’s firm pecs through his t-shirt. He didn’t move, completely unbothered as you continued your tirade. “I don’t know anything about TikTok, but I like listening to Hoseok talk about the latest dance and fashion trends. Jimin’s the only reason I don’t make an ass of myself at parties because he knows everything about everyone so I don’t accidentally sit in a taken person’s lap and cause trouble. Taehyung’s always following that animal rescue Instagram and giving me cool facts about all these different creatures. Jungkook can go on for hours about cameras. I still don’t think I even know how to work the aperture function on DSLRs, but as long as he will continue to explain, I’ll listen.”

You sucked in a deep breath and seethed.

“So what’s the difference?”

“What?” you scowled.

Yoongi shrugged casually.

“Why do you keep chasing dorks with glasses struggling to get stupid graduate degrees when the people you spend the most time with are here with you right now, ready to fuck you at any time?”

“That’s–”

Your words died in your throat, Yoongi’s words finally sinking in.

Silence.

“Hyung, I’m struggling to get a grad degree…” Namjoon cut in, but the black-haired man on the floor lifted a finger and sliced the air, quieting him instantly. Yoongi was watching you carefully, head tilting at your frozen state. Your brain seemed to have ceased function. His lips curved into a slow, open-mouthed smirk.

Yoongi dropped the bomb on you.

“Didn’t you think it was a bit suspicious that the dick had elements from all of ours, but never quite matched up?”

W… What?

Your head whipped to your fallen phone and you scrambled with it, bringing up the dick pic again. The photo showed up at the party with the wet t-shirt contest. Your phone has disappeared for two hours during said party. Everyone was drunk. No. Everyone had gotten drunk after your phone had mysteriously been found and returned to you. You spent the night in various laps doing various naughty things, not bothering to check your phone after retrieving it, leaving it as a later you problem. You filed through your memories, recalling their faces as you showed each and every one of them the photo.

Hold on.

“Didn’t you think it was a bit weird, almost as if…”

They weren’t as weirded out as one might be, seeing some random dick on your phone.

As if…

“As if one of us is good at photo manipulation, perhaps,” Yoongi purred.

As if they had expected to see such a photo.

Click.

You whipped your head to the left and a whirlwind of dark purple hair went flying under the coffee table, hiding behind broad shoulders, chestnut brown hair, and full lips forming an ‘o’. At the same time, the realization hit you like a falling piano from the sky.

“Did you all…” you choked, mechanically jerking from face to face, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and lastly, back at Seokjin because Jungkook was cowering behind him, large brown doe eyes behind a massive shoulder. “D-Did you all…?”

No way.

“Did you all take a dick pic and Photoshop them together into one superdick photo and PLANT IT ON MY PHONE?!”

One look at those seven faces and…

YUP.

Taehyung laughed, loud and rich, nudging Namjoon with his elbow. “Told you she wouldn’t check the details of the photo and realize it was from an outside source.”

You started and swiped around. The file name was close enough to your camera photos’ file names, but upon closer inspection…

“Oh my God…”

“She’s very easily distracted by dick,” Hoseok chuckled, infectious grin on his face.

“I am not!”

“Wanna bet?”

“Jimin, do not whip out your dick.”

You heard your name being called softly and looked up, clutching your phone, still stunned and flabbergasted that you had been lusting after a fake dick that was a fuckin’ Megazord of the seven dicks currently surrounding you and those seven were the very dicks that tricked you!

On purpose!

For what?

FOR FUN!

(GG, no re)

They got you good.

Your irritation immediately dissipated when your eyes found those anxious chocolate ones, long purple strands curling around his cheek, curious open mouth with the small mole underneath barely visible.

“Are you mad?” Jungkook asked quietly, pink lips curving into an irresistible pout.

Oh.

Shit.

Before you could quickly say, no, of course not, Jungkook, it was funny, I’m not mad at all, you felt a dark presence by your shoulder, raspy chuckle by your ear, sending shivers down your spine, whispering your name, devious and smokey.

“Whose idea do you think it was?” Yoongi murmured.

You stared into chocolate eyes.

Innocent.

Or…?

Jungkook’s pout disappeared.

His dark eyebrow cocked, mischievous smirk gracing those irresistible lips. No, not just him. Lowered lids and midnight blue hair, smug expression with a dimple. Kim Namjoon. Lifted chin, looking down at you with a sheepish yet wicked smile on full lips. Kim Seokjin. The black head of hair leaning his chin on your shoulder, laugh like a seductive purr. Min Yoongi. Tilted head balanced on long fingers decorated with colorful rings and bracelets, sly heart-shaped smile. Jung Hoseok. Shit-eating grin fanned by red hair, bouncing a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Park Jimin. Long dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, spare strands framing a moody, handsome face with a glint of playful cunning. Kim Taehyung.

And then, Jeon Jungkook.

“The hyungs thought it was a great idea,” he drawled, silvery and sweet, looking extremely pleased with himself, running his tattooed hand through his purple hair, unquestionably guilty, but despairingly angelic in appearance.

These fucking…. Seven Kings of Duality!

You were positively fuming.

Silence.

An owl hooted outside the window.

“YOU PUNKS!”

You threw yourself over the coffee table and horny chaos ensued.

-

2021.09.01 - JK birthday drabble 2021.10.02 - Namjoon birthday drabble

--

masterpost

[jeskoholic]

Undying Love - Olivia Hye (Part 1)

Authornim: Alright, I’m back on uploading my one-shots. I figured it was time for this before a short break, so I might as well give a lengthy piece for you to read.

Also, I tried new things for this piece as compared to when I first uploaded it , and that is trying to create a separate OC for this fic. I’m still experimenting on it, so any feedback would be appreciated.

The beginning might also be a bit too angsty for some, so there’s just that warning there.

Enjoy!

Words: 29932

Master List: here

---

I can’t even remember when the last time I ever took school seriously was. Ever since what happened almost two years ago, I never had the motivation and even the strength to study, or even live for that matter. No matter how much I tried, I know it would never be the same again; even if I force myself to believe that it could help me in the long run or that it would be the best decision rather than just sulking in my own room. I do appreciate my parents for thinking what was best for me… however, that alone can’t bring things back the way things used to be. It would never have the same effect because things are changed forever. I lost my will to live when I lost what I thought was my only motivation for life was, and now I’m walking in the pavements of Block Berry Creative University not even giving a fuck what was going on.

For what I could tell, the school year has started for almost a week or two now; but as a transferee here from a foreign land it was safe to say that I was still adjusting to everything around me. That’s is not only because this is my first venture back to South Korea for almost fifteen years since we left, but because I am still being haunted by the memories of my past even to this day…

I still remember that one day two years ago when all my deepest fears came to life…

I was never prepared for it, but no one really was. It was as if it just happened yesterday.

The day when I lost the only person I gave a promise I can never ever fulfil…

And all those days before that we were so happy and gave no care to the world…

---START OF FLASHBACK ---

-- TWELVE YEARS AGO---

The lovely rays of sunshine seeped through the gaps of the canopy of trees overhead. It was a late Saturday morning quite a few hours from noon on a quiet countryside, located on the far, rural outskirts of Australia. The fresh breeze of the wind gently grazed the long pool of trees surrounding the rich, soiled pathway where a young boy was occupied on riding his bicycle with utmost glee. The time between morning and the stretch of noon was one of Sang-hoon’s most favourite times of the day and that was solely because he gets the ability to drive across their forest-like neighbourhood with his trusty bike, all without worrying about the threat of cars passing by.

Choi Sang-hoon’s neighbourhood was perhaps one of the most sought after-places that people would often look for in a place like that. It was a small town located far from the city proper where houses practically lived one with nature; complete with large trees becoming a part of the rural landscape of civilization. It was precisely because of the green environment and the mountainous topography of the place that made the air really fresh and definitely suitable for a morning bike ride and perfect for a young boy such as himself who yearned to enjoy his youth every chance he could.

Sang-hoon could not even count the number of times he rode the trail ever since he was a toddler just because of the sheer experience it provided; the high canopy of trees giving the pathway a cool, relaxing shade under the bright and intense sunlight. A soft rush of water could also be heard as he passed, signalling his proximity to the clean river located nearby.

It has always been like this on class-less weekend mornings for a young boy such as Sang-hoon. His mornings would be a good hour or two of watching his favourite morning cartoons all while eating a rich and fresh vegetable soup prepared by his loving mother. After that, it was the usual morning routine was to spend biking around the rural neighbourhood and bask in sweat thanks to the heat of the sun. Today, Sang-hoon decided to go to his rather unusual routes and tread on the edge of the trees overlooking the long riverbank as opposed to the usual street dwelling that he did. So far, everything was going on smoothly. He had his back rested against an old, large tree with his bike parked on one of its overgrown roots as he pondered on his next route while keeping up with his breathing.

And that was when he heard a squeal; a cry of help that clearly came from the direction of the river.

Almost immediately did it catch Sang-hoon’s attention, and on the spot the young boy moved towards the harsh slope of soil, weaving through the root and tendrils and headed down towards the cliff overlooking the moving stream of the riverbank. At that time of the day, it was surprisingly strong for what he usually remembers it to be, perhaps due to the rain that happened the night previously. Yet, he was still puzzled as to how a young girly voice would call to him in that river.

“Hello…?” he called amidst the strong splash of water as he craned his head around hoping to find the source of the voice. “Is anyone down there?”

“Help me! Someone please! I’m down here!” replied a female voice barely audible from the loud splash of the water.

Determined to find the source of the voice, the young boy Sang-hoon quickly went to the other hanging sides of the small clearing, trying to look for a good angle to find the person perhaps in trouble with the flowing stream. He skipped, hopped and jumped over open spaces as the girl continuously cried for help, and the pressure of her voice being fainter and fainter as time went by instilled a little hint of panic within the young boy’s mind.

It was when he finally finished a couple more jumps did he finally find the source of the voice. True enough, at one of the narrower and steeper ends of the clearing was a young girl dressed in a bright blue dress, her face in utmost fear as she clutched on an exposed tree root and clung on it for dear life. Her white doll shoes were covered in dirt and soil as she stood with the platform of soil; the earth she had her foot on slowly being eaten up by the flowing waters. Sang-hoon had no idea how she got there but if he could not get her out, there’s a good chance that the stream might take her away.

“Please! I’m scared!” The little girl cried. “I don’t want the water to take me!”

“Please wait for me,” Sang-hoon called back in a frail attempt to calm the clearly panicking girl down under. Finally knowing where she was exactly placed, he ran back right above where the location of the girl was and quickly thought to himself of a way to pick her up from there without putting them both in danger.

And then it hit him: a little trick he has been taught during his summer camps as a kid Scout. He removed the jacket he previously tied around his waist, laid it out lengthwise before tying one end of the sleeve to a sturdy exposed root, ensuring that it was knotted well that it can take more than his own weight. With that, he carefully descended towards the location of the girl with utmost caution, minding the length of his jacket as well as his arm to not fully focus his weight on the makeshift rope.

“Hey! Up here! I’ll get you out of here!”

The girl then looked up with fear, albeit in the fraction of second that she was able to see Sang-hoon, she felt strangely calm all of a sudden, perhaps knowing that someone is out there to fetch her out of her predicament was plausible than she first thought.

“I’m scared!”

“Don’t be! Please don’t be scared! I’m going to get you out of here! Grab my hand!” Sang-hoon said as he extended his hand for her to take. “I’ll pull you out of there, just take my hand!”

“You promise to take me out of here?”

“I promise! Take my hand, quick!”

The young girl moved to grab Sang-hoon’s outstretched hand with hers, and with the force of the two children they both yanked themselves up towards the flatter part of the clearing. Sang-hoon, with the best that his young body could do, pulled the girl in utmost effort while she frantically propelled herself upwards with whatever ground her feet could hit themselves upon. It was perhaps perfectly timed, for the moment that the girl’s feet left the small mound of soil it immediately crumbled; dissolving unto the angry stream like it was nothing.

“We’re getting there!” he told her as he pulled. “Grab that rock over there!”

Thankfully, the young girl followed Sang-hoon’s instructions as she was able to grab the protruding rock from nearby; using it, as well as some help from Sang-hoon himself, to hoist herself out of the steep cliff and onto the flatter part of the forest. However, just as the girl was safely on the top of the stable soil, Sang-hoon heard a quick cracking noise as the root he tied his jacket on finally splintered and gave up due to their combined weights before finally cracking in two

“Oh no!” the girl exclaimed from the ground above.

It was quite expected for it to do that, and so Sang-hoon acted instantly with the noise; finally letting go of the sleeve he held on his hand and swinging his weight unto the same protruding rock before his jacket was washed on the raging stream as well. Then, with utmost effort, he pushed himself out of the steep cliff; his head adorned with thick trails of sweat and filth as he collapsed beside the sitting figure of the blue-dressed girl.

“A-are you alright…?” she asked with a soft voice, eyeing Sang-hoon’s huffing figure by the ground.

“That was close…” he breathed as he turned in place to face his body up. “I barely got out of there.”

“Your face looks so dirty.”

“Hey, I just saved you,” he said back, looking towards the face of the young girl as it, too, was filled with dirt as much as his was. “What were you doing down there, anyway? The streams pretty strong… were you planning to go for a swim?”

“No… my… I was trying to catch my b-bear when it fell down there … I had no idea that it was slippery… it wasn’t like that the last time it fell…”

“You should have let it go. That bear is washed up now, I’m sure. Does this happen to you often?”

The girl silently nodded. The moment Sang-hoon turned towards her, he noticed the little graze on her knee perhaps from the rocks that she kneed while going up.

“You have a graze on your knee… I bet it’s painful.”

She didn’t respond.

“I live nearby. I can ask mom to put some bandages on that; you don’t want trains going out from that, you know.”

“’Trains’…?”

“She usually says that to me. I should attend to my wounds immediately because trains might come out leaking from them. Now,” he said as he stood up before brushing his shirt and shorts clear of dirt. “Let’s go. It’s not that far. We better get that cleaned up.”

Sang-hoon then proceeded to offer his hand to the girl in the hopes of assisting her up.

“My name’s Sang-hoon Choi. I’m eight years old; how about you?”

The girl eyed her saviour for a good minute or two before finally deciding to take the hand offered for her. She stood up and brushed the dirt off of her bright blue skirt and stifled a smile towards Sang-hoon’s direction.

“O-Olivia… Olivia Hye … I’m s-seven y-years old…”

“That’s a nice name. Let’s go, Olivia. Let’s get your knee treated.”

---

It may have been fate that bound them together after that fateful meeting for Sang-hoon and Olivia have grown with each other’s presence for almost every single day. Their encounters have far been just two people paying each other courtesy because one saved the other, but rather their friendship and companionship developed as the months passed by. Sang-hoon and Olivia have been so used to being around each other that they’re practically the best of friends. The bright ray of sunshine became a lot more meaningful for both the young friends as they became each other’s highlight for their own respective days.

As if being together through thick and thin was not enough, with the years going by (as well as both of them becoming a  lot mature in their own regard) Olivia and Sang-hoon found themselves going to the exact same school since primary school, even more so being together in the same exact class. That fact alone inevitably attracted a lot of speculation amongst their peers yet the couple did nothing to mind all of those. As far as they both were concerned, they were the best of friends and nothing else could top that.

Three years has passed since they first met each other and now the two friends stood on top of a glassy hill close to their home, and sought a small resting place under a large tree; embracing the comfort of the sunset as they overlooked their little, hidden town. In all aspects, this part of Australia was one, if not the best the country has to offer. It was so peaceful; which is what both of them loved about the place.

“…And then maybe I’ll convince mom and dad to get me a new bike for my birthday this year,” Sang-hoon said while he gazed on the lazy horizon of their little town, overlooking the carpet of indigo-orange clouds that signalled the incoming twilight. “My old one broke already and I can barely even use my legs to cycle without it bumping against my elbows. This growth spurt thing is real.”

“Uh-huh…” replied Olivia’s voice from behind as she sat leaning on the tree’s trunk, clearly occupied on something that Sang-hoon had not noticed since arriving just yet.

“Do you miss going for bike rides, Oli? It’s been a while since we did it together, and summer break’s perfect for that. It is funny how we first met because of bikes and now the thing’s giving up because of old age. You still remember it?”

“Uh-huh…”

“But now that I think of it, maybe not. I mean they’ll probably just give me what my older brother already has, you know. I don’t know, but there’s something about toys that don’t interest me. I’d prefer to go out like I usually do. And there’s no way they’re going to buy us that console… mom does not want my brains absorbed into that or something… Do you play dolls, Oli? Do your parents buy you toys?”

“Uh-huh…” the little girl replied once again in the same, preoccupied tone.

Because of that, Sang-hoon finally averted his attention from the seething horizon and looked back at his friend. Olivia Hye, even in her pink and white dress, sat glowing with the rays of the setting sun. If it was not for her undivided attention with what she was writing then maybe she could contribute something to what Sang-hoon was saying.

“Olivia…?”

“Uh-huh…”

“You smell like rotten egg.”

“Uh-huh…”

“You’re okay with me calling you a rotten egg for the rest of your life?”

“Uh-huh…”

“OLIVIA!”

Sang-hoon changed in tone definitely caught the young girl’s attention almost instantly. Olivia Hye may have jumped for a brief moment there, clearly startled by Sang-hoon’s sudden burst in voice before finally deciding to pay attention to her friend. She then supplied her with a look that was caught in between being apologetic as well as being guilty as she was well caught in the act of not listening to what he was saying.

“Yeah…? I’m sorry what were you saying?”

Sang-hoon scratched the back of his head in disappointment before walking towards the sitting figure of Olivia. He stood beside her and looked down in utmost confusion right towards her notebook right as Olivia’s hand was frozen in mid-write.

“Yah, I’ve been talking about my plans for the summer and you’re not paying attention. What are you doing anyway? You’ve been so absorbed in that thing since we came here. What is that?”

“Oh this…? It’s my diary, Sang-hoon,” the young girl replied after a short chuckle, showing him the pages of the small red notebook that were filled with Olivia’s own handwriting. “I figured if I want this summer to be unforgettable, I should write about it.”

“Hey, are you sure that you’re not just doing that because everyone else in our school does it? I often see girls writing weird stuff on their notebooks and when I ask them if I could read it, they’ll just scoff at me. They kept telling me that it was private because they kept their crushes inside there or something…”

Olivia shook her head.

“No, this is not a slam book, Sang-hoon; this is a diary. They’re totally different things.”

“They are…?”

“You know what… whatever. I’ll just write here whatever happens during the summer and you’re going to thank me for it. Mother and father always told me to cherish things while we’re still young because they said four or five years from now, everything might just be a memory. It would be fun to look back especially when crazy things happen this summer.”

“Do you really need to do that? We can remember things just fine, Oli. I don’t think writing it down would make any difference. Let’s just run down this hill and whoever goes last has to treat the other with an ice cream or something.”

“We can do that later, Sang-hoon, come on. Besides, I’m going to write our promise to each other a year ago in case my brain forgets it again. I don’t want you to use it against me because in the near future I know you will.”

He knit his eyebrows.

“Promise…? I thought it was a joke. Mom got angry when I told her about it because she said we’re still too young to think about those kinds of stuff. I don’t want her to go scolding me again, Oli, come on.”

Olivia chuckled, much to Sang-hoon’s annoyance.

“Who told you to tell it to them in the first place? I told you this would just be between us. It is what would happen in the future anyway, and you and I promised to each other that it will be like that. You still remember the promise right…?”

Sang-hoon pursed his lips.

“Yah, Sang-hoon …”

“Of course I do…”

“I’m writing that here because it’s a promise… a promise that we’re going to marry each other when we’re old enough. You agreed to it, and we’re going to do it, okay?”

“Fine, fine… sure, we’ll get married when the time comes… but if you’re just keeping it on that diary, what if something happens to that and you forget? If it would take so long before we do that, I’m sure we’re going to forget it at some point. We’re talking about, what, more than fifteen years before that happens?”

Olivia raised her head only for her keen eyes to meet his genuinely curious stare. An idea she initially thought to be ridiculous proved its point the more that she thought of it. Surely, how long could she guarantee that she could keep the notebook to herself, knowing how much of a messy person she actually is? So with that in mind, Olivia stood up and looked back towards Sang-hoon. This time, she closed the notebook-diary, clasping the pen in between its pages and offered her attention on Sang-hoon’s still-confused demeanour before proceeding to offer her hand for him.

“What’s that?” he asked, puzzled as he stared onto Olivia’s open palm before him. “What am I going to do with that?”

“You said you brought your knife whenever you went, right? Do you mind if I borrow it?”

“My knife…? What are you going to do with that? It’s just a hard plastic knife, it’s not like it can cut anything. I’m just keeping it because it’s special.”

“I need to borrow it just this once, Sang-hoon. I won’t break it, I promise. What would be its purpose if you won’t even use it just once?”

Sang-hoon, despite the weird nature of Olivia’s request, eventually gave the small flip-up plastic knife from his pocket instead of opting to ask for more questions. In turn, Olivia casually handed him the folded notebook before walking back towards the tree, plastic knife in hand.

“Hey, what are you doing? Don’t go knifing that on the trunk because it won’t work!”

He approached her in panic only to find Olivia literally carving off something on the edge of the tree’s bark-free trunk, sending loud noises from where Sang-hoon stood. Just as he was about to lean in to check what she was writing, the young girl walked in front of him and blocked his view with her own body.

“Hey! What on earth are you doing? You’re hurting the tree!”

“I’m just writing on the already open space and on the obvious dead parts. Come on, Sang-hoon, just stay there. This is about to be done.”

“What does this tree have something to do with remembering our promise?”

Right after he said that, Olivia finally moved out of the way to show her small artwork to him, cleverly made using the very knife she just took from him moments ago:

It was a small writing that comprised of both their names, “Olivia & Sang-hoon”, enclosed with what he assumed to be a rough estimate for a heart. True to her statement, the small reminder was placed on the tree’s bark-free trunk, exactly where the part of the tree looked essentially ‘dead’.

“Let’s see you try to forget that with that one on,” she said with a smile. “I bet you’re going to remember it whenever we go here, I guarantee you that.”

“I get it, but why do you need to do it on the tree?”

“This is now our tree, Sang-hoon. I know it looks weird, but at least you now have a good reason to remember it otherwise the tree’s bark would have been written on for nothing.”

“That’s so weird to put, you know. Can I have my knife back?”

Olivia handed him his plastic Swiss-knife back, only for it to completely break free from its handle the moment that it hit his hand.

“Oh, I didn’t expect that…” Olivia gasped as she stared onto the broken knife before her. “Sorry.”

“Hey, I’ve been using this for years now! Come on, Olivia why did you just… Olivia--?”

For what felt like a matter of seconds, Olivia immediately disappeared from Sang-hoon’s from to run away from him down the grassy hill, screaming her apology as she treaded the twilight-lit path down below. Sang-hoon, on the other hand, froze on the spot as he took a couple of seconds to register what had happened. He stood there holding the broken halves of the knife on one hand and Olivia’s diary notebook on the other, and once he realized that Olivia has gained enough ground from him while she ran away, did he only decide to dart after her while shouting her name amidst the forest.

And with that, the promise of Sang-hoon and Olivia’s future plans were pledged in witness of the tree overlooking the final rays of the sunset; Olivia Hye’s handwriting glaring intensively on the tree on top of the hill.

---SIX YEARS LATER---

It was needless to say that whatever friendship that Choi Sang-hoon and Olivia had cemented went on for years since that promise under the tree. Sure, it might have looked like an innocent agreement that both of them did during their youth, but as the years went by the promise still held itself as something that Sang-hoon and Olivia had going on the background. The promise was still there, lingering silently as the pair of them finally graduated from their primary school and more beyond that.

Years since that fated conversation under the tree and their bond became stronger than ever; whether it was out of utmost friendship and trust for one another or if it was a product of an unknowingly blossoming romance, both Sang-hoon and Olivia knew it was still too early to find out which is which. The pair of them got so used to being around each other that neither of them noticed how much the other has grown through all the years they spent together, and it was right at the end of middle school, on a specific incident when Sang-hoon began to notice how beautiful Olivia has become throughout the years.

Olivia Hye has always been a really beautiful person even during their younger years, but as time went by, all the beauty she had when she was young only emphasized itself when she finally reached her teenage years. If anything, Olivia went from a cute, adorable little girl to an astonishing, drop-dead gorgeous woman. Her skin was as fair as ivory, complimented by her straight, black hair, sharp eyes, and her uniquely curved smile. It was easy to say that because of her further glow-up transition that she became the cream of the crop, often having eyes lead to her ethereal beauty if only it was not for his friend, Sang-hoon.

He used to be the small, skinny kid who loved the outdoors and practically lived under the guise of the sun, but Choi Sang-hoon grew most in comparison to every young man in his age group. His youthful charm still remained there despite being absolutely overthrown by his height and physique. For someone who’s still in middle school, Sang-hoon was clearly seen taller above everyone else  and perhaps even against his seniors; on a height that was definitely impressive, albeit just enough that he (and Olivia for that matter) is not too comfortable about it. It was precisely because of this very reason that, despite his charming looks, he is often found very intimidating for those who attempt to even think about wooing Olivia Hye.

It was a cold afternoon and the sun is gracefully glazing the sky with its red-orange hue, signalling the approach of the day’s end when a fifteen-year old Olivia Hye sat on the small road-side shed eager to go home. She waited patiently for Sang-hoon to join her and in the meantime busying herself on the red diary she has been working on for years since. It was quiet for the most part, until her silence was broken by the approach of two men that she immediately recognized to be high school students from nearby.

“Oh, look at that,” one man said, and just by his statement, Olivia knew that she was already being checked upon; the heat of his gaze blaring on her exposed thighs on her school uniform. “If it is not a stray from Mulberry Science School… goddamn… are you alone here?”

“Of course she’s alone, dumbass, why else would she be waiting here for?” the other man replied with a really raspy voice.

Olivia raised her head and eyed the two high schoolers in contempt, although keeping herself calm and composed to hopefully intimidate the two boys. One guy, the person she immediately recognized to be the one that was checking on her was a slender man that had a high buzz cut amongst a really smug impression on his chiselled face. His friend, on the other hand, was a hair shorter than he was, stood with a bag on his back and his ginger-brown hair tied on a black bandanna. Both of them were wearing the all-black uniform of the Appleton High School poorly, exposing the colored shirts they wore underneath the uniform shirt. The pair had an impressed smirk upon them and loomed far from Olivia to prevent her from taking either way out of the shed, and perhaps to add an ounce of intimidation to the girl. However, Olivia was clearly uninterested and figured it was just another day of having assholes for her to deal with.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked in a calm tone as she brought her diary down.

“Well, your name would be really nice for starters,” the guy wearing the bandanna. “My name’s Jake, and this good looking fella right here is Bruce. We’re just walking around to find some people we could… hang out with, right mate?”

“Right,” the guy called Bruce answered. “We figured a young and beautiful woman such as yourself would be bored in the middle of a roadside shed like this and we thought… maybe you can join us on a little house party, yeah? It’s going to be fun. We have a lot of girls there too, you know.”

Olivia stifled a sarcastic smile. “Sorry, but I have plans for this evening. I’ll have to say ‘no’ to that.”

“Well of course you’d say that,” Bruce replied. “We’re just concerned, yeah? We’re just uncomfortable leaving a pretty face such as you in a dark shed like this. It’s about to go night too, yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re a lot safer with us, miss,” Jake added. “We’ll make sure you’re going to be safe.”

“You’re right,” Olivia replied as she checked her wristwatch. “It is about to get dark. That reminds me that I should go ahead. Thank you for your offers and have a good night.”

She then proceeded to stand and head for the road-side on her right, only for her path to be blocked by the smug-faced Bruce. Olivia glared at him with utmost hatred, but her expression was met with a gentle smirk.

“Goddamn, you’re body’s really curvy,” he whispered to himself, but Olivia heard it too clearly as well as taking a hint of alcohol in his voice. “You’re going to leave us now, princess?”

He then reached for her hair, of which Olivia was quick to swat away.

“Please don’t touch me. Get out my way, please.”

“Aww, a sensitive one, huh,” Jake remarked from the left. “I’d like to see this one cry out for sure!”

“You’re not going to move?” she asked in a dangerous yet silent tone.

“Not until you say ‘yes’ baby. There’s two of us here, what are ya gonna do?” said Bruce.

Olivia’s eyes met his, and to his surprise, the girl they thought they had cornered gave a sly grin. The next thing the both high schoolers knew was they were flying in opposite directions to each other with Olivia standing in the middle after giving them both a hard push on their respective chests. She dismissed the annoying situation and walked past Bruce before bagging her diary for good measure.

“Ah this one’s a fighter, Bruce!” Jake yelled from behind. “Seize her, quick!”

“Come on, missy, we just want to talk, is all!” Bruce said as Jake helped her up before the two of them darted towards Olivia, who was walking calmly away from them.

Bruce was about to reach her and grab on her backpack intending to seize her like Jake said, but before he was about to reach for her, he felt a hand grip on his shoulder. Then, with utmost annoyance, he turned towards Jake only to see him having the same grip on his shoulder as well.

“Do we have a problem here?”

The two high schoolers stopped on their tracks and Olivia, having recognized the voice, stopped in place as well to turn towards the source of the sound. Sang-hoon stood in the middle of the two guys with each of his hands on either of their shoulders, looming so tall above both of Bruce and Jake that he stood almost a head taller than them. There was a brief, hostile intent from Bruce’s part; furious at the fool who dared to stop him and Jake from asking Olivia out. He was sure at that moment he was ready to make him pay for interfering, but the moment that his eyes met the tall and imposing figure of Sang-hoon, he immediately slacked back. Whatever his business was for appearing next to both of them, he was sure that Sang-hoon was involved in some sort with Olivia. With his physique and his state of not wearing any recognizable uniform, Bruce immediately assumed him to be out of highschool or worse, a delinquent.

“Hey, sister,” Sang-hoon teasingly called to Olivia as he held both of the guys on their shoulders. “Are these guys bothering you?”

“Oh no, we aren’t,” Bruce said as he brushed Sang-hoon’s grip off of him, his tone clearly changing from being previously gruff to borderline apologetic. “We’re just wondering why a pretty face such as her is waiting alone, is all. Wha’s wrong with that, yeah?”

“R-right, we t-told her it’s dangerous around here,” Jake said.

“Dangerous, huh… Is that so? I’ll have you guys know that I’m the one she’s waiting for. She’s fine now that I’m here, so I don’t think she’d need your help anymore. Thanks for keeping her in check for me, though. I’ll take it from here, guys.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and smirked.

“R-right you are. We’re leaving her to you, then. We’re just watching out for her.”

“He’s right… we’re not gonna do anything to her, yeah? We’re heading off man, shit.”

And so, in utmost panic, the two high schoolers immediately darted past Sang-hoon’s tall figure and bowed in fearing courtesy before heading back towards the direction of the waiting shed, clearly pushing each other out of the way. Sang-hoon, on the other hand, stood there smiling as he watched them panic themselves away, equally amused how he managed to scare off the two seniors just by talking to them casually.

“Take care, guys!” he called back towards them before turning to Olivia. “Hey, you okay?”

“You didn’t have to do that. I had the situation under perfect control,” Olivia remarked, beckoning Sang-hoon to join her on their journey home. “I was minutes ago from blowing their noses up.”

“Well, I figured some people need protection, you know.”

“I don’t need protection, Sang-hoon; not from guys like them. I can deal with it.”

“But sometimes you need my help, you know. You still remember how we met?”

“Shut it, Sang-hoon. I can perfectly take care of myself.”

“I’m well aware of that, Oli. By the way, I was actually pertaining to them. I don’t want them to go home with bandages all over their smug noses.”

Olivia looked back towards him and she met his eyes. There was a brief pause before both of them smiled and eventually chuckled with the small ordeal. For both of them, it was hilarious to have someone hit on Olivia for the nth time only for it to end up almost exactly on the same way.

“What took you so long, anyway?” Olivia retorted to him. “And why are you not wearing the school uniform? Did something happen while you’re still at school?”

“Oh this…? I changed for the Play rehearsal but I got too lazy to change back to my uniform. I think it’s so pointless if I’m going home anyway, so I figured I’d just walk home like this.”

“Seriously… you walked out of school wearing all black and a leather jacket. With your height, no wonder those idiots were so scared of you. You look so damn intimidating.”

“But hey, if it was not for this they might not have gone off without doing anything, so I’ll count that as a bonus. You got to admit, Oli, seeing them scurry out of here because of me was hilarious.”

Olivia sighed.

“Sheesh, I should have taught those idiots a lesson. They’re already in high school and yet they still act like elementary students. Even the kids around our neighbourhood act a lot better than them... get drunk at this time of the day…. What the hell are they doing?”

“You sound like my mom. No wonder people start to say that you’re older than me, Oli.”

Olivia gave a light slap on his arm.

“Hey! “

“I’m joking, Oli, I’m joking! You’re way too serious! Come on, you need to lighten up! Let me see that smile of yours.”

“I’m sorry. I just got upset that I didn’t get to unleash my irritation on those idiots, but maybe for the better. I’m also hungry, so there’s that.”

“Do you want me to call them back here? I recognize where they’re from with their uniforms. I can tell them that I mistook you for someone.”

“Hey, that reminds me, why on earth would you call me ‘sister’?”

Sang-hoon knit his eyebrows for a moment as he recalled, and then it hit him.

“Oh, that… well, I figured calling you by your name might be wrong. I’ll be sending them the hint of your identity and then they’ll be able to track you because you’re wearing the Mulberry School uniform, so I went to the safest route of calling you my sister. Plus, I think it adds more to the intimidating part, you know.”

“I get that, but why does it have to be a sister? Do we see each other as siblings, Sang-hoon?”

“Umm… I don’t know what you’re getting at this but maybe…? I don’t know. What else do you want me to call you so that next time I know what to say?”

Olivia opened her mouth but before she could speak, she felt herself blush. Instead of pursuing with the conversation, Olivia decided to shift the topic into something else entirely.

“Never mind, just tell me how your day went. That’s for making me wait for you after hours.”

“I guess that’s fair. So I mentioned this play, right? And I thought I’m going to have way less lines but then another actor said he won’t be able to come, so...”

Sang-hoon and Olivia’s conversation continued on until they both reached the bus stop. The young man was more than happy to lay out to his ‘friend’ how much he has achieved for the day and Olivia, being the natural listener she is complementing Sang-hoon’s adventurous personality perfectly, listened with utmost intent and enthusiasm. For her, there was something about his stories that appealed to her especially hearing how happy he is with everything he managed to accomplish. The conversation continued for until they were practically telling each other stories, especially their plans for their upcoming summer like they usually did. The end of their middle school is approaching after all, and so they mutually agreed to make the most out of the break before the weight of high school responsibility gets them fully.

It was roughly a thirty minute bus ride and the pair eventually reached their stop and subsequently dropped off of the bus before resuming their never ending stories. The sun has completely set at this point, and the only thing that was lighting Sang-hoon and Olivia’s pathway are the streetlights along the sloping path. However, if he has anything to say about it, the smile on Olivia’s face was brighter than any light on that very evening.

“You know what you should do? I think you should try out for the Dance Club, Oli. I feel like you have an unsung talent for dancing, you know.”

Olivia scoffed in return before proceeding to talk.

“You know I’m a terrible dancer, Sang-hoon; like that’s going to work.”

“What do you mean that you’re a ‘terrible dancer’? Oli, come on; you’re good. You’re not just putting too much thought into it. I’m pretty sure if you take it seriously, you’re going to do a good job. Believe me.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Between the both of us, you’re more likely to be the dancer than me. You’re born to perform because you’re a very active person, that’s exactly why you’re on the Theatre and you do plays, right?”

“Yeah but who found out that I had a penchant for those kinds of stuff? It was you, Oli. You made me realize that I have something in me that I can use to share to people, and that’s amazing to think about. I want to do the same for you because I know there’s an untapped potential in you. You just need to look where.”

“Well, maybe or maybe not. We never really know what’s going to happen, do we? Sometimes fate presents its favours on the ones not expecting, so there’s that. We’ll see what happens.”

“But how would you know if you won’t try it out? Come on, Oli; the next time that I’m with you and your favourite upbeat song plays, you have to dance and you have to take it seriously. I’ll be your judge.”

“You’ll only say good things, Sang-hoon.”

“Of course, among others, yeah; but that does not mean I won’t criticize you if you need improvements, right? I mean, every great performer started as a back act, so you’re not an exception. Besides, that’s not my point. What I’m trying to say is that I know you’re a good performer and I want to see people appreciate your talents. Try it, Oli.”

“Sheesh, you’re really pushing me on this are you?”

Sang-hoon smiled before he nodded.

“I know you can do it, Oli. I want to see you succeed, and I’ll support you on whatever you do. I’ve always been like that ever since.”

Sang-hoon felt Olivia slow her pace down after a brief pause and so he did the same. He turned his eyes to Olivia’s, standing ever so still beside him as she, too, supplied him with a really sincere gaze amidst the barely-lit side street; cars passing by them with their headlights blaring on the approaching evening. There were no words to it, but that exchange surely brought some sense of sentimentality between them as if they’ve already spoken just by merely gazing at each other.

“You really know how to make my heart flutter, you know?” Olivia concluded with a smile on her perfect, triangle lips.

“Of course, Oli; I guess that’s why we’re so compatible for each other since day one. There’s only one person who could finish my sentences with ease; only one person who fits perfectly with me. That person is you, Olivia Hye.”

Olivia felt her cheeks blush, rendering her unable to reply even if she wanted to reply back.

“You know,” Sang-hoon interrupted, acknowledging the awkward silence he unintentionally made. “Maybe we should up our pace for a bit. It’s obviously later than we anticipated and I bet you’re getting hungry too. We didn’t stop for snacks when we’re near the bus stop so here we go.”

However, as Sang-hoon proceeded to walk a few steps ahead, Olivia remained silent beside him. Whether it was because he made the situation a lot more awkward than he intended to be, or perhaps Olivia’s mind was occupied on something else unrelated to what he just said. He obviously did not want to keep it that way and so he tried to open a topic in the hopes of keeping the conversation up until they go home.

“Have you tried those spicy rice cakes, Oli? I know you’re half-Korean and all, but I never saw you chow on one of those. Is it tasty? I kinda want to try it if you’re up for it.”

“Sang-hoon …”

“I’m serious. Have you ever tried it before? They say it’s really spicy with the sauce, but some people fry it until it’s crunchy. What is it called again?”

“Sang-hoon … Wait…” she said with a notable crack on her voice.

“Huh…? Why…?”

Sang-hoon stopped in his tracks to turn towards Olivia’s direction, only for him to not see her next to him. He then looked back and there he saw Olivia distanced far behind him, separated from him for about a few metres with a look of worry on her plain, round face.

“Are you okay?”

Olivia returned a gaze full of shock and anguish, her face turning pale for almost an instant that she stopped walking.

“My… my legs feel weak Sang-hoon … and my body is aching…”

“You’re just probably hungry and tired. You know how I mentioned we didn’t take a snack back—“

“Sang-hoon …!” She cried aloud; her face began contorting with pain. “Ouch! It hurts!”

Her cry felt genuine; the shrill, painful tone enough to chill him to the bone and make him act on the spot. It was that very cry that brought Sang-hoon to think that Olivia was being dead serious and simply not doing it as a cruel joke. His eyes met Olivia’s for a brief moment and her once sharp, intimidating eyes were filled with utmost fear and pain from what she was feeling from within. Olivia swayed on the spot as she lost balance, and fortunately he was quick enough to catch her before she fell completely on the ground. Now, with him kneeling on the ground and clutching Olivia’s body on his arms he was able to see her face clearly; she was sweating so much that her entire face was shining amidst the eerie light of the lamp post.

“Olivia, what happened? Are you okay? What are you feeling?”

However, there was no direct response from her. Olivia lay there on Sang-hoon’s arms, her eyes half-lidded as she fell out of motion, unconscious. Then, as Sang-hoon was panicking for seeing her like that, a single drop of maroon blood dripped from her left nostril and trailed down her cheek.

“OLIVIA…!” Sang-hoon screamed, giving her body a soft shake before turning towards the rest of the onlookers with only one thing in his mind:

“PLEASE HELP US! PLEASE, SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

---TWO HOURS LATER – AT A HOSPITAL NOT FAR FROM THE INCIDENT---

Sang-hoon has been sitting on the white chairs of the medical centre for as far as he could remember, his legs tapping anxiously against the ground while he eagerly waited. It was almost eight in the evening and the hospital’s white corridors slowly became devoid of any sort of presence aside from the occasional trips of nurses and doctors. Olivia was fortunately immediately attended to the moment that the ambulance arrived to take her, but it has been an hour or so since her father and mother arrived and went inside her room and they haven’t been out ever since. He was left there waiting for  news he could only hope to be good all while the weight of exhaustion, hunger, worry and guilt all coming at him all at the same time.

It was the first time that he saw Olivia ever so fearful like that, even more so than when she was left on the river during their younger years. A part of him was frustrated that he should have had a hint when it came; he even felt entirely stupid for thinking that Olivia was merely acting for what she’s worth. He didn’t even know that she was already in immense pain then and there, yet it still remained a mystery to him with regards to what happened. The longer that her parents stayed inside her room, the more worried he was becoming for his friend.

What on earth happened to Olivia? He thought to himself as he waited. Where did that pain come from? Why did it have to happen right now?

The door from the emergency room finally opened after what felt like an eternity of waiting, and then emerged Mr Hye, a brilliant-looking Korean man in his early forties with a sleek physique, a rich head of slick black hair finished with a pair of round spectacles that went well with his casual-corporate attire. He opened the door and peeked around; perhaps looking for Choi Sang-hoon in the hallway’s waiting chairs. Having noticed this, Sang-hoon immediately sprang up and approached Mr Hye with concern on his eyes.

“Mr Hye, I’m here,” he remarked the moment that he was close towards the door. “Is she okay? Is Olivia okay, sir?”

Mr Hye stifled a smile and raised his right hand in the hopes of calming Sang-hoon down.

“It is okay, Sang-hoon. Olivia’s doing well right now and she’s awake, but I think there’s something that we need to discuss before you go in and see her. Can we take a seat first?”

Sang-hoon nodded in response and gesture for Mr Hye to sit on the nearest hallway chair. Perhaps it was from his rush that Sang-hoon’s legs felt really rubbery once he began to sit down next to Olivia’s father, but then again it was more leaning on the anxiety and anticipation with regards to Mr Hye’s news that brought a grim look on his rather young face.

“Before anything else,” Mr Hye began with a hoarse tone on her heavy voice. “I want to personally thank you for being there for Olivia when all of this happened, Sang-hoon. I don’t know what would have happened to my only daughter had you not been there for her. I’m grateful for that Sang-hoon. Thank you for being there for Olivia especially on times that we cannot.”

Sang-hoon stifled a smile and nodded in his direction.

“Olivia’s such a lucky girl that she has you in her life, and I do understand that your relationship with my daughter goes as far back as your youth which explains why you’re so comfortable with each other. This is the reason why I wanted to talk to you first before I give you permission to see Olivia inside. I know how much you value her, and so I’m going to ask a huge favour from you based off of that.”

“I don’t understand, Mr Hye. What is this favour for and what does it have to do with Olivia being inside the hospital room?”

“I’ll be completely honest with you Sang-hoon … Olivia’s not doing well.”

“What… what does that mean, Mr Hye?”

Mr Hye pursed his lips before proceeding to talk to Sang-hoon.

“I personally talked against telling this to Olivia because I don’t want to hurt her the moment she woke up, but Sang-hoon, the doctors are pretty straightforward when they told me how she was doing and how this illness would affect her in the future. For starters, they already asked if I could give them permission to run tests on Olivia because they cannot pinpoint exactly what caused all of her senses to feel weak as well as her entire body ache out of nowhere. All they could asses for now is that there is a possibility of it being an auto-immune disease that possibly targets her nervous and muscular system. We can only hope and pray that this does not complicate things for her because there is a tendency for the disease to spread over her body and attack her organs which is why we should be really vigilant on taking care of her.”

Sang-hoon froze on the spot as he looked at Mr Hye in disbelief.

“A mysterious disease that targets her nervous system,” Sang-hoon repeated. “But they can cure her, right? They can at least rid her of her pain while all of this is going on, right?”

“We cannot be absolutely sure right now. Like I said, the doctors here haven’t encountered something like this and they can’t be sure how to completely treat her. However, since the effects had just begun to manifest, they are not that sever yet, and so we need to be prepared in case things got worse. Hopefully it won’t be. I cannot stand seeing my daughter in pain like that with me unable to do anything to help her. I’d rather have myself to be in that situation rather than her. I don’t want our Olivia’s ability to move and go around to be taken away by something that felt out of nowhere because the doctors also warned me that it is a huge possibility.

“I’ll do anything to help her while she undergoes treatment. We’re already arranging a new room for her to move to once things here get settled.”

“B-but Mr Hye… you are saying that she won’t be able to walk anymore? It’s just like that that she can’t move her body on her own now?”

Mr Hye nodded softly.

“This pains me to admit too but yes, there is a tendency for her to not be able to walk if things go really wrong, but of course we’re praying for that not to happen. I’ll find the best doctors in this country to make sure none of that would transpire. Olivia’s too young to be kept inside a room waiting for a cure. This is where my favour comes in, Sang-hoon.

“Like I said, you and my daughter have been really close friends and you’re the one she trusts so much. I’m even willing to bet that recently you’ve been more with her than I am with her, and so I’m asking this of you, Choi Sang-hoon. I’m pleading on your heart that you keep watch on Olivia while we’re away. With the kind of work that my wife and I are in, it’s very hard to check our Olivia in the same way that I know you could. At least with you, I know that I won’t have to worry about her being lonely inside this hospital. I feel like with her seeing you here as she fights this disease would be one more step towards her eventual recovery. You’re the next thing she has to having a brother or maybe even more than that in the first place. Olivia trusts you, Sang-hoon, and so I do too. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Olivia?”

Sang-hoon turned towards Mr Hye and met his eyes with his own.

“Yes, Mr Hye. Even if you did not ask me to do it, I’m going to do it for her anyway. I’ll do anything to help her recover and get her life back to normal. I know she deserves it more than anyone else.”

Mr Hye sufficed a smile and ruffled the soft curls on Sang-hoon’s hair.

“I know you would, son. Thank you so much. Let’s go in and see her. You’ve waited long enough.”

The elder man began to stand up with Sang-hoon following him. However, as Mr Hye was about to reach for the door leading to Olivia’s room he was stopped by Sang-hoon casually taking hold of his arm. There has been a question that was lingering in his head for so long now, albeit he was too afraid to ask in case Mr Hye gives him an answer that he did not want to hear. However, if he did not make a move to know for himself, the situation might strike him harder than when he’s aware of it.

“Mr Hye… this disease of Olivia… it’s not fatal, right?”

There was no response from Mr Hye’s end. He merely stood there with a grim look in his eyes, and he seemed to have realized that he was giving a false impression towards his still-hanging question. He deliberately ignore that and then proceeded to stifle a smile, something that felt forced from Sang-hoon’s point of view before Olivia’s father nodded for Sang-hoon to follow him inside.

---A FEW DAYS LATER---

Sang-hoon always dreaded going to hospitals more than any other building he had ever gone to in his life. To him, there’s something unnerving about being inside a large establishment knowing how much people are inside there with him in the brink of life and death, the fact that somewhere someone is deeply in paint without him even knowing, even more so the eerie mono-white sanitary colours of the hallways, floors, and ceilings made him uncomfortable with how clean things felt. The scent of different medicines lingering in the air was also something he found that he could not bear. However, as he had entered the very same hospital for a couple of days since Olivia has been brought here things felt a lot more reserved for the most part.

Not having Olivia accompany him going to and home from school definitely made the trip a lot sadder and lonelier than he thought it would. Despite that, there was something pleasant on seeing Olivia every day after school; and it felt akin to a well-earned reward. He always came back empty-handed during the past days but now, Sang-hoon elected to bring with him a basket of fruits to hopefully contribute to Olivia’s recovery even if in the smallest way.

 Mr Hye’s chosen room was almost similar to every room inside the rather unexpectedly luxurious hospital rooms, earning an atmosphere that felt borderline hotel-like. It was spacious for what it was, located on the fourth floor of the hospital and had a sight on the breath-taking view of the city streets below as well as the urban jungle horizon as it was finally embraced once more by night. Olivia’s hospital bed was right in the far end of the room, placed next to the window with a bedside table next to her. A round table was located not far from the foot of the bed, complete with four sets of padded seats adding to the more luxurious feel of the hospital room itself.

“Sang-hoon …!” Olivia’s face immediately lit up the moment that Sang-hoon entered the door from the left side of her bed.

“Hello, Oli. I brought in some fruits for you,” he said as she showed the small basket. “I figured maybe you’re hungry. You usually are at this time of the day so I’ll just put it here.”

Olivia smiled as she watched him place the fruits on the bedside table. Even though she was dressed in the casual hospital robes with her right hand having the connection on the nearby IV fluid post, her young and pristine beauty still showed itself through her bright smile.

“So how are you feeling?” Sang-hoon said, pulling a chair from the table-set nearby and sat beside her. “Are the nurses taking good care of you, hmm?”

“I’m feeling a lot better, you know. I’m able to move my hands and legs now unlike yesterday when they felt frozen on the spot. At least now I can write and I can do something else than just ask for the nurses to turn on the TV for me. It’s a start and I’m pretty happy with it. This is definitely better than watching TV shows anyway; having to read our previous adventures when we were little was fun to remember, really.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Oli,” Sang-hoon replied, eyeing the red notebook placed on her lap. “You’ve been writing on that notebook since we’re young, you know. I’m surprised you’re keeping the pages intact, even having some pages to write new entries.”

“Of course; it’s the one thing I’m not going to throw away. Everything looks plain for what they are because you know I’m bad at decorating diaries, right? And I’m just writing on the important days of my life anyway, and this is no exception.”

“You’re writing about your hospitalization?”

“Uh-huh… as much as it looks really bad, it’s still something worth noting, you know. I mean, how many times do you get hospitalized in your lifetime? Of course it’s something memorable, right? If anything, I feel really loved with all the people taking care of me. It’s amazing.”

“That’s… that’s a pretty weird way to put out but hey, I’m in it if you see it that way.”

“Oh yeah, Sang-hoon; you better be. It’s better than just sulking around because I’m sick.”

“Do you mind if I check what you’ve been writing on it for all these years? Come to think of it, I never thought of checking it out, not even once. You put out remembering our adventures were fun; I doubt I can still remember them exactly so maybe a little refresher would be good?”

Sang-hoon reached for the notebook on Olivia’s lap but she immediately swatted his hand away before supplying him with a pout.

“Hey, it’s not yet done. You’re going to have all the time in the world to read it soon, but for now, no. It’s not yet ready.”

“Oh, okay then. I apologize. I don’t exactly know when you’re going to deem it ‘ready’. How would we know?”

“I’ll know for sure. I also don’t want you to see everything just yet. In case my situation worsens that I can’t write in here anymore, then maybe you have my blessing to check it out. I think when I run out of pages to write on to, and then I think it’s ready.”

“Hey, don’t say that. You’re still going to finish it, Oli. You’re going to finish that diary because you’re going to get well, okay? That’s why I’m here, remember? I’m here to make sure that your recovery goes as smooth as it could.”

“Okay then, Mr Recovery,” she said with a sarcastic tone before placing the diary back under her pillow. “If that’s what you came here for, then why don’t you tell me what did I miss on this day of school, hmmm?”

It was exactly just how Sang-hoon relayed it to Mr Hye; even if Olivia’s own father did not ask his favour to look for her daughter, he would still do it. It was exactly because of this reason that Olivia’s time in the hospital was a lot lighter than she initially thought it would take. The idea of being confined in the four corners of the hospital room without anything else to do is definitely saddening. Sure, her parents weren’t always there for her but she understood the reason why, let alone not even thinking of that thoroughly because Sang-hoon has always been there for her.

Even through days, and then came weeks and months of Olivia’s treatment did Sang-hoon never missed a single day of visiting her. He would often bring her different comic books and magazines to read during her stay, even more so going out of his way and taking pictures of all the places they usually pass on every single day as they headed home as well as going ahead and teaching Olivia of all the lessons she missed at the school. He was more than determined to help Olivia out even in the smallest of ways possible, not even letting the possibility of her condition worsening as the months went by. What mattered to him the most was seeing Olivia smile, even if he was quite unaware that she was smiling because of him.

However, on Olivia’s end, she just could not bring herself to tell Sang-hoon that she was feeling a lot worse as the days went by. Her mysterious disease, of which at this point has never been named by the doctors because of how rare it was, caused her entire body to progressively feel week as well as her muscles began to slowly lose their very function. In just a matter of months, she has already shed a lot of weight by being confined too much in the four corners of her room. The nature of it being an auto-immune disease, some of her reflexes are being taken away from her as her muscles began to deteriorate in the slowest manners. Her face became pale and the skin below her eyes slowly became dark as a result of that, and even reached a point where she almost prohibited Sang-hoon from entering her room because she did not want him to see how frail and weak-looking she has become. Despite that, it was because of his very persistence and determination to help her recover that ultimately helped Olivia get through the hardest, most painful parts of her treatment until her body began to show visible signs of improvement.

Months passed into the treatment … two months… three… and then…

---ONE YEAR LATER---

It almost exactly one year after Olivia has been diagnosed with the still-unnamed illness and things felt worse than her state on the previous year. Albeit showing completely positive signs during her treatment for the past months, Olivia’s motor responses still remained limited as she still could not bear to stand on her own without support. The illness has also begun its attack on her immune system as well, rendering Olivia extremely vulnerable to different kinds of viruses and disease that circle about in the air which is why she is strictly watched by everyone entering the room.

The intense physical demand of her body has already taken its toll on her appearance as well. Aside from the visible signs of extreme weight loss, her face has gone gaunt, her eyes heavy and lips pale from all the medications she has undergone. It was needless to say that she has been really weak with everything that was going on around her. With all the medicines and the tests that were conducted, she felt more exhausted and slowly her body succumbed to the disease.

However, there was still one sliver of hope that she was clinging on to: Choi Sang-hoon. She had to survive for him for all the efforts he has done for her.

The weather has started to become colder and colder the closer that their graduation finally approached. In a matter of days, both Sang-hoon and Olivia are finally saying goodbye to their high-school selves for the next chapter in their life. As usual, he took the early day off to visit Olivia on the same hospital room holding a booklet of the graduation hymns he intended to teach her so that she could sing on the graduation ceremony as well.

He was sitting next to Olivia’s bed admiring the multitude of papers she had stacked on the bedside table. They were graduation and get-well-soon greetings combined from all of their classmates and some of Olivia’s close classroom friends. Like before, it was of course Sang-hoon’s idea to compile them for her so that she won’t feel left out from the incoming graduation day.

“Thank you so much for… for everything,” Olivia said as she placed the final message greeting for her back on the stack of papers. “It’s really amazing how you even thought of doing this for me, you know. I can already feel the graduation coming, Sang-hoon. I really appreciate it.”

“Exactly, Oli,” he remarked, supplying her with a wide smile. “That’s why on the next few days you should gather all your strength because we’re going to go to the graduation together, okay?”

Olivia stifled a smile; her pale lips almost matching her already pale skin.

“What if I can’t walk to go there, Sang-hoon? I don’t want—“

“Shh, don’t say that. You’re going to make it there because I told you so. I’m going to get really mad at you if you’re not going to be at the graduation. We started this together; we’re going to finish it together. I’m not going there without you. It’s just not the same.”

Once again, Olivia smiled.

“I’m so lucky I got to meet a person like you, Sang-hoon. You’re everything I could have asked for in this world. If I didn’t meet you back at the riverbank, then maybe I never would have been happy the way I am today.”

Olivia proceeded to plant her weary eyes on Sang-hoon’s and she immediately sensed the pity in them. Slowly, she moved her hand across the surface of the white sheets and moved to hold Sang-hoon’s with hers. Upon contact, he felt a short jolt upon her shaky touch as her skin was as cold as it could have ever been, but with that he held on to her, grasping Olivia’s hand as tight as he could and let her feel the warmth from his own touch.

“What happened? You suddenly became sentimental out of nowhere,” he responded. “It’s very unusual for you to be this, Oli. It’s worrying me.”

Olivia chuckled.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to thank you because I never got to say it before. I better tell it to you before I lose the chance to do so.”

“Shut up, Oli. I know we have plenty of time to talk to each other. Stop thanking me; all I ask for you in return is to get well for the future. We still have a lot of time to talk about what happened in the past, and into the future. We’re going to make it. You’re still going to write a lot of stuff in that diary.”

“Oh, t-thank you that you mentioned it,” Olivia said, and with a shaky grip she took her red diary from under her pillow and presented it to Sang-hoon. “Guess what? I only have room for a single entry. After that, I’ll be running out of pages to write on to, and I’ll have to write on a different notebook now. I did it, Sang-hoon, after all these years it’s finally complete. You can finally read it once it’s done.”

“You finished it? That’s cool!” he said as he held the weary red notebook with his other hand. “But you said you still needed one more entry… what are you waiting on writing?”

Olivia looked at him with a glassy gaze before proceeding to speak.

“Sang-hoon … I remember a year ago before I fainted, you were asking me if I want to eat the spicy Korean rice cake thing, right. Do you still remember the place where you said we’re going to take the cakes from?”

Where are all these random topics coming from? Sang-hoon thought.

“O-of course, I still remember it. The path is not that far from the bus stop, but it’s quite a walk from here. I just remembered that they were called tteokbokki, you know. Why did you ask? Do you want me to get some for you?”

Olivia nodded slowly, not removing her eyes from him.

“I want to know how it tastes, finally. I want to write about them and how I ate it with the person I cherish the most in this life. I want to eat them with you, Sang-hoon.”

“Wait… you mean, right now? You want me to get the rice cakes right now, Oli?”

“Yes, Sang-hoon … can you get some tteokbokki for me?”

“Are you sure you’re allowed to eat spicy food? That one’s pretty fire, from what I’ve heard. Are you sure you don’t want to do this sometime later?”

“It is really fine, Sang-hoon. I just want to eat tteokbokki with you. I had a dream about it and I want to know exactly how it tastes. I don’t think it can wait anymore. Please?”

“Okay then, I’ll go fetch some because you requested it,” he replied as he stood up, although not letting go of his grip on Olivia’s hand. “I’m pretty sure they’re still open. I’ll make this as quickly as I could.”

“Please… I can’t wait to eat tteokbokki with you, Sang-hoon.”

“Will you be okay until I’m gone?”

“Of course… I’ll just continue to read these messages again while I wait. Please make it fast, okay?”

Sang-hoon nodded before placing her red notebook beside the stack of messages. He gave a firm grip on Olivia’s hands before letting them go, and he then proceeded to walk towards the door and was about to exit it when he turned back towards Olivia’s direction one last time before going ahead.

“Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone, okay?”

“I won’t. I still want to marry you soon, so I’ll just wait here patiently for you.”

Sang-hoon blushed for a brief moment before supplying Olivia with a wide smile, and then he closed the hospital door before heading off to fetch a cup of spicy tteokbokki in the middle of the night.

---ONE HOUR OR SO LATER---

“Damn, I got caught up,” Sang-hoon muttered to himself while wading through the large sleuth of night employees. “I hope these tteokbokki are still in prime shape.”

It was rather unexpected for the night lives of their city to be this crowded especially on a weekday and he certainly did not expect the path going back to the hospital to be filled with traffic. He initially thought it would take a couple of minutes just to go to the place serving Korean food 24/7, ten minutes at most. However, because of all the people and the band of cars he had to go through even with the brief bus ride, he was held back for what felt like at least an hour.

He did not let that sink in though, for he held the box that contained Olivia’s personally requested tteokbokki and was about to share it with her when he finally gets back at the hospital. All his work for the past hour would be really worth it as that alone was a worthwhile reward. All he got to do now was to make sure that things are still fresh before he came in.

He finally reached the hallway leading straight towards Olivia’s room and he was immediately taken aback by the sudden emergence of nurses and doctors coming from her room’s direction. He found it curious that on the one time he decided to go outside after-hours that he finally got a glimpse of what the night life was, and the hospital was no exception to that. There was a weird atmosphere in the air, though; something that was borderline unpleasant. He dismissed this as something normal, perhaps his internal dread in being inside hospitals bringing in the unpleasant feeling.

He then approached Olivia’s room, quite surprised to find it opened by about a few inches. Noises came from inside of the room but he could not tell exactly what they were as everything was muffled, perhaps from the distance.

“Oli, I got your rice cakes,” he said as he pushed the door open. “I’m sorry it took so long. I got caught on—“

As he entered, he was once again taken by surprise by the amount of people inside of the room. Mr and Mrs Hye stood beside Olivia’s bed surrounded by nurses and doctors who had their heads hung down low. He froze on the spot, trying to process what he was seeing upon the realization that the muffled noises he heard from the door were from Mrs Hye. Both of Olivia’s parents stood there hugging, trying their best to comfort each other. Mrs Hye was crying hard on Mr Hye’s shoulders that they failed to even notice Sang-hoon enter the room from the door behind them.

“Mr Hye… Mrs Hye… is everything alright?” he asked with a trembling voice, taking few shaking steps inside the humble room.

Olivia’s parents turned towards him with their eyes red and wet from the crying that they have been doing. Sang-hoon’s heart began to beat heavier against his chest as well as the trail of cold sweat trail down from his temple; there was a bad feeling as his stomach lurched on itself. As he continued his approach, Mrs Hye withdrew from her husband’s embrace to move to Sang-hoon, transferring her hug to him in a vanilla-scented embrace.

“Sang-hoon … oh Sang-hoon …” she said, weeping on the young man’s shoulder.

“Mrs Hye… what’s going on? What is happening?”

“Sang-hoon,” Mr Hye told him from the bedside. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

He felt Mrs Hye let go of the hug and direct him towards Olivia’s bed, only for her to weep a lot harder as her husband gave her a consolidating embrace.

Sang-hoon’s heart raced heavily against his chest as he approached the bed. Olivia looked almost exactly how he would find her whenever she was asleep; her eyes were closed shut as she lay on the pillow with her right hand holding steadily of what he recognized to be her diary, laid peacefully over her stomach. If anything, he noticed something that was different from her.

Olivia’s lips curved into what appeared to be a silent smile, something he found unusual for her whenever she slept.

“Sang-hoon,” Mr Hye began the moment that he stood beside Olivia’s hospital bed. “She’s… she’s gone. Our Olivia’s gone.”

Sang-hoon’s heart skipped a beat. He then turned towards Mr Hye

“’G-Gone’…? What do y-you mean, Mr Hye?”

“M-my daughter’s g-gone, Sang-hoon … she’s gone… there’s… there’s been a complication a-and her b-body gave u-up… we got a call t-that they tried t-to revive h-her but… it’s t-too late…

“Our Olivia’s gone now…”

“N-no,” the young man replied with contempt, his lips and legs began to shake as he felt tears stream down from the corner of his eye as well. “N-no, that c-can’t be! What do you mean she’s ‘gone’, Mr Hye? There’s no way! There’s no way she’s gone!”

“Oli,” he turned towards Olivia’s resting figure on the bed, kneeling beside her... “Please wake up… please tell me that you’re just sleeping… please… I’m here. I-I came back! I have the tteukbokki you requested … you said we’re going to eat it together, right? I’m here, Oli… please wake up!”

There was no response.

“Oli, please… not like this… please… we’re still going to attend our graduation tomorrow, right? You promised m-me… Olivia… I came back here for you… No… please don’t do this to me… Olivia…. Open your eyes…”

“Sang-hoon …” Mr Hye said, placing his hand on his back to comfort him.

“I t-told you t-to not do anything crazy while I’m g-gone… Olivia, why? N-no… please… not like this… Olivia… You said we’re still going to marry each other, right? So wake up! Please….

“Olivia… no…. Olivia…”

But he could only shed his tears as he knelt beside her, his hands crumpled on the plastic that held the box of tteokbokki he brought for her. Nothing else could change the fact that Olivia’s body has now given up to the illness, that she has left the world while he was gone.

The hospital room fell silent, with only Sang-hoon and Olivia’s parent’s cries heard through the unending silence.

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---END OF FLASHBACK – PRESENT DAY---

I’ll never forget that day that I lost Olivia Hye. Everything is still fresh inside my head.

I had a lot of stuff I never told her when she was still alive. I should have said it before I lost my chance.

Her death devastated me so much that I refused to attend graduation despite being heavily convinced by my own parents. I promised Olivia I won’t go there without her, and it would not have been the same without her even if I did decide to go. I was so pained with her passing that I got bitter with life; so filled with grief that I did not even bring myself to visit her grave even after her wake. I could not accept the fact that she had died because of how unfair it went for every one of us. We all thought that she was recovering and in just one day, that disease got her before we even knew it.

I could not accept it that I refused to go out for school; I know everything there would just remind me of her and probably drive me for the worst. I locked myself in home helping my mother and father in their respective businesses whenever I could, hoping that each paper I wrote and each box I lifted would rid me of my thoughts for Olivia. However, both my parents knew that as long as I stayed there in our little town in Australia that I can never move on from her, not when everything I do reminds me so much of her and so they decided to send me to South Korea in the hopes that the new place would let my misery fade.

For the most part, I would say that it was not a bad call. I can’t blame my parents for wanting the best for me in the first place; I did not mind leaving the place because I had little reason to stay anyway. It’s been a month since I came here, enrolled in Block Berry University for a degree, and so far the change in place is really helping me out.

I just wish that she was here. Olivia always wanted to go here. She would love to be here with me.

It was an early morning and as usual I spent it seated on the far end of the classroom, right next to the window as my newfound friends barraged each other with theories from their favourite manga. I was busy staring at the far horizon when our Literature teacher, Ms Yoon, came inside with news for everyone else.

“Alright, good morning to each and every one of you; before we begin this day, I would like to introduce to you a transferee. She would be joining your class from now on. Now, please introduce yourself, Miss Son.”

A girl, huh…? I could care less. I’m sure my idiot classmates would fall for her if she’s really good looking. I’m not interested though. Let’s just hope that this new girl is not annoying.

---

The new student joining Sang-hoon’s class entered and as soon as she stepped inside the small room, she was already met with a lot of gasps from everyone else. He clearly expected this, and so he simply rolled his eyes as he turned towards the new girl, hoping to evaluate her for what she is, perhaps build a first impression.

However, the moment that Sang-hoon laid his eyes on her, his entire world froze. It felt as if the room was blown out of proportion as he began to doubt on what he was seeing. That moment, his heart began to beat hard like it has never done before, noticing the feature of the woman his eyes were laid on. His face immediately turned pale as if he has seen a ghost, but he knew deep down that with what he was seeing, maybe the new girl was an apparition.

Surely, the transferee wore the typical Block Berry Creative uniform ever so perfectly; complete with the jacket and the skirt but that was not what caught his attention. Her skin was as fair as ivory, complimented by her straight, black hair, sharp eyes, and of course, her hauntingly similar triangle smile. Sang-hoon felt he was seeing someone he was not supposed to see, freezing in disbelief as the transferee walked towards the middle of the classroom to introduce herself.

“Hello everyone,” she said with a deep voice after a short bow. “My name is Son Hyejoo and I hope we can be friends! I hope I can get along well with all of you. It’s nice to meet you all!”

---

It was an understatement to say that Sang-hoon was more than frozen with the presence of the new transferee. Sure enough, on the eyes of his other classmates, this Son Hyejoo was indeed as gorgeous as the word ‘gorgeous’ could get, but to him her presence showed something that he had not seen for so long. It was as if he had seen an apparition there in front of him and he even took a couple of blinks and second looks to convince himself that his eyes were not deceiving him. However, no amount of self-convincing and repeated checking could change the fact that Son Hyejoo looked exactly like Olivia Hye. They were so similar even down to the last detail; the way she smiles in front of the class as she greeted them, the way she silently waved her body unconsciously, her triangle smile, her body that had good proportions, everything was perfectly – and eerily- similar. It was as if he was seeing a ghost; the ghost of the person he loved standing in front of the class in flesh and bone in the person of Son Hyejoo.

“Please be nice to me,” Hyejoo said with a bow, and even her voice felt a lot alike Olivia now that he’s minding every single move of her.

What is this…? Even the way that she recoils after a bow… she’s… she’s so similar to Olivia… what the fuck…?

Who is this person?

“Alright, please treat Miss Son well. There are a couple of seats that are free, Hyejoo and please feel free to pick where you’d like to seat so that we can begin today’s lesson,” addressed Ms Yoon as she gestured towards the chairs.

“Hey, would you like to seat next to me?” The girl on the opposite side of Sang-hoon voiced out as she raised her hand to get Hyejoo’s attention; of which the transferee returned with a smile.

Surprisingly, the act of the girl volunteering to be Hyejoo’s seatmate earned a lot of gasps, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of amazement as Hyejoo finally made her way towards the chair; a smile clearly plastered on her face with the offer. Sang-hoon, on the other hand, had goosebumps from head to foot knowing how close he’d be with Hyejoo (or possibly Olivia in his head) seated next to him. While the young girl treaded closer, he could not help but keenly observe the details of her face and with it, the rest of her body. It also helped that her steps seemed to have slowed time itself. He knew that it was absolutely wrong and creepy to be doing the very thing that he was doing in front of the new girl, but the thought of finding answers to a thousand arrays of questions in his head overcame his courtesy and manners. It was of the small chances he would take to verify if this person indeed looked extremely similar to Olivia, or that maybe his unsaid feelings for her and the fact that he’s missing her now caused that feeling to manifest through this Hyejoo.

He had that in mind but all he felt as she approached was the very presence of Olivia within her. Hyejoo met his eyes and briefly gave a smile to him before turning back towards the seat on his immediate left, all while Sang-hoon felt his heart skip a beat with the small interaction. He felt as if he would have fainted had the small exchange of eye contact lasted a little bit longer, yet his body displayed the truth of his anxiety as cold sweat begun to trail down from his temple. The feelings were too real for him to even comprehend.

What the fuck is this? It feels like fate’s toying with me.

She looks so much like Olivia even down to the last feature! She moves like her too!

“T-thank you for asking me to be your seatmate,” Hyejoo said towards the girl as she sat beside her. “I’m Son Hyejoo; let’s be friends!”

“Hello,” the girl replied. “My name is Park Gowon and I look forward to be your friend! Here, since you’re new to class, we can share the book for now until you get yours.”

“Oh thank you so much! I really appreciate it!”

A soft shiver ran from Sang-hoon’s head down to his feet while he eavesdropped on her conversation with Gowon. He was definitely in a trance, carefully locked towards Hyejoo’s figure as Gowon did a small recap on the lessons since the beginning of the semester. If it was not for a small nudge on his right, Sang-hoon was sure to be lost in thought with the new transferee. It was maybe for the first time that he took his attention off of Hyejoo since she arrived to transfer it towards the source of the nudge.

“Damn, so she sat right next to Gowon, huh?” His best friend Hyojong said beside him as he nodded towards both Gowon and Hyejoo’s direction; his blond hair bobbing gracefully with his gesture. “If those two become close friends, their visuals would overload this entire classroom, believe me. I’m calling it right now. Gowon being alone here already causes a lot of heads to turn towards her, and now that she’s joined with another cutie... you get it.”

Sang-hoon blatantly let the impact of Hyojong’s statement to pass as he turned his gaze back to Hyejoo once again.

“I guess you’re right on that.”

“Yah, how about you, Sang-hoon,” Hyojong said, moving closer to him in order to lower his voice. “You can’t seem to take your eyes off of the new girl. I never saw you fawn over a girl like that before, huh. Is she your type?”

“Shut up, man; it’s not that… it’s just… she looks like someone I know. I… I even thought that she’s her that’s why I kept on looking at her.”

“Really…? I find her visuals really unique you know. If you’d see someone else who looks like her, you better let me know.”

“You have a fucking girlfriend, Hyojong, what the heck are you talking about?”

“I call this a joke, bro. What I’m trying to say is that… I’m surprised you know a person who likes like her because she’s definitely a girl you don’t see every day.”

Sang-hoon gazed back towards Hyejoo once again; taking in how her teeth showed perfectly on her triangle lips just exactly like Olivia did back then and he could not help but silently agree with Hyojong’s statement.

She’s not, and that’s why I’m more than happy to see her again after all these years.

---A FEW HOURS LATER---

August 13th, 20XX

It’s been a while since I last wrote in this diary and I really missed doing it. I’ve wanted to do it for the longest time, but my fingers have started to feel numb during the past weeks that I could not simply make myself write even for a paragraph. Today, I felt a slight improvement with my senses and so I decided to write while I still could, and while my body could still retain my seated position and be able to write on a piece of paper. Things have gone really worse since the last time I wrote to you, and I’m even considering myself lucky that I could hold a pen and share my thoughts here even if my fingers are trembling with every word. It was the first time that I felt sensations on my limbs and I don’t want to waste it. I’m feeling really bad now and probably worse than my body has ever been, so no matter how hard it is, I would write my best here because it has a possibility of it being my last entry forever. If it’s not, then I can just tear it out and throw it, right?

I wanted to believe that I would eventually overcome this unnamed disease and for a year since I was diagnosed, God knows I’ve given it my all through the therapies, tests and surgeries they did to me. I’ve given it everything that I have, but because it’s a rare condition, I heard that the doctors have no idea how to properly cure it. But then again, I can’t really blame them. I have been in treatment for so long that I felt like I should have died a long time ago; that I was living merely on borrowed time. I was given a chance, and maybe that was for me to properly say goodbye to the people that mattered the most. I better do this now while I still have the chance and while my body still permits me to do so.

Sang-hoon, if you’re reading this without me then it means that I haven’t kept my promise to you; the promise of recovery, the promise of a happy ending, the promise that we would eventually get married soon. I’m sorry because I won’t be able to keep any of those. My heart knows how much I have loved you ever since our youth, that the promise was not something I did just out of impulse. I have seen the man I wanted to marry one day on the day that I saw you save me by the river. Our encounter would always be one that I would cherish the most in my life and I will always be thankful that I went with you when you treated me back then. I wish it could be that easy. I wish I could just treat the pain that you are feeling the way that you treated mine. I wish it would be that simple.

I don’t want this to end like this, Sang-hoon, but I don’t think I have that much of a choice. What’s destined to happen is bound to happen, and if I’m destined to be sixteen forever, then so be it. I want you to continue with your life, Sang-hoon. The ending of my story may have been a sad one, but that does not mean that you don’t have the chance to make yours a happy one.

I know that it’s too much and shameless of me to ask, but I could not bear myself seeing you cry for too long; the thought of it alone already kills me. You have to live well and healthy unlike me, so don’t remember me for too long. Please be happy for me. Live Choi Sang-hoon. Live because I love you more than anything else in this life. Please take care of Mom and Dad for me, okay? Please make sure that they’re well after my death. I’m asking this as a favour to you, Sang-hoon.

If afterlives do exist, I promise I will find you there. I promise that in that reality, I won’t ever leave you like this.

I love you, my Sang-hoon, always and forever.

~Olivia

I don’t even know what I was expecting when I read this again. I know I read it countless times after Oli died, but after some point, I knew I had to stop doing it to myself. No matter how much I read it over and over again, there’s no excusing the truth that she was gone. Olivia was dead, and the more that I read into her final entry only drew me away from her wish of not being too sad when she left.

However, as soon as I managed to reach my apartment here in Daegu, I immediately reached on Olivia’s diary from my bedside drawer and I could not be more than thankful to have brought it here with me. I promised myself I would no longer take a peek on that one because it was too painful enough once I flip a page knowing it was filled with nothing but the dying words of the woman I loved, but this time it was different. Having met the girl named Son Hyejoo, I knew I had to look at Olivia’s final message again and perhaps pick up a sign. I know I remember her writing something on the lines of ‘finding me in the next life’, and now I just saw a class mate of mine who looks EXACTLY like her. Could this perhaps the next life that she was pertaining to three years ago? There’s no way that she’s reincarnated into an existing person already. Even I would know that it just breaks the rules like that.

Everything felt so perfectly placed. If this Hyejoo girl merely shared a physical aspect with Olivia, then perhaps I could make myself believe that the two of them really just looked alike. But with her even being on the same class as me, that could only mean that Hyejoo also went for the same course as Olivia dreamed of. I told myself, as respect for her memory I would fulfil her dreams for her, but now that I know of Hyejoo’s existence, I now doubt whether that was necessary or not.

How on earth could they look exactly like each other? It was as if they’re twins from different mothers. I know that it’s an outrageous idea, but on this sense it feels way more feasible than just fantasy, honestly.

Is it possible for two unrelated people to look exactly alike?

Or if I would put this out in a really ridiculous way, could Hyejoo be…?

Could Hyejoo perhaps be the reincarnation of Olivia in this time?

But if that’s the case, Hyejoo shares the exact same age that Olivia did, meaning at some point they both existed at the same time. They were alive at some point not knowing of the existence of the other. Plus, I’m never one to believe in fantasies because I view them nothing more than for entertainment, but I’m not going to lie that somehow Hyejoo being Olivia’s ‘reincarnation’ is something else. The fact that she showed up on the day I decide to get my life back felt as if Olivia was watching me from above. I don’t know how to react to this; and certainly I and Hyejoo’s next interactions would be really awkward as I am sure I would see Olivia in her no matter what.

I’ll have to sort myself out. Maybe associating her so much with Oli was not the best idea, especially now that I had just seen her for the first time. Perhaps once offered a second look on tomorrow’s class, maybe I won’t be seeing Olivia in her then. However, if she acts like Olivia…

I don’t know.

I guess we’ll find out.

---THE NEXT DAY---

Today’s the second day of the Literature class and I could have sworn I heard a lot of rumours surrounding Hyejoo already. Usually Block Berry’s mornings passed like any other normal universities with the half-asleep students dragging themselves to class at 7 AM, but this morning felt different. The path heading towards the main building of the Film Arts and Sciences began to be filled with senior students from various departments, and I was able to deduce much because they were wearing their jackets as they stood on the hallways. Seniors spanning from accounting to engineering courses blocked a clean path towards my morning class. Had I not been early for today’s meet, I would have been really annoyed with these people.

Why are they even here in the first place?

But it’s not like they’re flocking on a specific place thought; it felt as if they were merely just passing by and drawing their eyes on… our classroom?

After a couple of ‘excuse me’s and soft wading through the flock of students I finally managed to reach the said classroom. Apparently, my initial assumption was right and that those excess students were passing by OUR Literature classroom for who-knows-what reason. I just find it really weird that people were doing that on the second day of class.

 Anyway, I entered the room and saw that the minimal amount of classmates that I had inside were as equally intrigued as I am. The doors were filled with commotion with regards to students passing by, resulting with the hallway being noisier than the inside of the classroom. I’m actually surprised that they weren’t called out at this point. It’s a jungle out there.

“Hey, Sang-hoon,” Hyojong greeted me with a smile as I walked towards the chair on his left side. “A bit early today, aren’t we?”

“H-heya; I woke up earlier than my alarm so I just headed to school. I just figured that I…”

Damn, my voice just trailed off as I was taking the seat next to him.

I know for a fact that Hyejoo really has Olivia’s visuals, and I had a good experience of that when she first arrived at school yesterday but fuck man… her presence still did not sink in me thoroughly. Seeing Hyejoo as I sat beside Hyojong felt like I was seeing Olivia Hye again, even more so when she’s sitting there talking to Gowon. There is that small skip of a heartbeat whenever I lay my eyes on her, and it’s an understatement if describe my feeling as seeing an apparition.

I really don’t want to stay in this situation and put it in my head that she’s Olivia no matter what. If I’m going to put myself in her situation, it feels really awkward that I look into Hyejoo and she’d see a thousand hours of my memories with Olivia while both of us are complete strangers to each other. I want to know her more, for sure, and perhaps draw the line whether she and Olivia are related to some degree or not, but the situation has proven itself to be really difficult considering how much of Olivia I see on her.

I don’t want this to be unhealthy already on the second week of the semester, jeez.

“Looks like the place has been really full, you know. I’ve never had to wade through that ever since I entered school here. It’s crazy,” Hyojong said while not turning his gaze away from his phone, clearly commenting on the large sum of students walking outside.

“Since you entered school here? But I thought you’re a first year as well. We’ve just been here for two weeks if I remember right.”

“Well, you are. I haven’t told you that I’m from Block Berry High School; the good looking building that’s next to the auditorium and is the university’s HS department.”

“I… I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do. Anyway, ever since I was doing some errands for the high school teachers, I would often walk around here and I never saw the place this full. It’s surprising that it’s even this early in the morning.”

“Yeah, what’s up with them going here anyway? Is there something going on here?”

“Not ‘something’, Sang-hoon, rather ‘someone.’”

“I’m… I’m not sure I follow, man. What’s all this about?”

I patiently waited for Hyojong’s answer, yet all I could see from my peripheral was him still keeping his eyes on his screen. This time, however, instead of swiping the screen on his game, I could see him clearly typing something on a messaging app. Soon, I felt him shift from his position and carefully place the phone over my end of the long desk.

“Do me a favour and don’t read it aloud, thanks,” he requested.

I gazed down, transferring my eyes from Hyojong’s sly smile towards the screen below where he clearly had something written down for me.

I think they’re here because of the new transferee. I did some stalking around and I found Hyejoo’s Instagram and apparently, she’s really famous.

“How on earth did you even do that?” I told him as he took his phone from my desk. “How did you manage to find it this fast?”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure this explains things a lot better,” he said, once again typing something on his phone before handing it to me in a similar fashion as before.

She has over 3k followers on IG and is a graduate from a Music School.

“Is that… is that supposed to be a lot?”

Hyojong gave me a soft, sarcastic laugh.

“Are you crazy, Sang-hoon? Do you even know how that works?”

“I know how that works, but aren’t… aren’t they supposed to have a lot more followers compared to guys?”

I turned cautiously to check if Hyejoo heard my whisper towards Hyojong, only for me to see her and Gowon standing up and perhaps headed to the women’s restroom.

“Ah perfect, they’re gone for now,” he said as he opened his Instagram, swiftly inputting Gowon’s IG profile and casually showing it to me. “Look, we all know Gowon’s pretty famous and she’s resting at 2.5k. Hyejoo has five-hundred more.”

“I get that it’s a lot, but does that mean anything…? Is the number of followers actually the basis for being famous these days?”

“Not entirely, but it does provide a good impression. Here’s Hyejoo’s IG. Check it out and you’re going to see how famous she is with how much reactions her posts get. You’ll know what I mean when I say that she’s well-known and why the people are flocking this early in the morning.”

I was reluctant with Hyojong’s suggestion because I really feel weird whenever I go stalking a person’s profile on social media, but my inner curiosity got the best me on doing against it. Initially, I was pitching on the idea of proving Hyojong’s point that Hyejoo’s really famous. However, the chance of me being able to look into her childhood and hopefully find a missing link between her and Olivia became a top priority. It was too far-fetched of an idea but if I manage to find a common person between them both, then at least that’s the start of me uncovering who she truly is.

I highly doubt it though; at this point I was more leaning on her old photos to see if she really resembled Olivia even during her youth.

With that in mind, I carefully took Hyojong’s phone with Hyejoo’s profile held on her most recent photo and began to slowly check on her posts. Somehow, Hyojong’s own proof of his point gave me a way to check into her youth. The fact that she’s famous during high school was the least of my concern, but it did provide a good enough excuse for me to check her profile. At least in this context, I could easily mask my agenda in front of Hyojong that I won’t have to answer any follow-up questions. I am interested on Hyejoo, there’s no doubt about that; but in this sense I want to know how her childhood unfolded. It was key information for me, and perhaps that alone would stop me from associating her to Olivia too much.

Still, as I held Hyojong’s phone and scrolled, there’s no denying that it was amazing how they looked like twins. The way that she smiled was similar to Olivia’s. It would even go as far as having their pictures taken on a specific way is so similar, too. Had I not know that this was Hyejoo’s Instagram profile; it was easy to assume that I took those photos myself for Olivia and only forgot it.

My eyes carefully dropped down to the likes of her more recent photos and true enough, Hyojong was not joking when he said that she has a lot of reactors on her posts. I’m not that much into social media myself but I know for a fact that having at least a thousand followers on her photos felt like a lot. She does have a way of capturing the perfect angle for the camera that her beauty just shined perfectly on her pictures. A part of me, however, felt really sad seeing these photos of her taken on such amazing angles and perfect times as well.

Olivia would have been doing the exact same things today. I know I told myself that I’d merely take a peek on Hyejoo’s posts to check her youth, but damn this makes me Miss Olivia so much. She’d love doing these photos on—

“Have you seen what I was talking about?” Hyojong’s voice came out of nowhere and it effectively shook me off of my temporary trance. “She has so many followers. No wonder the morning’s flooded the moment that the news of her transfer came out. I bet our seniors just want to see her if she really chose Block Berry Creative, you know.”

“Yeah I… I can see that… do you mind if I borrow this for a bit? I want to see more photos of her.”

Dammit, I hope that that did not come out weird. Fuck.

“Oh, well fine then; go figure. I feel a bit thirsty so I might head to the cafeteria and fetch something to drink. You want me to get anything for you?”

“I’m good man. Thank you for asking.”

“Alright then; just don’t like any of her older posts otherwise she’d know that you’re stalking her. Keep in mind: you’re using MY account, okay?”

“I got it, man. I’ll be here.”

 Hyojong gave me one look of ‘don’t do anything stupid’ before finally heading out of the door. As I looked at his disappearing figure, there were still a good number of students passing by the doorway despite Hyejoo leaving with Gowon for the restroom. It has been a good while too, which made me wonder how come the pair of them had not come back yet.

Regardless, now that I have her account for myself, I can continue my investigation.

I took a couple of long scrolls down Hyejoo’s profile, and that was largely due to her being exponentially active on Instagram that she has a lot of posts for the past months. There were vocal recording lessons, dance studio ventures, international trips… well I can see now why everyone was so interested when she moved to Block Berry. In a way, I can see how she differs from Olivia in this regard, but then I know I need further investigation for what it’s worth.

A couple of fast scrolls down her really long profile and I found a photo of her during her younger years. It was a compilation of her throwback photos including some of her childhood photos.

Fuck… I’m lucky that there’s no one around here who could find my actions to be suspicious. I should deal with this quickly.

I opened the first panel of compilations and the first batch of photos that greeted me was more of her late middle-school years. Despite Hyejoo having a different type of haircut compared to what she was sporting now, there was no denying that she had a visible resemblance to Olivia even down to the last detail. It’s like I’m seeing an alternate version of Olivia that lived on a different life; like how she would turn out had she studied in Seoul instead of Australia. I am looking through enough photos to justify that Hyejoo indeed had a life of her own before everything that’s happening and that she is completely unrelated to the Olivia I knew from across the world.

They’re completely unrelated. I can see that perfectly now.

It just baffles me that they look so alike. I would continue to revel in that disbelief until I perfectly distinguish Olivia from this Hyejoo for good.

I would say, however, that seeing these photos for myself are affecting me in a rather odd way… sad, actually. Seeing Hyejoo’s photos of her youth to her highschool and her pre-college life like this… it somehow shows me how Olivia should have been. Hyejoo somehow is the epitome of Olivia’s existence had she managed to succeed on her disease before.

I got to stop.

I turned Hyojong’s phone’s screen off after checking on the last of Hyejoo’s photos and immediately placed it on his end of the desk. It was timed too, because as soon as I did that, the figures of Hyejoo and Gowon eventually came through the door frame as they were both holding a cup of coffee on their hands. Even in that sliver of opportunity I had, my eyes were planted on Hyejoo until she reached her desk with Gowon. It would be an exaggeration to say that time seemed to have slowed itself down as I observed her path, but in reality it really felt like that. Hyejoo seemed to pause as he walked around the classroom and closer to where I was seated.  I would not have been extra concerned with it had my heart not noticeably beat a lot harder against my chest as if it was yearning to go out and leap towards her. I could also feel my face going hot just by seeing her smile curve on her lips.

“Hey, are you still alive?” Hyojong’s voice came booming from beside me after he finished waving his hand across my face. “Sang-hoon, are you on this classroom?”

“Yeah, I am man. Here’s your phone by the way. Thank you.”

“You seemed pretty occupied,” he said as he took his seat again beside me. “How was it?”

“I… uhh… I guess I saw your point. She is really famous.”

“I told you so. We’re lucky she’s our classmate; at least in some form we could manage to talk to her and Gowon. It feels like taking to the president, you know.”

“I… I guess so…”

I know Hyojong might have rambled on for seconds after that, but my mind simply spaced out as I continued to observe Hyejoo and Gowon on my peripheral. I may have found out a bit about her, but something is telling me that it’s not enough.

I want to know Hyejoo more than her photos and her reputation. I want to know who she really is.

I think I need more time.

---TWO MONTHS LATER---

Sang-hoon has spent the previous weeks and days observing Hyejoo down to the very last detail, and his seemingly stalking nature increased as the months went by, although with that he’s also making sure that he would not look too obsessed with her. Even with the abundance of university work coming his way, somehow Hyejoo’s presence motivated him to do good in his works with Hyejoo serving as his primary motivation for school. In fact, it was precisely because of her that he had signed up for the university’s Theatre club in the hopes of getting her attention. Sang-hoon had the good looks after all, and coupled with his impressive height and training during his younger years, he was bound to get his imposing presence elsewhere. He knew he had to do this knowing how frail he felt next to Hyejoo, and as a result, he never managed to exchange a conversation with her despite having months behind him.

Well, he also has to be blamed for that considering he always views Hyejoo as Olivia whenever he attempts to talk to her.

Regardless of how hard he tried, he really could not dissociate the two ladies from each other. After two months work of observing (which involved him doing Sasaeng-like stalking to the greatest of limits that it allows him to), he felt farther and farther from the answers he seek. Every time that he discovers something about Hyejoo, it felt a lot closer to her actually being Olivia. It was also the feeling; that unsung feeling of being dearly attracted to her presence that draw him mindlessly close to Son Hyejoo. He was aware of this as well, and with utmost effort he tried to keep himself at bay and still respect the privacy of the girl as much as possible.

It was the week after the first university examinations and classes were pretty much lax, and so the pair of Hyojong and Sang-hoon sat across the university fountain right smack in the middle of the campus in the hopes of letting time pass by. The lazy afternoon of having absolutely nothing to do was the reason that they decided to settle there, but not before opting to buy a good cup of refreshments.

Sang-hoon did not expect it, but somehow the pair of Gowon and Hyejoo was also seated on the far end of the fountain, admiring the sight that he and Hyojong blatantly ignored.

“Oh, look, Sang-hoon,” Hyojong teased as he had his arms rested on the long, concrete backrest. “If it isn’t your Hyejoo hanging out with Gowon again; I heard she had a hard time on our Mathematics exam. You’re good at math right, Sang-hoon? Why don’t you teach her for this term? It might be a good deal of a help, you know.”

“What are you talking about, man? She’s not struggling on Math. In fact, she’s really good at it. I don’t recall her having bad scores.”

“How did you know about that?”

“I—I saw her exam paper before she turned it in.”

“What the fuck?” Hyojong exclaimed, effectively sitting straight to look at Sang-hoon’s face. “You were peeking on her paper during the exam? Damn, I didn’t think you were the type who would do that.”

“No, I didn’t copy her answers! I… I just saw it when Mrs Kang was returning the papers. Somehow her paper ended up next to mine and her score slipped under my eyes.”

“Well, that’s progress now, isn’t it? Who among you both got the higher score?”

“Is that even important now, Hyojong?”

“It is. At least I’ll know which person I’d sit next to on the midterm.”

“Hey, that’s illegal.”

“I’m kidding, okay? Look, you got to look into the small details if you’re planning to make a move, Sang-hoon. If she’s higher than you by a couple of points then ask her to teach you, at least then you’re going to have a reason to talk to her.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, you know. I mean, if I wanted to talk to her I could easily have done it. She’s in most of our classes and I see her almost every day.”

“If it’s that easy, then why haven’t you done it yet?”

Sang-hoon opened his mouth to reply, but the fast-paced conversation between him and his friend suddenly met an abrupt end. He thought of a reason on the back of his head and yet he could not really make out of something that was the reason for that. Hyojong, on the other hand, sat there opposite him with his legs crossed over on the stone panel and anticipated a convincing answer from him.

“I… I guess the opportunity just did not present itself. It’s pretty obvious right? Plus, I don’t want to talk to her just because I WANT to talk to her. It makes the conversation a lot more awkward, wouldn’t it? I want to approach her when there’s something to actually talk about.”

“But you have something to talk about; I’m sure you, the great Choi Sang-hoon of the Theatre Club, have some sort of dialogue planned on your head for her right? You can’t just sit around all day, watching her and hoping for the best, man. You’re not going to get anywhere with that.”

“What do you mean? What do you know?”

Hyojong paused and took a good look around towards Hyejoo and Gowon’s position. Seeing that they have already left their seats, he brought his legs back on the ground and moved towards Sang-hoon’s still-confused figure.

“You know, I’ve been playing blind these past weeks because I don’t want to be so nosy,” he said as he placed a hand on Sang-hoon’s shoulder. “But I feel like at some point, I’ll have to ask this out from you. I think that time is now. Look, I know Hyejoo’s famous as hell and she’s a really pretty girl and that might be intimidating to you, but are you sure you just want to watch and observe her from afar?”

“What…? I’m not watching her from afar… come on, man.”

“Oh no, don’t play games with me man… don’t think that I didn’t notice you looking at her whenever we’re on the same class. Even when we’re eating at the cafeteria for some snacks, you’d position yourself that you’ll have perfect view of her even if we’re sitting across each other. I even see you following her route home, so you can’t really say anything against me now.”

Wait, am I THAT obvious?

I guess during the past weeks, I slacked off of being cautious around Hyojong. He doesn’t seem to mind when I’m doing my investigation while we’re together. I got a bit too comfortable.

Maybe I should tell it to him now. He discovered it himself anyway, so if anything I think he deserves to know the truth.

“Okay, maybe I did stalk her a bit… but that’s all that is to it, you know.”

“Is it, though? Are you sure that’s all that you have to say about doing it a couple of times?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I could say so much about your little sliver of looks for her, man. It looked to me as if you’re way too interested on Hyejoo; way more than being just a classmate.”

“Wait, there’s no rule that I can’t observe her from afar is there?”

“Sure, Sang-hoon … you can observe her from time to time, but doing it every day and every chance that you get… I think that’s something else entirely on itself. I wonder why you’re doing it though.”

Fuck… no matter how much I attempt to ride this around the bush, Hyojong felt very focused on me already. I’m pretty cornered.

“It’s nothing, I told you.”

“’Nothing’ he says… that’s not what I think. You’ve been stalking her as if you want to understand everything about her; know more things that you don’t get to see on the four corners of this classroom. You want to understand how this specific person acts when she’s not around Gowon or anybody else, and I think you’re doing that because you’re starting to like Hyejoo.”

Sang-hoon felt his ears go hot the moment the words escaped Hyojong’s lips. It’s not as if he’s forcing the idea on the table, but rather he was merely just relaying his interpretation of what he was seeing. Sang-hoon knew deep down that he can’t possibly excuse himself out of this one, not when Hyojong’s way too invested on finding his answer out. However, he was surprised that he actually looked that way towards him.

Now, he had been a lot more conscious than ever. While Hyojong waited for his response, flashbacks of all his stalking adventures for the last week began to flash unto his head. Images of whether there were other people who could have seen him stalking Hyejoo like that flung themselves like a pin-hole movie, and now that he was so deep into the situation, he could not think of a way to walk it out in case the worst comes. He never thought of it through as he was focused on the one thing he came there for: Hyejoo.

“So,” Hyojong continued after the ensuing silence albeit controlling his voice to almost a whisper. “Do you like Hyejoo or not?”

“I’m… not sure about that.”

Hyojong’s face contorted with confusion. Clearly, what Sang-hoon had said was not what he was expecting. Either of the answers in his head, he had the perfect retort to it. However, with something that vague, his rhythm was thrown off of the window in an instant.

“What do you mean ‘not sure’?”

“I’m… it’s too complicated for stuff like that now, you know. Yes, I’ll admit that I’m interested about Hyejoo and that I am slightly stalking her. Would liking her actually be the reason for that? I don’t know. I’m trying to find out too… it’s more of I’m trying to go near her because I’m seeking an answer to a question I’ve been having ever since I met her.”

Sang-hoon watched as Hyojong gave him a really unconvinced expression. The blonde guy then scratched the back of his head and placed an arm over Sang-hoon’s shoulder once again.

“You know what? You better do you. I’m not getting any of this by any degree, but in the off chance that you’re not yet ready to fully admit to yourself of your feelings for Hyejoo, then take your time. All I’m trying to say is, if you’re really interested on Hyejoo and you want to be close to her such that you can be together, then I suggest you get your ass off and go to her directly. Like I said, sitting around and waiting for a miracle to happen won’t get you anywhere. You better move fast and smart too, if I may say so myself. Since Hyejoo’s been really close friends with Gowon now, and she’s a lot more famous than she was when she first came here months ago…”

Honestly, I could care less if she’s famous or not. I need to find out if there’s even a slight connection between her and Olivia, and once there’s none then I can let this thing to rest.

I just need to know, and then I can stop.

“…I’m just saying that as an advice, but as I was saying it, I figured you won’t need it. You’re freakin’ Choi Sang-hoon; the good looking tall guy from the Theatre Club. Women all over campus know how you’re good looking on stage and a lot of them like you. You could get any fan whenever you want, which is why I’m a bit surprised why you’re having this much of a difficulty with Hyejoo. I’m sure with all your achievements, your looks, your talent, your height maybe… I’m sure she notices you. You might be waiting for each other to start the conversation, for fuck’s sake. What are you waiting for then; the end of semester?”

Sang-hoon nodded, although he was thinking deeply inside him…

I guess I could not also find the answer for that.

--- THREE DAYS LATER ---

University life for each and every student inside Block Berry Creative passed on like as it should and as always it was just another day filled with occasional requirements here and there. Luckily, things were taken a bit lightly by the professors given the schedule of the school activities, and so the following days were a lot more relaxed compared to the usual heavy hitting days of college. As a result of the more relieving atmosphere, Sang-hoon had a lot of time to think about what Hyojong had said to him a few days ago when they were at the university fountain. This afternoon was perfect in his opinion as the most of the professors went off for their regular inter-department meeting, leaving most of the students in their respective classrooms with a short activity and nothing to do for most of the afternoon.

Due to that, the hallways were scattered with students and Sang-hoon found himself sitting on one of the in-hall benches of the school with the view of Hyejoo and Gowon opposite him as the pair sat on the other side of the hall absorbed in a long, inaudible conversation. There was some significant difference, however; despite having the two of them so close to him, he had taken care of himself to not ogle too much with Hyejoo now that Hyojong knows. If anything, he was merely staring at the blank space pondering of a way and a good excuse to engage Hyejoo in a good convo. He doubts if he could do it now thought considering how occupied she and Gowon were with their talk. It also did not help that Hyojong was out, using the lax time of the university to go out with his girlfriend; leaving him with no one to push.

He could already feel it; the drive to actually talk to Hyejoo. If anything, no matter how much stalking he would do, nothing would matter unless he actually would talk to Hyejoo. It sounds really easy, if only he’s not seeing Olivia whenever he would go out of his way and talk to Hyejoo. He can’t help but feel that sense of comfort and relief, coupled with that little fear that he might overdo it and actually treat Hyejoo as Olivia accidentally. He knew himself perfectly well and there’s a good chance for that to happen whenever he decided to go for it.

There was also that odd, unsettling feeling that he’s having. It was as if people walking in front of him had their eyes planted on him, even more so now that most of the passers-by were fellow first year girls from different departments.

On that very moment, even with utmost effort of deliberately ignoring the urge to watch silently at Hyejoo, Sang-hoon felt the presence of a person walking towards his direction. The footsteps of a young woman stomped softly on the tiled floor, and every second that the closer she came, the more that he felt really anxious for whatever her business was with him. It also did not help that he could see her hands on her back, clearly hiding something from him.

“Umm… e-excuse me… you’re Sang-hoon, right?” the girl said with a small voice with a notable tremble in her sentence.

“Yes, I am… can I help you?”

Sang-hoon turned his gaze to finally meet the girl’s bright brown eyes, and instantly recognized the somehow familiar face. The girl was a fellow first year as he was as well, shyly smiling through her straight-cut shoulder length hair along with a sly, pink shade on her cheeks. Sang-hoon recognized her to be the girl that was taking up an Accounting course and was often front-seated on his theatre rehearsals and shows and sometimes she would often be seen having a conversation with their set designer. He was sure that she’s not a member of the club given how she only shows up during practices, and neither have they even started a conversation prior to what was happening that time. There was a sudden uncomfortable feeling from being next to her, and he knew that there was something bound to happen because of such encounter.

“H-hi… I’m… my name i-is Yeojin… “ the girl mused and this time she avoided Sang-hoon’s inquiring stare as she bowed her head out of sight. “I… I-I’m from the Accounting department a-and… And I’m a huge fan of y-you…”

Sang-hoon could merely listen to the girl as she stood there, and because of her stance, some students around the pair have begun to stop and eye them for a second. He could see that there was something behind her judging by the excited and interested faces of the people standing beside her, and whatever it was drove him really anxious. He and Yeojin was the centre of attention at that very moment; even Hyejoo and Gowon stopped their ensuing conversation to observe what was going on with their classmate from Language class.

Holy shit, what is happening? Sang-hoon thought to himself as he trembled in place observing Yeojin’s body language. What does she have behind her? And Hyejoo’s watching too! What is going on here?

I should say something. She’s clearly out of her words.

And why is she so nervous in front of me? Her actions are unintentionally drawing the crowd! I need to say something!

“Oh… I… I’m flattered, Yeojin… t-thank you. I do recognize you from the rehearsals… I appreciate that you like the theatre club’s work…”

Is that okay? Did it make the situation worse?

Fuck, if only Hyejoo was not watching me right now. It’s so unsettling.

“Y-yeah… I’ve… I’ve been watching you s-since you joined and… I’ve been a huge f-fan of you, Sang-hoon…”

“Thank you…”

“B-but I’ve… I’ve wanted to give you something… y-you did well so much on the last play and I loved your role in it… and…”

Yeojin raised her head up.

“I… I want to confess that I like you, Choi Sang-hoon.”

Wait, what?

SHE SAID WHAT?

“Please accept this… please accept my confession,” Yeojin said without even exchanging eye contact with her, and before he could react, Yeojin finally drew her hands from her back.

Sang-hoon froze on the spot as he looked at Yeojin’s figure, her head bowed down and kept out of his sight while a box of chocolates rested on her palms.

Her action caused a lot of gasps and ‘ooh’s to ooze from the surrounding students, admiring her astounding courage to admit her feelings on broad daylight just like that. Some students were even clapping their hands in support of Yeojin’s confession and beckoning him to accept the pretty humble gift. Sang-hoon, on the other hand, was completely taken away by what he just heard and what he was seeing just now. A part of him wanted to make Yeojin repeat what she just said in case his ears were playing with him because of the situation, but the chocolates on her arms are way too much of an evidence to prove that what he initially heard was true. He could not understand the reason though on why Yeojin chose to confess in front of so much people, especially now that everyone else around him already saw Yeojin’s figure holding a box for him that they’re now expecting an answer from his end.

Perhaps that was the reason. Maybe Yeojin chose to give him the chocolates in public that the chances of him accepting it would heighten. It was really admirable, considering it was even Yeojin who had the guts to confess of what she feels. He was flattered and definitely amazed, and under normal circumstances he would have easily accepted her gift just like that.

But this was definitely a different circumstance and it most certainly isn’t normal…

The situation was different because a specific person was watching… Son Hyejoo

He could not understand why his mind was telling him to not accept the small gift just because Hyejoo was there. Somehow her presence felt everything to him; that with Yeojin showing up with a gift for him was something he did not want to happen, let alone have any other succeeding encounters with her after that confession. He wanted to accept it before, but now his mind was panicking with regards to how to politely decline it without looking like an asshole in front of everyone else.

However, there was not much of a choice. In his head, he would either look like an asshole in front of everyone but he’d be honest with Yeojin and himself, or pretend that he would accept it and reject Yeojin later. Either way, it would have involved him rejecting Yeojin anyway, and so his mind went for the easiest thing to do at the spur of the moment and he immediately stood up; quickly earning a flock of reactions from the crowd as he towered over Yeojin.

“I… I’m sorry but I can’t accept it,” he said with a tremble.

Yeojin, along with everyone else gasped with what they just heard. The young girl raised her head and planted her gaze to Sang-hoon, possibly hoping that it was the latter’s idea of a joke to lighten things up. However, instead of the usual handsome face of her crush, it was the pitiful look of Sang-hoon that greeted her.

“What…?” she mouthed.

Sang-hoon’s eyes went to all places, scanning the crowd before him in case a violent reaction was to occur. His eyes eventually rested towards the figure of Gowon and Hyejoo on his left, equally anticipating the unfolding of the events as much as everyone else was, and throughout that deal, he felt his eyes gazing back to Hyejoo’s for the first time ever.

“I can’t accept it,” he said clearer this time while keeping his eyes planted on Hyejoo. Sang-hoon then turned towards Yeojin’s waiting figure and spoke with a trembling voice. “I-I’m sorry.”

He raised his gaze once again, this time meeting the eyes of all the onlookers on Yeojin’s back who have circled the hallway for the commotion. Once again, he mouthed.

“I’m sorry.”

And with a state of panic, he left Yeojin where she was standing and quickly weaved to the wall of people behind him, not even bothering to give a single glance back to the girl he rejected and to the Hyejoo who was the reason why he rejected Yeojin in the first place.

---

Choi Sang-hoon kept his feet walking for as long as he could; quite determined more than anything else to leave the scene as quick as possible. On his way out, he was met with a lot of angry, confused and surprised eyes as he expected, but none of those deterred him from taking the step out of the building and heading off somewhere else. The Film Arts department was not a place he wanted to be at that moment and it was convenient that there was a meeting going on at the afternoon that he could easily decide to ditch this afternoon’s classes for good.

He could not bear to see the aftermath of what he had just caused, not now that Hyejoo had first-hand seen what he had done.

Have I done things right?

His feet finally found themselves walking towards the locker room of the school’s Sports Club, not far from the university’s own covered court. It was this series of door-less mini-rooms that lined the hallway like extended bathroom stalls, with each room having a decent set of lockers lining against the three surrounding walls. Thanks to the absence of afternoon activities, most of the said locker rooms were void of any presence of students, given the athletes who were supposed to practice might have called it a day and headed on off. If anything, Sang-hoon was quite happy that it was empty because he could not bear see anyone else there with him. Considering he was a member of the school’s Sports Club himself as a game panel judge, he has a locker on the far end of the hall and so his existence there won’t be that much a surprise in case a fellow club member manages to present themselves there with him.

He walked towards the farthest right room of the hallway and moved the small steel chair to rest against one of the lockers before resting himself, but not before placing his small bag on the floor. With a rather audible bang, he leaned his head against his locker and recalled what had transpired on that afternoon. Sure enough, his actions would change the course of Yeojin being his fan of some sorts, yet that would not entirely be a surprise considering he practically shamed her in front of the crowd.

What the fuck did I just do?

I could easily just taken those chocolates and just kept them somewhere, and then I could have talked to Yeojin in private and explained my side of things. I feel like I acted so much on the moment that I took the easiest way out.

God, I look like an asshole in front of those people.

Why did I act so conscious in front of Hyejoo like I was so afraid that she might think of me differently?

Shit… no, she has nothing to do with this. Whatever happened to me and Yeojin was entirely my fault and dragging Hyejoo here would be me making excuses for being such a dumb asshole.

Fuck… I need to sort this out tomorrow because there’s no way that I’m going through this in the afternoon.

I’m heading off home after this. I’ll just bid Hyojong good luck because I’m sure as hell that he’s going to get bombarded with questions.

And as he sat there for minutes pondering on his own plagued thoughts as well as taking in the soft squeaks and cries heard from the basketball court of the university, he heard a set of male voices enter the private male locker room engaged on a loud conversation as if they’re not next to each other talking. With the volume of their voices, Sang-hoon could not help but eavesdrop with what they’re talking about even if he elected not to listen. He heard their steps shuffle on a parallel room to his before the three sets of voices continued on their conversation.

“That was a fucking killer of a try-out,” echoed a voice from a senior that Sang-hoon had been acquainted on, and clearly with the tone of his voice, he was gloating about something unruly he did once again. “Can you see the look on that poor shithead first year’s face when I threw the ball right at him? Dumb idiot didn’t even saw it coming!”

His annoying tone was then followed by a series of laughter from his squad that Sang-hoon hated the most.

Shinichiro Takagi was a Japanese student who was two years older than Sang-hoon. His sharp eyes and permanently arrogant face scared almost every new student in Block Berry Creative, as he and his supposed friends thought themselves to be absolute kings of the court. Takagi was physically fit, even more so muscular than most of the people on his year and so took that to his advantage of harassing every person who tries out for the basketball team.

He was one of the reasons why Sang-hoon dreaded auditioning for the basketball club when he did it, as he was not interested on teaming up with a person he deemed to be an asshole from the top down. It was needless to say that their first encounter together did not end up well, with Takagi interpreting Sang-hoon’s decision to ditch basketball for another sport to be an act of cowardice, even going far to call him as a ‘tall waste of space because he did not have the balls to go against him’.

Sang-hoon immediately wanted to go out of the locker room for as soon as Takagi and his goons take note of his presence, things might not end well. His day was pretty fucked up already and having it worsen because of an ego-eating maniac like Takagi would just make things worse for what they already were.

The best thing to do is to wait their presence out. He figured at some point they’ll get tired of the locker room and go ahead to mess up something else. However, it is a pain to listen to them.

“Yeah, I hope that shithead won’t pursue the try-outs,” another person’s voice agreed with Takagi’s statement. “I can’t bear to see his face on our team. He’ll just be a frail pushover.”

A third person laughed before proceeding to speak. “This year’s first years are a fucking disappointment, Takagi. I can’t see a person who’s worth our time and fun like last year. Everyone else seemed to be so addicted to academics like they’re going to die without it.”

“Well, there’s one interesting person. Takagi, I’m sure you’ve heard of the transferee at this point, right?”

“Oh yes,” Takagi replied after a series of clangs and crashes from their locker room was heard. “You mean that transferee who’s a famous as fuck, what was her name again? Was it Son Hyejoo?”

Sang-hoon’s heart skipped a beat, and he moved out of his chair to listen to what they have to say about Hyejoo.

“Yes, that’s her Takagi. I heard she’s really a hottie and friends with the first years’ Gowon, too.”

“Yeah I’ve heard about that girl and I’ve seen her too. I got to say, that first year has a body worth worshipping; she has the body of a slut and she’s oh so luscious to look at. I can’t even emphasize the number of times I imagined myself getting blown by her, let alone ripping that ripe cunt and filling her in with my cum.”

A series of laughter occurred among them once again, and Sang-hoon tried his best to compose himself as he remained hidden on the far end of the room.

“You’ve seen her body right? Those goddamn heavenly curves must be really nice to lick while you’re banging her from behind. If I had the chance to bang that bitch, I’ll make it sure as hell that she’ll cum all over me while I fuck each of her holes. We’re going to have one hell of a good time because that person sure looks like a pretty little fuck toy to me, and sure as hell I’ll share her to us three.”

“But I heard she’s not interested on getting on with anyone. Pretty much every one who tried to woo her has failed miserably, Takagi.”

“Oh bitch please,” Takagi gloated once again. “All girls are the fucking same. They act as if they’re so pure being so picky, but they all cry and moan hard in the bed when they get a dick that’s too much for them to take. Believe me, that Hyejoo’s no different; I bet that she’s even a loud moaner.”

That was it.

Takagi has reached the tipping point of Sang-hoon’s patience and tolerance.

It was almost on the same manner that he remember seeing the two guys three years ago; the very same high school seniors who were hitting on Olivia when she was waiting for him to go home. Back then, he perfectly left Olivia for herself knowing how she can handle herself without him. However now, he felt like he was the only person who could stop this sexualisation before it even begins. There was a perfect difference between Hyejoo’s and Olivia’s situation but now he could only see Takagi and his cohorts verbally harassing Olivia before him, and he could not take it.

He stood up from the locker rooms and the force of his body leaving the metal panels emitted a loud clang, and as he walked angrily towards the direction of Takagi, he could still hear them gloating about their devious fantasies about Son Hyejoo.

“… and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, man. I’m going to ask her out and when I do, I’m going to do everything that I can to make her cry,” Takagi roared, along with the smirks of his friends. It was only when he noticed the figure of someone else standing upon the entrance doorway of the small locker room that he began to stop from talking.

Noticing the sudden change in atmosphere, even his two friends stopped and turned their attention towards the door upon which they finally saw the figure of Choi Sang-hoon glaring at them with his fists balled up.

“You got a problem?” Takagi asked in annoyance. “Do you have anything business standing up there, dumbass?”

Sang-hoon ignored his statement and proceeded to walk in the locker room, keeping his eyes glared against Takagi. In caution, Takagi stood up and brushed his lengthy blond hair out of his face to further scoff at Sang-hoon while his friends notably took a defensive stance against him. The three guys were seated and leaned against each of the lockers lining the walls of the small room, greatly gloating around a small wooden bench situated at the middle of the lockers. Each of the three seniors wore their own combination of jerseys and shorts covered with their own respective jackets, with Takagi being the most recognizable amongst them three with his lengthy blond hair swaying as he stood up against Sang-hoon with his friends.

“Hey,” he added once again as soon as Sang-hoon was inside the room. “You got a mouth, huh?”

“Not as dirty as yours, Takagi,” Sang-hoon replied in the most informal and disrespectful way he could deliver it. “I don’t like what I’ve been hearing, especially about that new girl Hyejoo.”

Takagi scoffed.

“Oh, you’ve heard what we’ve been talking about? You don’t like me telling you what I’m going to do about her, huh? What are you gonna do about it, newbie?”

“I want you to take it back.”

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t want to?”

Sang-hoon walked closer to him, around the bench in the middle of the room. Takagi’s friends, despite wanting to help him against Sang-hoon, were clearly intimidated by the young man’s presence. After all, Sang-hoon towered them with over a head of height difference.

“Take it back, Takagi. Take it back while I’m still asking nicely.”

“I’m so fucking intimidated. You’re just a first year, what are you gonna do? You’re just one of those idiots who fantasize of being romantic with the Hyejoo girl just because you’re being a white knight—“

And before he could even finish his sentence, Sang-hoon reached for the jacket’s collar, pulled Takagi up and slammed him on the lockers with a loud bang. The sudden action of Sang-hoon earned an immediate response with the seniors and so the two accomplices of Takagi held each of Sang-hoon’s shoulders back.

“I told you to take it back!” Sang-hoon roared, giving Takagi a slight shake and in turn inciting his friends to move Sang-hoon away from him.

Takagi, however, smirked.

“I just recognized who you were, kid. You finally got the balls, huh? Your dick finally rose up because of that Hyejoo?”

“Give it up, idiot,” his friend to Sang-hoon’s right said. “Are you expecting to take us on 3v1 here? You want to prove something to yourself?”

Sang-hoon got caught of himself after realizing the odds, and so he gently lowered Takagi from the grasp while he kept his head low.

“I’ll let this loose for once, bitch,” Takagi scoffed. “You could’ve just asked me for turns and I would have considered giving it to you.”

Sang-hoon’s grip tightened once more on his collar, and that statement was the one that cause his mind to go blank.

In an instant, the Takagi and his friends’ voices inside the locker room were replaced by clanging metals as Sang-hoon drove a quick, heavy fist against Takagi’s gut and slammed his body against the metal door of the locker behind him. The Japanese man grunted in pain, prompting the two men beside him to act against Sang-hoon.

However, Sang-hoon saw this coming when he thought of punching Takagi, and so as soon as he punched him in the gut, Sang-hoon immediately swung his hand towards the man on his right and it quickly hit him squarely on the abdomen. He felt the man on his immediate left push his shoulder back and effectively break his grasp with Takagi, and with that Sang-hoon launched his leg straight towards him; effectively pinning him away as he turned his attention back to Takagi again.

The Japanese senior had just begun to get on his feet when he saw Sang-hoon swing a fist on his stomach again. The impact caused him to gasp in pain, but before he could recover and perhaps follow up with it, he grabbed his jacket again and picked him up before slamming a fist against his face. Takagi fell sideward and crashed onto the foot of the lockers as his friends began to stand up.

Sang-hoon, being too fixated on glaring at Takagi’s collapsed figure, failed to notice that the man on his right had stood up. As soon as he turned his attention to him, the man already had his fist in mid-swing and it hit him on his right cheek. The force threw him back equally similar to how Takagi fell, but instead of crashing onto the floor he felt arms grasp his shoulder as the senior who punched him prepared for another punch.

“Hold that son of a bitch, Dae Jin!”

“Go ahead, Min Joon!” The person grasping Sang-hoon, Dae Jin, breathed. “I got him now!”

Min Joon charged with his fist. Sang-hoon, however, having lengthy proportioned legs, had no trouble pegging Min Joon with his leg before he could even reach contact. He drove a swift kick against Min Joon and sent him tumbling down back towards the lockers once again.

Sang-hoon then drove his entire body back using his legs and took Dae Jin with him, and similar to Min Joon, he crashed against the lockers with absolute force that caused him to lose grip of Sang-hoon. Sang-hoon turned towards him and raised Dae Jin’s face up before punching his face with strong force. Then, just to make sure that he would be taken out of the picture as Sang-hoon would deal with Takagi and Min Joon, Sang-hoon kneed his crotch with all the force he could muster and left him groaning as he fell to the floor.

Takagi had managed to get up once again and swung a fist against Sang-hoon, of which hit him on the other side of his face. Sang-hoon saw Min Joon getting up as well and prepared to join Takagi on beating him up, and as he got knocked aside he reached for the metal chair where Min Joon sat previously. With one great swing, he launched the metal chair against the pair of them which effectively missed Min Joon but hit Takagi on his arm. Sang-hoon gave him another kick, forcing him back against the lockers as he turned his attention back to Min Joon.

Min Joon, however, took the small window of time to launch a fist on Sang-hoon’s gut.  He swung another fist against him to hit him on the face, but on Min Joon’s third attempt Sang-hoon quickly weaved out of his fist. On a split second, he saw a small opening on the nearby locker and he quickly opened it to hit Min Joon in the face to temporarily startle him. Then, he kneed Min Joon deep on his abdomen with the force causing him to bounce against the lockers behind him. Sang-hoon caught him on the head upon impact and slammed the side of his head on the lockers twice before leaving Min Joon to collapse on the floor, groaning with pain.

Takagi had started to push himself back up when Sang-hoon punched his face again. He then held Takagi up and slammed him against the locker’s a couple of times before glaring at him once again.

“I told you to take back what you said against Olivia,” Sang-hoon said with a pant.

“Fuck you, Sang-hoon; and who the fuck is Olivia?”

Sang-hoon glared once again and slammed him against the lockers before launching punches on Takagi’s gut and face out of anger. And then with all the force that he could muster, he grabbed a now-beat up Takagi by his jacket and his stomach, lifted him over his head, and slammed him back-first against the wooden bench in the locker room, effectively breaking the bench with the huge impact.

Sang-hoon stood there huffing and panting as he witnessed the three seniors he just beat up crawling and groaning in pain with what he just did. Only after the adrenaline rush had passed did he realize how painful his face was. He had bruises and cuts on both sides of his face with his nose dripping with blood, and it was only then did he realize how me managed to take on three of them at once.

A shuffle of footsteps were then heard from the entrance of the locker room, and in a couple of seconds the Badminton coach, Mr Hwang, stood on the locker doors’ façade in disbelief as he is followed by a handful of students getting to check on the commotion as well.

“What happened here?” Mr Hwang said with a clear look of surprise on his face. “Mr Choi, why is the locker room on such a mess?”

The locker was full of dents, three students were lying on the floor groaning of pain with chairs and debris all over the place, while one tall first year stood in the middle of the locker with a bloodied face and his fists balled up. If anything, it was one sure fire way to get them to the Office of the Student Affairs.

However, from Sang-hoon’s perspective, there was nothing more important in his head that moment than to give Hyejoo’s harassers the treatment they deserve. A part of him felt fulfilled even though there’s a good chance that he’s looking at a huge punishment.

--- SOME TIME LATER – AT THE OFFICE OF THE STUDENT AFFAIRS---

“So can you tell me that again,” the young Guidance Counsellor asked as she eyed the four guys seated on her office with their faces full of bandaged bruises and cuts. “This first year right here; Mr Choi, beat the three of you seniors up three on one? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

The three guys, notably seated on the wooden bench closest to the door, barely even replied to the Guidance Counsellor as they merely looked at her in embarrassment while they winced from the pain of their bodies. Min Joon held the side of his head with an ice pack while they’re being questioned; Takagi was gently massaging his shoulder and back, while Dae Jin still had his hands over his crotch area.

“You three won’t speak up?” she said once again before turning towards Sang-hoon. “Fine; I don’t know how this turned out this way, but do you mind explaining why did you beat three of your seniors straight up?”

Sang-hoon, who was seated on the chair in the immediate right of the table’s front, did not even bother to reply as well as he merely shifted his gaze on the student seated opposite him. The student was a second year student he knew from the sports club, but the reason why he was exactly there seated opposite him really baffled him with regards to his connection with this issue.

The Student Affairs room’s door then opened followed by the entrance of the head of security, Ms Jo Ha Seul. She entered the room with her usual black blazer and pencil skirt, oozing with a strong authoritative presence as well as a flowery scent that immediately filled the room. Ha Seul walked with a notable charm, holding a piece of flash drive on her hand as she approached the counsellor’s desk.

“Here’s the piece you requested for, Vivi,” Ha Seul said onto her which made Counsellor Vivi really red. “Let’s get a cup of coffee later?”

“Ha Seul… we’re in the office and in front of the students. Please don’t call me by that here,” she whispered to her as she took the flash drive from her hand. “Thank you for this, and yes let’s get coffee later.”

“Work hard,” Ha Seul said before leaving the room, but not before eyeing the three beaten-up seniors seated near the door.

Counsellor Vivi just shook her head in disapproval of Ha Seul’s behaviour, although she merely shook it off in favour of the video she requested. She figured that Sang-hoon and the other seniors won’t talk, and then perhaps the CCTV footage of the entire deal would speak in behalf of them.

Sang-hoon, on the other hand, was reasonably confident that the footage would yield the reason why he beat those three up. He was more worried of the student in front of him; sure, he was brave to tell it straight to Counsellor Vivi like that, but what if those three get back at him for standing against them? He won’t be able to do anything then and that’s what’s concerning him.

A few minutes passed involving Counsellor Vivi watching the short video with her earphones on, and eventually she raised her beautiful head of hair and eyed each of the five people that were seated around her. Sang-hoon was certain that there was a moment of hesitation and disbelief upon her the moment that she set her eyes on him, but was soon disregarded as she began to speak.

“So, I guess your story was not so crazy after all,” Counsellor Vivi towards the sophomore in front of her. “I admire your courage for standing up for Mr Choi here. What’s your name again?”

“A-Avarice, Ms Vivi; my name is Jake Avarice.”

“Thank you, Jake. I’ll take note of your participation for this… event that Mr Shinichiro here started. Please bring this note to your professor so that you’ll be excused for the classes you missed while you’re here. You can go now.”

“T-thank you, Miss Vivi”

The second-year gave Sang-hoon a curt not. Whether it was a nod of acknowledgement or a nod wishing him good luck could only be interpreted by Jake Avarice himself as the European student exited through the door without giving a second look to the three beat-up seniors.

“Excuse me, Ms Vivi,” Min Joon said as he held unto his head. “You’re just going to let that kid go without doing anything? We just fought on the lockers and he did nothing but bug around and eavesdrop?”

“Mr Yang, as far as I remember it was YOU, Mr Im and Mr Shinichiro here who started that ordeal on the lockers. From what I could tell, Mr Choi here was provoked because Takagi said awful things about his friend.”

“What?” Takagi interfered, raising his voice against Ms Vivi. “Why would he not be held liable here? Look what he did to us! We’re going off school because we’re injured!”

“Watch your tone,” Counsellor Vivi snapped with a dangerous shift on her tone. “This isn’t a place to shout, Mr Shinichiro. Yes, we’re not going to remove the fact that Mr Choi here was indeed included in the scramble that happened and sure he did beat the crap off of you three at once. However, I’m still holding this against the three of you because of your reputation in this office. How many times have the three of you earned a trip here because of harassment for the lower years?”

Takagi opened his mouth to reply, but he closed it as soon as he realized he lost count.

“That’s what I thought,” Ms Vivi continued. “I’ve gave you three countless warnings during the past, and I’m the last person that’s standing between you and expulsion. I don’t want to expel students and I don’t want your parents to suffer because of your antics. However, I feel like I have to do something in order to preserve the atmosphere of the students here. I’ll have to punish the three of you.”

“What? Ms Vivi, only us three? How about the person who beat us up…? We’re going to miss so much on the school activities and our education!”

“You should have thought about that before it went to a situation like this, Mr Shinichiro. I’m giving this as your final chance and warning as this is the very last thing I could do to keep you three in Block Berry. As punishment, I’ll be writing to your families with regards to what happened today including your past meetings with me. They’ll be made aware of what you’ve been doing here and how much trouble you’re causing me…”

The three seniors groaned.

“If I could not discipline you three well, then I bet your parents could. Perhaps they could trim down those huge egos of yours and maybe teach you that violence and threat is not always the answer. Oh, and let’s not forget how vulgar and nasty you three treated our new student; and to ensure that you better get this on your heads, I’m including a two-week suspension for the benefit of the students here with a permanent revocation of your membership for the basketball team.”

Takagi and Min Joon could only sit in disbelief with what they just heard. They knew they fucked up and for real this time; there’s no real way out of it. They’re suspended and worse, they might get a lot of scolding. Dae Jin, on the other hand, sat there still holding his crotch.

“You better think of what you three did. I’ll ask you three to kindly head off to the waiting room of the Office and wait for further orders,” Ms Vivi said as she gestured towards the door nearby. “Don’t do anything bad or else I’ll make sure that you’re expelled for good.”

Without a second word, the three of them slowly walked towards the door on the far side of the room with a clear display of disappointment on their face. They could not even bring themselves to look at neither Sang-hoon nor Ms Vivi as they exited the small office.

“As for you, Mr Choi,” Counsellor Vivi began as soon as they were left alone. “While I admire your courage for standing up against those three, that does not mean that I approve of what you did to them. Avoid getting into fights as much as possible, okay? Can you promise that for me?”

“Y-yes, Ms Vivi,” he replied softly as his face still ached with the beating he received previously.

“Normally, I’ll give you some sort of punishment for that, but I’ll take in to consideration how you gave me a reason to get them suspended by school law. I’ve wanted to do that to teach them a lesson but I haven’t gotten the proper reason to do so. I’ll also consider that you’ve never been summoned here before, and that you stood up against them because of what they’ve been saying to your friend. With that, I’ll make sure that you won’t have any records for this incident. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not going to get any bad records for your actions.”

Sang-hoon raised his head up in disbelief.

“This will be just a one-time thing, though, so please behave for the rest of your stay. I’m only letting you off because I admire your courage for standing up against them. The absence of punishment would be your reward for that. Is that alright for you?”

“Y-yes, of course Ms Vivi; thank you so much!”

“I still can’t believe how you fought those three-on-one. Regardless, that’s it for today. You’re good to go. Let me just finish this slip for you as you would be excused similar to Mr Avarice previously.”

“Thank you Ms Vivi--!”

And before he could finish his sentence, the door to the Office of the Student affairs swung open with force, and upon turning his head it was the sweaty and panting figure of Hyojong that stood on the doorway with his eyes wide open looking at Counsellor Vivi.

“I’m sorry for barging in, Ms Vivi, but it’s not Sang-hoon’s fault! He did nothing wrong! He just defended himself against those three seniors!”

Ms Vivi merely smiled as she handed Sang-hoon his excuse slip, but not before proceeding to ask him a question.

“Is he your friend, Sang-hoon?”

“Umm… actually yes, Ms Vivi…”

“That’s perfect. He can take you out of the office now.”

“What?” Hyojong asked, clearly confused.

“I’ll take care of him, Ms Vivi. I apologize for that, and thank you for the consideration.”

Counsellor Vivi nodded.

“That’s alright; just make sure that next time you come here, you won’t be filled with bruises, okay?”

“Yes, Ms Vivi,” Sang-hoon said, giving her a final bow of courtesy as he attended to Hyojong by the door.

“Wait, did you tell them that you’re innocent, man?” he said as Sang-hoon gently pushed him out of the door way to close it. “Are you in detention right now?”

“It is okay man, come on. We’ve sorted it out so let’s go. Don’t embarrass yourself in front of Ms Vivi.”

And with that, the pair of them exited the door after closing it, earning a brief smirk of amusement from Counsellor Vivi.

---

I can’t believe that I really got off. I’m fortunate enough that that thing won’t get to be stored against my name, at least for now.

“What happened there, Sang-hoon?” Hyojong said as soon as we exited the Office of the Student Affairs. “Did Miss Vivi let you out because she knew the truth? Did you get punished?”

“No, no, man; I’m really fine. Aside from my bruises on couple areas, I’m no really worried on anything else. Yes, that includes Miss Vivi. She let me go clear of all charges, which is a relief.”

We treaded across the hallway from the office and I can’t help but notice how much people have been staring at me as we walked. It was only then did I realize how alarming my actions were, and now I’m sure everyone else that had their eyes on me knew what happened during the locker rooms.

It also did not help that I walked out with Hyojong with obvious bandages plastered all over my face.

Shit, I did not think this through when I assaulted Takagi and his boys…

“So, how on earth did you beat Takagi and his friends?” Hyojong asked and I could sense a tone full of curiosity in his voice. “Did you really beat them up, three on one like they said?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve heard the entire story at this point, man. I don’t think I have to confirm anything about it.”

“Damn, you really beat them up. That’s amazing, man. I wish I could have been there and watched it.”

“It’s fine; Hyuna-noona would kill me if anything else happened to you so no thanks. So, I got excused of my activities for the afternoon and I don’t think I have classes left for the rest of this day after the meeting. Should we go home now?”

“Not yet, Sang-hoon; actually, I’m… I was asked by someone to do a favour for them. Someone really wants to talk to you after what happened.”

Huh?

Who on earth would want that?

“Who is it?” I asked him eagerly as we turned on a corner. To my surprise, Hyojong stopped walking and it ultimately caused me to halt my steps as well.

“It’s her,” Hyojong said, gesturing in front.

I turned my gaze from him towards the two figures standing on the pathway ahead, and my heart skipped a beat. Son Hyejoo stood there in the middle of the hallway with her bag on her shoulders and a shy smile on her face. Beside her stood Park Gowon who had an expression that seemed to be in between of curiosity and confusion.

“Hi…” Hyejoo began.

Shit, of course she might have known what happened.

Oh no, don’t tell me she knew that I beat those seniors up because I was trying to defend her.

Fuck, now this got a lot more awkward. Shit.

“Hyejoo and Gowon here actually came to me and asked if… if they could talk to you,” Hyojong explained.

“Actually, I’m not in this,” Gowon interfered, giving us a curved smile. “It’s only Hyejoo that wanted to talk to you, Sang-hoon.”

“I’m… I’m actually nervous right now,” said Hyejoo, and I could tell her face turned a slight shade of pink. “Do you mind a couple of minutes, Sang-hoon?”

Is this real?

I’m going to talk to her?

“Yes, sure; I don’t mind.”

“We better get going then,” Hyojong said but not before giving me a soft pat on the back. “I’ll wait on the grounds when you’re done.”

“Hyejoo-ya, I’ll go too. I’ll see you on the café,” Gowon seconded.

And with that, the pair of them walked out together and essentially leaving me and Hyejoo alone along with some onlookers.

God, this is so fucking awkward. I never viewed our first conversation to be like this! I’m sweating head to foot and my knees could barely make me stand! This is not the perfect time to talk like this. I might screw this up!

“Let’s get in the classroom. There are a lot of people watching us right now,” she said.

I could only nod in response as I followed her inside, begging the heavens that whatever would follow might not be as bad as I’m thinking it to be. Hyejoo closed the door behind us, much to the disappointment of everyone outside who were hoping to at least get to hear the conversation of the two students who made the afternoon interesting.

Well, I better not screw this up. I’m alone with Hyejoo, holy shit!

“So… I don’t know how to begin this,” Hyejoo said as she leaned on a long table while I stood in front of the professor’s desk. “This isn’t the way I thought I would meet you… umm… how are your wounds now? Do they still hurt?”

Dammit, I should compose myself. I’m feeling so tense out of nowhere.

Choi Sang-hoon, where’s the damn courage that you used to beat those three seniors a while back?

Why are you chickening out on Hyejoo?

Don’t think that she’s Olivia, please.

Don’t think that she’s Olivia.

“I… It’s nice to meet you, actually and to finally… to finally talk to you, Hyejoo. I’m… I’m still kind of hurt, but it’s nothing major… nothing that I can’t take.”

“I… I heard about what happened, actually…. I’ve been made aware of what happened and why you… why you beat those seniors. I’m… I’m actually flattered.”

“You are…?”

Okay calm down, Sang-hoon. Make it easy for her to talk to you. Come on now.

“Yes… I mean, I am very flattered that you got out of your way to… to protect my name from them. We both know that we haven’t talked ever since I got transferred late here so… so the fact that I was the reason for what happened to you made me glad that you were there for me even if you did not have to do it. But it… it also makes me feel guilty…”

“Wait,” I blurted out. I know where this is going and I have to stop it before it even starts. “Umm… I know it feels really wrong that this turned out the way it did, but I have no regrets on doing that to them including the consequences that came with it. I got angry because of what they were saying about you… I figured you didn’t deserve it because they have no right to tell those nasty things to you. My mind went dead and the next thing I know I was standing in front of their crumpled figures.”

“I really appreciate what you did, Sang-hoon. You could have just let them be but you defended my name…”

I was spacing out as I deliberately drew my gaze away from her. I can’t bring myself to keep our eyes on contact because I feel like I’m going to melt. Seeing Olivia on her is the last thing I want to happen in this moment.

However, as I turned my gaze away I felt her approach my figure. Then, Hyejoo circled her arms around my free waist and gave me a tight embrace. I nearly lost my mind. I did not know what I was supposed to do at that moment, and I could feel my senses increasing a thousand-fold because of the contact of skin.

My stomach is turning on itself as if a flock of birds circled within.

“Thank you, Sang-hoon. I’m really touched.”

Holy shit

After a brief moment, Hyejoo finally broke off of the hug and stood in front of me.

“I always wanted to try to talk to you because of all the people here; you’re the only one I haven’t interacted with yet even after months. I would really have viewed our first meeting under a completely different circumstance, Sang-hoon, but I’m glad that it turned up this way. At least, I no longer have to think of a reason to talk to you out of nowhere.”

She then proceeded to hold my hand and examine the redness of my knuckles. The sensation of her touch sent thousand jolts of electricity all over my spine.

“Please, just allow me to apologize for what happened to you.”

“I… umm… I’ll accept that apology then, but only because you asked nicely, Hyejoo.”

Also for her to stop because I can’t let this first convo ever to be here just apologizing...

“I… We’re still going to talk after this, right? You’re okay with us being friends?”

“Are you okay to be friends after what happened? I hope I didn’t give a bad impression because of that. I hope that it’s not weird.”

Hyejoo grinned and her smile was the first time I ever saw her like that.

Damn, she’s so…

“I’m not really one to judge, Sang-hoon. Like I said, I’m really flattered on what happened and I still want to be your friend, regardless of what impressions I’m supposed to feel after that.”

“Well then, let’s be friends Hyejoo. I’m glad that we’ve been able to talk, finally.”

We smiled mutually towards each other and it felt it lasted for a couple of minutes. Surprisingly, it was not awkward, but rather peaceful. I cannot explain where the sense of familiarity and comfort is coming from and I’m sure even Hyejoo felt that.

“Sorry, I stared for a bit too long,” Hyejoo finally said as she broke the silence. “I can’t help but feel like I’ve seen you before, you know; it’s as if I met you before. I feel that there’s a sense of de javu whenever I’m around with you, and I can’t explain why because I don’t feel that on anybody else.”

Well, I feel the same way too Hyejoo…

I feel…

Wait, did she say that she knew me before…?

“But it’s just probably me. I’m sorry if I’m too vocal on what I’m feeling, but I feel like I had to tell it out. I’ll… umm… I’ll have to go home, Sang-hoon; I don’t want to make Gowon wait for a long time and I think you should rest your wounds as well. Shall we go?”

My mind was held in limbo after what I just heard. It felt as if thousands of alarms are going off of my head the moment that Hyejoo said that she might have met me before. She and I already exchanged our farewells and after that I still could not remove it in my head; she said she knew me from somewhere…

What could she possibly mean by that?

Hyejoo and I finally separated our own ways after that and yet I could still not remove that thought in my head. I was so ready to give up the idea that she’s Olivia, but now the signs have gotten a lot stronger.

This feeling…

This gut feeling that draws me closer to her…

I have to get this on track. I have to grab the opportunity that I lost before.

I’m not losing Olivia again, not this time.

I’ll have to ask her out.

---

[storiesforallfandoms]

can’t buy me ~ jimmy smith jr.;8 mile

word count: 1577

request?: yes!

@girl-toxxic "reader and Jimmy are in a relationship not long ago but Jimmy was always in love and they both live in the same place, ok but let's say that reader meets a new friend at work (she is a waitress or can be a babysitter for a rich girl) and this new friend has a lot of money and is very interested in reader and the reader get along well and this makes Jimmy insecure, since reader's friend gives him small gifts and helps him a lot. But you can add something that is more interesting as the boy confesses his feelings to the reader and she rejects him since Jimmy is her great love and he tells her how can she go out with that poor devil ... or something else interesting what occurs to you. And that this ends in a lot of love and smut, bah if you feel comfortable🤗💕💕"

description: in which her new friend keeps trying to make advances through gifts, but her heart belongs to one man

pairing: jimmy smith jr. x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

I walked through the door and made a beeline for the kitchen to throw away yet another gift from my not so secret admirer. The last thing I needed was for Jimmy to see what Mark had give me and to get upset about it.

I worked as a waitress at a bar and grill down the road from mine and Jimmy’s house. The hours were only okay, but the tips more than made up for it, especially after our newest regular, Mark, started dining there and specifically asked to have me as his server whenever he was in.

Mark was in his late 30s, handsome, worked a good job that paid good money. He came in one night after he had a particularly hard shift. He sat at the bar, and it was the night I was working it, so I talked him through his rough day. Next thing I knew, he was coming back and asking for me again. We became friendly, but it took me a little too long to realize he wanted to be more than friends.

I turned the corner and yelped as I realized I wasn’t alone. Jimmy was leaning against the counter, almost like he was waiting for me.

“Hey babe,” I said. “I thought you were at the Shelter with Future tonight.”

His eyes flickered to the gift bag in my hand. “He wanted me to come home. We haven’t had a night together in months.”

“Doesn’t help that we both work late night jobs,” I tried to joke. The bag felt heavy in my hand as Jimmy kept looking at it.

“That rick prick buy you more useless shit?” he asked.

“Jimmy,” I sighed.

“Sorry, I forgot it was okay for some rich jackass to buy my girlfriend expensive gifts.”

He wouldn’t meet my eye. He kept glancing around the kitchen, every so often looking down at the bag in my hand. I dropped everything I was holding onto the floor, including that stupid gift, and raced over to hug him.

“Hey,” I said, softly, resting my head on his chest. “Hey, you know there’s nothing to this. It’s just a guy who doesn’t understand I’m not interested.”

“It’s a guy who has money.”

I lighted my head to look at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Nothing, never mind.”

I pulled away from him. “No, tell me.” When he didn’t speak, I took his chin in my hand and forced him to look at me. “Jimmy, do you think I’d leave you for someone who makes more money?”

“He’d be able to give you what you deserve,” he responded. “A house, a car, expensive gifts - ”

“We have a house,” I cut him off. “You have a car, and I don’t want expensive gifts. I don’t want materialistic things, I want happiness and love, and that’s what I get with you. You really have nothing to worry about in regards to Mark. You’re the one I’ll always want.”

Jimmy sighed and pulled me close. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll give you that reassurance any day.”

I leaned up to kiss him. He relaxed into the kiss and I leaned into him more.

When he pulled away, Jimmy turned to look at the forgotten present on the floor. “What did that asshole get you this time anyways?”

I picked up the bag and pulled out the box that was inside. Jimmy opened the box to reveal the gold necklace Mark had given me. The pendant was gold to match, and it was my initial.

“I was gonna chuck it when I got home,” I told him. It’s way too flashy for me, it wouldn’t match anything I own.”

“Don’t throw it out. This is, like, real gold. We can sell it for a good chunk of money.”

I smiled. “I like the way you think, Rabbit.”

~~~~~~

The next day, Jimmy had the night off from the Shelter so he drove me to work. He followed me into the bar and grill with the intentions of sitting at the bar for an hour or two before going home. One of my co-workers spotted us as we walked in and gave me a panicked look. I immediately knew what she was trying to tell me.

I saw Mark sat at the bar before he saw me. I was about to turn to Jimmy to warn him when Mark spotted me and rose from his seat. He had a wide smile on his face, until he saw Jimmy behind me.

“Two nights in a row, Mark?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Those wings and nachos are gonna start getting to you.”

“I went to the gym this morning, so it cancels out,” he responded. “Who’s this with you?”

“This is my boyfriend, Jimmy. I told you about him, remember?”

“Oh yeah, the...rapper,” Mark said. I didn’t miss the way he sneered the word “rapper”, and Jimmy didn’t either.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mark shrugged. “Nothing. Just stating a fact that (Y/N) told me. Although, rapping at that rundown warehouse probably doesn’t pay as much as a real job would.”

Jimmy stepped towards Mark, but I grabbed his arm to stop him. “Hey, he’s not worth it. Just go home. Thank you for the ride.”

Jimmy glared at Mark before turning to walk away. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the situation seemed to defuse easily.

And then Matt spoke again, “Yeah, go back to the trailer park, white trash.”

Jimmy snapped and charged at Mark before I could stop him. He knocked Mark to the ground and reared up to hit him. I quickly grabbed his arm and pulled as hard as I could until Jimmy was off of Mark.

“Get out before security gets called,” I told him.

He got to his feet and walked out the door before anything else could happen. Mark was getting to his feet and adjusting his clothes. I was trying to calm myself down as I regarded him.

“Please leave, Mark.”

“Seriously? Your trailer trash boyfriend attacked me, but you’re kicking me out?”

“You provoked him.”

“I wasn’t saying anything he hasn’t heard before, or anything that wasn’t true.”

“Fuck off!” I snapped, my anger finally bubbling over. “You are fucking insufferable! I’ve told you on multiple occasions that I have a boyfriend, that I’m not interested. Most people would take the fucking hint and move on. The way you’ve been acting, especially tonight, is way out of line. I want you to get the fuck out and if I ever see you here again I will contact the authorities and have you charged for harassment.”

Mark blinked, realized I was being serious, and finally left. He muttered some less than ideal names towards me as he walked out the door. I sighed and buried my head in my hands. I was grateful that there wasn’t many customers in the area as all of this went down.

“Hey.” I looked up at my co-worker, who was now in front of me. “Go check on your man.”

I thanked her and quickly walked out the door. I didn’t expect him to still be outside, so I was surprised to see him stood by his car, almost like he was waiting for me to come out.

“Did I get you in trouble?”

I gave him a small smile and shook my head. “No. If anything, you did me a favor. When it became evident that Mark wasn’t taking no for an answer, all of us wanted to ban him from the place entirely, but we weren’t allowed unless he really caused trouble. I think it’s safe to say starting a fight is more than probable cause to make sure he never comes back.”

Jimmy was nodding and rubbing the back of his head. “I probably could’ve handled that better though.”

“I didn’t expect you to handle it any other way,” I said. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Are you okay?”

Jimmy chuckled slightly. “Cocksucker didn’t even try to hit me. Did you see his face when I tackled him? He looked like he shit himself.”

I giggled. “Yeah, he’s definitely not a fighter. He’s too much like a high school mean girl for someone who works an office job and makes as much money as he does.”

Jimmy wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him, resting his chin on top of my head. “I’m glad you stopped me. I wouldn’t beat the shit out of him if you didn’t.”

“I would’ve liked to see that.”

We both stood in silence for a while. I buried my nose in Jimmy’s sweater, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne. It made a warm feeling swell inside of me, like a safe feeling. It reminded me of how I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than in Jimmy’s arms, or with anyone else besides Jimmy. No amounts of money, or people like Mark could ever change my mind about that.

“I should actually go to work,” I said, reluctantly untangling myself from Jimmy’s arms. “I’ll see you when I get off?”

“Of course, I’ll come pick you up.”

I smiled and kissed his cheek. I started back towards the restaurant, but paused to turn back to Jimmy. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[ava-achlys]

The Boyz NSFW Scenarios

Lee Jaehyun (Hyunjae) - Intoxicated [Requested]

Request: dom Hyunjae + overstimulation

badboy! ceo! Hyunjae x PA! fem! reader

Warnings: petnames, dirty talk, slight degradation, a lot of grinding lol, some choking, Hyunjae is a narcissist here

Finally finished this one for @jaepocket ! Thanks for requesting, I hope you like it 💕hope you don't mind that I made Hyunjae an asshole lol

Work parties have taken a toll on your boss, and as the best personal assistant in the world, you help him home.

You kept a watchful eye over your boss throughout the Christmas party. Year-end parties were lined up back-to-back for the most influential entrepreneur under 30 in Seoul. Jaehyun was being extra charming tonight, wooing men and women alike with his dazzling smile, charisma, and powerful aura. He knew he was untouchable, and it showed in his walk. Long legs that could rival any model, perfectly coiffed light brown hair, and a designer tailored suit hugging him in all the right places, showing off his broad shoulders. He glances over to you, and shoots you a wry smile from across the room. No one else might have noticed, despite the fact that everyone who spoke to him couldn't take their eyes off him, but a subtle flush dusted his cheeks and there was a slight glassiness in his eyes that alerted you. Jaehyun has definitely had too much to drink. You stride over to him, and he politely excuses himself from the flock of older women giggling and sidling up to him, and meets you halfway on the dance floor.

He walks to you with a slight wobble, and reaches out to steady himself... by grabbing your hips. "Hey you," he grins, thumbs softly rubbing your waist through the thin material of your dress. You resist the shiver that runs down your spine, the warmth emanating from his hands a welcome sensation since the place was freezing. A mansion full of people and it was still cold? The hosts hadn't bothered to turn the heaters on. That's probably how the rich stay rich, you supposed. It definitely didn't help that you were wearing a skin-tight cocktail dress, with a little slit up the thigh. "Sir, I think you've had enough to drink tonight," you murmur, gently tucking a lock of golden hair back into place. Jaehyun grimaced. He had a glass of wine with every group that approached him that night, and he wasn't feeling too well now, considering everyone wanted to meet with the Lee Jaehyun™, one of Seoul's most prominent and eligible bachelors.

"Let's get you home then, sir, you really need some rest. Or rather, your liver does," you sigh, offering your arm for him to hold on to so he doesn't fall flat on his face in public, possibly ruining his reputation. He lets out a hearty laugh, and intertwines his arm with yours, trying to maintain a power walk out of the place, nodding at other party-goers that greet him in passing. He gratefully gulps the fresh air outside as you wait for his chauffeur to pull up in his stupidly expensive limousine, helping him to clamber gracefully into the backseat once it arrives. You're about to shut the door to book a ride home for yourself when he tugs on your arm, a blazing fire in his eyes as he looks up at you, and you know he wants you to come home with him tonight.

You glance around quickly, making sure no one is watching you get into the car with him, but really, who would question a PA ensuring that her drunken boss gets home safely? You quietly slip into the plush leather seats, leaving a space between you two just in case he feels stuffy or nauseous. Jaehyun roughly loosens his tie, and you can't help but stare at his large, veiny hands. Before you can snap out of it, he catches your eye and smirks, using those very hands to yank you closer, almost sitting on his lap. You yelp in surprise, your hands flying up to his broad shoulders. He smashes his lips onto yours, messy with tongue and teeth and a moan escapes you when you taste the sweet alcohol on his tongue. His warm hands roam all over your body, deftly pulling up the hem of your short dress so he can run his hands up your thighs and grope your plump behind. "Been staring at your ass all night, who said you could wear a dress like this?" he growls against your lips, squeezing the flesh tightly to prove his point.

You weakly push him away, and he stares at you, offended that you don't seem to want him, when you're usually so pliant and obedient for him. "I don't think we should do this, sir, you're not thinking straight," you stutter. Jaehyun barks out a laugh, startling you. "Am I? I'm not drunk, kitten, I only spoke and acted like that so we could get out of that damned party. And maybe I'm not thinking straight, because all I've been thinking about the whole time is ripping that fucking dress off your body, you fucking minx," he snarls, grabbing you again and manhandling you to straddle his lap, sounding completely clear and level-headed. He had everyone fooled; even you, and a crushing disappointment engulfs your heart.

You don't get to feel sorry for yourself though, because Jaehyun is pulling you close, grinding the obvious bulge in his slacks against your clothed pussy as he makes out with you again. You let him run his hands all over you, feeling his lips trail down the side of your lips and down your neck, smudging your lipstick everywhere. Jaehyun doesn't care, clearly, he just wants to make a mess out of you, and you gladly let him, both of you so absorbed in each other that you didn't feel the car roll to a stop. You hadn't even noticed the opaque partition had been pulled up until you heard the electronic buzz of it being lowered, and the indifferent voice of the chauffeur came through. "We've arrived at your destination, sir and miss."

Without so much as a thank you, Jaehyun flings the door open and tugs you into the building's lobby. He owns the whole building obviously, but he lives in the penthouse suite, swiping his keycard to unlock his private elevator. He wastes no time attaching his lips to the back of your neck as he presses you up against the walls of the elevator, grinding on your ass the whole way up. He leaves you panting when the doors open, and he goes to punch in his keycode. The lock beeps, and Jaehyun snarls when he's halfway through the door and you're still lagging behind, knees too wobbly to walk properly thanks to his earlier ministrations. "What are you waiting for kitten?" You shake your head, embarrassed that sloppy make-outs and grinding like lovesick teenagers is enough to make your head spin.

Jaehyun strides towards the bedroom, stripping his expensive clothes as he went, but instead of making a right turn to the master bedroom as he usually does, he makes a left to the guest bedroom. You don't have time to ponder, because he's pulling you in and shoving you onto the bed, dark eyes staring you down as he fumbles with his belt. The intensity of his gaze makes you tremble. Is it from fear, excitement, or a morbid combination of both? He finally gets all his clothes off, and his hard cock is swinging heavily with every step he takes towards the bed. He prowls, like a predator, and you're too petrified to even strip or prepare yourself, but apparently that didn't matter to him.

"You still on the pill?" Jaehyun demands, and you nod feverishly. "Good." And with that he rips your lacy panties off in one fluid motion, and hikes your dress up to bunch up around your waist. You hear the material rip, but before you could bemoan the hefty price tag, Jaehyun slides his throbbing cock inside you, making you arch your back as you moan loudly at the intrusion. He gives you barely any time to adjust, knowing how much you like taking it raw, and starts thrusting harshly. You can't help but moan loudly, almost going cross-eyed from the mixture of pain and pleasure. You clamp a hand over your mouth when a particularly shrill moan slips from your lips, but Jaehyun tugs it away, wanting to hear how good he makes you feel. It's nothing more than an ego boost for him, but you comply.

Jaehyun gets sick of missionary fairly quickly. He does enjoy seeing your pretty face contort with pleasure, and watch your makeup run. But he likes fucking you from the back even more, loves the way you get on all fours for him, loves the way your ass jiggles when he spanks you, and loves how your legs give way when he's done making you see stars. He pulls out for a moment, flipping you over onto your hands and knees easily, ignoring the surprised gasp you make when he shoves his cock back into you. He picks up the pace, hitting your g-spot dead-on with this new angle. He wraps a hand around your throat, the expensive gold bands adorning his fingers pressing delightfully into your windpipe. He squeezes lightly as he slams into your core, and you scream, climaxing without warning.

The sudden clench around Jaehyun's dick has him swearing lowly. "Did I say you could cum, kitten? You know you have to ask for permission," he grunts, fucking you through your orgasm, maintaining his relentless pace. Your head is foggy, and you try to apologize, but every sharp thrust Jaehyun makes cuts your words off. He doesn't let up, using you to chase his own climax, slightly aggravated by yours. He presses down the middle of your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the sheets so you're not holding yourself up with your hands anymore. You're grateful, because you can barely support yourself anymore, and you need a break. Except he doesn't give you one, hoisting you up by the hips to pummel even faster and harder into you, and your upper half is practically dragging along the sheets with every snap of his hips.

The delightfully torturous graze of silk sheets against your raw nipples, and the rough pads of Jaehyun's fingers relentlessly abusing your swollen clit sends you teteering close to the edge again. You can't cum, no, you won't cum until he tells you to. You want to be good for him, even though you're so close to climax again that it hurts. You hold out, gripping the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white, when a particularly hard press against your clit and a low growl of "Cum for me now, kitten" sends you screaming once more, vision turning white as your searing-hot orgasm rips through your body.

You barely register Jaehyun's groan as he continues grinding into your g-spot, your pussy clenching almost painfully tightly around him, milking his cock dry as he blows his load deep into your warmth. You collapse forward onto the bed, trembling from exhaustion, chest heaving desperately to replenish your lungs with oxygen. Your whole body is sore and you know it's probably going to be worse tomorrow, and dark fingerprints are going to decorate your skin too. Above you, Jaehyun is still holding your hips up, pulling out of you with a grunt, cock hanging limply as he pants harshly. He watches idly as his cum drips out of your abused cunt, trickling down your legs, and drops your legs unceremoniously.

He stretches his legs, and gathers his sweat-drenched, possibly cum-stained designer clothing off the floor as he walks towards the door. "Clean yourself up, you know where everything is. I need you in the office early tomorrow morning." Jaehyun utters without so much as a glance back at your naked body, and the door shuts behind him with a loud click that echoes through the suddenly cold room. You hear him humming to himself and drawing a bath, and you shut your eyes, trying to suppress a sob at how horrible you feel, both physically and emotionally. Sex with Jaehyun was always hot, rough and mind-blowing, but recently you realize you always felt empty afterwards. Because he'll immediately turn cold once he's gotten his fix, leaving you to clean up after yourself and sometimes even make you hail a cab to go home afterwards. At least tonight he let you stay over, even though it's in the cum-stained bed in the guest room, without any post-coital care.

As you lay there, fresh hot tears stream down your cheeks, and you wonder if all the alcohol in the world could wash away the pain you felt of being used as Jaehyun's personal fucktoy; manipulating you into catering to his every whim and then carelessly throwing you aside once he's done.

[tojitiddies]

✰ TEACH

pairing ⋆ toji fushiguro x fem!reader

synopsis ⋆ in all your years of teaching you’ve never encountered a parent like toji.

warnings ⋆ vaginal sex, oral sex, creampie, dacryphilia if you squint, dumbification

ꔵ the first time you ever saw toji fushiguro was around second month of school, when megumi had began acting up in class. you knew megumi to be a spoiled rich kid, as he was always being dropped off and picked up in sleek black cars with tinted windows, along with his older sister tsumiki. sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of the driver if megumi ever needed assistance getting his bag out the car, but that was the only semblance of adult supervision you’d seen megumi receive outside of school faculty.

megumi was always dressed crisply and his meals efficiently packed. he really didn’t seem to understand the concept of sharing or caring and relied on his tiny fists to solve conflicts. this was all a stark contrast to his sister tsumiki, seeing as his older sister’s teachers only sang her praises. truly you had tried to get through to the seven year old, but out of all the trouble makers you’d ever taught, megumi really liked to work your nerves.

which brought you here, at a parent-teacher conference with megumi’s father, toji fushiguro. his large figure looked comical as he sat in one of the small plastic, colored chairs, usually inhabited by first graders of course. he wore a plain black t-shirt and white slacks. he also had a black blazer that he he had draped over the side of his chair. the side of his lips was decorated with a menacingly large scar that twitched occasionally as he listened to you speak.

“... all i want is for megumi to have a good time here in first grade. i know he and his sister are new so making an adjustment may be difficult, but i’d like to make the transition for young megumi as smooth as possible.” you finished as you fiddled with your fingers.

toji shifted in his chair with a slight grunt. “mrs. ____ is it?” he asked. you shook your head.

“just miss actually.” you corrected him shyly. his entire demeanor was so intimidating you didn’t want to insult him. you almost miss the mischievous glint in his eye as you lift your eyes to face him again.

“i understand your concerns with my son. i had no idea what a little shit he was being. especially to such a beautiful young woman as yourself.” his tone is suggestive, contradicting the polite smile adorning his lips.

you smiled uncomfortably. “thank you, but i would never think of your son as...a little shit. i’m sure he has a sweet side somewhere. which is why, i thought maybe megumi could benefit from some sort of counseling?” you suggested, pushing forward a slip of paper. toji leaned forward taking the document from the desk and began to read over it, his brow quirking up in interest. “alongside being a first grade teacher i also serve as a counselor here at the elementary school.” you began to explain. “although i’ve never counseled a student of my own in fear of bias, i think it would be wise if megumi had someone whom he was acquainted with.”

toji set the slip back down and set his gaze on you. you squeezed your thighs together as he fixed you with his stare. he really was intensely attractive. “hm, how unfair is it that my son gets more alone time with you than i do?” this time he smirked. so it wasn’t your imagination, he was flirting with you.

“mr. fushiguro?”

“i’m only teasing teach.” he chuckled. “i agree. i think we could all benefit from megumi’s counseling,” he folded his arms over his broad chest, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt. “so when does he start?” your eyes zoned in on toji’s biceps before blinking back up at him he pretended not notice you ogling him. “ah well...next wednesday perhaps? all i need is for you to sign the slip.” you said sliding him a pen from your desk.

your fingers brushed against his as he took the pen. you tried to ignore it, knowing he was probably only try to get a rise out of you. he began to scribble his signature, once he finished he stood up from his seat and you followed suit. “thank you mrs. ____ for contacting me.” he said, holding out his hand for you to shake.

you took it, letting his large hands envelope yours. “ah...again it’s just ms. ____. i’m not married.” you corrected him again with a lighthearted laugh. toji smirked at that before he leant in towards you. startled, you froze, afraid he might kiss you, until you realized he was only leaning towards your ear. “we’ll be in touch then, ms. ____.” he spoke in a lower tone. you were left standing there completely dumbstruck as he retrieved his blazer and threw it over his shoulder.

“yes...” you murmured quietly in response as he left you alone in the classroom.

ꔵ three months into counseling with megumi you had begun to see progress. his angered outbursts only came in waves and he had stopped using his hands and started using his words. his attitude toward you had also warmed up and he had even began giving you hugs. you were happy all the exercises you’d been working on with him were finally starting to pay off.

the only big issue? his father.

every time you spoke to him there was always a flirty or suggestive undertone. he never crossed the line but he would constantly get close to doing so. there was one counseling session a couple weeks ago when he came to pick up megumi (something he had suspiciously started doing ever since your counseling had started). you were both standing outside the door of the classroom, with megumi inside coloring, as you briefed toji on his counseling session.

“so he’s doing well then, i’m glad. but how are you doing teach? i know dealing with these little brats all day can’t be good on your stress.” he said, resting his hand on your forearm. you glanced down at his thumb caressing your skin before laughing nervously, brushing his hand down. “ah...really i’m alright mr. fushi - “

“i’ve told you to call me toji.” he interrupted, his voice dropping to that low tone once again.

you cleared your throat, trying to settle the butterflies that formed in your stomach. “thank you toji. but really i don’t mind it. i’ve been doing this for almost eight years now..” you tried your best not to let your voice waver under this suggestive tension.

toji stepped forward, the space between the both of you becoming almost non existent as your breasts came in contact with his chest. “well just know teach...” he murmured, lifting his fingers to your chin, “if you ever need any stress relief - “

“papa!”

you jumped back from toji like a frightened feline, while toji stood in place clearly unfazed by his child’s sudden presence. you’d been so focused on trying not to jump toji’s bones right then and there, you hadn’t even noticed megumi open the classroom door. “can we go home now? i’m hungry.” he whined, brandishing a cute pout on his face.

you couldn’t help but smile at the cute kid. toji bent down and picked him up, resting him on his hip. “hungry huh? well you can eat this knuckle sandwich for interrupting ms. ____ and i.” he teased, playfully twisting his fist into megumi’s face. megumi giggled slapping away his large hand before turning to look at you. “sorry ms. ____.” he apologized sweetly. yet another skill he’d learned from his counseling sessions.

you grinned and leaned forward to pinch his cheek. “don’t worry about it lovebug! it wasn’t that important anyway.” you chirped, glancing over at toji to see his lips twitch into a frown. you held back a giggle at how identical his pout was to little megumi’s. you leaned into the classroom to take megumi’s backpack off the hook, which toji took and swung over his free arm.

“say goodbye to ms. ____, megumi.” toji instructed. megumi raise his arm to wave, which you met with a small high five instead. “i’ll see you in the morning megumi!” you cheered. toji glanced back at you briefly. “don’t forget about my offer ms. ___.” he said with a wink, before turning back around and walking off with his son.

once he and megumi were out if sight you fell back against the classroom door with a whine. toji fushiguro would truly be the end of you.

ꔵ the afternoon sun shone through your window as you finished up the last of your student reports. as you began to pack up, you heard a knock at your classroom door. “come in!” you called out, not bothering to look up from your work.

you sighed as you gave up on organization and just began to sweep the papers into a folder, but before you could finish, a large hand fell on top of yours. you let out a yelp, looking up to find toji fushiguro smirking down at you. he looked as though he’d come straight from work, blessing you with a tight button down shirt and black slacks. god, he was a work of art.

“afternoon teach.” he greeted you.

“mr. fushiguro what a surprise. what are you doing here? megumi’s gone home already hasn’t he?” you asked, trying to keep calm as a million more thoughts raced through your mind.

“ah, that’s right. he’s long gone. ‘s just you and me.” he said as he fixed you with his strong gaze, his hand closing around yours. “i came because i wanted to thank you. i haven’t seen megumi like this in awhile. i know this was mostly a school thing, but he’s been less of a little shit at home too,” he informed you, his thumb slowly caressing your hand.

you were becoming putty under his touch. “yes...i’m glad gumi’s doing do well at home too. all i want is the best for him.” you answered, stumbling over your words a bit. toji brought your hand up to his lips kissing your knuckles. “mhm...so i was wondering if you’d thought about my offer?” he asked, looking back at you through those lustful eyes.

“mr. fushiguro - “

“toji.”

“t-toji...i’m delighted you would pay me a visit simply to thank me, but it really isn’t necessary.” you could feel his aura start to envelope you, the tension between you two thickening with lust. the most he’d done was kiss your knuckles and already you were trying to keep from rubbing your thighs together.

still holding firmly onto your hand, toji began to walk around your desk. “ms. ____, i insist you let me properly thank you because i feel you’re deserving of it. do you not?” he murmured, gingerly pulling you up out of your seat, guiding your hand towards his chest. your fingers instinctively hooked around the fabric where he’d left his shirt unbuttoned. his other arm snaked its way around your waist.

“toji...we shouldn’t. this is highly unprofessional, i could get fired. and what about megumi?” you rambled, trying to keep your composure. toji leaned down and began to press sweet wet kisses down your neck. you sighed out, letting your hand fan out across his chest.

“megumi will be fine teach. no one has to know anything as long as you can keep a secret. now let me take care of you.” he whispered, licking a stripe up your neck. his knee came to situate between your thighs, you wasted no time grinding against him. a soft moan escaped your lips as you let your head fall back against your shoulders.

“kiss me...please?” you mumured, hooking your arm around his neck. toji’s scar twitched as his lips formed a smirk. he lifted his head, grazing your lips against his before pressing forward. the kiss was rough and sensual, both of you devouring each other in a clash of lips and tongue. you moaned into his mouth, continuing to grind against his thigh. when your lips finally separated, a string of saliva connected you before dripping down onto your blouse.

“enjoying my thigh teach?” he taunted, flexing his thigh muscles and causing you to let out a breathy moan again. “y-you’re teasing me.” you whined desperately trying to grind your clothed clit against his thigh muscles. the hand on your waist slid down taking your thigh and pinning it to his waist, granting you better access. “so needy for me hm?” he murmured into your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth. “tell me what you want baby.”

your hand fisted his collar as you desperately ground yourself against him. “please fuck me toji. i can’t take your constant teasing anymore.” you whimpered, nuzzling into his shoulder. toji chuckled at that before reaching behind you, clearing your desk in one fell swoop. papers and files fluttered to the ground as he lifted you up on top of your desk, spreading your legs.

you both hastily begin unbuttoning your shirts, one of your buttons popping off in the frenzy. toji chuckles as he lowers himself to his knees, his chest muscles rippling as he moves. “i can’t believe you have the nerve to walk around in a tight little skirt like this.” he laughs wickedly, sliding up your pencil skirt until it bunches up at your waist. you feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as the wet spot in your panties becomes noticeable. toji slides his finger up your covered folds, the slick coating his finger prints. “how lovely.” he purrs to himself.

“please...” you whine breathily, scooting forward hoping he’d take the hint. he chuckles darkly blowing against your clothed clit before pulling aside your underwear to marvel at your dripping cunt. “look at that.” he marvels before letting his tongue dip between your folds. you let out a choked moan. it had been so long since you’d been touched this way by someone other than yourself, it felt like heaven. he paused only to hook his fingers around your panties and discard them who knows where.

just as quick as he was gone, he’s back to hungrily bury his tongue in your cunt, switching between prodding your hole with his tongue and sucking your clit. your fingers fisted his raven hair, as you loudly praised his skill through moans and chants. the wet sounds of him slurping and licking up your arousal egged you on to grind against his mouth. waves of arousal just keep coming, whatever his tongue couldn’t catch dripping onto the desk.

your thighs threatened to close around his head as you felt yourself coming close to climaxing. “fuck stop! toji i’m gonna cum,” you whine out, weakly trying to push his head away. you hear him hum in amusement as he instead, moves his hands up to spread your thighs back further. his tongue works your hole, slowly spreading it wider before he’s able to curl his tongue inside. you let out a loud cry, your hips jerking and bucking as you’re overwhelmed with pleasure. your vision spots as you cum all over his tongue, your thighs threatening to snap around his head but his hands keep you in place.

toji finishes licking up the rest of your arousal before rising up from between your legs, towering over your trembling figure. one hand comes up to your chin, roughly tilting your head up to look directly at him. “open,” he commands, to which you obey immediately. your tongue rolls out lewdly as he spits your arousal down your throat. “good girl,” he purrs. “now turn around, i’m about to fuck the living daylights out of you.”

eagerly you turn around on your stomach, thankful for the desk supporting your torso as your sure your wobbly legs would not be able to. you hear toji unbuckling behind you as your spread your legs slightly, swaying your hips hoping to entice him to move a bit faster. toji’s hands come to spread over the globe of your ass cheeks, kneading them in his palms.

“you’re so fucking sexy. i’m sure you already know ever since we’ve met this ass has been all i ever think about.” he chuckled, letting his hardened cock slide back and forth between your folds. you let out a whine moving your hips back against him. “i want you to fill me up so badly, please hurry.” your croak out, your voice hoarse from your previous climax. toji brings down his hand against your ass harshly, receiving a yelp in response. “and who you do you think you are ordering me, huh teach? i’m not one of your little first graders baby,” he grunts, spreading your ass cheeks again, letting the tip of his cock tease your aching hole.

“beg for it.” he taunts in a sing-song tone, sliding his cock up and down and against your cunt. your let out a small puff of air as you turn your head back to look at him with your pleading eyes. “please toji...please stuff me full. i haven’t been fucked in so long i wanna be filled up please.” you whimpered, your hips stuttering against his cock, now lubed up with all the juices he’d collected. your begging seemed to please toji, his scar twitching as his lips formed a smug smirk. “good girl.”

toji slammed his cock inside you, no regard for easing you on to his length whatsoever. tears pricked your eyes at the sharp pain, your insides spasming around him. “shit, you feel like a fucking virgin squeezing me so tight. you weren’t kidding about not being fucked in so long, hm?” he chuckled. you didn’t get the chance to respond as he was already pulling out to slam back in. it hurt so good, the pain and the pleasure of being stretched around his girth. he continued to thrust harshly inside your cunt only receiving broken moans and strings of curses from your lips.

his hand came to your hair, his fingers roughly grabbing your head back. your arousal began to return once more, dripping down his cock and making the most obscene squelching and sucking noises. “such a naughty teacher, letting a parent fuck her right in the classroom, huh?” toji’s gruff voice came from behind you. you whined, one of your hands reaching behind you to spread your ass cheeks to grabt him more access. “feels so fucking good, fuck me harder, please.” you manage to say through clenched teeth. “harder baby? you got it.”

before you can even think to react, his arms come to circle around your thighs, lifting you up against his chest. you let out a small cry, your arm instinctively circling around his neck for upper support. toji holds you up, legs spread over his cock. the cool air of the classroom hits your clit causing you whine out in frustration. toji chuckles. “impatient, are we teach?” he murmurs before ramming his hips up into you, his cock sliding back in immediately. “fuck!” you blurt out in surprise.

this new position had him hitting you in places no one had ever discovered and your tits bouncing up and down with fervor. your cunt fluttered, hearing his grunts so much closer to your ear. your lips fall slack, your tongue rolling out ever so slightly as he fucks you dumb. everything just feels so fucking good. “fuck keep squeezing around me just like that teach, i’m gonna cum.” he growls into your ear “fuck...stuff me full of your cum t-toji,” you sob, feeling yourself come closer to your second climax as well.

you bring your free hand down to your clit, rubbing it slow in contrast his quick thrusting. you wanted to savor this feeling. “god, keep touching yourself just like that baby,” he moans, swiveling his head to sink his teeth into to your shoulder. everything seems to slow, the pleasurable drag of his hardened cock against your walls, him hitting your spot just right, the way you sucked him back in as he pulled out...

“toji i’m - “ you can’t even finish before a wave of pleasure knocks over you, your vision spotting once again as he brings you to your climax for a second time. toji continues to fuck into you faster chasing his own high before you feel the spurts of thick cum filling your insides. you’re barely able to think, your fucked out daze taking over. you barely notice him move you off his softening length to set you down. you immediately grab ahold of him, your legs unable to support you at the time. you can feel his cum and your arousal begin to trickle out from your cunt, earning a satisfied whine from your lips. toji laughs softly, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead. “i haven’t had a good fuck like that in awhile. you were better than i imagined, taking me like that.” he spoke, his voice sounding muffled to you as your daze still hadn’t worn off. you hum softly nuzzling into his warm chest.

toji bites his lip as he looks down at you, you’re just so fucking cute clinging to him that way. he lifts you up on to the desk, carefully dressing you back up. he can’t find your panties so he just pulls you skirt back down from where it had gathered at your waist. he tucks your breasts back into your bra and picks up your blouse from the floor. he smirks at the missing button, doing what he can to close your blouse back up.

you smile gently, watching toji perform his aftercare. this must be the fatherly side of him you rarely get to see. after he’s finished dressing you both back up, he sets his gaze back on you. “so, i’ll see you next wednesday ms. ____?” he asks, settling back into his usual smug demeanor. you scoff before muttering out a small confirmation. he grins that smug toji grin. “perfect then. i’ll be sure to tell megumi you said hello.” he walks out shutting the door behind him, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

authors note ⋆ hi! this is my first time ever writing and posting something here on tumblr <3 i really hope this wasn’t too bad this took me like three days to write and i deleted and added a bunch of stuff so i hope it isn’t too wacky. thank you for reading!

[divinerulerluvr]

Womanizer

Summary - Warren Lipka picks you up after studying to have some fun and buy time.

Warnings - basic smut with a bit of a pain kink, breeding kink, that's the main things idk what else to advise you about.

A/N - I feel we need more warren shit on tumblr since he is arguably one of Evan's best characters outside of ahs. this fic has nothing to do with the plot of American animals so no spoilers ahead.

- - -

Warren’s car comes speeding down the road, skidding to a stop where i stand on the sidewalk.The window was rolled down, letting me see his pretty face. “Hiya there, stranger,” he jokes, a smile on his lips.

Chuckling, i walk around the car and get into the passenger side. It was late at night and i had just finished studying for my exam on Monday and who better to call at two in the morning on a Friday than Warren?

The moment I had buckled my seatbelt, Warren drove off. He always drove like he was in a car chase. It scares me sometimes but we’ve never been pulled over or gotten into a crash.

His music plays loudly, only making him drive faster. He tends to get lost in the moment. “What were you studying this time?” he asks, looking over to me as he pulls up to an abandoned intersection at a stoplight.

“The uh, Stonewall Riot of 1969,” I answer, looking over to meet his eyes. My minor was in Social Justice so of course, the Stonewall Riot was a topic we’d talk about. “Cool. That chick who was like, the leader of the riots was cool,” Warren replies, driving again when the hue of the green light filled the dark car.

I just nod, looking out my window. It was late at night so not a lot of people were out on the roads. The occasional drunk person or car was all you could spot. “Where do you wanna go?” he asks me.

It was always a dreaded question. Warren knew this, that’s why he always hesitated to ask. Sometimes he’d just drive around with no destination in mind because we had nowhere to go or be. I never wanted to go home and neither did he.

“I don’t know,” I say with a heavy sigh. Warren pulls into an abandoned parking lot, screeching the car to a stop and putting it in park. He grabs something out of the cup holder and I see he holds a joint.

He lights it, inhaling it first before offering it to me. “I stopped smoking weed,” I turn down. Warren smiles, a look of playful shock in his eyes. “My god, Y/n. Repenting, I see,” he jokes, taking another hit on the joint.

“I hope you don’t think you’re better than me now,” he comments, leaning back in his seat. He turns down the music a bit, silencing ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel. “How's college?” Warren asks me, his eyes studying my face.

The only source of light was from the dim street lamp that Warren had parked next to. I shrug, my lips pressed together. “Fine. Stressful but I can handle it,” I answer, resting my head back on the seat.

“You look tired,” Warren notices, his eyes evaluating my face like I was some complex math equation. I chuckle weakly. “Thank you for that,”

“College is bullshit, anyway. All the famous and rich people dropped out of high school. Let alone graduated college,” Warren tries to comfort. “All you need to succeed is money and charisma. And to be honest, Y/n, you’re already halfway there,”

I turn my head to look at him, a small smile spreading on my lips. “You think I’m charismatic?” I ask. Warren nods, exhaling smoke from his joint out of his rolled-down window. “Charisma is mostly how attractive you are and the other half is being nice so, yeah,”

“That is the nicest thing I think you have ever said, Lipka,” I say, almost surprised by his compliment. He chuckles, shaking his head as he looks away from me. “The weed makes me nice,” he excuses.

“I have to agree,”

“You are very pretty though,” Warren states, his voice lowered with affection. I turn my head back to face him, seeing the forlorn look in his dark eyes as he looks at me. “You’re pretty, too,” I compliment in return, reaching out and twirling a strand of his shaggy, brown hair around my finger.

Warren places his hand on my thigh in return, his eyes heavy on mine as his thumb rubs small circles on my inner thigh. “Third hookup of the month?” Warren suggests.

“That’d be the last one and it’s only the sixteenth,” I reply. He and I had this rule that since we were friends with benefits that we got three hookups a month. It keeps order in our friend group. Warren sighs, a look of disappointment on his face. “So?”

I roll my eyes playfully, feeling his hand creep further up my thigh and closer to my core. “Fine,” I say as if I were tired of arguing but in reality, I really wanted it as well. He leans over the center console of the car, his lips locking with mine without hesitation.

Kissing back, my fingers tangle in his hair as his fingers rub my clit lightly through the fabric of my pants. I moan into the kiss, my free hand going to his dick and palming him through his jeans.

Warren pulls from the kiss first, his eyes dark with lust and his cheeks red. “Backseat,” he instructs vaguely. With a simple nod, I crawl into the backseat, already taking off my leggings and tee shirt as he joins me in the backseat.

I help him take off his shirt, running my hand up his toned torso, feeling his warm skin. He does the same to me, his hand running down my bare leg. He lays me across the seats, pulling my panties off in one clean motion before settling between my legs.

Our lips meet again, my hands on his face to deepen the kiss. The kiss was hot and desperate. Sex with him was always like this. Like he was going to die if he didn’t fuck me in the next five minutes.

Warren was a very impatient man. Which causes for hot and oh so unholy sex.

His hand travels down between our bodies, slipping under my bra and playing with my breasts. I arch my back, my moans silenced by his lips. The car was already getting hot, causing a thin sheen of sweat to break out on our skin.

My hands go to his pants out of habit, undoing the zipper to his jeans easily. Pulling them down, I pull back the waistband to his boxers to let his dick out. I feel him smile into the kiss, impressed with my eagerness. He didn’t even have to make a snide comment about it, I just knew he was thinking it.

His hands move down my body, stopping at my hips where he holds me in place so he can push into me. His lips leave him, his eyes admiring the way my mouth falls agape as I feel his dick inside of me.

My legs wrap around his waist, my nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as he bottoms out inside me. He pushes some hair out of my face, stalling any movements to help me adjust.

“You look so pretty with me inside of you, pup,” he says, his lips grazing over mine in a taunting way. I whimper, a shudder running through my body as he moves his hips just so slightly. “Oh, you want more?” he asks teasingly.

I nod eagerly, giving him my best puppy dog eyes to hopefully make him cave. He runs his thumb over my lower lip before pushing it into my mouth. I gladly accept it, sucking on his thumb as he pulls his hips back and thrusts into me roughly.

I screw my eyes shut, my walls clenching as Warren sets a fast and relentless pace right away. My wetness made it easy for him, as he likes to say. Any noises I made were muffled by his thumb in my mouth.

My stomach tightens in knots as pleasure floods over me. Warren pulls his thumb from my mouth, his eyes on mine as he admires his work. Tears gather in my eyes, my skin hot to touch. He caresses my cheek, his hand falling down to my neck where he drags his nails down my neck and trails down to my breasts.

A whimper falls from my lips, my hips bucking to meet his as he continues to fuck me into oblivion. “Warren,” I moan weakly, my voice dripping with submission.

A groan leaves his lips, his eyes closing briefly as he indulges in his own pleasure. “You feel so good, baby. You’re such a good girl,” he praises, his words sending more arousal through my body.

I run my fingers through his hair, our eyes locked. Warren loves to keep eye contact during sex. Says that seeing the look on my face was better than the sex itself.

Already close to my orgasm, Warren runs his hand between our bodies, his fingers locating my clit effortlessly and rubbing slow circles on it to double my pleasure. I moan out, my eyes falling shut again as I bask in the feeling.

Warren removes his hand from my clit, moving to snake under my back so he could flip me around so we were now in doggy style. He quickly resumes his thrusts, hitting deeper inside of me than prior.

I rest my hand on the fogged-up window for stability, my head thrown back. Warren’s fingers tangle in my hair, pulling a handful of it. I cry out weakly, his grip on my hair being painful. Using my hair as leverage, he leans back as he fucks me roughly.

Right on the edge of an orgasm, I hold back knowing that Warren liked to make sex last due to my three times a month rule.

Using every ounce of willpower to repress my orgasm, my walls clench around his dick tightly. “Aww, is my baby gonna cum?” Warren asks in a mocking tone, just his mere words making me want to give up my fruitless battle.

I just nod, a pathetic moan leaving my lips as his fingers dig into my hips. “Go ahead, I give you permission,” he allows. With a sigh of relief, I give up everything and let the pleasure take over. With one last cry of his name, I’m falling apart.

The only way to explain an orgasm from Warren was like being able to sit down after running for days and days on end.

My entire body shakes and I find myself relying on his grip on my hips to keep me up. Soft pants leave my lips as my ears ring, my eyes screwed closed as pressure from my veins releases itself all at once.

Warren fucks me through my orgasm, leaving me a shaky mess as he cums inside of me. Ceasing his thrusting, he carefully pulls out of me, running his finger through my soaked slit to admire his work.

Panting, I sit back down on the seat, pulling my panties back on. “Shit. I gotta get to a bathroom now,” I huff, suddenly very aware of how uncomfortable having his cum in me would be. Warren smiles charmingly, shrugging. “Everything’s closed,”

I sigh, getting back into the front seat and pull on the rest of my clothes. Warren follows behind me, pulling his shirt back on as he puts the car into drive. I lean back in my seat, still catching my breath as Warren skirts out of the dark parking lot and onto the main road.

“Just don’t tell my boyfriend, ‘kay?”

“As always, friend,”

[wincore]

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 

Do you love it? 

Of course you fucking do. 

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal. 

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 

Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 

Afterparties are not your thing. 

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze. 

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 

You were not one of them. 

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 

Secrets. 

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 

And perfection is your dear old friend. 

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 

“Sour.” 

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 

Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 

Or is it him? 

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 

Afterparties are still not your thing. 

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 

“(name), thank you.” 

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

[miedei]

AYUMIE PLS FIND YOU IN OUR DREAMS IS SUCH A MASTERPIECE OMG 🥺 YOUR TALENT IS OVERFLOWING 😩‼️ also can i request h from soulmate alphabet + jake from enha? i think it'd be such a concept + with your top-tier writing... I AM CRAVING SIM JAEYUN CUDDLES AND YOUR TALENTED WRITING, I WILL DO ANYTHING 💳💥

hearts beating together.

gn!reader × jake soulmate!au, fluff, friends to lovers, mentions of itzy's ryujin, itzy’s yuna, stray kid's jeongin, nct’s chenle

word count: 1.7k

aaaah thanks so much for liking it you flatter me too much oml <33 this was such a fun request i hope you like it!!!

send in a letter + an idol/character and i'll write a little about it! my request guidelines are on the link in my bio

warning(s): swearing, mentions of food, petnames used platonically(?)

h...eartbeats (the soulmates share the same heartbeat—when one feels panicked, shocked, tired, etc, the other can feel it too).

your heart confuses you. it races when you relax, slows in the worst of times. a heartbeat bond is strange and uncomfortable at times, but the rush of excitement you feel when your heartbeat changes is incomparable to any other feeling. but of course, it has its downsides.

"...left leg on the ground, right leg bent, stretch out those muscles," of course your soulmate is getting into a stressful situation just as you're trying to relax. you press pause on the yoga video and flop onto your bed. you’re so excited to meet your soulmate, but the way they’ve messed your plans up so many times, you’re looking forward to giving them a good punch too. you focus on the ba-dump, ba-dump of your heart, like it could somehow lead you to the person behind it. huffing out a sigh, you pull out your phone, shooting off a text to your groupchat with your friends

RYUJIN’S HOES

sent: are any of you free? my heart person’s being an asshole so i may as well go out

delivered, jeongin: well shit sucks to be you i’m at work with my SOULMATE

sent: fuck right off

sent: ryujin jake chenle please

delivered, ryujin: i’m omw to practice but you can come?

delivered, ryujin: i know you have swim after just hang out till then

sent: YES THANK YOU BABE this is why i’m only ryujins hoe smh

“get in loser!” ryujin is pulled up in front of your door, watching you scramble to not drop your bags. you run down the driveway, waving goodbye to your parents as you slide into the passenger seat.

“god you’re such a lifesaver, whoever’s attached to my heart has it out for me” she chuckles, completely used to your rants about your soulmate. she hasn’t found hers either, but her soulmate has a much less intensive schedule, so she’s not very bothered by her bond, although, the pink-haired girl next to you is an athlete, so her soulmate is probably just as aggravated as you.

the ride to the school is short, and you find a parking spot quickly, so you’re out on the football field in no time. ryujin’s teammates are already on the grass, adjusting uniforms and stretching. she joins them quickly, changing inside and running out. you take a seat on the benches lining the field, settling in to watch them play. your heart is still pounding, but watching the others play, you don’t notice it as much.

the boy’s team is playing one field over, so you can watch them as well. familiar faces dot that field too, and because they let out before the girls, you get to talk to them while waiting. chenle and jake plop down next to you, teasing you about your obviously heaving chest.

“you all worked up watching the games?” chenle nudges you from his side, the feeling of his sweaty shoulder making you shudder. “as if. my soulmates running a marathon or something, like they like to do every day,” jake twists his face in sympathy, "well you've got practice in a bit right? give them a taste of their own medicine!"

"yeah, you know what? i will! thank you jake, for being a good friend," you speak pointedly, gesturing towards chenle. pushing yourself up off the bench, you walk towards the changing rooms near the pool, yelling out a goodbye to your friends.

changing quickly, your walked out to the pool, greeting your teammates with a smile. time for some payback. tugging on your fins, you dove into the water, relishing the instant comfort it gave. following your coach’s orders, you, along with the rest of the swim team, start swimming laps around the pool. half an hour in, your heart is pumping, and the fact that you were the cause for it makes it so much more sweet. friends have begun to line the sides of the pool, yelling out encouragements and teases. you can easily spot the soulmates of the people swimming with you, their chests heaving, but big smiles on their faces. ryujin, chenle and jake are sat near your lane at the leftmost side of the pool. the three of them, still sweaty and tired from their practice, watch you swim, happy grins on their faces. an hour or so later, you are doing a few mock races, and jeongin has joined them too, his usually teasing visage now smiling with pride. you streak through the water, enjoying the burn in your arms, feeling the exhaustion through your bones in a way that swimming only gives you. you reach for the edge of the pool, and it’s coming closer, closer, until you feel it, slippery on your soaked skin. your friends jump up, yelling out in excitement, filling your heart to the absolute brim.

“alright y/n, good job! you can go change, see you next time,” your coach calls out to you, signalling for you to climb out of the water. your friends swarm you, words of happiness and congratulations surrounding you.

“you did good, fucker,” ryujin ruffles your hair. “now go shower and cool down so you can do that in the actual races,” chest heaving, you flash a huge grin at them, “be right back! i’ll meet you in the parking lot!” they nod their assent, and you begin to walk to the showers, barely catching chenle say something.

“jake, are you really still tired from football? you’ve been panting for ages.”

hours later, you find yourselves in your usual post-practice spot, the local diner near the school. chatting and laughing, you lose track of time around the point when your fries arrive. jeongin regales you all with stories of the crazy customers he dealt with at work, and ryujin gives you the rundown of all the drama that happened in her football practice(seriously, how do they even have time to kick the ball around when so much is going on??). you get that heady feeling of pure happiness, when you’re not thinking or worrying about anything, just paying attention to the amazing people you get to surround yourself with.

you only snap out of that headspace when chenle looks down at his smartwatch(rich boy) and lets out a noise of surprise.

“it’s 19:42! i need to go, fuck,” he begins to clean up his stuff and lays down money for his meal. the rest of you follow suit, appalled at how long you’ve been sitting in this booth. all the money is on the table, and you rise from your seat, ready to go home.

“ryujin, can you drive me home?” you hold the girl's arm, pleading with her so that you won’t have to walk. she opens her mouth, ready to speak, but then she hesitates, a look of mischief crossing her features.

“okay-” you rejoice, pumping a fist in the air, until she goes on: “only if you can beat me to the car. okay 3,2,1 GO!” she starts sprinting, long legs bringing her halfway across the parking lot in no time. you let out a groan of exhaustion, and start pumping your legs to follow her.

by some miracle, you reach the car at virtually the same time, doubling over to hold your knees in your worn-out state. ryujin, in between her attempts at gulping down air, tells you she’ll take you, and you wait for the rest to reach you.

jeongin, chenle and jake walk leisurely up to you, starting to say their farewells. you straighten up, grabbing first chenle, then jeongin into a hug. they yell out some more goodbyes as they walk off to their cars, when you hug jake.

for having just walked here, his heart is racing. why? you focus your hearing on his heartbeat. it’s almost as if he sprinted here. pulling your head away from him, you look up at him, voicing your concerns.

“are you okay? your heart’s beating really fast.” he frowns at you, and presses a hand to his heart. you follow suit, feeling the thump, thump, thump of his chest. it feels familiar. why do you feel so used to this heartbeat? confusion ripples through your mind, until it clears, with a feeling of shock. you know this heartbeat. you know it because it’s your own.

grabbing his other hand, you place it over your heart. his face twists with surprise, and then an emotion you’re not familiar with crosses his features. he pulls you back into a hug, excitement so evident that it’s crossing over to you. jake is your soulmate! which a choked laugh, you pull him impossibly closer to you. he tucks his head next to yours and whispers in your ear.

“it was always you, wasn’t it?”

bonus:

you pull back from the hug, your smile dropping into a serious face. he looks in confusion, as you rear your arm backwards. you push forward, landing a punch in his gut, and he stumbles backward with an ‘oof’

“that was for never letting me rest!”

“YEAH GET HIM!” ryujin yells from her seat in the car. the only thing she’s missing is popcorn, a whole-ass soap opera just happened in front of her.

[shera-dnd]

And that's the second commission for the month on the last day of the month... yeah that last one is gonna be pretty late. I'm sorry guys, but July took its fucking tow on me.

But hey the fic is here and this one goes out to all Blake Simps out there. Please enjoy as Blake takes the role of a suave super spy making her way through a gala and seducing some cute girls while she's at it.

Blake Belladonna stepped out of her car, adjusted her suit, put on her best winning smile, and walked confidently towards one of the fanciest hotels in all of Atlas.

Tonight the Glass Unicorn would be hosting a gala, and she simply couldn’t afford to miss it.

As she walked through the crowd of the rich and powerful, her eyes zeroed in on a long braid of white hair. 

A Schnee. 

A woman at about her age, which meant this was probably the recently disavowed heiress. A woman who - if rumors were to be believed - shared in Blake’s own…proclivities.

This made her job a lot easier.

She didn’t approach Miss Schnee. 

No, that would make things too obvious. 

She wanted the former heiress to come to her instead. First lay the bait, walk around, see the sights, place herself in front of the heiress and pretend to be unaware of her.

Wait for her to look her way and… there we go. 

Look back casually, pretend to only just notice her, and smile.

Without missing a beat, Miss Schnee came over to greet her.

“Miss Belladonna, I presume,” Weiss spoke with a polite and controlled tone.

“Did the cat ears give me away?” Blake asked, her speech far more casual.

“That and the overconfidence,” she replied, “I must say, I wasn’t expecting to see you around here.”

“I could say the same to you,” Blake countered, offering her her arm, “I’m starting to wonder if Ironwood has a thing for collecting former heirs.”

Weiss rolled her eyes and held on to Blake’s arm as they began to walk together, “it might come as a surprise to you, but my sister and I actually believe in Ironwood’s cause.”

Blake smiled, “and that’s why I’m here. Nothing like a good cause to unite unlikely allies.”

That earned her a strange look from the woman, but all she replied with was, “indeed.”

Once inside the simply luxurious hall of the Glass Unicorn, Weiss had to go her own way, much to Blake’s disappointment. 

What a shame. 

And she seemed like such an idealist too, Blake would simply hate to ruin that for her. Later, maybe.

But oh well, she did come here for a reason.

No longer under the watchful gaze of Miss Schnee, Blake calmly made her way through the crowd. Her pace unconcerned, her expression confident. To anyone watching, wherever she was going, that’s probably where she was meant to be.

A few turns here and there, a couple of stairs, and the sounds of the galla were lost in the distance. 

She made her way to the elevator and hit the button for the top floor.

The penthouse door was locked, but thankfully Blake still had the key she stole from Weiss’s purse. 

Hiring a Schnee to run security was certainly an interesting move from Ironwood, and said wonders about how much spite the Schnees had for their father. But it was a decision Blake was more than happy to exploit.

Once inside, Blake took a moment to appreciate the view. 

You could see all of Atlas from up here, all the lights spreading through the horizon all the way to Mantle. She wondered how many times James stood there basking in what he believed was his kingdom.

Pretty as the view was, she did still have a job to do. It didn’t take long for her to find Ironwood’s work computer; once she sat down she took out a flash drive from her coat pocket, and got to work.

She did wonder how Weiss would react to the information she was collecting here. The scandal Blake was about to start. 

Would she deny everything and remain loyal to Ironwood’s “ideals” or was her moral compass stronger than her loyalties? 

Maybe she could nudge her in the right direction.

With her work done, she took out the flash drive, got up from the chair and… was cut short by the sound of the bathroom door opening. 

She expected to find Ironwood staring her down, but instead she was greeted by the sight of a tall blond woman in a nice black suit.

There was a short moment of surprise where they were both frozen, not able to do anything but stare at each other. 

Then the woman cracked her knuckles and Blake knew she was in for a difficult time.

The woman closed in on her and took a boxer stance, her punches quick and precise. Blake herself was no stranger to hand to hand combat, but it was clear this woman vastly outmatched her in that department.

Well, if direct combat would do her no good, then it was time for her to buy herself some time and look for an escape plan.

“You know,” she commented, as calmly as she could as she dodged the woman’s blows, “you’re way too handsome to be working for a wannabe dictator.”

“And you’re too pretty to be breaking and entering,” the woman replied with a smirk.

“I don’t know, I think it adds to my charm,” Blake argued. She would have shrugged, but that would be inviting a fist to her face at this point. “The name is Blake, by the way.”

That seemed to surprise the woman, making her pause her offensive for just a second, “uh, I’m Yang, pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Blake assured her.

And that’s when the penthouse door opened once again.

“Yang, what’s going–,” she stopped, her eyes zeroing in on Blake, “you!”

Blake shoved Yang away and dashed for cover as soon as she saw Weiss’s hand reach for her gun.

Yang landed on the floor with a loud thud and a groan. Still she managed to ask, “you know her?”

A glass flew towards Weiss’s face, but she handedly dodged it and shot towards the direction it came from.

Safely behind a couch Blake commented, “know me? She walked me into the party herself.”

“You escorted her in!?” Yang yelled, pushing herself up and adjusting her suit again.

“Ugh, can we save the scolding for after we’ve dealt with her?” Weiss yelled back, taking another shot at where she presumed Blake to be.

“Fine,” Yang agreed, pulling out her own gun and moving to flank her.

She moved behind the couch and aimed her gun towards where Blake once was, but she was long gone.

Before she could turn to look for her, Blake was already on her, grabbing her by the front of her suit.

“You seem like really nice people,” she commented, positioning Yang so Weiss couldn’t shoot her without shooting her partner too, “it’s a shame who you work for.”

With that she planted a kiss under Yang’s jaw, and shoved her hard into Weiss, knocking her off balance.

By the time those two got up, she was already in the elevator.

“Try not to prove me wrong,” was all she said before the elevator doors closed.

Weiss, truly infuriated by this turn of events, simply shoved her partner off of her, and yelled back, “what’s that supposed to mean!?”

Yang grunted as she was tossed to the floor for the second time that night. 

Not in the possession of an answer, and just as annoyed with how her night went, she just dragged herself up and began fixing her suit once more.

That’s when she felt something as she patted her suit coat. She opened and looked inside, just to find a flash drive safely placed in her inner pocket.

“What the…?” She looked at it in confusion, “why would she go through all this trouble, just to give us the flash drive back?”

Weiss shrugged, “who knows? Maybe she just likes the thrill of getting shot at.”

As dismissive as she acted, it was clear that the same thought had crossed both of their minds.

“You seem like really nice people. Try not to prove me wrong.”

~~~

“James Ironwood is currently under investigation after incriminating documents have been found tying him to wanted criminal and known terrorist, Arthur Watts,” the news anchor read off from his prompter, “the documents also include accusations of abuse of power, divertion of resources, and attempts to–”

Blake turned off the TV in her apartment, and took a nice long sip of tea.

It felt good being right.

[goldentournesol]

Operation Make Believe

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Spencer and Reader go undercover as a couple at a fancy restaurant to catch a prolific unsub.

Length: 5k 

A/N: enjoy this lil fic while i take a short break from my series :D

masterlist

“Okay, so we’re looking for a guy who targets rich heterosexual couples.” Morgan stated from his seat at the round table. Looking at the photos almost made Y/N sick, she nervously twirled one of her rings around her pointer finger.

“He’s quite violent, too. Removing the men’s fingernails and chopping off the women's’ hair? That’s a pretty specific signature.” Emily spoke, glancing at the file.

“So let me get this straight, this man has killed 7 couples and we’re hearing about this just now?” Rossi questioned with indignance.

“Unfortunately, local PD has found it incredibly difficult to track this unsub down. That’s why we’re being called in.” Hotch replied, without even a twitch to his brow.

“So the guy’s good, how are we gonna get him?” JJ asked, leaning back in her chair.

“We know he frequents the local high-end restaurants because that’s where he picks his couples, he almost always picks victims who have just gone to dinner together, judging by the contents of their stomachs thanks to the autopsy reports. We should canvas the restaurants first and ask waiters if they find anyone suspicious. After that, we are sending in two undercover agents to try and lure him out.” Hotch explained and then a short silence ensued.

Y/N looked up from her file to find most of the team’s eyes on either her or Reid, “What?”

“You and Reid are the obvious candidates.” Hotch put it simply. Y/N glanced at Reid nervously, who happened to look just as nervous as she felt. He cleared his throat.

“Can I ask why us?” Spencer inquired.

“You two are the most compatible, considering your friendship and how close you are in age, and it would look the most realistic. We need to be as realistic as possible with this unsub, he is extremely picky. Make it believable. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch answered, straightening the files on the table and promptly leaving the conference room.

Spencer and Y/N both flushed and avoided each other’s gazes until they were on the jet.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay with this? I’m sure Hotch would understand if you’re not.” Spencer leaned over to ask softly once the briefing had ended and everyone settled in for the flight. Y/N looked from the window to him.

“No, yeah, yeah, I’m totally fine with it. I was just a little nervous because I haven’t gone undercover before, but how hard can it be, right?” She sent him a small smile and a shrug, hoping it would hide the nerves.

It turned out to be very hard.

Standing in front of a gross bathroom mirror in a police precinct, she analyzed herself in her fancy dress and elaborate makeup and some part of her found herself wishing it was real. All of it. She wondered what it would be like to actually go on a romantic date with Spencer. If she was being honest, it wasn’t her first time wondering that. Not long after she’d joined the team, she found herself growing more and more attracted to a certain endearing genius. At first it started as a normal friendship, but then he got too sweet, too good to be true. She found herself living in daydreams with him too often. Those daydreams never quite disappeared, they just seemed to permeate other aspects of her life.

Love made you stupid, she was aware. There was not a single moment that passed by that she wasn’t thinking of Spencer. She couldn’t help it, she was like a moth drawn to a flame. Except the flame was Spencer, and she’d never wanted to be burned so badly before. But she’d learned to suppress her feelings. They were coworkers and close friends after all. A romantic involvement could ruin both those relationships if it ended badly.

But now her team was depending on her to act extremely in love with Spencer and she wasn’t sure she could do it without actually raising suspicion to the fact that it was real the entire time. So it’s safe to say she was panicking a little.

“Y/N? We’re ready, you feeling okay?” Emily stuck her head in through the door to ask.

“Huh? Oh yeah, totally ready. I’ll be right out.” Y/N checked her makeup, made sure her earpiece was well hidden, and adjusted her fancy dress to hide her firearm one last time before stepping out. Across the room, Derek immediately finished up his conversation with one of the local officers just to walk over and provide her with a whistle of approval.

“Damn, Y/L/N! Looking good!” Derek outwardly announced, making her cheeks redden immediately.

“Oh shut up, Morgan, I’m still armed.” Y/N snapped back, although he was unable to take her seriously with her flushed features. He sent her a signature dazzling smile and she found it hard to keep one off her own face. 

She turned a little to see Spencer staring at her with wonder. He was dressed in a black three-piece velvet suit with a bowtie. He looked simply exquisite. They both smiled wide as they neared each other, Spencer extending his hand to her in the most gentlemanly of ways. She let her hand slip into his, somewhat glad for the support he gave her because of her high heels while simultaneously getting butterflies at the slight touch of his hand.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” Spencer smiled and spoke quietly to her, proud that he wasn’t a stuttering mess just yet.

“And you look...expensive.” She let her eyes roam over his outfit before letting out a harmonious laugh. Spencer couldn’t help but grin in response as he adjusted his waistcoat with his free hand. They’d decided that Y/N would be the one carrying a firearm instead of Reid because her dress hid it better than his suit could have.

“Alright, kids, settle down. Now, let’s go over the plan. You’re going to go into the restaurant, sit at a table where you can be sure our unsub, George Mendoza, has a perfect view of you. You’ll have to make it super believable, he has to believe you guys are head over heels for each other.” 

Shouldn’t be hard, they both thought, sharing a glance even though they didn’t mean to. 

Morgan was really selling this. Y/N wondered if he knew…

But then again, if Garcia knew, Morgan knew. She also may have been forgetting that she was on the A team of profilers and just maybe the heart eyes she often gave Spencer gave her away already.

“Now, we know he corners his victims in the parking lot. We have to make sure he follows you out. Prentiss and Morgan will be by the door to follow you two out and hopefully ambush Mendoza.” Hotch explained and the two of them nodded.

“Got it.” She said, already shifting her weight from one foot to the other, the heels making her feet ache. Spencer noticed and dropped her hand, only to wrap his arm around her waist in hopes of steadying her and giving her the extra support she needed. JJ and Emily shared a knowing glance as they watched the subtle interaction between the two lovebirds. Y/N smiled to herself but avoided looking at him in order to keep the redness of her face at a minimum. 

Spencer led her to the black SUV parked outside and they both hopped into the backseat, with Morgan and Emily in the front.

 “Ready?” She asked, looking over to see a nervous-looking Spencer beside her as the car came to a halt in front of the restaurant.

He took a deep breath and nodded, “Ready.” He got out of the car and jogged around it to open her car door. She mirrored his actions and took a deep breath as well before plastering a huge smile across her features as she stepped out of the car. Morgan and Emily drove off to keep from blowing their cover. She and Spencer walked towards the greeter behind the podium, her arm tightly wound around his.

“Reservation for Dr. Reid.” Spencer spoke confidently. Y/N had to keep from biting her lip at how much she loved the sound of that. 

The greeter smiled, “Right this way.” he led them to a table and Y/N was in Mendoza’s direct line of sight.

“I’ve got eyes on Mendoza. He’s sitting with a woman and two bodyguards are guarding his table.” She spoke with a smile to Spencer and also to the team through her earpiece.

“I’ve got him.” Morgan confirmed from wherever he was, apparently he could see inside the restaurant.

Spencer turned to look ever so discreetly and pretended to be looking for the waiter. He noticed Mendoza ogling Y/N and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Do you wanna switch seats with me?” Spencer asked, visibly uncomfortable.

“What, why? Are you okay?” She replied.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m...fine, I just thought you might be more,” he cleared his throat, “comfortable if he wasn’t looking at you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest for a moment before glancing over to Mendoza, “Well, I’m fine, besides I think it’s better this way..that I’ve caught his eye.” She said with a slight roll of her eyes, making Spencer break into a grin.

“Don’t switch seats, that’ll look suspicious.” Emily spoke into their ears, “Now, don’t be so stiff. Relax, order some food or some drinks, whatever.”

“Alright, alright...relaxing.” She spoke mostly to herself and looked up at Spencer. Somehow looking at him made her feel at ease. His soft brown eyes brought her the reassurance she needed. Her gaze was intoxicating and Spencer could feel his hands starting to sweat as he wiped them on his pants. 

 “So this place is really, really fancy.” She said as she looked over the menu, which she could barely understand, “Wonder why he likes it.”

“He has an intense fixation on rich couples. Perhaps he sees his parents in the couples he chooses.” Spencer said, looking over the menu as well.

“Stop talking about the case!” Morgan’s voice boomed into their ears.

“Right, right! Sorry!” She whispered, “Okay, okay. Spence, tell me about these dishes, I have no idea what to order.”

“Um, okay. Well, I think you’d really enjoy the gnocchi in roasted red pepper sauce, Rossi’d made the same sauce and you’d really enjoyed it then when it was paired with pasta. Also the flavor of gnocchi is pretty neutral so it pairs really well with pungent sauces. Did you know that gnocchi originated in Northern Italy because the climate was better suited for growing potatoes rather than grain?” he continued to speak about gnocchi and all the different sauces one could eat it with.

Morgan had every intention to interrupt Spencer’s ramble but then Emily noticed the heart eyes Y/N was giving him, “Wait, no stop. Look at her, she’s into it.” Morgan chuckled and shook his head at the couple.

“Sorry...you should have stopped me.” Spencer ended his spiel, shyly taking a sip from his glass of water.

“Stop you? Why would I ever do that, you know I love your little tangents. Being with you makes me feel smart, actually. Except when you go on about quantum physics, I cannot keep up with that no matter how hard I try, I’m sorry.” She laughed and Spencer felt his confidence returning, “I can’t believe you made gnocchi sound so good. Now, I have to try it!” She grinned at him and Spencer swore he saw her eyes twinkle.

“What will you get?” She smiled at him, playing with her earring, a nervous tick of hers. Was she really that nervous? Why did she look so good doing it?

“Spence?” She noticed him zoning out slightly but he zoned back in.

“Huh? Oh, sorry um, I was a little distracted.” He blushed a little.

“Oh, by what?” She glanced over her shoulder to see if there was anything distracting behind her.

“Nothing, you just look very pretty.” Spencer complimented and she could not control the intense rush of blood that raced to her face. 

Morgan and Emily both drew in breaths through their teeth, “Daaaaamn, pretty boy’s got moves.” Derek whispered to Emily, their mics off.

Y/N giggled bashfully and looked down at her menu, shaking her head. This is all an act, Y/N. Get it together! Spencer reveled in her flushed cheeks for a moment before glancing down at his menu again, “I’ll probably just get the steak.”

For the next hour, they both made small talk with more encouragement from Emily and Derek. When the food came, she leaned closer to him and he fed her a piece of his steak, completely overlooking the fact that he’d just shared his fork with someone else. The sight of the two of them acting so hopelessly lovesick nearly made Emily and Derek sick themselves. During dinner, Spencer had migrated closer to her and they could barely keep their hands off of each other without any prompting from their earpieces. Y/N now had one hand on Spencer’s thigh and the other was intertwined with his as he draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer ever so slightly. 

Hey, he was probably never going to get to do this again, might as well enjoy it.

They giggled together over stories of their pasts, “I’m serious, my leg was on fire and Morgan had to put me out!”

“Oh come on, you expect me to believe that?” She laughed, her head leaning onto his shoulder.

“Yes!” He exclaimed, laughing. In the midst of her laughter, Spencer felt the overwhelming need to press a kiss to her wonderfully flushed cheek, so he did. He placed a soft kiss to the side of her cheek and made sure to linger enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin. The feel of his lips on her cheeks almost sent her in a spiral but she refused to meet his eyes, knowing that her eyes would most definitely give her away. Give away the longing and yearning she felt. She almost didn’t want to catch Mendoza because she knew that meant she’d have to give this up.

“Okay, lovebirds, Mendoza is losing interest. You have to up the ante somehow.” Derek spoke into their earpieces. Y/N was a little confused as to what more they could do to get his attention back to them, but she could practically hear the gears turning in Spencer’s head. She suddenly felt him separate himself from her and get up to walk around their table to be on her other side.

“What is he doing!” Emily whispered to Derek and he shrugged.

“Spence, what are you doing?” Y/N asked as he stood before her, offering his hand just like earlier in the evening.

“Y/N, do you trust me?” Spencer whispered as she put her hand in his. She felt him tug on it for her to stand with him and she finally nodded.

“Of course I do.” She whispered back, glancing around at people’s gazes who were now stuck on them.

“Then just go with it.” He smiled mischievously as he knelt down onto one of his knees. Y/N immediately caught herself hoping that it wasn’t the knee he injured before she realized what was happening. Her hands flew to her mouth in genuine shock. He was proposing, well, not actually proposing, but still! In his hand, Spencer held the ring she usually wore on her pointer finger, he must have taken it off without her noticing.

“Y/N, I have never doubted for a second that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. From the moment I met you, you consumed every piece of my mind, body, and soul. And at first I was afraid at how willingly I’d give it to you, but then I realized that there is not another person on this planet that I’d rather have my soul. You are the light of my life, Y/N. When I wake up in the morning, you’re the first person I think of and when I fall asleep, my thoughts are only occupied by you. There are around 170,000 words in the English language, and no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to express to you just how much I love you. Y/N, will you marry me and make me the happiest man alive?” Spencer stared up at her, hoping the weight of his words would somehow reach her through the guise of the assignment.

Y/N stood there, tears gathering in her eyes from the sheer overwhelming-ness of it all. Never had she imagined (because she has imagined it, if we’re being honest) that the day Spencer Reid would propose to her, it would be fake. The tears slipped out, she felt like sobbing at the artificiality of it all. Luckily those tears were in her favor to sway external witnesses. She suddenly remembered that he’d asked her a question.

“Yes! Yes, a million times yes!” A heavy sob escaped her and Spencer quickly slipped the ring onto her finger. Spectators clapped wildly and cheered for them. That definitely caught Mendoza’s attention. 

She threw her arms around his neck while he hugged her waist to lift her off the ground slightly. Spencer momentarily allowed himself to believe that this was real. In a moment of giddiness, he set her down again on the floor and pulled her in for a celebratory kiss by her waist. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, but soon reciprocated the tender kiss. Although it was short, it was unlike any other kiss she’d had. They pulled away from each other when the clapping and commotion had died down. Spencer had smiled graciously at people who were congratulating them, while she was still completely dazed from the kiss. They both went back to their respective seats, Spencer now back across from her rather than beside her.

Emily had lowkey been hitting Derek’s arm as they kissed, a moment she and JJ were surely going to tease Y/N to the ends of the Earth about.

Y/N had just barely composed herself enough to wipe the remnants of tears from her cheeks which resulted in a low whisper coming from Spencer, “Are you alright?” She nodded and flashed him a smile, one that told him just how not fine she was, but Spencer decided to let it go for a moment. He hoped he hadn’t crossed the line with the kiss.

“Good job, kids. You are definitely back on Mendoza’s radar.” Morgan spoke into both their earpieces.

They waited another 10 minutes before making their exit, their meal already paid for. Spencer had his arm tight around her shoulders as they walked out of the restaurant and pretended to wait for the valet. Derek and Emily still had eyes on Mendoza inside, who waited exactly one minute before he and his bodyguards were on the move.

“Mendoza’s on the move. Y/L/N and Reid, get ready for the signal.” Emily spoke, still in their hiding position.

Y/N took her gun out of her thigh holster and kept it out of view. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand as Mendoza approached them from behind.

“Congratulations to the lovely young couple. Can I just say how well you two suit each other?” Mendoza’s slimy voice began and it made their skin crawl.

“Now!” Emily spoke and both she and Morgan emerged with their firearms raised at the three men.

Y/N swiveled around and aimed her gun at him, “FBI, hands up, now!” She yelled and Mendoza’s men came forward to attack the two of them when they all heard the clicks of Emily and Derek’s guns from behind them.

“Uh-uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Derek taunted. Mendoza visibly deflated and Spencer was quick to cuff him and read him his rights.

“George Mendoza, you are under arrest for the murder of 14 people…” Spencer went on as Emily and Derek cuffed the other two men. Y/N took a deep breath as she watched her teammates stuff them into police cars. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Hotch.

“Nice work, Y/L/N.” He gave her an approving nod and led her back to one of the SUVs. She immediately relaxed back into the seat and took off her heels.

On the jet back to Quantico, Y/N was teased quietly by Emily and JJ but they could tell that something was off about her. She wasn’t as bright as she usually was. Her eyes didn’t shine with the triumph that came with solving another case. Instead she was reserved and proceeded to retreat into herself when the teasing had stopped.

Oh how she wished it was real. She found herself keeping the ring on her ring finger rather than returning it to its rightful place on her pointer finger. She wanted to live in the daydream for as long as she could. Spencer’s words swirled around in her head with no shame or trepidation. She didn’t have an eidetic memory, but she would remember those words forever. Hearing them over and over seemed to have cracked and broken her heart and she was frantically trying to piece it back together. On the far side of the jet, Spencer was in a pool of regret. He wouldn’t have kissed her if he knew it’d make her uncomfortable. She has barely spoken to him since they closed the case and it didn’t seem like she would be talking any time soon. 

Hotch had given them two days off to cool off from the case and get some much needed sleep. Y/N thought that spending time away from Spencer would somehow heal the cracks in her heart, but they only seemed to make it worse. She knows she shouldn’t have cried into that tub of ice cream, but she couldn’t help it. She thought back to her friend who’d just gotten engaged the previous month and while she was never the jealous type, she found that feelings of envy were inevitable. She wondered if Spencer had meant anything he’d said. What did it mean if he did? No, no, she wasn’t even going to entertain the thought that he might feel anything for her. That would only lead to false hope and possibly deeper heartbreak.

But…

The way he’d looked at her when he said he loved her. That couldn’t be faked, right? She was a profiler for goodness’s sake, she should have been able to tell, but it was abundantly clear that her feelings for Spencer got in the way of her profiling skills.

Going back to work was relatively easy, except for the fact that she couldn’t look Spencer in the eye without hearing the words he’d said to her. It was ridiculous of her to even consider the fact that he might have not been just acting. She’d spoken barely two words to him and Spencer was itching all day to speak with her, but he just couldn’t. They were both avoiding each other for the wrong reasons. Unfortunately, their coworkers noticed the obvious shift in behavior. It was so unlike the two to be so awkward around each other. JJ had even caught Spencer doing a 180 and returning to his desk as soon as he saw Y/N at the coffee machine.

Something must be done.

They’d all decided to leave quietly 15 minutes early, minus Hotch and Rossi who were already cooped up in their offices. They hoped the empty bullpen could give them the privacy they needed to talk about whatever they needed to.

“Hey, Em, could you look at this for me? I think--” Y/N trailed off as she glanced up from her paperwork to see an almost completely empty bullpen, “Oh, where did everybody go?” she asked herself and technically Spencer, who also seemed to be totally engrossed in his work.

“Hm, I think everyone left already.” Spencer stood from his desk, bones cracking as he did so.

“That’s weird…” she shrugged and tried to get back to work.

“Um, so what did you need Emily for? I could take a look at it if you want.” Spencer offered, walking over to her desk and leaning on the side of it.

“Uh..y-yeah, sure.” She stammered as she looked for the file she just set down, having him in close proximity was making her mind go numb for a second, “Here, um...I think it was filed in the wrong folder. I’ll just--uh..give it to JJ tomorrow or something.” She swallowed, avoiding his eyes as she showed it to him. 

“Hold on a second, I think...this...goes in here with this case…” he trailed off as he grabbed a folder from his own desk.

“Huh, someone must have accidentally placed it on my desk instead of yours.” She nodded.

“It was probably Anderson.” They both said at the same time, making them both laugh.

 It felt right to laugh with him again. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat when she finally looked up and grinned at him. He felt like the air was somehow restored to his lungs. He watched as she shyly looked back down and tucked some hair behind her ear. He cleared his throat and fumbled with the file in his hand.

“Hey, I--uh...never got the chance to apologize...for uhm, how things went when we were, y’know undercover.” 

Wow, real smooth Spence. Great job.

He watched as her brows furrowed together, eyes lifting to meet his, “What do you mean?” 

“I...shouldn’t have...kissed you, I’m sorry. I just thought...I don’t know, it seemed like most couples usually kiss after proposals and I thought if we didn’t kiss it would have looked weird. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Y/N.” He apologized and Y/N’s heart might have definitely exploded in her chest. Here was this sweet, sweet man who was apologizing because he felt like he made her uncomfortable, as if that’s the reason she’d been acting weird.

“No, it didn’t make me uncomfortable at all!” She laughed it off, shaking her head. My God, Spencer Reid, there really is no one else like you. 

He fought off a relieved smile, “Oh, it didn’t?” She shook her head, laughing wholeheartedly now.

“No, on the contrary, I quite liked it, Dr. Reid.” She rolled her eyes, still giggling.

“Why have you been avoiding me and acting all awkward then?” He laughed with her.

“God, Spencer, did you really think I was being awkward because you kissed me?” She spoke, her arms lifting up and coming back down in disbelief.

“Yes!” he nodded, crossing his arms and shifting as he leaned on her desk, “I thought I’d made you uncomfortable…”

“No...Spencer, that’s not it at all…” She smiled softly but it began to fade as she stared at him.

There are around 170,000 words in the English language, and no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to express to you just how much I love you.

“Then what is it, Y/N? What’s going on?” He pursed his lips, wanting to absorb any and all the pain she’d ever felt in her life.

She had to know.

“The things you said...while you were uhm...proposing. Did--did you mean any of them?” She looked up at him with the largest doe eyes he’d ever seen. Her eyes began to shine with tears as her shoulders tensed with anticipation.

He shifted again uncomfortably at the question and her unfaltering gaze, “I--uh, I did, actually.” The heat rushed to his face and ears, “I definitely did mean them, Y/N. Does--does that make you feel weird?”

“No, no, not in the slightest,” her face broke out into another grin, this one with hints of relief, as she stood up from her desk chair to be at eye-level with him, “actually, if I’m being honest, I wanted you to mean them.”

Spencer smiled as he uncrossed his arms, “Is that right?”

“Mhm.” She hummed, placing both her hands on the sides of his neck, his hands now resting comfortably on her waist. She watched as his gaze never left her lips.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes briefly flickered upwards to hers for permission.

“Please do.” She smiled before he connected their lips.

It felt right this time. She knew it did because she could finally savor the feeling of her stomach doing somersaults. She knew because she could finally know the feeling of his large hands roaming the expanse of her back in efforts to pull her closer. She knew because she could finally feel the incredibly soft tufts of hair at the base of his neck as she weaved her fingers through them.

In the distance, Hotch and Rossi simultaneously checked the bullpen through the blinds of their offices at the suspicious silence. Both of them shook their heads and laughed at the blooming of young love.

[pufflocks]

Hello again Zen! First I just wanna say that you don’t need to apologize about what happened to the other fic. If you ever feel like you wanna reattempt it, just tell me and I’ll send it again. This request is also smut like the last one and I hope that’s ok!

So Bakugou, known by the public as the pro hero Dynamight, has been having it tough at work the past 2 weeks. He knew that technically it was partly his fault. You see, Bakugou is in a secret relationship with one of Japan’s most mischievous villains. Y/n L/n. (Male Reader) Y/n was in reality not necessarily a villain. He was seen as one, but he had never actually killed anybody. He was more the type to steal, start some fights/trouble and occasionally blow up some place. He was more mischievous than evil. Though Bakugou knew that Y/n wasn’t as bad as everyone thought, and he knew that Y/n did love him. He just had a bit of history.. With that being said: Bakugou had been having it rough lately because his secret boyfriend had been at it like crazy. He also knew that Y/n was intentionally making things difficult for him. So when he was on his patrol and got an emergency signal about trouble just a few blocks away, boy was he ready to hunt Y/n down! Once he saw him he immediately chased him into an alleyway. Y/n had escaped and ran into an abandoned apartment. He thought he was safe. But when he turned around, he wasn’t so lucky. Shit.. Bakugou was ready to completely ravage and take out all of his frustrations on Y/n, as he had him trapped with nowhere to run.

This one could be considered Revenge/Angry S*x. It’s not non-con since Y/n clearly knew what he was in for, and Bakugou wouldn’t do anything incase Y/n seriously stopped him. The request was kinda long, sorry about that lol. If you don’t feel like writing it then it’s fine, and if you’d like to switch some things up then feel free to do so! Also, don’t feel rushed and take your time. Have a nice day/night! :>

Summary: I'm not a dark blogger, but this req is honestly too amazing. I will change some things as to not make it exactly dark though— And thank you for being patient with me and the recent incident. 💛

Warnings: NFSW • proof read • Aged up • mild angst{?}

Cast: Villian!M!Reader x Pro hero!Bakugou

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Y/N L/N. A name that was a hassle to spit out. Your name was spoke like a horrid sickness spreading west to east. All you were was some mildly lowlife starting cat fights on the streets of Japan. It usually happens at night, and that's also when you strike 24 hour open corner stores. Quite fun to be honest. Your skill being up to par of a spy since your original outing clothing you were seen with was mostly black. Your hair was dyed a certain way after a long past incident though, kinda making you stick out overall you camflouged into the night.

Your pro hero, hot headed, stress filled, boyfriend however, was gold spoon in it's prime. A pro hero who was rich with fame. Oh god he had it all in your eyes. You sometimes cried with tears of joyfulness just at the mere slick thought you were dating him. Not no female who just as good looking, like Creati. No, none of that. It's not like he would change that spite his efforts of frustration with your recent activities these part two years.

The streets are terrific to you for these two years though. Everything is nearly breakable and easily fixed with community money. You would think it was community money atleast. All is good since you made sure to leave your mark with explosives.

Hence your love and passion for your lover, you would smuggle cheap fireworks and set them off at random areas of the late hours. The most recent one being pulled off near a school and and anyone could imagine how the headlines went. The news was erratic with wow and terror of where the explosion even came from, who set it off. Little did they obviously not know —

It was pro hero, Katsuki Bakugous boyfriend.

--

On to other things. Bakugou was in a meeting. Apparently he was being caught up with some warning of a manic villain roaming the streets and city alone.

"So what ?" The room was silent as all eyes transferred front to the back where he sat. Eye bags slightly visible of how stressed he really was after the news confirmed he was.

A co-worker of his, Kirishima raised his hand in apparent anxiousness. "Um", he coughed into his fist before speaking again. "Well, Bakubro he has been going at it for nearly 2 years. No one even know what he looks like, hell man." Starting to get his voice back he finally said, "We probably don't even know if he is a he !" The rooms tension was held up to a few more minutes before Bakugou just got up and walked out.

Another co-worker of his, Mina sparked up and said, "Where are you going !" Her words fell on deaf ears as he was already gone.

Heavy weighted footsteps of his boots were heard along the agency's hallways as people made sure to step out of his way. Grabbing his stuff most important for his next move being his car keys. His brain hurt of how fucking frustrating it is to be held back from work because of his delinquent boyfriend wants to treat the world as a damn playground. He couldn't take it! The stress and anxiety he kept for 2 years was just high enough for him to fuck one out. And he might just.

Just because those assholes didn't know where to find you, doesn't mean he can't. You were always close to a rundown apartment in an alleyway doctoring up a new firework of your own or anything remotely for distruction.

And there you were. In a damn corner completely unaware of the 6 foot presence behind you. Horny and exhausted was a nasty mix for anyone and Bakugou is a worse case as he grabbed you by your arm turning you around.

Alert entered your mind as you nearly, by a measly hair burnt him with a match you had. Why was here was all you could ask yourself, feeling his dramatic hot pants near your neck.

"Why-" No time for speaking when he was highly eager to ravage your ass. You knew how he was from time time since you've met him and because of this you have gotten the worst and the best of him. Sex and life alone was hot and dangerous between the both of you.

His lips marked yours up with a grunt of his own making it seem as if he was feasting on your chapped ones. The dryness making it sting sweetly only adding to the arousal you now felt for yourself. Kissing him. Him not taking his time as he will easily swallow his food without chewing.

"I'm fucking pissed." He snapped. This version of him was the only version you couldn't take. No type of convincing could make an outsider believe your actions to one another was not non consensual. His slightly bigger form compared to your own was trifling as it was pressed up to your chest.

After minutes of searching eachothers mouths with fever and rush he finally stripped himself from his pants. You caught a rare glimpse of how hard he really was. Now this was irritating you at this point. You were no sore loser, but if someone ever took something from you like candy it would easily be endgame.

"Stop fucking pouting. I just got out of a meeting early", he adjusted his position a bit. "To fuck your meddling ass." He closed the space between you two as his cologne and natural scenticked your senses. A shiver went down your spine like a fresh cold drop of sweat as you backed away into the corner. He followed that and smirked. You couldn't be serious.

"Turn around. I wanna see it." He huffed, impatiently. You obviously did what you were told. No time in making him even more pissed. He admired your obedience when it came to your relationship. Only if you could follow that up in turning yourself in. Sadly you were too prideful, probably why you both have an odd ball bond with eachother.

Like lightning your pants were down just like his as he slapped your ass with a strikingly heavy hand. Watching your arse slightly move was guilty enjoyment of his own.

"Ah !" You covered your mouth quickly in fear of his scolding. Number 1 rule of him when frustrated was that on all accounts. Don't. Fucking. Make. A. Peep. That reminder did not fail to make you turn back with pleading eyes with him looking back at you with pliant disbelief.

"Yer' really trying to fuckin' test me, yeah ?" He asked. Not loud how he usually is, but a lower octave with a nonchalant expression. He was tired. Tired of your prideful denial of going to jail. Tired of these late damn meetings at the agency. Tired of his parents calling him because he was doing this to himself. He was fucking exhausted of it all. His top tier was you especially.

☆

That's completely fine though. He can sex all of this out on his handsome villain boyfriend.

Y/N fucking L/N.

I hope this is fine, again I'm not a dark blog so if I wrote this along with the req it would get a bit dark. { I love dark blogs so it would be a whole series 💀. }

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 7 - Games

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Trying to make sure the two of you stay out of the bedroom, you suggest playing a game of Twister and Gojo's mind starts to wander.

A/N: Sorry if there are mistakes! I don't have a beta and get tired rereading the chapters over and over again. This is a little short but we have some fluff and feels and we get a little insight on how Gojo has been feeling. I'm building up to something, I promise!

- - -

“Okay, left foot on green…”

With his right foot remaining on the red circle, Gojo spread his legs wide to place his left foot on the green circle towards the end of the mat. Things were easing up on his end when it came to work and he decided to take advantage of that by spending his free time with you tonight. What he didn’t expect was for the two of you to be in the middle of your living room playing board games instead of the usual physical activity that you both have grown accustomed to partaking in.

“Is this really how you want to spend our evening together?” he asked, taking the spinner from your hand as he proceeded to flick the arrow with his thumb and index finger.

You nodded your head, “We need to keep ourselves out of the bedroom. Otherwise, we will never leave...”

Gojo rotated his neck from side to side before replying, stretching to prepare himself for the awkward positions he was about to hold, “you’re making it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Listen, game night is going to make up for movie night which never happened because we wound up doing it on your couch instead...”

A smug grin spread across Gojo’s face, thinking of your failed plan to have a scary movie marathon with him. You were hoping to catch the sorcerer squirm but what you didn’t expect was him teasing you thirty minutes into the film that inevitably resulted in you being fucked senseless on his couch.

“You’re really going to put the blame on me for that? If you were paying attention you wouldn’t have succumbed to my advances so easily,” he retorted defensively.

“You had your hand up my skirt!”

“Now, I told you what that skirt does to me,” he jokingly snapped, pointing his finger at you sternly before shrugging his shoulders. “I couldn’t help myself…”

“Okay, well how about the night we were supposed to go out for dinner but missed our reservation because you decided to rip up my dress on the car ride over…”

“Let’s not get too dramatic, I merely broke the zipper and I did buy you another dress.”

“Okay, how about last night?”

Gojo parted his lips, pausing to think how the two of you wound up naked in the shower instead of going to the karaoke bar with Rina and her friends.

“Last night... wasn't my fault,” he pointed out, arching his brow at you as he recalled the way you teased him into submission.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right…” you shyly replied, biting your bottom lip as you scratched the back of your head. “So, uh, what’s my next move?”

“Quick to change the subject, I see?” Gojo answered with an easy smile, “Put your left hand on the blue circle…”

With your feet on the green and yellow circles, you leaned your body forward to put your left hand on the blue sphere. Meanwhile, Gojo dropped the spinner on the ground beside you, suppressing a laugh as he watched you struggle to spin the arrow and call out his next round.

“The point here is...” you grumbled as you tried to adjust yourself back into a comfortable position, “...the two of us are getting carried away. I just think this little break might do us some good.”

“I don’t think working up a sweat is a bad thing,” Gojo insisted.

“Well, we can burn calories after I kick your butt,” you added on, waiting for the arrow to land. “Right hand on green...”

“For someone trying to make sure we keep our distance, you sure picked an interesting game tonight,” Gojo teased, finding his new posture which brought his face close to yours.

“I know for a fact that you can’t cheat playing Twister,” you reminded, before glancing up at him from under your lashes and inching forward to peck him on the tip of his nose. “Besides, I never said I wanted space, I just thought I’d change things up for the evening.”

Gojo’s smiled into your lips as he gave you a soft kiss in return, “if you think you can distract me by being cute, you are absolutely wrong .”

“We both know how much of a sore loser you can be,” you answered back, “I just hope you’re ready to throw yourself a pity party by the end of this because I am definitely winning.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say. Right hand, blue…” he continued, trying to pay attention to the game and observing you reach your arm slightly underneath him to place your hand on the circle.

He couldn’t explain when things became this comfortable with you. If he had known that hooking up with you would bring you both closer together as friends, he wouldn’t have rejected your offer that easily.

You’ve both already broken one of your rules. However, Gojo didn’t mind forgoing the “drinking” rule to decide whether or not the two of you wanted to hook up. You both no longer needed the excuse anyway, after a while it became painfully clear that regardless of what the plans were, things always resulted in the two of you tangled up in someone’s bed sheets.

The sorcerer spent a majority of his spare time alone, unaware of how much it bothered him until you came along. He thought about the way you described yourself when you were in a relationship with your ex-boyfriend, and wondered if this felt similar in any way. Not that he considered you as anything other than a friend...but he was curious .

You both were different in many ways but often clashed when it came to your perspectives on love. You believed that there was a person out there for everbody, that there was nothing like falling in love with somebody who looked at you as if you were their whole world.

Granted, those were your opinions when you were in a happy and loving relationship but Gojo always disagreed with you because he was convinced that relationships were messy and only brought unnecessary drama to the table. That’s why he had his own personal rule that was standard practice when it came to his “love” life.

He never hooked up with somebody more than once.

Rumors about his womanising ways only stemmed from the fact that he did actually have plenty of lovers. However, he could barely recall their faces and didn’t even remember their names. Sometimes they recognized him on the street, and foolishly attempted to strike up a conversation with the handsome, rich stranger who paid for their company.

Gojo would politely brush them off every time. His stone cold reaction broke the hearts of those who were lucky enough to even be in his presence. He surely didn’t need to pay for the escorts or call girls but the act itself was easier and he had the money to spend anyway. These acquaintances never asked him any questions about his personal life, which benefited him greatly because it left very little room for anything other than small talk. Once both parties were satisfied, Gojo would leave every encounter without ever looking back. Sex was a routine way for him to blow off steam or merely take care of his natural urges. However, you didn’t know that you were the first person who he consistently kept as company in the bedroom.  

Up until this moment, he had been suppressing his desire for you. Now that he has you, the sorcerer could tell he was getting greedy. He respected your wishes when you asked him not to see anyone else on the side but surprised himself when he realised that he had no interest in seeking out the strangers that used to keep him company at night.

Even though you both insisted that this new partnership had no influence on friendship, Gojo was observant enough to see that it was not the case. Little things were starting to change here and there, and he was carefully making note of it every time it happened.

For example, whenever he was off fighting curses, you started habitually checking up on him to make sure he was okay. One night when he was unable to answer his phone, he received a string of unusual text messages from you to find out what happened. He remembered calling you right after, teasing you to ask if you were worried about him. You surprised him with your fear, how you easily believed that something was powerful enough to harm him despite him repeatedly telling you that nothing could touch him. When you responded to his question with a sincere yes, an unexpected sensation spread across his chest. If he wasn’t paying attention to how much you cared about him before, he was more aware of it now.

To ease your worries, he made it a point to shoot you a text whenever he could just to let you know that he was alright. Although, he did sometimes forget which resulted in you panicking on the phone with him. Only this time, Gojo never made fun of your concerns.

In turn, he realised how fiercely protective he became of you and it killed him whenever he had to deflect your questions when you asked about his life. There was so much you wanted to know and so much that he wished he could tell you. However, he had every intention of maintaining this invisible boundary. The last thing he wants is for you to get caught up in something that you couldn’t understand. If he were to invite you into his whole world, that would only lead to you facing dangerous threats that loved to lurk in the shadows.

He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to you.

A few more rounds passed, and the two of you were intertwined in the most precarious situation. You were in a reverse tabletop position, looking like a crab with two hands and feet on the blue and yellow circles. Meanwhile, Gojo was in a plank position above you, his palms pressed on the red and green circle by your side, with one foot next to yours on a blue circle and another on a yellow circle.

You were shaking underneath him, desperately trying to maintain your awkward stance while Gojo appeared bored holding his own position with ease.

“Okay, I didn’t take your strength or height into consideration…” you groaned with a pout.

A chuckle escaped his lips, “give up, yet?”

“No…” you groaned, eyeing the spinner by your side as you reached for it with your right hand. You lifted your head slightly, your neck straining as you tried to call out the next move. “Left foot, green…”

Gojo picked up his leg but as he stretched himself out he realised that he couldn’t bend himself properly in that particular way.

Your eyes widened, watching him shake as he tried to rotate his body without lifting himself completely up off the mat.

“Or maybe your height is actually a disadvantage?” you questioned, ignoring the way your arms burned from holding yourself up as your heart raced with anticipation.

“Shhh, I’m concentrating...”

Gojo kicked his leg out one way and then the other, the comical image of his tall body in motion only made you laugh at his reaction. He tried his best to ignore the sound of your voice but knew that he could barely maintain his balance as he tried to find the green circle. However, he miscalculated the gravity of his own weight when he shifted to the left side of his body, his elbow buckling underneath and causing him to collapse.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, raising your arms up in victory, paying no attention to his body pressed on top of yours.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, breathing in deep to inhale the scent of your soap. He felt your hand pat the back of his head lightly, indicating that you wanted him to get off from on top of you. He slowly unraveled himself, irritated by his own misfortune as he rolled onto his back to lay down beside you. He tilted his head to look at you, noticing you turn so you both were making direct eye contact with each other.

Gojo always knew you were beautiful. Nothing in this world could convince him otherwise but he never paid attention to the details of how pretty you actually were. Little things about you that made the gears in his head turn, from the gorgeous mane that sprouted on the top of your head, to the way your eyes sparkled whenever you were excited or how the curve of your lips was your secret tell to let him know exactly what you were feeling when you couldn’t find the words to explain yourself.

Why me? He thought to himself, if you wanted to fuck around with somebody then why did you ask me?  

A kiss on his lips snapped him out of his drawn out thoughts, he felt the pads of your fingers along his cheek, slipping lightly underneath his blindfold to reveal just one of those blue eyes.

“Ready for another round?” you questioned.

Gojo softly smiled, thankful that you haven’t grown bored of him just yet. He lifted himself up, bringing one of his hands to cup your face as he pulled you in for another kiss. His tongue parted your lips and he allowed himself this one indulgence as he trailed his hand to the back of your neck.

Whatever thoughts that were running through his mind, he chose to ignore. There was no reason for him to consider such trivial things anyway. You were spoiling him with your body, playing out the fantasies that plagued his mind. He was aware that his greed fueled his lust for you and honestly did not know what he would do if you were to ask him to stop.

He deepened the kiss, allowing the frustrating thought to play out in passion instead. You shifted your position, your hand falling to his chest as you gripped onto the collar of his tee. Still holding onto the kiss, Gojo lifted himself upright so he was seated and as much as he would love to take advantage of this current situation, he chose to pull himself away instead.

“Best of three?”

“That sounds good to me!” you replied as you circled your arm around his neck, before returning to kiss him again.

Gojo gave in for only a second, before cheekily breaking away and tapping you gently on the forehead with his index finger.

“Oh no, you aren’t doing this to me again...” he said, his hands moving to your waistline as he gently pushed you away from him. “You wanted to have a game night and we are going to see it through.”

He leaned across from you to pick up the spinner, before settling back down and holding it in between the tiny space that separated you both.

“Winner goes first.”

- CHAPTER 8: HEAT -