#the resume your honor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

domjaehyun · 1 year

Text

SURVIVING NO NUT NOVEMBER (L.MK, L.DH)

MEMBERS. mark lee x fem!reader x lee haechan

GENRE. smut…that’s it… some humor

WORD COUNT. 28.8k (i’m not apologizing and you can’t make me)

CONTENTS. weed consumption, haechan favoritism (it’s me. what did you expect), explicit smut (slightest of dubcon, chasing kink (? y’all idk), quite a bit of edging/orgasm denial (giving), dry humping, handjobs, blowjobs, cunnilingus, finger sucking, bit of spit kink, unprotected sex, creampie, double penetration, anal, rimming (receiving), overstimulation (receiving), praise kink, some slight degradation, bratty switch!reader, bratty switch!haechan, needy switch!mark, haechan really likes calling you “puppy,” i think that’s it)

NOTES. hi :3 thank you to my love @ncteez (hon) for beta reading this for me! i’m on my mark & haechan monster cock agenda thank you very much :)

PLAYLIST. video games - sun // seduce - russ // pth - emanuel

Sunday, November 1st.

“As usual, I think you’re full of it.” Lia sizes up Haechan, her scrutinizing stare so chilling that it affects you as an innocent bystander simply sitting next to Haechan.

“I’m not,” Haechan fiercely defends himself, jabbing his thumb into his chest emphatically. “I totally did take three edibles and, yes, I did see God! She was not pleased with me,” Haechan finishes in a mumble, scratching the back of his neck anxiously.

“What makes you think you saw God and not, like, her secretary angel or something?” Jaemin asks with a brow raised, and Haechan grimaces.

“What, am I not important or special enough to meet Miss God herself? I got some divine being several rungs down the holy corporate ladder?” Haechan counters, and the silence that falls over your table is deafening. “Wow.”

“Sorry,” Yeji says, shrugging. “It’s not personal.”

“Yeah, well, it sure feels personal,” Haechan grouches. Turning to you, he shakes your arm and whines loudly, saying, “You think I’m important and special, right?”

You look at his plate of food with scheming eyes. “Give me some of your fries and I’ll agree with you.”

“Agree with me and I’ll give you some of my fries,” he says, turning it back on you, and you pause to think. As if to make his deal even more appealing, Haechan holds up a forkful of fries, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Screw you guys, Haechan is definitely important and special enough to meet God after tripping too hard on edibles.” you say, scowling at every member sitting at the table for good measure. You look at Haechan, waiting for his approval, and he nods with a pleased smile, placing his hand under the fork to catch anything that might fall.

“Say ‘ah,’” Haechan coos, bringing the forkful to your mouth. You roll your eyes in amusement but oblige, letting Haechan feed you the fries.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile, which he returns.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he replies casually, watching in satisfaction out of the corner of his eye as you stiffen in surprise, your mind buffering for several moments before it starts working again. He chuckles and nudges you with his knee under the table secretly before resuming his eating.

“If you two are finished,” Lia says pointedly, and your cheeks warm as you look at her sheepishly. “I was going to say that in honor of November starting today, there’s a challenge I wanna share.”

“Share, please,” you say quickly, eager to switch the attention to someone else.

“It’s called November, in which I try to make it through every day of November,” she announces proudly, and you point an accusing finger across the table at her.

“You stole that off of Twitter!” you exclaim, and she rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t say it was my challenge,” she replies, and you narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“I’m onto you.”

“Okay,” Lia says, dismissive yet amused.

“I think we should try a monthly challenge,” Yeji suggests. “There’s No Shave November, National Novel Writing Month, No Nut November—”

“Ha!” Jaemin snorts in amusement. “Some of us couldn’t handle No Nut November.” He casts Haechan a side look which is not unnoticed.

Haechan huffs. “Why are you looking at me? I can totally do No Nut November.”

“Sure, you can,” you say, patting his hand comfortingly.

“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?” Haechan frowns.

“Probably because I don’t,” you reply simply, and Jeno snickers into his food.

“You know what?” Jeno puts his fork down and rubs his hands together. “If you can make it through No Nut November, I will give you my entire weed stash.”

Haechan’s brows raise in surprise. “Damn. You really don’t think I can do it.”

“Nope.” Jeno replies, and Haechan huffs.

“You’re on—but I get to pick a buddy,” he proposes, and Jeno shrugs.

“Sure. I don’t think anyone at this table is willing to go in on that challenge, though.”

When everyone at the table murmurs some sort of agreement, Haechan’s face lights up, visibly getting an idea, and he pulls his phone out, tapping it a couple of times before setting it on the table.

“Hello?” Mark’s whispering voice comes in through the speaker, and you and Jaemin share a skeptical look.

“Mark?” Lia laughs, begrudgingly falling silent when Haechan shushes her.

“Mark, do you wanna do No Nut November with me this month?” Haechan asks hopefully.

“Hell, no,” Mark’s reply comes out clear as day, making everyone but Haechan stifle a laugh.

“Aw, come on! Jeno’s gonna give us his entire weed stash if we do it,” Haechan coaxes in a sing-song voice.

“No way,” Mark whispers back. Several moments pass, everyone at the table growing antsy, until Mark speaks again. “Fine. I’m in.”

“Great!” Haechan says all too loudly. “We’re gonna rock this challenge.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark replies distractedly. “I gotta go now—I’m in class.”

“Oh, that’s why you were whispering—”

“Whispering, yeah. See you later, dude.” Mark murmurs hurriedly before the phone beeps to signal the end of the call.

“Well, that settles it,” Haechan says happily. “Jeno, get ready to kiss your stash of weed goodbye.”

“Oh, please,” Jaemin snorts derisively, “I bet you’ll be caving on day three.”

“Nope,” Haechan retorts, sticking out his tongue for good measure. “Nothing will fuck with me this month. As a matter of fact—”

“Haechan, don’t you have class, like, right now?” you cut him off, and he looks at the time, his eyes widening.

Stuffing forkfuls of food in his mouth, Haechan stands up from the table and waves goodbye before rushing off with his plate.

There’s a silence that passes before Lia speaks. “So I feel like it goes without saying that we, as their closest friends, legally have to fuck with them all of November.”

“‘We?’” Jeno raises his eyebrows in surprise and shakes his head. “I’m not turning them on.”

“Neither am I,” Jaemin says through his mouthful of sandwich. “Unless everyone gets real cool about a lot of things.”

“That also should have gone without saying, geniuses.” Lia rolls her eyes, and Jeno furrows his brows, narrowing his eyes before putting another forkful of ramen in his mouth and chewing. Turning to look at you, Lia continues, “I thought it was obvious that we’d collectively be fucking with them through one person.”

You slowly stop chewing. “Why are you looking at me?” You look at each of your friends. “Why are all of you looking at me?”

“You’re the only one with a weird enough relationship with them where it’d be normal for you to flirt with each other,” Yeji explains.

“Our relationship isn’t weird,” you say defensively, blanching at the unimpressed look Jaemin shoots you.

“Remember when you first met Haechan and he practically coughed up a lung trying to do that huge bong hit to impress you?” Jaemin reminds you, and you snicker as you think back.

“Yeah, that was funny,” you chuckle, and Lia sits forward.

“Or one of the first times we all hung out and watched the guys play video games and Mark kept dying because he was too busy looking at you?” she recalls, and you purse your lips.

“Okay, maybe it’s a little different from your average friendship,” you mumble reluctantly.

Jeno swallows his mouthful of noodles and points at you with his fork. “Didn’t Haechan call you ‘baby’ earlier?”

“Yeah, and Mark called you ‘babe’ the other day.” Yeji contributes, and you sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I mean, that was by accident, but I think I get it—”

“Haechan literally offered you food off of his fork today—”

“I get it!”

“Wait, that happened?” Lia asks, baffled, and Jeno nods.

“Yeah, he even said ‘open up’ when he put the food in her mouth.”

“Y’all.” You’re losing your patience.

“She actually took—wait, you actually took the food?” Yeji exclaims, and you bang the table with your hand to get their attention.

“I think,” you say slowly, “that I have heard enough about my questionable friendships with Mark and Haechan.” You look at Lia, who’s got the beginnings of a smirk on her lips. “What do I do?”

“Do anything and everything to get them to break during November.” Lia shrugs as if it was obvious.

“What if I can’t get them to cave?” You frown, doubtful of your abilities, and Jaemin waves a hand dismissively.

“That’s okay. As long as they experience mental turmoil and anguish, I’m satisfied.”

“Yeah, blue-ball them as hard as you can.” Jeno chimes in, and you look at each of your friends with a concerned expression.

“What kind of friend group is this?” you mumble, aghast, and Yeji snickers, leaning across the table to pat your hand reassuringly.

“One that enjoys chaos and mischief,” she answers, and you nod slowly.

“That is what I thought I signed up for.”

“Anyway, you’ll be good at this; I feel like you already know how to flirt with them,” Yeji assures you, and you purse your lips.

“I do,” you agree. “I’ll make it happen.”

“That’s my girl!” Lia cheers, and you snicker.

“This should be fun.”

Thursday, November 5th.

“Hey!” Jeno greets you after he opens the door.

“Hi, hi,” you chirp as you enter the apartment and remove your shoes by the door. Jeno shuts the door behind you and takes your bag from your arm before throwing an arm over your shoulder and leading you into the living room. “Hey, guys!”

Mark barely looks up from his laptop to wave at you, doing a double take before hurriedly sitting up straight and running a hand through his hair.

“Hey!” Mark sounds mildly panicked, looking over your shoulder at Jeno with a pointed stare. “Jeno didn’t tell us you were coming.”

“Sorry,” you and Jeno say, looking at each other. “Must have forgotten.” Jeno finishes with a shrug.

“It’s, uh, no problem, I’m just gonna grab something from my room.” Mark says as casually as possible, standing up and speed walking down the hall.

“That went well,” you murmur, amused, and Jeno nods with his eyes crinkled in delight. “I didn’t even flirt yet.”

Haechan comes into the room from around the corner in the hallway, immersed in something on his phone. “Someone dare me to eat that whole can of spray cheese in the fridge.”

“I dare you,” you snicker. Haechan’s head snaps up to look at you in bewilderment, eyes comically wide as he lets out an amusingly high-pitched screech.

“You—when did you—who invited—I mean, not that you can’t come over, but—Jeno didn’t say—” Haechan splutters as you watch him with raised eyebrows before stopping short and standing up straighter. “I wasn’t really gonna eat all the spray cheese, by the way,” Haechan laughs awkwardly.

“Shame,” you muse, looking at him with a wry smile. “Would’ve been really hot, I think.”

Haechan pauses, regarding you skeptically. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum with a nod. “It’d be like chugging a beer, but harder, y’know? Pretty impressive.”

“I mean, I can still do it—” Haechan says quickly, pointing at the kitchen as he walks towards it, and Jeno snorts from beside you.

“Haechan?” you call.

“Yeah?”

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding as you walk up to him. You pat his chest gently and smile at him. “I’m not really into kissing dudes who taste like spray cheese.”

“Oh, that’s fair—wait a minute.” Haechan freezes, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” You look right back at him with a playfully challenging expression, and the awkwardness fades away from him almost immediately as his lips curl into a smirk.

“So you think about kissing me?”

“Maybe.” Smiling secretively, you watch as his gaze drifts down to your lips. You give him a moment to recover and look back up at you but his gaze doesn’t waver, so you clear your throat pointedly. “Are you done thinking about kissing me?”

“No, gimme another minute.” Haechan breathes out, and you laugh, pushing him back gently.

“I came here to study, not flirt,” you say, lying through your teeth. He grins, wiggling his brows as he walks backwards towards the kitchen.

“You can multitask.”

“Haechan, go eat your spray cheese or something.” You roll your eyes in amusement and turn back to Jeno, reaching out for your bag. He hands it to you and footsteps sound out from down the hall, making you both turn your heads towards the noise.

Mark comes back into the living room wearing a different outfit entirely and with his hair looking considerably better, as if he’d frantically fixed it before returning.

You and Jeno share an amused look as secretly as possible as Mark sits back down in his spot on the couch, resuming his work on his laptop as if nothing’s changed. You walk over to where he sits and point at the spot next to him.

“Can I sit here?”

“Uh—yeah, sure,” Mark mumbles in mild surprise, scooting over and pushing his stuff over on the coffee table to make room for you.

“Thank you, Mark,” you say with a sweet smile, and he nods, eyeing you as you sit right next to him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously, and you barely hide your amused chuckle.

Haechan comes out of the kitchen with a box of Pocky sticks, hesitating as he spots you sitting next to Mark. You pretend not to notice him or the way he narrows his eyes, instead focusing on pulling your laptop out of your bag.

You keep pretending to be immersed in turning on your laptop as Mark looks up at Haechan, the two of them exchanging an unreadable look in your peripheral vision before Mark leans back on the couch, casually placing his arm behind you on the cushion as if resting on your shoulders.

You fight down the smirk that threatens to appear on your face as Haechan audibly huffs and walks over to you both, plopping down next to you unceremoniously.

“Hi,” Haechan says with a smile, and you finally turn to look at him as you lean back to rest against Mark’s arm.

“Hi,” you reply, matching his expression, and Jeno clears his throat awkwardly, apparently no longer wanting to watch you three in silence.

“I’m gonna go grab my stuff and wake up Jaemin.” Jeno informs you three, and you all give some sort of acknowledgement as he heads out of the room. As he walks away, he shoots you a knowing look and grins before disappearing down the hall for what you know to be quite a while—enough time to mess with Haechan and Mark.

“It’s hot in here,” you complain, and Mark looks at you sympathetically.

“Yeah, our heating is stuck in the on setting,” Mark mumbles, and you frown, nodding in understanding.

You already knew that. Jeno told you before you came over, which is why you have something up your sleeve.

“Can one of you help me for a second? Actually both of you.” You sit forward slightly and both of them mirror you, looking at each other briefly before back at you. “I wanna take my hoodie off.” You cross your arms to grab the bottom of it, starting to pull it up and over your head. “Hold my shirt down so I don’t flash you.”

“I mean, I’m not opposed—”

“Haechan, just do it,” you huff, and he sighs dramatically before he and Mark hold the bottom of your undershirt down and you pull your hoodie off, revealing your casual tank top underneath. “Thank you!”

“No problem,” Mark mumbles, struggling to hide the way his eyes are drinking in the sight of your now exposed skin. Haechan, however, experiences not even a modicum of shame as he eyes you. You smile before yawning and stretching your arms over your head, letting out a small moan of relief that makes both of them stiffen and peek at you out of the corner of their eye.

You may have felt a little ridiculous when you hammed up the moan, but the response is so rewarding that you no longer regret it.

“You, uh, want some?” Haechan mumbles awkwardly, practically shoving the box of Pocky in your face.

“Sure,” you reply easily, and some of the confidence returns to his demeanor as he takes one out and puts the end between his lips. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

You roll your eyes in amusement, not bothering to hide your smile as you lean closer and pinch the chocolate-covered end of the stick, breaking it off and biting it with a teasing grin.

Mark chuckles in amusement as Haechan glares at you petulantly, sitting back against the couch in a huff.

“Aw, don’t be upset, Haechan.” You cup his chin and mirror his frown. “Even though you’re cute when you pout.”

“I am?” he asks with a small amused smile, and you nod.

“You are.”

Mark clears his throat pointedly from beside you, carrying on with working on something on his laptop, and you shift your attention to him as he continues to attempt to conceal his jealousy.

“Mark, you’re cute, too,” you assure him with a small laugh.

He looks over at you, feigning nonchalance, and chuckles dismissively.

“I’m not cute, dude.”

“You’re right,” you muse, leaning against him for a moment as you think. “How about ‘handsome?’”

“Handsome, uh—handsome works,” Mark agrees, a small smile on his lips.

“Okay, handsome.”

“What about me?” Haechan complains, waving his arms in what looks suspiciously like the beginnings of a temper tantrum.

“She already called you cute,” Mark mumbles under his breath.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get called ‘handsome.’” Haechan bites back.

“You’re acting like a spoiled child.”

“That’s rich coming from Mr. ‘I’m Going to Clear My Throat for Attention.’”

“That’s a stupid comeback and you know it.”

“Guys.” You look between them with growing amusement.

“What’s stupid is the fact that you won’t ask for the attention you clearly want.”

“Haechan!” You look at him in surprise.

“I’d rather that than whine and stomp my feet like an immature brat.” Mark counters, and your eyes widen even more.

“Mark!”

“I will piss in your bed.” Haechan threatens, and you decide the fighting has gone on for long enough.

“You know what? I’m going home,” you sigh, and both their heads snap to look at you.

“Why?” Haechan asks, clearly objecting.

“You just got here!” Mark exclaims.

You gesture between the two of them. “Your fighting is making me uncomfortable.” You frown.

“We’ll stop,” Mark assures you, and Haechan nods in agreement.

You look at both of them skeptically before sighing. “Fine.”

You three fall into silence as Mark works, you pretend to work, and Haechan just stares at his phone while munching idly on Pocky sticks.

You decide to break the silence and mess with them a little bit.

“You know, I have a confession,” you say, not looking at either of them. “It was actually kind of hot to have two guys fighting over me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Haechan muses, locking his phone and leaning forward slightly to see you better. Wetting his bottom lip with his tongue, he watches you with a considerably more intense gaze than earlier.

Mark eyes you curiously before he slowly closes his laptop and turns fully to look at you.

“Mhm,” you murmur, leaning back against the couch cushions and looking between the both of them. “Before you two started going for each other’s jugulars, I mean,” you explain. “I kinda like it when you two pay attention to me at the same time.” You shrug and Mark chuckles.

“Careful, or we’ll think you’re suggesting a threesome or something.” Mark warns you. You raise your eyebrows.

“And if I said I am?” Your question makes him and Haechan freeze, the two of them looking at each other before looking back at you.

“I’d say to be careful before you bite off more than you can chew.” Haechan says slowly, his gaze shifting into something more suggestive, more intriguing.

“I can handle myself.” You smile innocently, and Haechan snickers.

“You can handle both of us?” Mark asks, eyebrows raised skeptically as he regards you. There’s an unusual amount of confidence in his voice, but you can’t honestly say that you dislike it.

“I can multitask.” You echo Haechan’s words from earlier, and Haechan chuckles, resting his hand on your knee.

“I think this is more than you’re expecting,” he says, eyes scanning your face carefully—for what, you don’t know. Seemingly finding what he’s looking for, he slips his hand up higher on your leg, fingers running along one of the rips in your jeans.

“Way more,” Mark agrees, and there goes that damn cocky undertone again, riling you up even more than you already are.

“It’s a shame you guys are doing that No Nut November thing,” you sigh, looking at both of them in turn.

There’s a tense silence for a moment, and Mark and Haechan appear to be having a wordless exchange.

“Why is that?” Haechan asks, his voice lower and, to your surprise, far more serious than you’d expect.

“Haechan, why do you think?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Dude, you are such a tease,” Mark laughs in surprise, and you roll your eyes.

“Mark, if I very seriously asked you to fuck me right now, do you think you’d be able to stop calling me ‘dude?’” you ask, looking Mark dead in the eyes.

“Oh, shit,” Mark mumbles, eyes wide as he looks away, back to behaving more like the less forward Mark you’re used to. You bite back a laugh and look from him to Haechan, who’s staring at fingers as they play with the strings in the stylistic rips in your jeans.

“Are you done staring at the little bit of skin you can see through the holes in my jeans?” you ask with a teasing lilt, and Haechan manages to tear his gaze away from said skin and look you in the eyes.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “It makes me feel like a Victorian man seeing a goddamn ankle,” Haechan mutters under his breath, and you snicker, leaning in closer.

“If you want, I’ll let you see more than just an ankle.” you hum, and Haechan blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Where is all of this coming from?” He’s quick to ask, baffled, and you shrug nonchalantly.

“I’m feeling…needy,” you sigh, tipping your head back onto the couch with a huff, and Mark splutters in surprise.

“Needy how?” He looks up at Haechan for a moment before cautiously draping his arm around you like he had earlier, leaning into the couch so your sides are pressed against each other. Haechan mirrors his position but uses one hand to trail up and down your thigh, his eyes on you as they wait for you to say more.

“Needy like…I need to be touched.” you say, frowning, and Mark inhales sharply, studying your face.

“How do you want us to touch you?” Mark asks, but, once again, his tone is entirely different. Instead of hesitant and cautious, Mark sounds teasing and confident once more, and the shift is entirely welcome and incredibly exciting.

“I want you to do whatever you want,” you reply sincerely, and Mark’s lips quirk up into a budding grin as he looks past you to Haechan, who’s already looking at him with his brows raised. They exchange several looks in silence and you lose your patience and huff loudly, regaining their attention once more. “Stop talking secretly!” you complain, and Haechan snickers fondly, tucking a finger under your chin and turning you to look at him.

“Sorry, baby,” he murmurs, smiling at you. “We were just figuring out what we’re gonna do to you.” His words ignite a fire in you, arousal stirring in the pit of your stomach as Mark’s hand comes to rest on your upper thigh. You sneak a peek at both of their laps, noting with satisfaction that there’s definitely something straining against the front of their pants.

They’re so easy to rile up that it’s almost laughable, really, but you suppress your amusement, saving it for later.

“Did you figure it out yet? I’m not a patient girl, you know.” you say as you place a hand on their laps, dangerously close to the bulges in their pants.

Mark closes his eyes and exhales slowly, while Haechan pushes his hips up, urging your hand to slip down towards his clothed erection. You oblige and rest your hand on top of where he wants you, feeling the side of his length pressing against his sweats.

“We’re gonna—” Mark starts, but Jaemin shuffles into the room and effectively silences Mark. Jeno appears behind Jaemin, shooting you an apologetic glance before following him into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Jaemin,” you greet, amused as he emerges from the kitchen with a bag of chips, sleepy eyes regarding you before he smiles and lifts the bag of chips in lieu of a wave as he approaches the couch.

You remove your hands from Haechan and Mark (even though he seems not to notice your hand placement) and smile up at Jaemin innocently as Mark and Haechan surreptitiously conceal their laps. Jaemin extends his hand holding the chips to you in a silent offering, and you beam at him and reach into the bag, pulling out a couple of chips.

“Was I interrupting something?” Jaemin asks in a drowsy voice, looking between you suspiciously, Mark, and Haechan, the latter two sitting stiffly with their laps covered.

“Well—” Haechan starts, but you stuff a chip in his mouth to shut him up.

“Nope.” You shake your head and smile innocently. Jaemin smiles lazily and plops down on the couch next to Haechan with a sigh of relief. You and Jeno exchange subtle looks before you pat Mark’s and Haechan’s thighs twice and stand up. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

As you pass by Jeno and head towards the bathroom, you hear Jeno say something about forgetting his stuff in his room and then the sound of footsteps trails after you.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno loudly whispers to you, and you stop in the middle of the hallway, turning to face him.

“What even happened?” you question, mildly amused at the unfortunate timing of the situation.

“Jaemin got hungry and was all like, ‘I don’t care about the bet right now, I want chips,’” Jeno explains with a roll of his eyes.

“I can’t blame him. These chips are good,” you mumble as you put the rest of the chips in your hand in your mouth.

“Did he come in way too early?” Jeno asks worriedly, and you frown pensively as you think back.

“Yeah,” you admit, Jeno sighing sadly. “Mark was just about to tell me what they were gonna do to me.”

“Damn,” he mumbles. “Well, I noticed they got hard! So job well done.” He claps your shoulder and you flinch. “Sorry; too hard?”

“Too hard.” You rub your shoulder with a wince. “Hey, Jeno?”

“Hm?”

“Can I borrow your laptop charger? I forgot mine at home.”

“Sure,” he agrees readily. “Hey, maybe you can ask one of them for help plugging it in,” he suggests with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You look at him with a blank expression. “Jeno?”

“Yeah?”

“The charger.”

“…Right.”

Thursday, November 12th.

you: maaaark are you alive

mark: i’m alive haha i’m in class

mark: what’s up?

you: i miss you :(

mark: really?

mark: cute

you: when does your class end?

mark: 2:15

mark: wanna hang out after?

you: y e s i’ll meet you at the shuttle?

mark: you got it

mark: see you in a bit

“Mark,” you sigh dramatically, leaning against him in the shuttle bus’s seat. “Wanna smoke when we get back to your place?” You wiggle your eyebrows encouragingly.

Mark snickers, nudging you away from him with his shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m running out of weed, so I might have to match you next time,” he answers and you wave him off.

“I got it,” you assure him.

“Oh, dope—then sure,” he agrees with a little nod and you smile widely at him before resting your head on his shoulder. He stiffens slightly and you bite back a laugh, craning your head to look up at him.

“Mark, you’re blushing.” you point out, gently touching his reddened cheek, and he shifts in his seat, pushing your cheek with two fingers so you’re looking away from him.

“Shut up,” he mumbles with a nervous laugh, and you decide to have mercy and oblige, pulling out your phone and opening TikTok to scroll aimlessly until you reach your stop.

As you settle in by Mark’s windowsill and pull out your bowl and weed from your bag, Mark chuckles in mild surprise.

“Do you always carry your bowl around during the day?” he asks as he moves to sit across from you in the windowsill.

You nod. “Gotta stay prepared.”

Mark watches as you meticulously pack the bowl with weed and scoot closer to him, offering him the first hit.

“Nah.” Mark shakes his head and gestures to you. “Ladies first.”

“Such a gentleman, Mark,” you hum before lighting the bowl and taking a long hit. The smoke constricts your throat, threatening a cough, but you only let out a small huff, smoke coming from out of your nostrils as you scrunch your eyes closed. “God, that first hit never gets easier.”

“Tell me about it,” Mark chuckles as he takes the bowl and lighter from you. He takes a tentative hit, his face screwing up as he struggles not to cough. “Fuck, dude.”

“I know,” you murmur soothingly as he gives into the urge and coughs, smoke billowing around both of you as he empties his lungs of the smoke and fills them with fresh air instead. “Want some water?” You reach in your bag, handing him your Camelbak bottle which he takes readily, bringing it to his lips and sucking through the straw. His tiny coughs taper off gradually as he takes intermittent sips and he finally seems to recover, throwing his arm over his eyes as he groans loudly. “What’s wrong?”

“That was so lame of me, dude,” he half-chuckles, half-groans, and you tsk disapprovingly, moving his arm from over his face.

“I’m not gonna judge you for coughing when you smoke, Mark,” you say sincerely, and his face relaxes slightly as he looks at you with bright, hopeful eyes. “I cough all the time!”

“Yeah, but I just feel like it’s not cool for me to be having whole coughing fits, y’know?” Mark mumbles shyly, and you pat his knee comfortingly, squeezing it to get his attention.

“Mark, I think you’re very cool,” you assure him.

He shoots you a funny look. “Really?”

“Well—no, not really.” you admit, and Mark frowns, opening his mouth to complain, but you shush him before continuing, “But I never thought any of you guys were ‘cool,’ to be fair.”

“I guess I’ll take that,” he sighs with a small chuckle.

“Wanna try something that might help it go down easier?” you suggest with a raise of your eyebrows.

Mark looks at you skeptically. “Sure,” he agrees tentatively.

You take the bowl and lighter back from him, take as big of a hit as you can manage, and lean in close to Mark, slowly exhaling the smoke into his mouth. Mark’s eyes flutter shut gradually and his hand moves to your waist, clutching you to keep you in place. When you finally pull back from him, he leans after you, his grip on your shirt tightening, and you fight back a smile, clearing your throat softly.

“Whoa.” Mark mumbles, and you nod, already feeling a bit calmer and fuzzier than earlier. “Hey, does that actually work?” Mark wonders, eyes glazed over, and you shrug.

“I don’t really know.” you admit, “I just know it’s fun.”

“It definitely is.” He nods in agreement, and you smile. “Can we, uh…” he starts, trailing off and avoiding eye contact.

“You wanna do it again?” you ask, and he gives a small nod with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. You take another hit of the bowl and scoot closer to Mark who, to your surprise, gently urges you onto his lap. When you lean in to blow the smoke into his mouth, he tilts his head to the side slightly, groaning quietly as you shift forward on his lap and your hands come to rest on his shoulders.

This time, when the smoke runs out, you don’t move right away, noticing as his hands move to pull you closer, one hand pressed to the small of your back and the other resting between your shoulder blades, pulling you so close that you’re chest to chest. Testing the waters a bit, you lean forward just a bit more and graze your bottom lip against his.

Mark’s hand on your upper back moves to the back of your neck and pulls you in immediately, Mark connecting your lips with a groan of pleasure and, if you’re not mistaken, relief. He kisses you like he’ll never get the chance to do it again, with desperate nips of your bottom lip and eager movements of his tongue, which trails along your bottom lip with an air of impatience, prodding at the seam of your lips until you part them for him with a small content sigh.

Mark’s hand on the small of your back slips down just a bit lower, resting just above your ass, and you lift your body up ever so slightly, urging his hand to drop lower so it’s directly where you both know he wants it to be. He grunts into your mouth, his hand squeezing your ass firmly as you sit back down on his lap.

It’s when you suck gently on his tongue that his senses seem to return to him, Mark’s kissing growing more hesitant and nervous until he’s finally pulling away with a worried look on his face. If he hears the small whine of disappointment you let out, he doesn’t comment on it, instead opening and closing his mouth with no words coming out.

“I am so sorry—” he finally gets out, and you can’t help but roll your eyes and chuckle fondly.

“Mark.” you say pointedly, and he stops spluttering incoherently long enough to look at your amused expression. “What about that kiss made you think I didn’t like it?”

He shifts his gaze away from you and you make a sound of disapproval, prompting him to return his gaze to yours. You drape your arms over his shoulders, locking your fingers behind his neck, and look him directly in the eyes.

“I thought I was coming on too strong,” Mark explains, and you roll your eyes—this time, for him to see—and rock your hips forward on his lap ever so slightly. He groans in surprise and grabs your hips with both hands, eyes widened slightly.

“I wish you’d come on stronger,” you say with a small wry smile, and he blinks at you in shock.

“For real?”

“For real.” You nod in confirmation, and he scans your face, gaze lingering on your lips.

He wets his lips which, to your satisfaction, are still glistening from the previous kiss, and leans forward, tentatively connecting your lips again. You sigh in mild frustration, wanting more of the rougher Mark from earlier, and curl your fingers in the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging. A groan filled with need sounds out from his chest and he pushes forward more forcefully, kissing you with more passion and less hesitancy.

“Good, Mark,” you breathe encouragingly when you part to breathe, resting your forehead against his. “Just like that.”

He doesn’t even let you finish catching your breath as he captures your lips, the combination of his passionate and needy kissing and the weed in your system working to create a dizzying high feeling in your head.

Mark pulls back slightly and you whine, chasing after his lips. The chuckle he lets out is so deliciously cocky—smug, even—that you find yourself stunned by the version of Mark sitting under you right now.

“Want more?” he murmurs in a teasing lilt, and you nod, clutching the front of his shirt with one hand and pulling him closer to you. His hands slide up and down from your hips to your waist in soothing motions, directly contrasting the almost ruthless way he kisses your lips.

You don’t know how long you two sit there kissing, but you do know that when you break the kiss to breathe, it feels like you’ve been underwater with how desperately you suck in air.

“You’re good at that,” you say with a smile, and Mark chuckles, his hands never ceasing their motions on your sides.

“Thanks. You are, too,” he replies with a small crooked grin. A brief silence falls between you two as you sit back slightly, resting your back against the side of the windowsill until a stirring feeling in your stomach draws your attention.

“Hey, Mark?” you break the silence.

“Hm?”

“Do you have any snacks?”

“Snacks?” To say Mark seems confused by the shift in topic is an understatement.

“I just got really hungry.” You frown slightly, and he chuckles.

“Did the munchies hit you that fast?” Mark asks with an amused smile, and you shrug.

“I don’t know, but I want something to nibble.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I want something, too,” he announces, sitting up slightly. You shift off his lap, quickly taking the last hit of the bowl and putting the smoking embers out, and take his hand when he offers it to you, following after him to the kitchen.

“Do you guys have fruit snacks still?” you ask, rooting through the cabinets.

“Yeah, we just bought some the other day,” Mark answers as he comes up behind you, reaching past a container of protein powder and box of cake batter to retrieve the box you’re looking for.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the box from his hand and pulling out a pack of fruit snacks. Ripping open the small package, you pop two fruit snacks in your mouth, chewing happily.

“You and your sweet tooth,” Mark chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs a bag of chips and starts eating them.

“I do not have a sweet tooth,” you reply defensively, and he raises his eyebrows.

“We have to keep our house stocked with gummies and sweet snacks otherwise you won’t come over, and you think you don’t have a sweet tooth?” Mark asks with a skeptical raise of his eyebrows, and you frown.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Shut up! Changing the topic. Why do y’all have cake batter if you don’t even bake?”

“Jaemin says he’ll get around to it one day.”

“Sure he will.” you scoff in amusement, popping another fruit snack in your mouth.

“He will if he makes it a weed cake.”

“Now that I believe.”

“Same,” Mark laughs, propping himself up on the counter across from you.

You pat the spot next to you. “No, come sit here.” Mark grins and complies, hopping up and sitting himself on the counter beside you. “Want a fruit snack?”

“Sure,” Mark replies with a shrug. You reach in the bag and pull out a strawberry one, frowning before putting it back. “I like the strawberry ones!”

“Yeah, me too,” you say. “That’s why you’re not getting one.”

“Evil,” Mark laughs, and you pull out an orange one and offer it to him. “You’re lucky I like the orange ones.”

“They taste funny to me,” you shake your head in disgust just thinking about it, and Mark snickers, reaching a hand out for the fruit snack. “No, open.” You place the fruit snack just in front of his lips.

“Are you serious?” Mark raises his eyebrows skeptically, and you nod. “Alright,” he mumbles, opening his mouth and letting you feed it to him.

“Cute,” you chuckle, popping another fruit snack in your mouth. When you pull out an orange one again, you feed it to Mark, who accepts it with no qualms.

“I don’t know if I’m just high, but you know what I wish I could have right now?” Mark pipes up, and you turn your head to look at him. “A Krabby Patty.”

“No, because why do they always look so good?” You turn your whole body towards Mark, whose eyes light up.

“Right?! Dude, Spongebob was such a good show.” Mark sighs, and you give him a funny look.

“Was? It’s still on the air,” you point out, and he gives you a baffled look. “I mean, the original creator left the show, so it’s not as funny, but it’s still pretty amusing.”

“Dude, I had no idea.” Mark’s eyes are wide with surprise before his expression shifts to hopeful. “Yo, do you think we could—”

“Yes, we can watch Spongebob.” you answer with a laugh, and Mark grins at you. “I’m pretty sure it’s marathoning on Nickelodeon in a couple minutes from now.”

“Oh, dope,” Mark mutters excitedly, hopping off the counter, grabbing the bag of chips, and heading to the living room.

You follow after him with a small mischievous smile, a scheme to mess with him already brewing in your mind.

“Wait. You wanna sit here?” Mark asks, baffled, and you smile, nodding innocently.

“Yep,” you say, popping your lips on the “p.” “Can I?”

“Sure, I guess.” Mark mumbles, and you place yourself on his lap sideways so your legs drape over his thighs. “Oh.”

“Good?” you ask, and he nods, staring down at your legs with wide eyes.

“Great.” He sounds a bit breathless, and you manage to withhold your laugh.

“Then pay attention,” you hum, jerking your chin towards the television. He nods jerkily and complies, pressing the mute button on the remote to unmute the volume and letting his hand fall back to his side.

You wait for the perfect time to strike, biding your time by watching the television as Spongebob plays, and the opportunity finally presents itself.

The first episode ends and the commercials start to roll before the next episode, making Mark look at you.

“You wanna watch the next one?” he asks, visibly hopeful.

“Yeah,” you hum, studying his lips. “Lemme get more comfortable, though.”

“Yeah, sure—oh,” Mark grunts when you shift on his lap, the underside of your thigh rubbing against the front of his sweats.

“You say ‘oh’ a lot.”

“You do things that make me say ‘oh’ a lot.” Mark replies, and you smile, pleased that he’s taken the bait.

“Oh, yeah?” you muse, resting your head on his shoulder and tracing over the silver chain around his neck. He shivers under your gentle touch, and your smile widens. “What do I do?”

“You, uh—” Mark cuts himself off, gesturing at your position. “You sit on me.”

“I sit on Lia sometimes and she doesn’t say ‘oh.’” you point out.

“That’s different, and you know it.”

“Whatever. You only explained one of your ‘oh’ moments today. What about the other one?” you press, and you watch Mark balk.

“You…moved on my lap.”

“I can’t move now?” You raise an eyebrow. He’s walking right into your trap.

“You moved a certain way,” Mark tries desperately to explain without actually explaining, but you’re on a mission.

“What way was that?” you ask in a soft voice. Mark doesn’t answer, instead swallowing thickly, so you tug gently at the silver earring in his lobe, smiling with satisfaction when the beginnings of a moan eke out from his lips before he covers it up by clearing his throat. “You know what? I’ll help you out if you can’t find the words.” you offer, watching Mark carefully as he nods immediately.

“Please.”

“Was I moving like this?” You shift yourself on his lap again, the underside of your thigh now pressing against the front of his pants. Mark opens his mouth to speak, but you’re not done. “Or was it more like this?” You move back slightly to distribute your weight more evenly on his lap, trying to hide your smile when you feel his length starting to stir.

“Please stop moving,” he says through clenched teeth, his eyes closed, and you let out a small ‘hmph’ of dissatisfaction.

“Why?” You look directly at him, waiting for him to meet your gaze. He does after a moment of tense silence, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips. “Hm?” you hum softly, encouraging him to speak.

“Because it’s, um—it’s kind of—” Mark mumbles, looking strained.

“Oh,” you say slowly in surprise, deciding to spare him from saying the actual words. “Is it turning you on, Mark?”

“Yes,” he grumbles reluctantly, and you smile widely, leaning closer to murmur directly into his ear.

“Good.”

He whips his head around to face you so abruptly that you don’t have time to move back, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth accidentally.

“Shit—sorry,” Mark stammers, eyes wide and nervous as if you two hadn’t just made out in his room less than an hour ago.

“It’s okay, Mark,” you laugh, waving his apology off dismissively. “I kinda liked it.”

“…Kinda?”

“By ‘kinda liked,’ I mean ‘really liked,’” you correct yourself, and he blinks at you as he visibly buffers.

He looks down at his lap for a moment, brows furrowing in thought, before he speaks next.

“Enough for me to do it again?” His voice is lower, almost hushed, and the question hangs in the infinitesimal space between you two. “Like, properly this time?”

You don’t answer him verbally yet, instead placing a finger under his chin and turning his head so he’s facing you. You stare pointedly at his lips, the bottom of which he starts to nibble nervously.

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“You do it like earlier. Don’t do it like you’re scared of me,” you murmur lightheartedly, and Mark gives a small chuckle, nodding in agreement.

“Deal.” And his lips are on yours in an instant. It takes him absolutely no time to reposition you, maneuvering you so you’re straddling his lap with your knees on the couch on either side of him. One hand falls to your hip and the other slides behind you to grip your ass firmly. He kisses you like he’s got something to prove—purposeful and skilled movements of his lips and deliberate, dizzying flicks of his tongue have you almost forgetting your objective, your mind slowly melting into putty.

He sucks on your bottom lip just as you rock your hips forward onto him, and he breaks the kiss to look down at your laps and back up at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, wetting his lips before speaking.

“Do that again.”

“Yeah?” you ask, a bit breathless. Mark’s kissing skills manage to take you by surprise a second time, to say the least. “This?” You muster enough sense to tease him once more, grinding against his lap and whining with pleasure when your core drags against his gradually hardening length.

“Fuck, yes,” Mark groans, leaning in to kiss you again. He adjusts his grip on you, moving both hands to hold your hips, and he guides you in your fluid, rhythmic movements against his lap.

It’s not long before he feels fully hard under your ministrations, the size of his length also something that takes you by surprise, and he shudders with pleasure, his lips moving down to kiss and suck at your neck as you grind against him.

You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do.

Almost.

You tip your head back, allowing him more access to your neck, and press your hips down against him just a bit harder, urging both of you towards a climax.

“Mark,” you whimper, moving one hand from his shoulder to slip between you two and massage your clit through the thin fabric of your leggings and underwear. “Feels so good—”

Mark looks down at your hand moving against your core and hisses in surprise, evidently pleased by the sight. “God, I think I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” you pant, moving your fingers faster and harder as you dip your head lower to kiss Mark’s neck and suck pretty love bites into the skin. “Oh—oh, my God—” The pleasure builds and builds until it’s almost unbearable and the coil wound up tight in your stomach finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you, the intensity ebbing and flowing with every now erratic movement of your hips.

Mark’s fingers dig into your hips so hard you suspect you’ll feel sore there later, and you keen lowly against his pulse point, collecting yourself for the next step of your plan.

“Wait—” You stop rocking your hips abruptly, and Mark’s head snaps up to look at you in a mix of alarm and confusion. “Aren’t you doing No Nut November?”

“I—well—yeah,” he stumbles through the sentence as his hips roll up, lifting you up slightly.

“Then we should stop, right?” You raise an eyebrow, and the strained look on his face is almost enough to make you take pity on him and stop teasing him.

“I mean—” he says slowly, and you smile, slowly continuing your movements.

“What if you just forget about the bet for a bit, yeah?” you coax breathlessly, and he groans weakly.

“I can’t,” he grunts, a tortured frown on his face.

“Why not?” you coo, moving to speak against his ear. “I won’t tell.” You bring his hand up to cup your breast, Mark’s eyes bulging before he kneads it slowly.

“I could, but—” he mumbles, and you grind down harder in encouragement. “No, I’d—shit—I’d feel so guilty.”

“Oh, Mark,” you sigh sympathetically, “you’re too good. Don’t you wanna try and be just a little bad for once?”

“Yes,” he stresses the word desperately, looking up at you with a conflicted expression. “So fucking bad,” he grunts, his hips lifting up again. “But—”

“But you can’t,” you finish for him with a pitying sigh. “I get it. Guess that means I should stop, then, huh?”

“I guess so,” he mumbles, visibly flustered and sounding slightly disappointed. You nod, pat his shoulder amicably, and climb off his lap, standing up and stretching your limbs, the after-buzz of your climax creating a bit of a fuzzy headspace you wouldn’t mind staying in for a while. “Wh–where are you going?” Mark asks when you grab your bag from the other end of the couch, and you turn to him with an apologetic frown.

“I totally forgot I have an essay due this weekend,” you say sadly, the lie rolling off your tongue with ease. Truthfully, you do have an essay due this weekend; it’s just already done and you didn’t forget. “I gotta go crank it out.”

“Oh…yeah, okay,” Mark agrees after a pause, clearly dazed but nodding in understanding. “Good luck with it.”

“Thanks, Mark!” you say cheerfully before turning on your heel and making your way out of his apartment. When you shut the door behind you, you lean against the wall and exhale slowly, overwhelmed. You definitely didn’t anticipate that going as far as it did, but you can’t say you’re complaining at all.

All you know is Mark has one hell of an erection to make disappear, and you wish you could be a fly on the wall to witness it.

Monday, November 16th.

“Hey, how’s Mission No Nut November going?” Lia asks as she, you, and Yeji take the elevator up to the guys’ apartment.

“Oh, great. I got them both last week—even though Jaemin interrupted—and I got Mark good on Thursday.” you answer proudly, and Yeji snickers.

“I heard about Thursday, from Jeno,” she pipes up. “He said when he came home, Mark was watching a bunch of pimple popping videos to make his boner go down.”

“That’s rich,” Lia snorts. “Speaking of Mark, I’m pretty sure he told me he wasn’t gonna be at the smoke session today; I think he has a project due this weekend.”

“Yeah, he told me, too. Pretty sure he’s camped up in the library as we speak,” you sigh, shaking your head solemnly.

“Well, now you get some one-on-one time with Haechan,” Yeji points out, and you smile, feeling mischievous. The elevator dings and the doors open, the three of you heading down the hall to their apartment.

“Very true. For your sake, y’all should avert your eyes.”

“Oh, dear God.” Yeji mumbles.

“It’s so worth it,” Lia assures her, knocking on the door. Barely any time passes before it opens, Jaemin standing there with a suspiciously wide grin on his face.

“I see someone dipped into their secret stash before we got here,” you say with a laugh, and he just nods with the same dopey smile, the four of you standing in place. “Jaemin?”

“Hm?”

“Can we come in?”

“Sure,” he answers. He doesn’t move.

“Um…Jaemin?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you let us in?”

“Sure,” he replies. He still doesn’t move.

Lia sighs.

“Jaemin.”

“Hm?”

“Let us in. Move. Open sesame.” you say, waving your hand in front of his face. He blinks twice before making an “o” shape with his mouth.

“Sure, yeah, my bad.” he moves to the side, letting you three trail in and get comfortable, putting your coats away and removing your shoes.

You see Jeno setting up the bong on the coffee table while Haechan sits on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Haechan looks up casually, locking eyes with you before his own widen almost imperceptibly and he sits up straighter, stretching his legs out and spreading them wider.

“Hey,” he says offhandedly, grinning as casually as can be considering he just readjusted his whole demeanor to impress you.

“Hi,” you coo, heading over to where he sits. You bend over, placing both hands on his knees, and lean forward to murmur in his ear, “I wanna sit next to you. Save me this spot?” You tap the arm of the couch, and he falters slightly, shooting you a surprised and confused look, but obliges, scooting over so there’s space between him and the arm of the couch.

“All for you,” he assures you, and you smile, looking over to where Lia stands, mumbling to herself in annoyance as she roots through her bag for something. She pulls out a small makeup bag and opens it, retrieving a pre-rolled joint and waving it triumphantly.

“Got it!” she chirps, moving to the couch and sitting down next to Haechan on the side he doesn’t have saved for you. “Lighter?” she asks the rest of you, and Jaemin shrugs.

“I’m guessing you took an edible, then?” Yeji asks Jaemin, and he nods, that same smile coming back to his lips.

“That I did,” he giggles, making you roll your eyes in amusement as you sit between Haechan and the end of the couch. Haechan eyes your skirt and your dark stockings intently, pinching the thin fabric with a lighthearted scoff.

“Can I help you?” you ask nonchalantly, placing your hand on top of his hand.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks curiously, and you shake your head.

“Why? Are you worried about me, Haechan?” you coo fondly, and he turns his palm up so it’s touching yours, lacing your fingers together.

“What if I say yes?” His voice is a murmur as he turns his head to look at you.

“I’d say you’re cute.”

“Then yes.”

“You’re cute.” You smile, and he grins.

“You’re cute.”

You dismiss him with a small roll of your eyes, averting your gaze and locking gazes with Yeji, who wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as she looks pointedly at your and Haechan’s linked hands. You give a minuscule nod with a smile and return your attention to Haechan, who, you think, has witnessed your secret interaction, his eyes moving between Yeji and you.

“…Remind me again why you wanted to sit next to me,” Haechan asks you suspiciously, and you pout at him.

“Because you’re my favorite,” you coo, resting your head on his shoulder and batting your lashes at his wary look.

“Oh, yeah? Does Mark know that?” he chuckles, and you raise a brow.

“Do you want him to?” you counter.

Haechan shrugs. “Depends. I kinda like seeing him sulk sometimes.”

“Wow, you’re such a good friend.” you remark sarcastically.

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your favorite?” Haechan nudges you playfully and you snicker.

“Shut up.” you huff, jerking your chin in the direction of Lia, who’s taking a hit from the joint she brought. “It’s almost your turn.”

Haechan takes it from Lia’s outstretched fingers as she exhales a cloud of smoke, bringing it to his lips and taking a long drag. You can’t help but admire the way he looks while he smokes, his pink lips wrapped around the joint making you itch to feel them on your skin.

He blows out the smoke in several rings, looking over at you with a smug grin. You roll your eyes, but it’s too late—if his amused exhale is any indication, he already caught sight of your smile.

“Show off.”

“You love it,” he retorts, and you stick your tongue out at him in lieu of a verbal response.

“Whatever. Pass it,” you beckon for the joint, and Haechan’s grin widens as he leans closer to you. “Haechan,” you complain, and he chuckles.

“Ask me nicely.” His voice is low so as not to catch anyone’s attention besides yours, and his eyes drop from your gaze to your lips, his own parting subconsciously.

You lean in closer as well, still studying his face with curiosity, and bring your lips to the side of his face, deliberately brushing them against the shell of his ear to watch him get all jittery.

“Haechan,” you coo, and you can hear him swallow thickly.

“Yeah?” He sounds significantly less confident now, you note with satisfaction.

You pause to build the suspense. “Gimme it.” You pluck the joint from his unsuspecting hand, and he splutters in surprise as you pull away from him and bring it to your lips to take a pull.

“You’re evil,” he complains, and you smile widely.

“Sorry,” you reply unapologetically, exhaling the smoke with every word you speak. You take another drag of the joint and lean over Haechan, resting your hand on his thigh as you pass it over him and back to Lia.

“Wh—hey!” Haechan protests immediately, only for you to cup his chin in your hand and blow the smoke in between his parted lips. He shuts up immediately and allows you to shotgun him, his hand moving to hold the side of your neck and keep you in place.

Normally, you’d be a bit more concerned with people watching, but not everyone in the room can see you—Jaemin and Yeji are immersed in some conversation while Jeno rummages around in the kitchen—and the ones who can see you already know about the bet and your plan, Lia pointedly looking away as she calls to Jeno in the kitchen.

When the smoke runs out, you pull back before Haechan can close the distance between you two, grinning wickedly when he chases your lips with his eyes still closed. You shake his head in a “no” gesture, and he opens his eyes slowly, gaze locked on you with a dazed look on his face.

“There’s your hit,” you murmur, and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You raise your brows in surprise. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you speechless.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not playing fair,” he mumbles, looking put out.

“Sorry, Haechan,” you chuckle, squeezing his thigh under the guise of comforting him. He looks down at his thigh in surprise, then back at you with wary eyes.

“What are you up to?”

You don’t answer, instead smiling secretively and sliding your hand up just a bit higher.

“What are you up to?” he presses, and you shrug, moving your hand up just a bit higher until you brush against something warm and solid and smile in satisfaction. “Good God.”

“Haechan, take your phone out of your pocket,” you say with a mocking frown, and he glares at you.

“You know damn well that’s not my phone.” As if to prove his point, he picks his phone up from beside him, waving the device in your face.

“Oh? Then what is it?” you ask curiously, feigning cluelessness, and Haechan’s glare only intensifies. You widen your eyes in a dramatic show of realization and sit closer to him, sliding your hand up higher until there’s no mistaking your intentions. “Haechan.” You attempt to sound as scandalized as possible.

“I’m gonna throttle you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You smile sweetly, patting the growing bulge in his pants lightly. “Haechan,” you whisper, returning to your original line of questioning, “if it’s not your phone, then what is it?”

“You know what it is.” His voice is flat, if not a bit strained, and you can’t help but smile wider.

“Are you hard, Haechan?” You place your free hand over your chest and blink at him in shock. Haechan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he bites back a humorless chuckle, and you wet your lips absentmindedly, your gaze falling to his mouth. “Why are you hard, Haechan?” you murmur, cocking your head to the side curiously. (As if you don’t know.)

“Hm, I don’t know. Surely it has nothing to do with the girl next to me right now rubbing up on me,” Haechan remarks drily. “You get on my nerves sometimes, you know that?” He’s clearly joking, the playful lilt in his voice unmistakable, but you eagerly take the opening to be difficult.

You frown, retracting your hand from his lap. Haechan looks from his now untouched lap to you in what you’re positive is poorly concealed disappointment. “What?”

“I get on your nerves?” You sniffle in faux hurt before you angle your body away from him, resting your elbow on the arm of the sofa and placing your chin in your hand forlornly.

“Aw, c’mere,” Haechan chuckles, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. You huff and scoot closer to the edge of the couch, barely hiding your yelp of surprise when Haechan pulls you to him so hard that you practically land in his lap. You continue to look away from him, sighing dramatically, and he snickers, placing his chin on your shoulder and turning his face towards you so his nose is brushing against your cheek. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Let me go,” you say, your voice clipped, and he adjusts you so you’re sitting properly in his lap before he tilts his head up to press his lips to your cheek.

“Would it help if I told you just how cute I think you are?” His voice comes out as an almost incoherent mumble because of how his lips are squished against your cheek, but you hear him all the same, your face heating up as you fight back a smile.

“No.”

“You sure?” His hand moves a lock of your hair behind your ear before coming to rest on your thigh.

You pause, staring at his (very attractive) hand on your leg. “I’m sure.”

He shifts you in his lap so his lips are closer to your ear and murmurs, “Even if I tell you that you could never actually get on my nerves and that you’re the prettiest girl?”

“What, ever?” you scoff, amused, and he nods, his lips brushing your ear with the movement.

“Yes, ever.” To your surprise, he sounds sincere, and the notion of the compliment being genuine has your cheeks burning with heat. “I can see you trying not to smile, you know.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Okay.” You shift on his lap so you can sit directly on the growing erection in his pants, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Ha, ha.” you gloat.

“You shut up.” It’s his turn to gripe at you, and you shrug.

“No.” Before he can say anything else in response, you cover his mouth with your hand and lean over towards Lia to take the joint from her once more. You two share a secretive, knowing look before she angles her body so that she’s shielding you and your shenanigans from the rest of the group.

You keep your hand over Haechan’s mouth as you take your hit of the joint, before a warm, wet sensation on your palm has you yanking your hand off of his mouth like you’ve been burned. You stare down at the glistening wet stripe on your palm in bewilderment and look back up at him incredulously.

“Can I help you?” Haechan asks nonchalantly, having the audacity to smile innocently at you, and you narrow your eyes.

“Did you seriously just lick me?” you scoff in disbelief, and he shrugs.

“Maybe.”

“You are so weird.” you mumble as you pass Lia the joint, skipping Haechan once more.

“You’re gonna stop skipping me in the rotation, I know that much.” Haechan warns and you roll your eyes.

“That’s for saying I get on your nerves and for being weird.” you reply, turning your nose up.

“Oh, please. You’re sitting on my lap, so clearly you must like how weird I am, at least a little bit.” He grins teasingly, and you roll your eyes, adjusting yourself on his lap until he lets out a choked groan from the feeling of you moving against his concealed, almost entirely hard length. “Stop moving.”

“Your dick is making me uncomfortable,” you lie in a huff, squirming around a bit more before he grabs your hips to restrict your movements. “Get un-hard.”

“I can’t just get un-hard,” Haechan bites back.

“You didn’t even try!”

“That’s not how dicks work!” Haechan whisper-snaps at you, and you narrow your eyes.

“Well, do something,” you complain, ending your little hushed whisper debate. “Or I will.”

Haechan regards you warily. “Do I want to know what that means?”

“Probably not.” You shrug. “But you’re gonna find out anyway.”

“Psst!” Lia whispers to get your attention, and you look over at her, feeling slightly sheepish. “Do either of you want to take a hit from the bong?”

“I’m good for right now,” you say, smiling as the hits from the joint you’ve already taken continue to take effect, while Haechan hums thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I’ll take a hit.” He reaches for the bong as Lia hands it over, gripping your waist with his free hand to keep you steady, and an idea comes to your mind of how you can mess with him even more.

He brings his mouth to the mouthpiece of the bong, taking his hit and you gently stroke his leg, smiling innocently when he side-eyes you suspiciously. You wait patiently until he finishes exhaling the smoke (you’re not a total monster) to rest your hand directly over his concealed length and squeeze it firmly, making him cough in surprise, Haechan spluttering comically as you bite back your laughter.

“Y’know what?” Haechan mutters, jaw set in determination as he stares you down. “Come on.” He moves you off of his lap, wraps his fingers around your wrist, and pulls you to your feet, walking away quickly with you in tow. When Jaemin curiously asks where you’re going, Haechan mutters something about the kitchen and snacks, not offering any further explanation.

You shoot Jaemin a thumbs-up over your shoulder, and he grins, nodding and returning the gesture just before Haechan leads you out of view. You two make it into the kitchen, passing a smiling Jeno with a bag of Cheetos and a plate of pizza rolls on his way out, and Haechan pushes you up against the counter, caging you in with his arms and staring directly at you.

“Haechan, why are we here?” you ask, looking back at him as calmly as possible given the steady increase of your heart rate as he eyes you with an unreadable expression.

“What,” Haechan steps closer to you, making you shrink back against the counter even more, “are you playing at?”

You blink at him impassively. “I don’t know what you mean,” you lie.

“You’re sitting next to me, calling me your favorite, feeling me up in front of our friends—”

“Haechan.” You interrupt him, an eyebrow raised skeptically. “You literally liked it. Stop complaining.”

“I don’t like being felt up in front of our friends, actually.” You can tell he’s trying to sound like he means it, but the way he suddenly avoids your gaze sheepishly tells you everything you need to know.

“You’re lying,” you say simply, and he huffs.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am n—”

“Haechan, do you think I’m an idiot?” You stare at him, unimpressed. “You liked it. You pulled me onto your lap. You didn’t move my hand once.” He rolls his eyes, still not making eye contact, and you sigh in frustration, cupping his chin and turning his head so he’s looking at you. “You wanna know why I did all that?” you ask in a quiet but urgent voice, and he blinks a couple of times before nodding. “I was sitting next to you and you just look so good today—”

“Don’t say that,” he mutters, his brows furrowing together as he looks away from you again.

“You do,” you insist, pulling Haechan closer to you by the chin. “You look so hot in that hoodie, honestly.” You loop one of the strings of the light gray hoodie around your finger and tug it lightly as you continue speaking. “Honestly, it’s really on you that I did anything in the first place,” You say, shrugging, and he looks back at you incredulously.

“It’s on me?”

“Yep.” You smile at him and bring both hands to the hem of his hoodie, tugging him even closer to you. “You had the nerve to wear gray sweatpants—”

“They match my hoodie!”

“—like some kind of slut,” you continue, looking from your hands on the bottom of his hoodie up to his face, “and think no one was gonna notice your entire goddamn dick print in your pants?”

“Well, who’s looking that closely?!” Haechan splutters defensively, and you scoff.

“Everyone knows the shape of a dick, Haechan!” You whisper-yell incredulously. “Plus, it’s not like you’re exactly small, y’know.”

“So, it’s my fault that you tried to jump my bones? My crime is having a big dick and wanting to wear sweats in the middle of November?” Haechan asks in disbelief, and you nod simply, pulling him even closer until your legs brush against his.

“Yeah.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not. Actually, what I am is turned on,” you correct, and Haechan stops short, looking at you carefully.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.” You stare back at him challengingly. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, Haechan’s eyes briefly dropping to scan your whole body before returning upwards to look into your own, his gaze considerably more intense and glinting with mischief. “Can you stop staring at me like that and do something about it?”

“Oh?” Haechan’s smile turns wicked as he steps closer to you so you’re pressed up against each other with the countertop digging into your back. “Do what about it, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you lilt, dragging the last syllable out and batting your lashes at him coyly. With one hand, you release his hoodie and trail down his body the short distance from the hem of his hoodie to the string of his sweats. You slowly pull at the string until it’s untied, looking up at his face. He’s mesmerized, watching your hand as it dips into the band of his sweats and snaps the elastic against his skin, making him jolt. “Use your imagination.”

“You are so dangerous.” Haechan mumbles in a daze, but there’s an unmistakable desire in his voice that gives you all the confirmation you need to continue. He brings his hands to your hips, urging you up and onto the counter, immediately pushing himself between your legs and resting his hands on your thighs.

You place a hand between your legs protectively to conceal yourself, your skirt riding up your thighs as he massages them.

“Relax,” he chuckles, pinching your thin stockings and letting them lightly snap against your skin, “you’re covered.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” you mumble, averting your gaze, and he snickers, pinching your stockings again and tugging them. “Stop, they're fragile—you could rip them.”

“Oh, I know,” he murmurs teasingly, looking up from your thighs at your face. “I want to rip them.”

“Don’t you dare,” you warn him, and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Stop me.” His eyes are trained on your lips and he’s got his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, painting a very alluring image that makes you wish you could get just a bit of friction between your legs, any pressure at all, to relieve yourself of some of the tension building up.

He leans forward, your lips brushing lightly against each other’s, and you’re not even sure who’s teasing whom at this point. You do know, however, that Haechan is the first to cave, leaning in with a groan to close the distance between you two and connect your lips.

You two kiss with an air of desperation, a feverish quality to your every move as he kneads your thighs, hiking your skirt up higher. His tongue eases between your lips and he strokes it against your own, pushing forward slightly to suck on your tongue when he pulls back.

As you two kiss, you push your hand past the band of his sweats, moving to slip your hand into his boxers, only to stop short and look at him in surprise. He raises his eyebrows and grins playfully, eyes darting between where your hand lies in his pants and your shocked face.

“No boxers? Just out here, rawdogging your sweats, dick and balls and all?” You’re incredulous, and he shrugs as his grin widens. “You really are a slut, Haechan.”

“Hey!” Haechan complains, frowning at you. He wraps his hand around your wrist and urges it lower down until your fingertips are brushing against his length, murmuring, “Besides, don’t act like you don’t love it.”

“I never said I don’t love it,” you reply slowly, wrapping your hand around the base of his length. His erection is hot and heavy in your palm, thick and tempting, and you stroke upwards, relishing the hiss he lets out. “I just said you’re a slut.”

“And what about you, pretty?” Haechan presses in a low voice. “Are you a little slut?”

“Me? No,” you answer, stroking his length faster and appreciating the way he grows in your hand. “I’m innocent.”

“Sure,” he snorts in amusement. “Your hand is wrapped around my dick right now.”

“Oh, is it? I hadn’t noticed.” You twist your wrist, tightening your grip on him and stroking him faster. He grunts in satisfaction and leans closer to you, tilting your head to the side slightly and giving your neck heated, wet kisses as you jerk him off. You welcome the attention eagerly, loosely hooking your legs around the backs of his legs and sighing happily as he licks and sucks at your pulse point.

“Wait—slow down, or I’m gonna cum.” Haechan mutters in a warning tone against your skin, and it’s your turn to snort in amusement.

“Haechan, what do you think my goal is right now?”

“No, but—shit,” he swears, biting down on your neck to stifle the groan that escapes him when you jerk him off faster, swiping your thumb over the head of his length, collecting the glaze of his precum and using it as lubrication. “No, because—ugh, that feels so good.”

“Good,” you hum sweetly, massaging his tip with your thumb and working your hand up and down his length as he pants against your neck, his kisses getting sloppier.

“I can’t,” he manages to get out through his clenched teeth. “No Nut November—the bet—”

“Fuck the bet,” you say simply, and he shakes his head, a desperate, plaintive whine leaving him.

“Can’t—I can’t cum,” he says through a shaky exhale, and you roll your eyes as you collect several more beads of precum from the head of his length.

“What’s this, Haechan?” you taunt him playfully, stroking him faster with the help of the precum. “Feels like cum to me.”

“That doesn’t count,” he whines, and you snicker.

“You really don’t want to cum?” you ask gently, rolling your eyes as he starts to thrust forward into your hand. “You’re not acting like you don’t want to cum.”

“It feels so good,” he complains, and you coo sympathetically, letting him fuck into your fist.

“Then cum.”

“No—”

“Then I’ll stop,” you say simply, and his fingers dig into your thighs desperately.

“No—”

“Haechan.”

“God, fuck, please, just a little bit longer.” Haechan pants, and you pretend to oblige, continuing to provide the fist he’s fucking. You can feel him throbbing in your hand as his would-be climax approaches, and you smile devilishly when you pull your hand out from his underwear and watch as he goes through every stage of grief, lingering in anger before a brief pass through bargaining and finally coming to acceptance as his head hangs low.

“Sorry,” you say with a pout, and he looks up at you, still defeated but also skeptical.

“Are you?”

You pretend to think. “Nope.” You gently push him away from you with a knee to his stomach, hopping off the counter and smiling at him. “Have fun getting rid of that,” you chuckle, gesturing to the now incredibly prominent imprint of his erection, and he glowers at you. “I’m gonna go take a bong hit.”

You don’t stick around to hear his response, turning on your heel and heading back into the living room. Your friends all turn from their conversations to look at you as you re-enter the room, all sporting the same expectant look, and silently celebrate when you shoot them a thumbs-up, Jeno and Lia high-fiving.

“Want some?” Jeno holds up the bong, and you nod, reaching for it before you stop yourself and look at your hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I do want some,” you say, “but I think I should wash my hands first. Be right back.” You head for the bathroom, peeking in at Haechan as you pass the kitchen and clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh.

He’s standing with his forehead against the fridge, gently thumping his head against the metal door, and repeatedly muttering, “I fucking hate November.”

You know you should feel bad, but…you don’t. At all, really.

As a matter of fact, you think you might love November.

Friday, November 20th.

“Knock, knock,” you call when you poke your head into Mark’s room. He turns from his computer towards the door, beaming when he sees you. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course, dude,” Mark says, waving you in with one hand. He turns back to his screen and presses a couple of keys on his keyboard, swearing under his breath before turning back to face you.

“Whatcha doin’?” you ask.

“Playing Monster Hunter World,” he answers with a jab of his thumb in the direction of his screen. “Why, what’s up?”

“Missed you, that’s all.” you say softly, making your way over to his chair and standing behind it. “I did my rounds bothering your roommates and it’s your turn to put up with me.”

“You’re telling me Haechan let you leave his room?” Mark snickers in disbelief, craning his head to look at you.

“I told him I wanted to see you.” You shrug.

Mark snorts loudly. “And he still let you leave his room?”

“I can be very persuasive,” you huff, and Mark scans your frame before raising his eyebrows.

“I bet.” he mumbles with a small smirk.

You blink twice. “What was that?”

“Look at your outfit,” Mark swivels around in his chair to face you fully and you scoff in surprise. Mark seems to pick up on where your mind is heading and his eyes widen as he shakes his head vehemently. “No, not like that!”

“Then like what?” You cock your head to the side and Mark puts his head in his hands, sighing in anguish.

“Like—you look hot, dude—that’s all I meant,” he assures you in a rush of words, and you let out a small huff, prompting him to reach for your hands. He pulls you closer and looks up at you with pleading eyes. “I would never say something like that.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, and he swears under his breath.

“You just look really…fucking…attractive, so it’s no wonder why he listened to you.” Mark says carefully. You feel a smile coming on and you step closer, nudging his knees apart to stand between them.

“Really?”

“Yeah, oh, my God, yeah—” Mark stammers, releasing one hand to gesture at your outfit. “Your hair—I love when you wear your hair like that—and your jeans, they—um,” Mark’s voice trails off awkwardly and you cock an eyebrow, bending down to meet his eyes. “They fit you very nicely.”

“Mark, are you telling me my ass looks good?” You stand up and bite back a smile as his ears redden and he laughs nervously, releasing you to rub the back of his neck.

“Maybe,” he answers sheepishly, looking up at you. At the sight of your thoroughly amused face, some of his confidence returns to his demeanor. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“If you were, I’d say thank you,” you say with a playful shrug. “Maybe even kiss you for the compliment.”

“I was definitely complimenting your ass.” The words can’t come out of Mark’s mouth fast enough, apparently, and you laugh in surprise.

“Well, thank you,” you laugh before you sink into a squat and rest your elbows on his lap. “Where do you want your kiss?”

He taps his cheek and you smile and lean closer to press a kiss there, his cheek moving under your lips as he smiles.

“Your cardigan is also really, um, flattering,” Mark adds when you sit back, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Is it? Haechan said that, too,” you muse thoughtfully.

“Yeah, he’s right.” Mark nods, and you raise your eyebrows.

“He made some dumb joke about my cardigan, too,” you continue, and Mark looks at you expectantly. “Said I look breedable—y’know, like that meme?”

Mark chokes on air, his face reddening as he coughs and splutters and you just watch with growing amusement.

“He said that?” Mark squeaks, and you nod with a grin. “I mean—well—”

“Mark, are you agreeing with him?”

“Well—”

“Mark.” Your eyebrows can’t possibly be raised any more than they are now. “Are you saying I look breedable?”

“Oh, my God. How did we get on this topic?” Mark mumbles nervously, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Answer my question.” you press, and he balks.

“I’m not saying that he’s wrong.”

“So you agree? This silly little cardigan makes you wanna breed me?” You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek as you fight back a laugh.

Mark looks like he could faint. “Can we please change the topic?”

“Sure,” you reply easily, and he visibly relaxes, slumping against his chair and exhaling loudly. “You know, I think you should get another kiss.”

He looks up at you curiously. “Yeah?”

“For your troubles,” you say, shrugging. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips and he nods, making you smile.

Leaning down again, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, Mark turning his head at the last moment and making you kiss him on the lips.

“For my troubles,” he repeats with a small grin, and you match his expression before an idea pops into your head.

“Maybe you should get another one.”

“Yeah, maybe I should.” He sounds breathless, and you bite back a chuckle.

“I could kiss you here,” you murmur, hovering over his mouth, and he leans forward to connect your lips, frowning when you pull back. Resting your hand on his lap and keeping it there even when he jolts, you look down at where his print is pressing against his sweats, smiling sweetly. “Or I could kiss you here.”

“Oh, shit,” Mark mumbles quietly.

“Is that a no?” you frown, and Mark chuckles, albeit nervously.

“You sound like you want to,” he says.

“Of course I want to,” you snicker. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

“Oh, God,” he groans, his head falling back against the chair. Taking that as a yes, you sink to your knees and start untying the string in his sweatpants. “Out in the open like this?” he asks anxiously, and you pause to think.

“You’re right,” you muse, crawling under his desk and beckoning him over. When he hesitantly scoots closer, you resume untying the string to his sweats, pulling them down enough to reveal his boxers. Looking up at him with a grin, you press a kiss over his boxers to the underside of his length, smiling when his body goes stiff. “You can go back to playing your game, y’know.”

He lets out a small groan from the back of his throat but nods, reaching for his keyboard again with hands that tremble slightly. You press small kisses over his clothed erection as he starts his game back up, waiting somewhat patiently for him to get back into his rhythm.

When he starts to grow in his boxers, you pull the band of them down to let his length spring free. It slaps against his stomach, visibly flushed, and you wrap your hand around the base, stroking him slowly before wrapping your lips around his tip, licking at the slit leaking precum.

“Oh, fuck—” Mark grunts, his head falling back against his chair as his length twitches in your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you start to bob your head up and down his shaft, taking in more of his length every time you move downward. “That feels so good—aw, hell.”

Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you look up at his face. “What happened?”

“I died,” he groans. “A fucking pukei-pukei got me.”

“Mm,” you hum in acknowledgement as you flatten your tongue and drag it up the length of his shaft, swirling the tip of it around the head of his cock before you speak again. “I don’t know what that means,” you reply simply, taking him back into your mouth.

“You’re distracting me,” he whines, eyes darting from his screen down to you repeatedly.

“Pretend I’m not here,” you offer helpfully.

“My dick is in your mouth.” he says flatly, staring at you blankly. “Are you serious right now?”

You pull off of him again, stroking his length with your saliva as lubricant as you lick against the slit in his tip, and he sucks in a loud breath.

“Now it’s not in your mouth.”

“You’re kind of evil, you know that?”

“No, I’m not,” you say with a teasing pout. “You’re mean.”

“I’m mean?” he asks incredulously.

“Mhm,” you hum as you kiss down his length to his balls. He hisses loudly and his cock twitches in your hand, his body starting to curl in on itself as his abdomen constricts. You lick at them diligently and look up at his reaction, smiling as his eyes are screwed shut.

“I can’t—fuck, I think I’m gonna—”

“Cum?” you finish for him. “Do it.”

“I can’t, dude, the bet—”

“Mark.” you say flatly, still stroking him as you speak. “I’m giving you a blowjob and you can’t stop calling me ‘dude?’”

“Sorry,” he groans, bucking his hips up towards your mouth again.

“Just cum, Mark,” you coo, your lips pressed to the underside of his length where his tip and shaft meet. “I’ll let you finish in my mouth,” you offer, and he swears under his breath, gripping the arm of his chair so hard his knuckles turn white.

“Please don’t say that again,” he moans, and you hum questioningly.

“Say what?” you ask, feigning cluelessness. “That I want you to cum in my mouth?”

“Shit,” he gasps, his length starting to throb in your hand and against your mouth.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and he whimpers.

“I can’t,” he grunts in defeat, and you sigh in disappointment, pulling away from his length. “No!”

“You can’t cum, right?” you remind him, and his eyes squeeze shut in distress as he looks thoroughly tortured.

“No,” he finally gets out, and you suck your teeth.

“Shame,” you say with a shrug. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Play this game and hope my boner goes down.” he mumbles defeatedly.

You nod. “Sounds good to me.” A moment or two passes before you speak again. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you move so I can get out from under your desk?”

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry—” He scoots back and you get to your feet, running your fingers through his hair gently as a nonverbal apology.

“No problem,” you reply with a smile. “I’m gonna leave you to, uh, deflate your boner.”

“Deflate? It’s not a balloon animal,” Mark snorts, and you shrug.

“Whatever. Have fun with your pika-pika!”

Mark chuckles. “It’s pukei-pukei. Pika-pika is the sound Pikachu makes.”

“Oh. Pikachu is so cute; you should play Pokémon instead.”

“I’ll think about it,” he answers with a small nod. You both know he won’t.

“Good! Oh, and also?”

“Mm?”

“Put your dick away before someone else comes in.” you suggest, pointing at his lap before you wave and head out of his room.

“Thank you!” he calls out as you shut his door, almost colliding with Jaemin.

“Sorry, Jaem!” you apologize.

Jaemin pats your arm good-naturedly. “No worries.” He doesn’t move for a moment, making you pause.

“Is there a reason why you’re not moving?”

“I was gonna ask Mark if he wanted to play a game of Overwatch with me,” he explains, jerking his chin in the direction of Mark’s door.

“Oh! Um, he’s not ready just yet—I just got finished, um…well…”

“Yes?”

“His dick was in my mouth.”

“Ah. So he’s hard.”

“Yes.”

Jaemin nods slowly. “I’ll just text him.”

“Good idea.”

Monday, November 23rd.

Your teacher bids you all goodbye and you pack up your things quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder and waving to your teacher as you exit the classroom. You don’t have to wait long by the door for the person you’re waiting for to come out, Haechan emerging three people after you.

“Thank God we got her off topic for the last thirty minutes,” you sigh in relief, and Haechan snickers as he falls into step with you. “I don’t think I would have lasted the rest of the lecture.”

“She’s so chill, but man, do those lectures make me fall asleep.” Haechan agrees, and you nod with a laugh, squinting as you exit the building and are assaulted with the surprising brightness that is the sky at 4:30pm.

You two get down the small set of stairs and you turn in the direction of your apartment complex. “See you later,” you say with a wave, but Haechan’s hand closes around your wrist immediately, startling you and stopping you from walking any farther.

“Where are you going?” Haechan sounds puzzled and petulant, and you turn back around, looking from where he’s holding your wrist to his face with an expression every bit as puzzled as he sounds.

“Home,” you answer slowly, blinking at him in confusion.

“What if we hung out?” Haechan suggests, tugging you a bit closer. “You can come over.”

“And do what?” you ask, and he pauses to think.

“I was gonna play Overwatch for a bit before I did homework; you could watch me,” he offers hopefully, and you tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Y’know, I was actually gonna go watch paint dry, and that’s kinda gonna take up my whole afternoon, so—”

“Oh, shut up and just come hang out with me,” Haechan grouches as you laugh at your own joke, eventually unable to hold back his laughter at how visibly amused you are.

“You’re just gonna ignore me for at least an hour while you play.”

“I won’t ignore you,” he promises. You don’t believe him.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, dragging out the last word, and Haechan sucks his teeth and yanks your bag off of your shoulder, slinging it onto his own. “Hello?”

“Hello.” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, and you roll your eyes.

“Why did you take my bag?”

“I’m going home. This bag is coming with me. If you care about it, you’ll come with me.” Haechan speaks slowly, a smug little grin curling his lips when you grumble under your breath.

“Come on.” You push between his shoulder blades, guiding him forward. “Let’s go. You’d better have snacks.”

“Of course I do,” Haechan replies, offended. “Do you think I’m a monster?”

“Yes, actually, I do.”

“You little—”

“Walk!”

You feel played. Played, scammed, used, bamboozled, and any other synonyms you’re forgetting.

It’s been 45 minutes since you got to Haechan’s room, he hasn’t graced you with the sight of anything but his back as he immerses himself in his game, and you just ran out of gummy worms.

“Haechan, why did you even invite me if you’re not gonna, I don’t know, talk to me?” you complain.

“I’m almost done with this game, I swear.” Haechan assures you, and you grumble incoherently as he returns his full attention to the game, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. “Jesus fucking Christ, can Sombra get off my ass—”

“I hope Sombra gets you.” you mutter under your breath bitterly, not knowing what that even means.

You want revenge. And, as you study Haechan’s figure from behind, you come up with a pretty good idea of how you’re going to get it. You planned to mess with him in a different way—hence your precautionary measures of wearing matching underwear and putting a bit more effort into your appearance before class today—but this new method can’t hurt.

You take off your chunky knit sweater, balling it up and chucking it at his back. He grunts at the impact and turns back to shoot you a brief affronted glare, but the irritation wipes right off his face when he takes in the sight of your thin tank top you’re wearing underneath the sweater. It leaves little to the imagination, to be frank, the neckline dipping to reveal a bit of your cleavage, and the shirt rides up easily—very easily. You lock eyes with him once he’s finished staring at your newly revealed skin and blink expectantly.

“What?”

“You hurled your thick ass sweater at me, and you have the nerve to ask me ‘what?’” Haechan snorts incredulously, and you nod.

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“When my back bruises from that attack, I’m making you kiss it better,” he huffs, turning back around to focus on the game.

“Yeah, whatever,” you mutter to yourself, already thinking about your next move. You shift positions, lying down on your stomach, making sure your shirt does its job of riding up to reveal a sliver of skin around your waist. You pick up your phone and pretend to be engrossed for a while until you sigh loudly.

Haechan turns to face you again, no doubt prepared to tell you to shut up, but—yet again—he finds himself speechless as his eyes greedily rake over your body, lingering on the bare skin of your waist and the curve of your ass in your leggings.

“Why are you sighing?”

“I want to go home.”

“Don’t go home,” he says immediately, “I swear I’m almost done. Our DPS keeps dying and the healers keep running off on their own—”

“Oh, well, if the healers are just out here running off on their own, we can’t have that.” you snark.

If Haechan notices your sarcasm, he doesn’t comment. “Yeah, I need them to get on the goddamn payload so I can—”

“Haechan, I don’t know what any of these words mean.” you gripe, and he sighs.

“The payload is—”

“Oh, let me be clearer. I don’t know, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Such a sassy little puppy,” Haechan snickers, and you hesitate.

“Puppy?”

“Yeah, puppy. It’s cute, like you. It fits.”

He’s got a point—it is a cute nickname. But for some reason, the fluttering feeling of delight (and budding arousal) you get in your stomach when he uses it makes you feel like being a contrarian.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

You balk. “I don’t like it.”

“You’ll warm up to it,” he says confidently, and you glare at him petulantly, trying your best to hide that you’ve already more than warmed up to it.

“Whatever,” you huff, and he chuckles quietly, raking his eyes over your frame again and wetting his lips before turning back around.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at how easy he is to mess with.

You don’t make a peep for the next fifteen minutes, your silence unnerving Haechan to the point where he turns around several times unprompted. He’s not even met with eye contact from you as you essentially ignore him in his own room, and you can feel it driving him insane.

Sure enough, in a moment, the monitor he’s using goes black in your peripheral vision and he stands up, stretching before walking over to you and standing by the side of the bed.

You don’t look up. “What?”

It’s his turn to sigh now, his fingers lightly tickling at the back of your ankle as he waits to have your attention. “I’m bored.”

“Sucks.”

He sucks his teeth, fingers grazing up the back of your calf and resting in the dip behind your knee. “Play with me.”

“I don’t play video games.”

“Not video games.”

“Unless you’re feeling up to getting your ass beat in a game of checkers, I don’t know what game we could play.”

“Oh, my God, stop being difficult.” Haechan groans, squeezing the back of your thigh.

You finally look up at him and almost wish you hadn’t. He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you and it weakens your resolve ever so slightly.

You pout up at him. “I like being difficult.”

He stares at you impassively for a moment before realization clicks on his face. “I know what this is about.”

“What what’s about?” you reply huffily, and he grins as he moves to sit on the bed on top of you, his knees on either side of your legs.

“You’re upset because I didn’t talk to you while I was gaming, aren’t you?” Haechan asks with a knowing lilt to his voice.

You don’t say anything for a moment. “I am not upset,” you lie.

“Aw,” Haechan coos, both hands gliding up the backs of your thighs and stopping just below your ass. You feel him shift on top of you and a moment later, his breath fans over your ear. “Did puppy need my attention?”

The way you tense under him is surely noticeable, and that annoyingly pleased fluttering feeling in your stomach returns. However, you’re still annoyed with him.

“Don’t call me that.” you grouch, and he chuckles, lips brushing your ear ever so lightly before he sits back up.

“Stop liking it, and maybe I won't.” Haechan retorts, and you say nothing yet again, scrolling aimlessly through Twitter. He lets the silence hang between you two as he kneads the backs of your thighs, but breaks it when he brings his hands to trace his fingers along the bare skin between your shirt and your leggings. “It’s the middle of fall and you’re in this flimsy little shirt.”

“It’s called wearing layers, nincompoop.”

“It’s practically as thin as toilet paper,” he quips back, and you huff as he pushes it up to reveal more of your back. “I could rip this right off of you,” he muses thoughtfully.

“Do not let the intrusive thoughts win, Haechan,” you comment drily, and he hums softly in acknowledgement, although it sounds awfully dismissive. “And put my shirt back down.”

“It’s not like it’s serving any purpose.” Haechan counters, and you groan, moving to sit up. Haechan presses down on your back between your shoulder blades, flattening you against the bed once more, and you let out an irritated sigh. “Only thing it’s doing is turning me on, actually.”

“That sounds awfully personal.”

“Oh, you’re so cute when you’re being a brat.” Haechan pretends to swoon and you snicker despite yourself. “Come on, I’m bored!” He shifts his weight to his heels so he’s not sitting on you anymore and smacks your ass once, ignoring your yelp as he rolls you onto your back.

“That sounds,” you say slowly, deliberately stressing every syllable as you look up at him with a bored expression, “like a you problem.”

“I’m about to make it your problem, actually.” Haechan smiles down at you, shifting his weight forward again so he’s sitting on your thighs. “Because in addition to being bored, now I’m feeling a little riled up from this little outfit you have on.”

“So?”

“So,” Haechan stresses the word as he leans down closer to you, “I need you to be a good puppy—”

“Stop calling me that—”

“—and indulge me for a bit.” He finishes his sentence in a softer voice than he started out with, nudging the tip of your nose with his playfully. “Gimme a kiss.”

He advances on you even further, lips now but a breath away from each other, and flicks at your bottom lip with his tongue. You play coy, having fun with riling him up, and turn your head to the side to avoid his kiss.

“Aw, come on, puppy.” Haechan teases affectionately, his nose tracing down your jawline before he brushes his parted lips against your neck. “Don’t get all shy on me now. Where’d that attitude go?”

“Still here,” you mumble stubbornly, and he chuckles.

“So let me give you the attention you so desperately wanted earlier,” he offers, sounding more smug than ever, and you splutter indignantly, turning back to glare at him.

“I was not desperate—” you begin to protest, but Haechan flashes you a triumphant grin before leaning in and sealing the gap between his lips and yours. You whine almost instantly under him, body thrumming with excitement as he moves his lips against yours and teases them apart to guide his tongue into your mouth.

When his tongue strokes against yours for the first time, he groans in delight and breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both take deep breaths.

“You taste like candy.” Haechan murmurs appreciatively.

“It’s probably the gummy worms,” you remind him, and he nods thoughtfully.

“Well, whatever it is, I can’t get enough of it,” he confesses, barely giving you a chance to respond before he’s kissing you again. His hips pin yours to the bed, his body pressing down on yours so firmly that you’re not sure if you could get up on your own.

Not that you’re complaining.

His hand moves quickly, on a mission as he slips it between you two and slides under the waistband of your leggings. He strokes at your core through the underwear, a wicked smile curling his lips when he feels the damp spot from your arousal.

“Poor puppy,” he coos in mock sympathy, pressing against your clit hard enough to make you whimper. “All you wanted was my attention, yeah?”

“Don’t call me puppy,” you whine, and he kisses down your neck to suck and kiss above your pulse point.

“I know you like it,” he pants, his breath fanning over your neck, “you know you like it; why fight it?”

“Shut up,” you complain, your hips moving up to meet his teasing touches.

“Fine,” Haechan murmurs, seeming to let it go (which you find suspicious). “How about ‘baby?’”

“I like ‘baby,’” you mumble, jolting in surprise when he finds your clit through your underwear. “‘Baby’ is good.”

“Glad we agree.” He doesn’t say much else, returning his attention to occupying his lips, which are lazily mouthing at your neck, and fingers, which are teasingly dipping into your underwear.

Getting fed up with his taunting, you squeeze your legs together tightly, letting out a small “hmph” of finality, and he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers.

“I knew you wanted to play.” He nips at your neck one last time before lifting his head and ghosting his lips against yours. His fingers dig between where your thighs meet, poking, prodding, and pinching as he tries to force his hand between your legs. “Baby,” he purrs, voice low and sweet, “be good and let me in.”

You just huff again, trying (and ultimately failing) to suppress your growing smile at his persistent attack on your legs.

“Fine,” he says with a shrug, retracting his hand from between your legs. “You leave me no choice.” His fingers immediately press into your sides, tickling you, and you shriek with laughter, squirming helplessly under him.

He watches you with a glint in his eyes and a grin on his face as he sits up, now using both hands to torment you.

You, meanwhile, have tears welling up in your eyes from how hard you’re laughing, and you weakly hit at his chest, your muscles seizing up from the attack.

“Stop!” you gasp, pushing at his hands desperately. “I’m sorry!”

“Are you really?” He raises an eyebrow, and you nod vigorously in agreement.

“I am! I’m so—please—I’m so sorry!” you cry pleadingly, and he moves so quickly that you don’t even get time to process the situation until he’s done. He pushes your hands above your head, gripping your wrists with one hand, and brings his free hand back between your legs.

“So you’ll be good?” That damn eyebrow is getting to you, the brow still raised as he cocks his head at you.

“Yes,” you say with a frown, and he coos in mock sympathy, kissing you and slipping his hand into your underwear. He looks down at where your bodies meet and traces circles all over your skin, slowly inching lower and lower until he brushes past your clit and parts your folds, looking back up at you with a cocky smile.

“You’re already so wet,” he teases, wetting his lips before he dips his head down to kiss your neck. “Do you want me inside?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he grins against your neck.

“Yeah? Want my fingers inside you?” He’s teasing you again, urging you to ask for his fingers, and your patience starts to dwindle.

“Yes,” you repeat through your clenched teeth.

He hums thoughtfully and pushes his fingers into you slowly, removing his lips from your neck to watch you as you moan in relief. “That’s a good puppy,” he purrs as he drinks in your reactions to his experimental movements of his fingers.

“Not puppy,” you whine, but he silences you with a kiss, moving his fingers in and out of you quickly.

“I think you like it,” he mumbles, biting down on your bottom lip gently before bringing his lips to your ear. “Don’t you, puppy?” Your moan slips out accidentally, and he inhales sharply when you clench around his fingers. “Knew it.”

His fingers curl inside of you slowly, drawing out a whimper from you as he strokes along your inner walls, in search of your most sensitive spot. Your hips rock up into his hand, craving more of him, and he responds by pushing your hips back down and giving you exactly what you want. He pushes his fingers deeper, as deep as they can go, and his fingers finally find the spot along your walls that makes you moan and clutch at his arm desperately.

“There—right there—fuck,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, keeping his pace and using his thumb to massage your clit in eager circles that bring you closer to your climax.

“You wanna cum?” Haechan coos, and you nod vigorously, making a smirk curl his lips. “Say you’re my puppy.”

“Wh-what?” You stammer, confused, and he slows his pace, making you grasp his arm tightly in panic. “Don’t stop!”

“What are you?” he presses, moving at a frustratingly slow rhythm. You cry out weakly, and he raises an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“I’m—Haechan, please—”

“Say it, and I’ll make you feel so good. Whose puppy are you?”

“I’m yours—” you whimper, and he nods encouragingly.

“My what?”

“Your puppy, Haechan, please—” you beg, and he grins widely, nodding again.

“Cum for me, puppy.” Haechan urges you, and you finally let go, the coil in your stomach snapping and letting pleasure wash over you. Your nails dig into Haechan’s arm so hard that you’re sure you’ll owe him an apology, and he hisses, the sound a mixture of pain and pleasure, as you whimper his name and “please” over and over again. “God, I want to feel that when I’m inside you so bad.”

“You can,” you say with a smile, propping yourself up on your forearms. “You can fuck me.”

“Fuck, don’t say that,” Haechan grunts, his expression tortured. “I can’t—”

“You can,” you urge, pushing yourself up onto your hands and bringing your face to his. “You don’t even have to fuck me entirely—you can just put in the tip.” When he opens his eyes and looks at you, his expression is defeated, hopeful, and delightedly vulnerable. “Come on, Haechan. Just the tip,” you murmur, your lips a centimeter apart.

He stares at your lips in a daze before nodding slowly. “Just the tip.”

He makes quick work of discarding his pants and pushing his boxers down so his length springs up and lightly slaps against his stomach, and he looks up at you and chuckles, the sound a bit bashful. “Stop looking at me like that.”

You hadn’t realized you were looking at him in any particular way. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to eat me alive.” Haechan mumbles, and you smile.

“So, the way you look at me all the time?”

“Yeah, like that.” Haechan grins cheekily and hovers over you, his hand moving to the base of his length and gripping it. When you don’t move and stay propped up, watching him with a challenge in your eyes, he pauses. “What is it?”

“I wanna be on top,” you reply simply, and he shakes his head.

“Too bad. I wanna be on top.”

You stare at him defiantly.

He stares back at you stubbornly.

You raise an eyebrow.

He looks from your eyes to your lips and back up before he groans in defeat and sits against his headboard. “Fine.”

“Yay,” you say with a wide smile, shimmying out of your leggings and underwear and moving to straddle his lap. You wrap your hand around his on his length and slowly stroke him up and down. “You’re so big, Haechan.”

“Thank you, puppy,” Haechan coos teasingly, bumping his nose against yours as you position yourself on top of him, bringing the head of his length to your entrance. He rubs the tip against your folds, collecting your arousal to use as a lubricant. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, easing yourself down. To your disappointment, Haechan uses his fist as an obstacle to prevent you from sitting all the way down on his length, so you really do get just the tip. The stretch isn’t unwelcome at all, your walls slowly adjusting to his size, and you let out a shaky moan that he echoes when you clench around him. “Feels so good, Haechan,” you mumble, resting your forehead against his.

“So fucking good, baby.” Haechan agrees, his fist slipping a bit further down his length and making him hiss.

“Just a little more? It’ll be okay, I just need a little more,” you plead, pouting for good measure, and his face scrunches up in thought. “Please?” You tilt his head up and carefully slot your lips with his, kissing him slowly but deeply as your walls tighten around him.

“Just a little more,” Haechan gives in with a shudder, and you smile as you ease down further, Haechan groaning and thumping his head against his headboard repeatedly in distress. “Maybe a little more, baby.”

You can barely hide your sneaky smile as you oblige, easing down on his length even more, and he moans weakly, his head tipping back. You lean forward and kiss his neck, sucking lovely little marks into his skin, and he grabs your hips with both hands, fingers digging into the skin as he tilts his head back more to allow you better access.

“More?” Your lips are pressed to his heated skin as you speak, and he groans before shaking his head.

“I can’t, baby. Feels like I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, and you whine as you squeeze around him, carefully studying his reactions. His hips hold you firmly in place so you can’t move further down on him, and his breathing is heavy, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck—do not do that again.”

“Do what? This?” You clench again, and he lets out a strangled groan, hands squeezing your hips harder as a warning. “What about this?” You lift yourself up, pulling off of him most of the way, and sitting back down. He swears so loudly that you momentarily hope no one else is home and his resolve visibly weakens, his hold on your hips loosening enough to let you slowly ease down all the way onto him, a relieved sigh escaping you as he shudders, a moan vibrating in his chest. “Just cum, Haechan,” you coax in his ear, nipping at the lobe gently. “You know you want to.”

“I’m not losing this bet.” He sounds determined, but even a fool could detect the waver in his resilience.

“But doesn’t this feel so good?” You rock your hips forward onto him, and he exhales loudly through gritted teeth, nodding vigorously.

“Feels amazing, baby.” Haechan agrees, finally tipping his head forward to look at you. “Which is why you’re going to cum, and I’m going to watch.”

“Only way I’m going to cum is if you do it with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Haechan snorts dismissively, and you raise an eyebrow, already pulling off of him. His eyes fly open and he yanks you back down onto him, realizing a moment too late what he’s done. Pleasure shoots through his body so strongly that you can practically track its movement through the shudders that travel through him, and he drops his head onto your chest in defeat.

“Are you gonna cum?” you ask, and he shakes his head hesitantly, making you sigh. “Then I’m leaving.” Before he can move to stop you, you push his hands off of you and pull off of him, toughening up to mask the strange, now empty sensation between your legs.

“God, you’re evil.” He stares at you, aghast, and you shrug, pulling on your leggings and underwear. You climb off of the bed and grab your sweater from where it fell after hitting Haechan, and his eyes widen. “You’re seriously leaving?”

“Yep.”

“At least—” he starts, and you hesitate as you prepare to pull your sweater over your head. “At least let me make you cum again,” he offers, wild eyes roving over you desperately. “With my mouth.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you hum, pulling the sweater over your head and fixing it at the bottom, “no. You might pounce on me afterwards, and if you’re not cumming, it’s no fun.”

“Okay, fair. I definitely might pounce on you.” Haechan sighs, rubbing his chin as he watches you get ready to leave. “You’d let me though; you can’t resist me.”

“What makes you think that?” You laugh, and he looks at you with an unimpressed stare.

“I just seduced the fuck out of you,” he points out, and you barely stifle your laugh.

“Haechan.” You stare at him incredulously. “Do you seriously think this was all your idea?”

“Duh?”

You sigh, lifting up your sweater and shirt enough to show him your lacy blue bra. His eyes widen before they darken, and you roll your eyes as he wets his lips, shifting closer to you. You drop your shirt and sweater back into place and pull your leggings down just enough to give him a peek of your lacy underwear in the identical shade of blue. “I wore matching underwear today. This was never not my intention.” You fix your clothing again as he gapes at you in disbelief.

“So you used me for my body?!” Haechan exclaims, his horrified expression dropping in favor of a pensive one. “Why is that kind of hot?”

You pause in the middle of lacing up your boots, shooting him a concerned look. “I think the counseling office is still open if you wanna book a session.”

“Ha, ha.” Haechan laughs sarcastically, scooting to the edge of his bed. You look around for your bag, and he gestures to it sitting just by his bed. You go over to look through it for your headphones, and Haechan eyes you wordlessly as you do.

“Anyway, I have business to attend to.” You straighten up with your headphones in your hand and shoulder your bag, moving to leave. Haechan’s hand shoots out and grabs your arm, yanking you back to him so you’re standing between his legs. He’s readjusted his pants, you notice, and he’s staring up at you with a doubtful frown.

“What business do you have to attend to?” He pokes his fingers through the knitting of your sweater with a petulant expression. “If you say watching paint dry again, I swear to God—”

“Relax, it’s not watching paint dry.” You laugh and he chuckles, not looking up at you yet. “My business is being somewhere that’s not here.”

“You little—”

“Besides,” you continue loudly as if he hasn’t interjected, “I have my vibrator waiting at home to finish what you started.” Haechan stills, slowly looking up at you and scanning your face for any sign of a joke.

You give no such indication, and he closes his eyes and breathes in loudly through his nose, exhaling out of his mouth. He releases you, eyes gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, you’d better get going.”

“Why the sudden change?” you ask curiously, and he shamelessly looks you up and down.

“I’m feeling…pounce-y.”

“Okay, then!” You nod in understanding and step back, backing towards his door. “Have fun thinking about…whatever you gotta think about to make that go away,” you snicker, gesturing at the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Haechan grumbles bitterly, standing up and making his way over to his gaming chair. “See you later.”

“Bye,” you sing-song, wiggling your fingers at him in a wave. “I’ll think of you while I do it.”

“If you don’t get out of my room—”

“Okay, bye!”

Friday, November 28th.

You’re sitting at home pretending to do your homework when your phone lights up. You practically pounce on it, eager for a distraction, and look at your lock screen to see a text message from Mark.

mark: hey

you: hiii i’m bored

mark: me too

mark: i’m at work on my lunch break

you: ohhh i’m “doing homework”

mark: hahaha that doesn’t sound fun

you: it’s not :/ this essay is due december 3rd though so i gotta get it done

mark: december’s so close wow

mark: i’m so happy november’s almost over

And with his last text, Mark gives you a very good idea of how you could best spend your time this afternoon. You root through your underwear drawer and take out one of your nicer sets of underwear and a bra, putting them on and putting your old t-shirt back on, ditching the sweatpants you were wearing.

you: yeah

you: hey mark can you help me choose something?

mark: sure what’s up?

Actually, why not mess with both of them at the same time?

you: actually hang on one sec

[you have created a group chat.]

[you have added ‘mark’ to the chat.]

[you have added ‘haechan’ to the chat.]

you: hii i need your opinions on something

mark: why the group chat haha

you: it’s faster than texting you both separately :)

haechan: what’s up? i’m in class right now

A mischievous smile curls your lips as you take a picture of your outfit, making sure the t-shirt is high up enough on your thighs to make it clear there are no shorts underneath.

you: should i wear this to sleep?

you: Attachment: 1 image

haechan: oh my god

mark: shit

you: or should i take the t-shirt off?

haechan: take it off.

mark: haechan shut up it’s still november

you: what do you think, mark?

mark: keep the shirt on

mark: please. i’m still at work

you: :( but it’s hot in my room

haechan: yeah mark it’s hot in her room

haechan: take it off, baby

mark: dude do you like being blue balled or something

You pull the t-shirt off and toss it on your chair by your desk, angling your body to take the most flattering picture of your lingerie set. When you’re satisfied with the picture, you send it to the group chat, giggling as you wait for their responses.

you: Attachment: 1 image

you: is this better?

haechan: you are so fucking hot

haechan: mark tell her how hot she is

mark: don’t tell me what to do haechan

haechan: i will not get cheated out of nudes because you don’t know how to give a compliment

you: it’s okay, haechan :p mark’s at work so he’s busy too

mark: exactly. you look very attractive btw

[you loved ‘exactly. you look very attractive btw’]

[haechan disliked ‘exactly. you look very attractive btw’]

haechan: “very attractive” what a nerd

haechan: you should just text me now. mark’s ungrateful

mark: haechan shut. the fuck. up.

you: thank you mark :) should i do what haechan says?

haechan: yes do what haechan says

mark: haechan i will piss in your shampoo

mark: don’t you dare stop texting this group chat

you: oooh bossy

you: that’s hot

haechan: god i can’t stop looking at those pictures baby

you: i’m glad you like them :) but i have another problem now :(

mark: what’s that?

haechan: what’s wrong?

you: i’m lonely :( i’m home all alone with no one to keep me company

mark: you’re killing me

mark: you’re actually going to be the death of me

haechan: ignore him keep talking

haechan: god i wish i wasn’t in class right now

you: yeah? where do you wish you were?

haechan: honestly?

haechan: with you. on you. under you. in you for sure

mark: haechan in front of my lunch? seriously?

haechan: not my fault you don’t have game

mark: dude stop testing me

you: mark i wish you were here too :(

mark: oh my god don’t do this someone just walked into the break room

Another idea comes to you, and you angle the camera at your body again, this time starting a video. You cup your breast and squeeze it, humming contently before trailing your hand down your stomach and between your legs where you slip it into your underwear, sighing in relief right as you stop filming.

you: Attachment: 1 video

mark: no fucking way

haechan: oh my god

There’s a pause in their replies as they presumably watch the video you sent and you take the moment of silence to think about your next moves.

haechan: you sound so pretty

haechan: so fucking pretty baby

mark: i’m going to pass out i think

mark: why are you doing this???

you: because i like when you both pay attention to me. remember?

haechan: i can pay attention to you way better than mark can

mark: you can’t even pay attention to the damn class you’re in right now.

haechan: who gives a rat’s ass what Professor Park has to say when there’s a hot girl’s pictures in my phone??????

haechan: anyway. baby can i hear you again?

mark: dude i’m getting hard right now can you not

you: stop calling me dude :(

mark: sorry

mark: what should i call you?

you: up to you—just not dude

mark: okay

you: or bro

mark: aw hell

While Mark takes the time to think, you send a video of your legs slowly spreading as your hand moves in your underwear, concealing what they undoubtedly want to see most as you play with your clit. When the pleasure starts to build, you let out a small whimper and speed your movements up, stopping the video right after your legs close around your hand reflexively.

you: Attachment: 1 video

haechan: god thank you so much

haechan: such pretty sounds baby

mark: babe please my dick is so hard right now

haechan: join the club i’ve been straining against my pants for the past five minutes

you: pics or it didn’t happen

haechan: Attachment: 1 image

mark: i’m in public!!!!!

haechan: and you think i’m not???

mark: i can’t send a pic right now

haechan: pussy.

mark: fuck you

mark: Attachment: 1 image

You smile in satisfaction at the sight of both of their pictures. Mark’s picture is of him both gripping and trying to conceal the noticeable bulge in his pants, while Haechan is proudly gripping the base of his shaft, not even trying to hide himself.

you: thank you :) god you’re both so big

you: wish i had you both taking turns filling me up :(

haechan: why stop at taking turns?

you: i like the way you think

mark: okay this is fun and all but i need this boner to go down immediately i have to go back to work soon

you: okay! i’ll stop :)

haechan: WHAT

haechan: NO

haechan: i have like twenty minutes left of class please keep sending gifts baby

you: no i can’t :/ mark’s got a point—you shouldn’t be getting hard in public

you: it’s public indecency :////

haechan: fuck the public

you: fuck me instead

haechan: don’t tempt me

you: too bad it’s still november :( have fun not jerking off

mark: wait a minute

mark: you’ve been fucking with us on purpose all month haven’t you

you: ? idk what you’re talking about

mark: oh my god

haechan: wait mark’s right

you: :( okay you got me

you: are you mad at me :(

mark: no you’re just in for it

haechan: for once i agree with mark. watch your back baby

you: pfft watch my back for what? yOuR rEvEnGe?

mark: yeah just keep laughing babe. i gotta go back to work

you: i’m gonna go finish myself off then finish my essay. have fun with your boners! :)

haechan: you’re actually wicked

you: :(

haechan: it’s hot.

you: :)

You put your phone down and reach into your nightstand drawer for your vibrator, giggling under your breath as you think about the conversation you just had. Sure, they figured out you were making things hard—no pun intended—for them on purpose, and they’re probably going to get some sort of revenge, but you figure that’s a problem for Future You to handle.

Tuesday, December 1st.

Yeah, so…it is now officially a problem for Future You to handle.

When Haechan texted you asking if you wanted to get lunch with him, you almost agreed before remembering the last interaction you had when you sent him videos and pictures of yourself while he was in class.

When you declined, and his response was “smart girl,” you realized you may be in a bit over your head.

If that wasn’t bad enough, you caught Mark staring at you with an unreadable look from across the student center when you went to meet Lia for lunch (an hour after Haechan asked you, to avoid seeing him). When he started to make his way over to you, you grabbed Lia’s wrist and disappeared into the throng of people passing by.

If that wasn’t bad enough, in your last class you went to, you saw Haechan looking in the window, smirking when he caught sight of you. He brought his index and middle finger to his mouth, spread them, and wagged his tongue between them in an obscene gesture that had you gasping and drawing the attention of your seatmate. When you looked back at the window, he was gone, but your phone lit up with a text.

haechan: found you :)

So you’ve spent the last half of your day hiding in your apartment, turning off your phone location and holing yourself up in your room.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?” Yeji snickers when you jump at the sound of the doorbell. Lia pats your hand comfortingly before she heads over to get the door.

“You didn’t see how they looked at me today!” you whisper-yell back at her, brows furrowing.

“No, she’s got a point,” Lia chimes in, drawing your and Yeji’s attention as she returns from getting the door with a package in her arms. After a moment, she continues, “I mean, Mark was…I’ve never seen him look like that.”

“Right?!” you exclaim, relieved Lia gets it.

“I mean, worst case scenario is that they fuck you. And if this month has been any indication, you clearly want that, so—”

“Yeah, but what if they team up and get all evil?” you counter, and Lia scoffs.

“Threesomes are rarer than people think. What are the odds they’re both gonna decide to team up and share you?” Lia replies, and you frown.

“Yeji, back me up here!” you whine, looking at her, but she raises both hands and walks towards the hallway.

“I’m going to my room. As a wise man once said, ‘no fighting.’”

You and Lia pause.

“Who said that?” Lia raises an eyebrow and you both stare at Yeji in confusion.

“Wyclef Jean.” Yeji answers. You and Lia look at each other and back at Yeji. “In ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ by Shakira?” she tries again. You and Lia stare at her blankly. “Forget it. No one in this house appreciates my genius.” She turns and heads off to her room and a moment passes between you and Lia before she stands up as well, walking backwards towards the hallway leading to her room.

“You’re safe,” Lia assures you. As she turns around and walks away, you hear her mutter, “probably.”

“Hey!”

About an hour later, the doorbell rings again.

“Can someone get that?” Lia calls out from the bathroom. “It’s probably my other package!”

“Why can’t you get it?” Yeji calls back.

“I’m getting dressed from taking a shower!”

You and Yeji emerge from your rooms for a quick round of rock, paper, scissors—which you lose.

“Damn it.” You roll your eyes and walk to the front door as Yeji heads back to her room. You open the door to see no one—but there is a package on your doorstep like Lia said.

“This girl and her online shopping addiction,” you mumble, stooping to pick it up. You move to shut the door but it stops unexpectedly, a shoe jammed in the way. Your eyes widen.

You know that shoe.

“Oh, shit.”

The body attached to the familiar shoe shoulders his way past the door, Haechan standing in front of you with raised eyebrows and a smug smile.

“Oh, shit.” Haechan echoes you tauntingly, stepping towards you. You watch as Mark enters after him, shutting the door behind himself.

You look at them.

They look at you.

You turn on your heel, drop the package, and make a run for it.

You take off down the hallway to your room as their rapid footsteps thunder after you. You can’t help but shriek in panic (and, if you’re honest, a bit of delight) as they chase you further into the apartment, your heart racing as you clear your doorway and turn to shut the door.

One of them is quicker, however, and shoves his shoulder in the space, keeping the door from shutting. Unfortunately, the two of them are stronger than you, you learn very quickly as they force the door wide open and bombard their way into the room.

Haechan wastes absolutely no time, stepping forward and shoving you none too gently onto your bed before climbing on top of you. It feels like there’s a scream stuck in your throat as he roughly pins your arms above your head with one hand, cupping your chin with the other.

Bringing his lips to your ear, Haechan speaks slowly, stressing every syllable. “We’re gonna fuck the shit out of you.” Mark’s busying himself with sliding his hands up your thighs and yanking your shorts down your legs, and you wriggle under Haechan’s body, crossing your legs stubbornly.

“Yeji and Lia are home!” you exclaim, raising your voice in an attempt to get the attention of at least one of them. As if on cue, you hear the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking.

“No, we’re not!” Lia calls out, and the door slams shut, the locks clicking into place.

“Oh, fuck.” You can barely get the words out before Haechan seals his lips over yours, kissing you deeply.

“You are such a tease,” Mark grunts through gritted teeth, presumably giving you a taste of your own medicine as he wrenches your legs apart. The thrill of being chased with the inevitable ending of getting fucked stupid has you positively buzzing with excitement, some of that excitement manifesting as a slick little damp stain on the seat of your underwear.

You move to protest, but Haechan slips his tongue in your mouth the second your lips part, your complaint melting against his tongue as he works the pink muscle against your own.

Mark’s chuckle lets you know he’s caught sight of the wet spot, and he presses two fingers against the stain, pushing the digits against you so insistently that you could almost swear Mark is trying to finger you with your flimsy underwear as a condom.

“Left us high and dry so many times last month,” Haechan scolds you, mouth still pressed against yours. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“Bet you had fun thinking about blue-balling us, didn’t you?” Mark asks, and you jerk your head to the side to break the kiss Haechan refuses to let up on, loudly sucking in a greedy breath before you speak.

“I did.” you retort, smiling sweetly. “I had some really good orgasms thinking about you two, too.”

“You can be smug all you want,” Haechan chuckles, his lips sponging wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. “Let’s see how smug you are when we’re done with you.” His words excite you even more, an eager whimper falling from your lips as Mark withdraws his fingers from you and pulls your underwear to the side.

You feel the warmth of his breath as he exhales against your core and it makes you that much more impatient, letting out a grunt of frustration as you buck your hips up towards his mouth.

“You played with us all of November,” Haechan reminds you, pushing your hips back down. “It’s our turn to play with you.”

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy,” Mark groans as he rests what you assume to be his cheek on your inner thigh, depriving you of any sort of actual contact.

“Oh, my God, do something!” you complain after a painfully long time of waiting. It was probably less than fifteen seconds, really, but you’re incredibly worked up and not in the mood to take your time.

“Haechan, shut her up.” Mark mutters, and Haechan chuckles.

“Gladly.” he replies, and two fingers are pressing at your lips insistently. “Open up.” Any other time, you’d have the wherewithal to be embarrassed by how easily you comply with his order, but today, you’ll let it slide. Your lips part readily and your tongue lolls out, Haechan humming in impressed delight as he presses the pads of his fingers to your tongue.

You suck on his fingers lazily, your eyes already glazing over with pleasure from having some sort of touch, and Mark takes the opportunity to attach his mouth to your core, dragging his tongue up and down your folds with an almost animalistic fervor.

Your moan of surprise is muffled by Haechan’s fingers as he releases your wrists, pulls your shirt up past your breasts, and slips his hand under you to unclip your bra with surprising ease. He yanks your bra off with rushed, jerky movements, immediately latching onto your nipple and sucking at the stiffened bud, swirling his tongue around it.

“Shit,” you whine, muffled still by Haechan’s fingers, and he just chuckles from around your nipple, the resulting vibrations feeling heavenly.

Mark’s tongue explores your folds as he groans, loud and pleased, the almost ticklish sensation making arousal flutter in the pit of your stomach. He tucks one of your legs over his shoulder, moving in so close that when his tongue prods at your entrance, his nose rubs against your clit.

Haechan flicks your nipple back and forth with his tongue, his free hand groping your other breast and pinching at the bud until you hiss in pleasure and arch your back. He buries his face in your chest at the same time that Mark’s tongue pushes past your entrance and you squeal in delight, your hands both flying to their heads, tugging their hair to pull them closer to you.

Mark’s so lost in the sensation of his tongue peeking inside your core and the taste of you that he barely notices, a weak groan slipping out presumably without his knowledge. Haechan, however, responds by taking your nipple between his teeth and biting down ever so slightly until you try to squirm away, at which point he kisses it and switches to your other breast to repeat his earlier ministrations.

You’re on cloud nine at this point, your hips rolling up to get you closer to Mark’s mouth, and he lets out a noise somewhere between a growl and a moan as he throws one arm over your stomach to pin you in place, his tongue retreating from your core in favor of lapping at the arousal leaking from you.

“You like that, yeah?” Mark’s voice is throaty, thick from desire and lack of use, and when you whimper in affirmation, he lets out a breathless but cocky laugh before pushing two fingers into you, guiding the digits into you with no prior warning and carefully working you open as you get used to the slight stretch. “Yeah, I know you fucking like it,” he murmurs more to himself than you, his mind reeling with how his lips are still carrying the taste of you as he opens you up with his fingers, pumping and curling them rhythmically.

Haechan sits up, moving off of you to kneel by your side, pulls his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva webbing between his fingers and your lips, and chuckles smugly as he smears the spit over your lips messily. Your cheeks burn in humiliation when he swipes under your lips to display more spit on his fingers.

“Mark, she’s drooling.” Haechan says with a mischievous sort of glee, and Mark hums in acknowledgement, brows furrowed in concentration as he finger-fucks you. “You’re making a pathetic little mess of yourself and you haven’t even cum yet.”

Mark meets your gaze, grinning with bright eyes before leaning down to suck your clit into his mouth, rapidly flicking it with his tongue as his fingers pump in and out of you rapidly, curled just right to hit your most sensitive spot that has you crying out in pleasure.

Haechan pinches your chin and shakes your head from side to side abruptly, wordlessly diverting your attention away from Mark and back to him. “What do we say when we make such a mess, hm?”

“S-Sorry,” you gasp, clutching the bedsheets in your fist as Mark’s fingers speed up.

“Are we gonna keep making a mess?” Haechan pouts condescendingly before shaking your head from side to side. “No, we’re not? Are you sure, puppy?” He nods your head and tuts disapprovingly. “I don’t think I believe you.” He taps your cheek with two fingers and you open your mouth. “Tongue.” You comply, laying your tongue out flat, and he leans over you and lets a string of saliva drip from his lips onto your tongue.

You whine in desperation at the warm sensation of the spit, but let it slide to the back of your throat without swallowing. Haechan brings his fingers back to your lips, bringing his face directly in front of yours, and pushes them to the back of your throat, smiling in satisfaction when you choke and cough, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“What’d I say?” Haechan teases matter-of-factly. “So fucking sloppy.” He retracts his fingers again and studies your face with fascination as you swallow thickly.

“Sorry,” you say shamefully, your eyes threatening to shut from the sensations Mark is causing between your legs, and Haechan lets out a small chuckle, leaning even closer to you.

“You’re lucky I like it messy.” He kisses you again, deep and hot and wet and filthy with sinful moans into your mouth that you inadvertently echo as Mark brings you closer and closer to a climax.

“Please, oh, fuck—I’m gonna cum—” you moan against Haechan’s lips, practically trembling with need, and Mark only offers a grunt in response, making lewd wet noises as he laps at your core with an almost feral determination you’ve never seen from him before.

“Cum, puppy. Cum all over Mark’s fingers.” Haechan murmurs, punctuating his words with increasingly needier kisses, and you do cum—hard, as a matter of fact. In an attempt to keep your volume down, you bite down on your bottom lip so hard that you’re surprised it doesn’t break the skin. Haechan tugs your lip free just in time for you to cry out loudly when Mark doesn’t stop, fingers still fucking into you and mouth still on your clit.

You push at Mark’s shoulders in a panic, but he barely budges, Haechan helping him out by catching your hands and holding them in place on the bed. Mark removes his lips from your core with a wet smacking sound and presses down on your lower abdomen with his free hand, heightening your pleasure practically tenfold, and you’re downright ashamed of the volume of the cry you let out.

“Stop,” you pant, squirming frantically under their firm hold on you, “that feels—oh, my God, I’m gonna—”

“Are you gonna cum again?” Haechan coos patronizingly, and you shake your head vehemently.

“Feels like I’m gonna piss myself or pass the fuck out—” You muster all your strength and wrestle one of your hands free from Haechan’s grip to grab the wrist of Mark’s hand that’s pressing on your lower stomach. “Oh, shit, please—”

“Keep going, Mark,” Haechan urges, watching you in awe. “Maybe she’ll squirt.” The gleam in his eyes both terrifies and excites you as a second, stronger climax builds inside of you.

“I’m sorry!” You sob, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry for messing with you for all of last month!”

“I bet you are sorry.” Mark mutters through clenched teeth, darkened eyes rapidly shifting from your core to your face. “Too bad we’re not done with you.”

As if on cue, your second orgasm hits you and it takes everything in you not to burst into tears from the overwhelming pleasure. Your body exerts practically all of its energy by trying to curl in on itself protectively, your body still subconsciously fucking back onto Mark’s fingers in search of every last bit of pleasure you can draw from him.

Finally having mercy, Mark pulls his fingers from you and shakes his other hand free of your grip, standing up straight and watching along with Haechan as you attempt to recover.

“You didn’t piss yourself or pass out.” Haechan points out, brows furrowed to match his petulant frown.

“You sound disappointed,” you half-exhale, half-laugh, trying and failing to prop yourself up on your weak feeling arms. “I also didn’t squirt like you wanted.”

“The night’s still young,” Haechan responds, and you blanch, trying to sit up again in alarm.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, actually.” Mark pipes up, and you look between them with a mix of fear and anticipation swirling in your stomach. “You blue-balled us, what…seven times? More?”

“All together, it was eight times between the both of us.” Haechan points out, and you let out a strangled shriek, shaking your head as hard as you can.

“For the love of God, if you try to make me cum eight times today, I think my clit will actually break off or something.”

“Relax.” Haechan lies down next to you, trailing the backs of his fingers down your body between your breasts and down your stomach. “We’ll make you pay it off, like a debt. You can pay in installments.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you as his fingers draw closer to your throbbing core, and you smack his hand away, dramatically flopping over onto your stomach in a last-ditch attempt to protect yourself.

“You’re both insane,” you complain, words muffled by your faceful of pillow. “I can’t cum again.”

“You can,” Mark says, sounding much closer than before, and two hands grip your hips, lifting you up onto your knees. “And you will.”

“Oh, dear Neptune,” you whine, bracing yourself on your elbows.

Haechan snickers. “Whining and complaining, but you still got into position like a good little puppy.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you feel Mark positioning himself behind you on the bed, one hand pressing down on the small of your back to deepen your arch, and both males groan appreciatively.

“You look so good like this,” Mark grunts, pressing the head of his length to your entrance and rubbing it up and down your embarrassingly wet folds, collecting arousal to use as lubrication.

Without so much as a warning, Mark grips your hip with one hand and guides himself into you, smoothly bottoming out. You both react strongly, your head falling onto your linked hands as a whine filled with need leaves your lips while Mark swears loudly, his fingers digging into your hip uncomfortably hard.

“Mark, you’re so big, holy shit,” you stammer, swallowing thickly as he pulls out slowly, almost entirely, before snapping his hips forward and resheathing himself inside of you. You cry out weakly, your walls flexing around his length, and Mark hisses with pleasure, repeating the motion as he gradually builds up an almost brutal pace.

“You’re so wet, fuck,” Mark groans, his words tapering off into an uncharacteristically smug chuckle. “This feels good, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the sounds of skin slapping against skin almost drowning you out. “So good, Mark—”

Haechan, previously content with just watching for a moment, loses his patience, lifting your head up and urging you up onto your hands. He maneuvers himself under you, pulling his cock out of his sweats and stroking himself slowly as he watches you get fucked, your eyes glazing over with pleasure.

“Open,” Haechan says for the second time, guiding his length into your mouth and leaning back with a relieved sigh. “Suck.”

To be honest, you can barely focus on sucking Haechan off with Mark fucking into you with all the desperation of a man who’ll never fuck again. Mark’s always been passionate, but you’ve always experienced that aspect of him in a tamer sense of the word; this man you’re getting to know now is passionate—rough and sensual and animalistic, the way he’s taking you with dominant, forceful strokes.

Haechan’s derisive chuckle snaps you out of your reverie, your eyes refocusing on him, and he’s looking down at you with an unimpressed expression, an eyebrow arched.

“You’re drooling all over my lap, you know.” He almost sounds bored, and your face warms with embarrassment.

“S—” you start to mumble around his length, but he cuts you off.

“Sorry? Don’t be sorry. Fix it.” He gestures at his lap, and you blink up at him in confusion. He sighs and chuckles, the sound surprisingly fond given the circumstances. “You’re so cute, baby. Lick it up.” He murmurs, tone surprisingly gentle as he gives such a degrading order.

“Wh—”

“You heard me.” His gaze is intimidating, to say the least, and he looks down at his lap and length pointedly. “Start here.” He presses your mouth against the flesh of his upper thigh, the tip of your nose coming back cool and wet with your saliva. You avert your gaze shamefully and start to lap at the surprising amount of drool you managed to produce in such a short amount of time, but Haechan tuts disapprovingly, catching your attention once more. “Look at me when you do it.”

Your face burns hotter than you even thought it was capable of but you continue, maintaining eye contact and licking up your saliva from both of his thighs. He strokes himself almost lazily as you do, eyes heavy-lidded with desire and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on you.

Mark and Haechan seem to be silently fighting for your attention, because Mark’s thrusts escalate to an almost bruising pace while you’re tending to Haechan and he reaches around you to rub your clit, persisting even when you frantically try to swat his hand away.

“Be good, baby,” Mark murmurs distractedly as his hips continue to snap into yours. “Can you take it? For me?” As sweet as he sounds, it’s obvious to everyone in the room that you don’t have much of a choice.

You’re at the mercy of both of them, and not only do they know, but they know you know, and they know you know they know.

“Okay,” you whimper quietly, and they both laugh.

“She’s learning,” Haechan coos, stroking your hair with his free hand. He taps the head of his length against your mouth, smiling when you take him into your mouth and start to bob your head, your tongue gliding against the underside of his shaft and helping you move up and down smoothly. “Just like that, baby.” Haechan groans, his head falling back as he pushes your head down until your nose is pressed against his lower abdomen and his tip prods at the back of your throat.

You struggle to take it all in, but you finally manage, your throat reflexively swallowing around him, and he moans loudly, holding you in place as he thrusts up into your mouth with shallow pumps. You struggle to remember to breathe through your nose and tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he fucks your mouth, but Mark’s massaging of your clit helps distract you somewhat from the discomfort.

“You’re so tight,” Mark pants, “and wet, shit—”

The whine you let out is muffled by your mouthful of Haechan, who curses under his breath and thrusts up into your throat once more, making you gag around him and tap his thigh repeatedly.

“Too much?” Mark asks, sounding more amused than worried, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s not too much.” Haechan muses, finally pulling you off of his length and watching you cough and gasp for air. “Puppy loves taking cock—don’t you?”

“Yes,” you moan when you catch your breath, your voice throaty from sucking him off, and he smiles in satisfaction.

“She’s so good at it, too,” Mark grunts appreciatively, sliding his hand up your body to cup your breast. “Like she’s made for it.”

“I’m close,” you whine as a warning, finding it oddly arousing that they’re essentially talking about you like you’re not there.

“Good—I’m gonna cum so deep inside this pretty pussy,” he pants, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you’re toppling over it, a broken cry falling from your lips as your eyes shut tightly, and you can feel his length throbbing within your walls as he pumps his cum into you. Mark shudders out a moan and kneads your asscheeks before pulling out of you and coming to lie on his back beside you, spent.

Haechan takes Mark’s place, kissing up your thighs, over the curve of your asscheeks, and up your back until his lips are at the spot just behind your ear.

“You get to make one choice tonight, baby.” Haechan murmurs in your ear, running his hands down your sides to grab your hips. “You want me to eat you out like this? Or do you want to sit on my face?”

“Like this,” you mumble, barely audible and slurring. Haechan and Mark chuckle.

“What was that?” Haechan asks again, clearly taunting you.

“Haechan, please?” you sniffle, and he hums fondly, massaging circles into your hips with his thumbs. “Eat me out like this?”

“Okay, baby,” Haechan coos, moving back from your ear until you can feel his breath against your thighs and fanning over your core. “Such a pretty, pretty pussy. Even with Mark’s cum leaking out of it,” he murmurs, a gush of your and Mark’s cum leaking out of you as if on cue.

Mark positions you on your hands once more, your body already starting to feel weary, and places himself under you where Haechan was a moment ago, slowly stroking himself. His brows furrowed, his gaze is dark as he watches your bottom lip tuck itself between your teeth in anticipation for Haechan to do something.

Haechan practically buries his face between your thighs, lapping at the arousal leaking from you. “Messy puppy’s even messy down here,” he grunts, wet noises sounding out from behind you as he licks and sucks at your glistening folds.

The feeling of his tongue moving between your legs both tickles and thrills you, the wet muscle gliding over your skin with ease, and Haechan pulls back slightly, making you whine and push your hips back towards him.

“You’re so greedy,” Haechan teases, landing a smack to your ass cheek. “Be patient.”

“Don’t wanna,” you whine, looking up at Mark in an attempt to garner sympathy. “Please?”

Mark’s already furrowed brows furrow even more, something you didn’t think was possible, and he tilts your head up by the chin to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s domineering, forceful, even, with his tongue stroking against yours needily as you whine into his mouth.

As Mark kisses you senseless, you finally get to see why Haechan stopped in the first place. A warm, wet sensation travels down from your asshole and drips down to your clit, the bead of saliva threatening to drop onto the bed. Haechan groans at the sight while you groan at the sensation, Haechan’s mouth quick to follow the path but in reverse, licking up from your clit and through your folds to prod the tip of his tongue at your entrance.

You whimper and jolt forward, almost biting down on Mark’s lip, and Haechan chuckles, spreading your lips apart with two fingers and teasing his tongue around your entrance slowly.

“Please,” you pant, breaking the kiss momentarily to beg for relief. “Please?”

“What, puppy? You like that?” he mumbles, pausing his ministrations to tease you. When you nod, he chuckles, cooing, “I know you like it; you like when I tease your little hole like that? Yeah?” You can only cry out in response, and he flicks his tongue over your entrance before speaking again. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Haechan—” you plead in a desperate exhale, and he groans at the sound of your name leaving his lips, lurching forward and pushing his tongue past your entrance and into your core, not stopping even when you gasp and jolt away from him.

He yanks you back into place and smacks your ass once for good measure, warning you, “Don’t move until I say so,” before pushing his tongue back into you. He grabs your hip with his free hand, pulling you closer to his mouth, and Mark moves with you, his head dipping to suck at the base of your neck while you mewl in delight.

It takes approximately three guided rocking movements of your hips for you to realize that Haechan’s making you fuck yourself on his tongue, the wet muscle satisfying but a fraction of your need to be filled.

“More?” you beg, and Haechan drags his tongue up from your entrance to your asshole, swirling his tongue around the puckered rim as you cry out and reach back to swat at his head. “I didn’t mean—”

“Just wait,” he mumbles distractedly, flicking over it as you gasp and tremble. “See, puppy? I know what I’m doing.” Your hand slowly moves back to propping you up and both Mark and Haechan laugh, the sounds darker than usual and far more mischievous.

“You like that, hm? Like when Haechan eats you out from the back?” Mark grunts against your neck, and you look down to see he’s fully hard again, his fist now slowly pumping his length. “So dirty,” Mark teases. “You’re just a dirty little thing,” Mark murmurs, “aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you agree needily, willing to say almost anything if it means you get to climax. “Haechan, I need—”

“I know what you need.” Haechan silences you by letting another fat drop of saliva drip onto your asshole, his lips wrapping around your clit as he pushes two fingers into your entrance and traces another finger around your asshole. “You need all your holes filled, don’t you, puppy?”

“Mhm,” you can only whine as he starts to fuck his fingers into you, the finger at your asshole pushing in with the spit as a makeshift lubricant. It’s less than ideal, the stretch of his finger feeling foreign as he pushes it in up to the first knuckle, but when he starts to move it in and out of you at the same pace his fingers fuck your core, you can only gasp in surprise, clutching onto Mark for something to brace yourself. “Holy shit—”

“Yeah, that’s good, isn’t it?” Mark chuckles, tilting your head towards him. “Look at me; I want to see that pretty face when you cum.”

“God, fuck—okay,” you agree breathlessly, nodding as you struggle to keep your eyes on his. Haechan speeds up in his finger-fucking of both your holes, releasing your clit from his lips to go up and spit on your rim again to prepare you as best he can to add another finger. “Oh, shit!”

“You can take it,” Haechan mutters determinedly, both sets of digits pumping in and out of you quickly. “Can’t you, baby?”

“Mhm,” you moan, nodding, and Haechan presses a kiss to your ass cheek, a silent encouragement to hang in there. “Gonna—oh, God—gonna cum—”

“Good, baby,” Haechan urges, voice surprisingly sweet as he coaxes you to your climax. “Cum for me, baby, cum all over me.” He’s practically spewing nonsense at this point, too caught up in his lust to make any sense, lips refusing to part with your clit as he urges you closer and closer to your peak. “Want to feel you cum all over my fingers, baby, all over my face—gonna lick it all up when you’re done—”

You cry out loudly, now grateful to be home alone, as your climax hits, your mind and body toppling over the edge gracelessly as you succumb to the bliss coursing through you. You whimper Haechan’s name, then Mark’s, then Haechan’s again, then you honestly don’t know what starts coming out next; you can only make out the word “fuck” leaving your lips again and again—and again.

“So fucking pretty when you cum,” Mark groans, pressing kisses to your slack-jawed mouth. “Prettiest fucking girl.”

“Gonna look even better with both of her holes stuffed full of cock.” Haechan grunts, and your eyes widen.

“Both—”

“Remember everything you put us through,” Haechan reminds you with a devilish grin. “You owe it to us at this point.” As if to drive his point home further, he presses his spit-slicked thumb to your rim, chuckling when you jolt away reflexively and move to sit on your heels. He presses you back down forcefully, your ass back in the air and face squished against Mark’s lap as he pushes his thumb past the rim of your asshole, moving it in and out carefully.

Mark groans at the sensation of your face pressed to the underside of his length and shamelessly lets his shaft rub against your lips and forehead, a tremor of pleasure traveling through his body as you whimper at the sensations you’re feeling at both ends.

Haechan licks around where his thumb disappears into you, chuckling when you gasp with pleasure.

“Haechan, hurry up—I want to fuck her again.” Mark grunts, and Haechan scoffs, moving his mouth away from you.

“You’re so impatient.” Haechan grouches as he pulls his thumb out carefully, guiding you up so you’re sitting on your heels. “I get her ass.”

“Wh—no, you don’t!”

“Mm, yes, I do.”

“Dude, seriously—”

“Can someone please just fuck me?” you plead quietly, and they look at each other, exchanging words non-verbally with their eyes. “Please?”

“Don’t worry, puppy,” Haechan coos, coming closer and kissing your neck sweetly. “We’re gonna fill your needy little holes right now.”

“C’mere, pretty.” Mark urges, guiding you into straddling his legs and hovering just over his length as he presses the head of it to your entrance. He coats his length in your arousal, Haechan’s saliva, and whatever’s left of his own cum before urging your hips down so he slowly fills you up. When you let out a whine, he chuckles, pulling you down to kiss him, murmuring, “I know, baby. I know.”

“My turn,” Haechan chuckles mischievously, pressing his tip to your rim, both males holding you in place when you instinctively flinch away. “Don’t run from it, baby.”

“Mm—!” you cry out, voice muffled as Mark kisses you, as Haechan pushes the head of his cock into your ass, the feeling both incredibly foreign and unbelievably satisfying. “So much,” you gasp out, pulling away from Mark to look behind you as Haechan kneads your ass cheeks in what you assume is a comforting gesture.

“You can take it,” Mark encourages you with a husky voice, kissing down your neck to distract you from the discomfort.

“I can’t,” you moan, shaking your head.

“You can,” Haechan urges, “and you will.”

“God, fuck—” You hiss, scratching your nails uselessly against your bedspread.

“Don’t worry, baby—you’re gonna take this cock deep inside you, and you’re gonna fucking love it.” Haechan grunts through gritted teeth as he pushes himself further inside of you, his length reaching places inside of you no one’s ever been before. The cry you let out is somehow deeply overwhelmed yet so full of need for more that it would startle you if you were currently of sound mind and body. “Just like that, puppy.” he chuckles, his words ending in a groan as he bottoms out in you, hips pressed against your ass.

“Doing so well, baby.” Mark praises you in a whisper. “So fucking good.”

“You gotta relax, puppy.” Haechan leans over to speak against your ear. “Otherwise, it’s never gonna feel better.”

“You can move,” you say breathlessly, closing your eyes tightly in anticipation as you try to relax your muscles.

Mark lifts you up slightly and carefully pulls himself out to the tip before thrusting back into you with a groan. Haechan grips your hips tightly and starts to pull out, the feeling making you keen desperately for more. When he bottoms out again, you reach back to grab his hand tightly.

“Faster,” you manage to get out, and Haechan snickers.

“That’s more like it.” He pulls back out and thrusts into you as Mark starts building a quick rhythm that has you stuttering out whimpers. The sounds only increase in volume when Haechan does the same, the pleasurable blend of sensations of both your holes getting fucked filling your mind with a thick fog of bliss.

“So fucking big,” you whine, both of them chuckling.

“Who, baby?” Mark asks.

“Both of you—”

“Good answer,” Haechan praises before reaching around and rubbing at your clit, persisting even when you yelp in protest and try to smack his hand away. “Relax,” he reminds you, sounding smug as he tweaks the hypersensitive bud between his fingers.

“God, she’s so fucking wet,” Mark moans, his every syllable punctuated with a powerful thrust into you. “Feels like I’m gonna slip right out.” He reaches between your bodies and tugs at your nipples, kneading your breasts and running his thumbs over the sensitive buds.

“Please—oh, my God—” you beg, not even sure what it is you want.

“Good, yeah?” Mark teases, and you nod vigorously.

“So fucking good,” you pant, “feels so full.”

When he pulls you back down for a kiss, his hand returns to kneading your breasts as he teases your tongue with his. Haechan’s thrusts are rough and fast and deep, the pleasure forcing tears out of your eyes. His slick fingers press down harder on your clit and you nearly collapse, your eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, do that again, Haechan,” Mark groans against your lips. “She got so fucking tight—”

“This?” Haechan asks, fucking into you harder as he presses down on your clit again.

“Yeah—God, you’re so fucking tight—” Mark kisses away your tears even as fresh ones fall before sucking at a spot on your neck that makes you reflexively tilt your head to allow him more access.

“You like that, baby?” Haechan taunts you, audibly grinning as he speeds up the circles on your clit, and you cry out weakly, a teary whimper leaving you as more tears fall. “I know you do,” he grunts breathlessly, driving his hips into you harder.

“God, I’m gonna—” You can barely get the words out as your climax approaches, your hips fucking back onto Haechan’s length.

“Cum, baby.” Mark tugs particularly hard on your nipple, eliciting another cry from you as you hit your peak, your body attempting to curl in on itself as the pleasure courses through you. “That’s it, fuck, you’re so good.” He sounds slightly whiny and you can’t even bring yourself to help him out yet, the aftershocks of your orgasm still traveling through your body, buzzing through your veins.

“Mark,” you say, slurring slightly as you bring your lips to his ear. “You can cum,” you urge gently, and he inhales sharply.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you so good,” he moans, his thrusts growing more unpredictable before he thrusts upward, filling you completely, and spills his cum into you as his length throbs inside of you. His eyes close for a moment, Mark in a daze before he collects himself, opening his eyes, and pulls out of you gingerly. His gaze zeroes in on your core as his release and yours start to drip down your inner thighs, his face visibly spent while his eyes still hold that wild glint.

“Gonna fuck you so full of cum, puppy.” Haechan half-moans, half-growls as he pulls you up so your back is to his chest. Sucking at a sensitive spot on your neck, his hands grope your chest, kneading your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers. “Fill you so fucking good, it’ll be dripping out of you for ages.”

“God, Haechan, please cum—” you plead, fresh tears welling up in your eyes from how much pleasure you’re feeling. It’s almost more than you can take, one of Haechan’s hands returning to your clit even as you try your best to jerk away.

“You’re gonna come one more time for me, yeah?” he coaxes, and your eyes widen.

Underneath you, Mark chuckles at the panic on your face, watching you two lazily with a dopey smile on his lips.

“Haechan, I don’t wanna cum again,” you beg.

“Don’t want to, or you think you can’t?” Haechan presses, and you let out a small choked sob.

“I can’t!”

“You can—watch,” he answers simply, and you sniffle loudly. “Aw, come on; don’t be selfish, puppy,” he grunts, kissing up to your ear, his length pumping into you rapidly. “Give it to me. Cum.”

When you climax again, your body feels almost unbearably warm, your jaw dropping in overwhelming ecstasy, and your muscles go slack as you slump against Haechan’s back, distantly aware of Haechan’s thrusts slowing as he starts to cum inside of you. He keeps pumping into you at a slow pace, warmth flooding between your legs as more of your arousal drips down your legs.

“So fucking good, baby.” Haechan mutters through gritted teeth as his fingers dig into the flesh of your breast so hard that you whine. He pulls out of you carefully, your limbs immediately giving out as you practically melt onto the mattress beside Mark. Your breath comes in ragged inhales and exhales, Haechan gently flipping you onto your back and apologetically kissing the sore spots on your breast where his fingers dug into you. Satisfied with the attention, you tiredly push his head away and he lies down next to you, sighing deeply with relief.

“How do you feel?” Mark asks softly.

“Great,” Haechan answers, and Mark sucks his teeth.

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“I feel…” you start, and they both crane their necks to look at you. “Like you’re both still insane.”

“Maybe we are,” Haechan laughs tiredly. “You did a good job; almost paid off your debt entirely.”

“Please don’t bring up that stupid debt,” you complain, covering your ears.

“Also, turns out that puppy likes it in doggy style,” Haechan chuckles, “who would’ve thought?”

“Haechan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Stop being a menace for one second. You’re making my head hurt.”

“I can imagine more than your head hurts,” Mark says sympathetically, squeezing your hand. “Are you, like, physically okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumble sleepily. “I’m covered in spit and sweat and cum, though, so I really want to shower in a sec.”

“Here’s an idea—we go shower and Mark and I will go get some of Jeno’s weed for us to smoke. That’ll make you feel better.” Haechan suggests, and you pause to think.

“You know,” you muse, “that’s a good plan.”

“Why, thank you,” Haechan says with a proud smile. “I am known for my intelligence.”

“No, you’re not,” you and Mark snort in amusement.

“I’m a genius!” Haechan retorts defensively, and you scoff.

“Who said that beside the voices in your head?”

“Do you want Jeno’s weed or not?” Haechan challenges.

You’re quiet for a moment. “Fine, you’re a genius.”

Haechan smiles in satisfaction. “That's what I thought.”

(“I can’t believe they really made it the whole month,” Jaemin mutters in surprise.

“I can’t believe I really have to give up all my weed,” Jeno laments. “All 5 pounds of it—”

“Five fucking pounds?! Jesus Christ, are you a dealer or something?” Lia stares in horror at Jeno, who just waves her off.

“We all do what we gotta do to get by.” Jeno answers, shrugging. “I smoke weed, Jaemin eats snacks—Lia schemes against her friends—”

“Hey! When I told Mark and Haechan she was home on December 1st and had her get the door, I did that for her own good. The three of them were dancing awkwardly around each other for a frustratingly long time.” Lia defends herself, and Jaemin raises an eyebrow.

“Right. Now look at them. Oh, wait. You can’t because they’re off fucking like rabbits. Again.” he drawls.

“I regret nothing.” Lia turns her nose up in a huff.

“Well, I regret hearing Haechan’s dumb joke about the new monthly challenge they’re doing.” Yeji rolls her eyes, gathering the attention of everyone else. “He didn’t tell you guys?”

“No,” they chorus.

Yeji sighs. “It’s Dick Her Down December, apparently.”

“That poor girl.” Jaemin winces. “It’s only the 5th.”

Jeno shrugs. “Somehow, I think she’ll be alright.”)

the end!! i hope you enjoyed :) please consider leaving positive feedback & thank you for reading!!

#haechan smut #lee haechan smut #lee donghyuck smut #donghyuck smut #mark smut #mark lee smut #nct smut #nct dream smut

5K notes · View notes

peachdues · 5 months

Text

SANEMI V. NO-NUT NOVEMBER

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆ ･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳

In honor of it being Thanksgiving in the US, I thought I would feed you all. Happy Turkey Day, skanks.

CW: MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

Let’s count the ways you’ve tortured him over the last thirty days

You would purposefully wait until he arrived back home at his estate before getting yourself off — in his bed, or in his private bath, so that Sanemi had to watch or feel you working yourself, whimpering his name as you imagined your fingers were his.

You’ve never seen a man wound tighter than Sanemi, coming home after a long night of fighting demons and having to put up with incompetent younger Corps members, who is greeted with the sight of his lover, in his bed, legs spread wide open as she plunges her fingers in and out of her wet and ready core, moaning his name.

You also were fond of trouncing around his estate wearing little clothing — if any. In fact, you were far more fond of wearing nothing but his haori as you cooked for him. Sanemi thought you wouldn’t be able to resist him sidling up behind you and sliding his hands between its open folds to rest on your bare waist. He thought.

As it turned out, you were more than happy to swat away his eager hands and resume chopping vegetables. Sanemi managed to hold in his groan of frustration until you bent over to pick up a stray piece of carrot that escaped the pot.

Not to mention it was his BIRTHDAY on the 29th and you wouldn’t so much as let him eat his favorite cake (your pussy)

“But I’m not the one being pleasured, it’s you,” Sanemi’s voice bordered on a whine as he danced his fingers down the curve of your outer thigh. You swatted his hand away. “Need I remind you that, on more than one occasion, you’ve had to change your clothes after spending time between my legs?” Sanemi’s eyes are nearly bulging out of his head as you primly turn away from him, tightening the blanket around your half-nude form. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me —“ “Goodnight, ‘Nemi. Happy Birthday.”

But when the clock hits 12:01 AM December 1?

“If you think you’re walking out of this not pregnant — or that you’re walking out of here at all —,” he said severely, yanking you by the calves until your ass was pressed against his thighs. “Then you’ve got another thing fuckin’ coming.”

Listen. Sanemi respects the fuck out of women, but you’ve been disrespecting him for the last month. He’s about to get MEAN.

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that Sanemi is going to need to purchase new furniture by the end of it; shit’s getting smashed by you two. The bed, dressers, tables, you name it, you’re getting fucked on it, and it’s getting broken.

You are being edged to oblivion. If you whine or complain, it only makes the punishment that much worse (so does crying but he actually wants to see those big fat tears). Sanemi breaks up pace consistently to ensure this happens. Also, he’s gonna cum as much as he wants, but you’re not until he says so.

And when he finally, finally lets you cum, don’t you dare think it’s over — now he’s going to overstimulate you until you’re sobbing (again)

“You think you’re done, sweet girl?” His saccharine coos made your stomach curl because you knew that tone meant he was being anything but sweet. “Like hell you are.” Sanemi flipped the pair of you over, forcing you to lay with your back against his chest, your arms pinned behind you. The hand not restraining you slid to your throat, gripping softly and tilting your head back against him as Sanemi began to thrust sharply up into you. “I’ve had to watch you cum around everything but me for the last month, darlin’,” his teeth sank down into the soft flesh between your shoulder and neck. The wince you made at the sharp prick of his teeth was quickly chased away with a few soothing licks and caresses from his deceptively soft lips. “So you’re gonna be my good girl and cum on my cock until I’ve decided you’ve had enough. Understand?”

It gets to the point where you genuinely cannot tell apart the fluids on your skin — sweat, your cum, his cum, or your tears

When he’s finally out of stamina (which is like. days later, RIP you), the last few rounds are much slower, and he’s much softer and clingier. Granted, he’s shooting blanks by then because he’s also overstimulated and exhausted, but he thinks he’s made his point clear enough. He’s actually asking you for just one more, and if you’re crying, he’s quick to kiss the tears away and murmur words of encouragement and love

“Fuck, baby,” Sanemi moaned, his feet digging into the plush of his futon as a means of giving himself leverage to push into you, his thighs and hips having long since lost the ability to work with the same vigor they had when he’d first bent you over. “You feel too fucking good to stop.” You cried out, fists clenching against the painful pleasure your lover continued to bestow upon you. Part of you was desperate for him to stop, to rest, but your body kept betraying you, your legs tightening around his waist to hold him in place. “S-Sanemi,” you whimpered, fingers digging into the ropey muscles of his shoulders, unable to decide whether to pull him closer or push him away. “No m-more — I c-can’t —“ “One more, sweetheart, just one more.” He cooed, bending his face low to brush kiss after kiss against your lips, swallowing your moans and whimpers. Sanemi braced his weight upon his fists, situated on either side of your hips as he continued to rock into you. His pace now was far at odds with the one he’d maintained over the last day or two, with the scar-speckled Wind Pillar forgoing his vicious, unrelenting speed that had you clinging onto the nearest piece of furniture for dear life in favor of something far softer and more gentle. “You can do that for me, right?” Sanemi circled his hips. "Just one more, sweet thing, that's all I ask."

And you give it to him; though there are big, fat tears leaking down your cheeks and though every nerve in your body is screaming for a break, you come apart around him once more. But Sanemi still isn't fully satisfied even though he's a groaning, cursing mess rutting into you, so his thumb works its way between your legs and presses down. Only when a surge of your sticky fluid springs forth and coats his abdomen and groin, does Sanemi finally relax, his own climax rolling into him like a steady wave.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi smut

801 notes · View notes

cheralith · 3 months

Text

vogue — 「 boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader 」

synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink?

content tags/warnings ; gn!reader, use of they/them pronouns, mild language, traditional japanese basis of (l/n) (f/n) used, reader wears glasses, makeup, and heeled boots, some mild manga and jjk 0 spoilers (three minor characters from each are introduced), uhhh suguru being a dick lawl, some parts not edited/not beta read

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned ****!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, mild angst, some crack if you squint

word count ; 10.2k

notes ; heavily inspired by "the devil wears prada" and "paradise kiss", so there'll be some references i've dropped within this—see if you can spot them! also the censored is spoilers so until then, hehe.

now playing ; seven days in sunny june - jamiroquai

It’d be foolish not to know the household name of Geto Suguru, the ultimate male muse of Jun Takahashi whose title has yet to be reigned by another. He was the ultimate breathing mannequin of the iconic Yohji Yamamoto piece he had worn on the Milan runway back when he was just a teenager. It was one of the most staple pieces of the new century that helped open the gates of the mixing of world culture and avant garde fashion—an England-Japanese punk fusion of an ashen and tattered kasaya layered under the contrasting statement piece: the earth-toned gojōu-gesa splattered with weaves of gold—and it was that very piece that rose him to the top of the fashion world as one of the most powerful names in global fashion.

And how could he not? At seventeen, he was scouted as a model for Gaulthier and became his muse at the ripe age of twenty before several other worldwide designers began to fight for his eyes. It was only a few shrewd years later that he’d open up his own successful fashion line, RIIKO, named in honor of his late sister, resulting in it becoming one of the fashion line pillars in the modern century.

It didn’t take long after that, due to his fame and distinct education from Jujutsu University, rising to the top for Kaizen fashion magazine and ruling it with an iron fist and several cups of coffee with almost all his designs on display for all to see in the office. It was due to his work that Kaizen became the powerhouse of powerhouses of fashion editorials and magazines and it was solely his work that made fashion what it was in present times.

Whether it was direct or indirect, Geto had impacted the industry in all sorts of ways. Be it blossoming an upcoming supermodel’s name or setting new fashion trends, everything could essentially be traced to Geto Suguru.

So it’s understandable that many had called you a fool—a dimwit, even—for not understanding how big of a deal it was to become his junior assistant after lazily submitting your resume. Originally, you had just wanted to become a simple lifestyle journalist for papers like Sankei Shimbun or The Japan Times, but seeing how it was between a seemingly mysterious fashion magazine that mentioned, received gasps, or the measly and homely newspaper of The Hokkaido Tribune, a magazine you knew would only give new journalists the scraps of what they earned, the choice was obvious.

Whatever gave you more money, you’d take. Survival of the fittest, was this world not?

“Do not tell me you’re going to your interview at Kaizen wearing that?” Ino barks out a laugh as he finishes his morning cereal for breakfast, scanning your outfit. “You’re going to work in a fashion magazine, not some dingy corporate office.”

You sneer at him as you shove on your loafers (don’t mind that the leather is peeling slightly on the side). You think that there’s nothing remotely wrong with your overused gauntlet gray matching set of trousers and blazer with a slightly wrinkled button-up underneath it.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at your roommate and parttime brother figure. “What on earth do you know about fashion?”

“Enough of it to know that outfit is atrocious for that type of environment,” he states simply as he shoves a donut in his mouth. He kicks his feet up on the table, making you cringe at their nakedness. “Trust me, change if you can. Make a statement for ‘em.”

Ino Takuma sighs and glances at your thick spectacles that you’ve worn since early college. “And at least change your glasses for your contacts. Heard they don’t like those sorta things over there. At least not the prescription kind.”

“Can’t find them,” you grunt when you feel the weight of your shoulder bag heave down your body. “I’m already late, anyway,” you sigh, “Listen, if I don’t come back alive, which I will by the way, then you can dance on my grave all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he chants before he lets out a haughty snicker that gets muffled instantly when you slam the door on him.

You throw insults at Ino in your mind, grumbling about how a mere job hopper like him wouldn’t even know the speck of fashion, how you refuse to take advice from someone who wears the same thing every day. There’s nothing wrong with the gray, you think. It’s safe and presentable, ordinary and professional, and you’d much rather blend in than stand out as you believe standing out and making yourself known is just a recipe for trouble.

Stretching out a hand on the street, you call for a taxi and humbly enter as you smooth out your trousers. The taxi driver eyes you in the rearview mirror with a questioning glint in your eye. “Job interview?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” you nod your head. “Yep! I'm a little nervous, haha.”

“Really?” he says as he gratefully steps on the accelerator a little faster. “Better get you there quick, then. Would hate to have you late. Where are you planning on working?”

“Kaizen Magazine,” you declare confidently, an affirmative look on your face.

“Kaizen?” questions the driver slowly as his eyes go to scan your outfit in the mirror again, his brows raised. “As in the… the fashion magazine?”

You nod with visible apprehensiveness. You think that maybe you truly were the only person in the world that didn’t know the impact of Kaizen, seeing as how a mere taxi driver even knew about the name and you didn’t up until a few weeks ago.

“I see…” he mutters. The drive there is a mix of silence and everyday morning conversations, before he pulls up to the building that held the key to your dreams. “Well then, here’s your stop.”

You let out a little gasp of excitement. “Thank you so much,” you reply as you shove some cash into the slot.

“Hm, well,” the taxi driver counts the money carefully, barely looking just before you close the door as he mutters, “Good luck, Plain Jane.”

You turn back to the taxi, your hearing a little awry. “Sorry, what was that?”

But when you turn back to the yellow cab, all that’s left is a billow of smoke and cinders. Dazed and confused, you quickly shake those feelings off before you head inside to the building that was now your shining beacon of hope with a determined smile still plastered on your lips. White is the first thing that greets you when you enter the building as it was essentially aired out onto every corner. White marble counters, white tile flooring with white grout, white frames of fashion icons—the white screams pristine and perfection to you and its message went very much noticed. You haven’t even met Geto Suguru yet, but you understood already that he expected nothing but excellence.

You ride up the elevator quietly and alone, trying not to focus on how your anxiety increased with each ding of the passing floors. The elevator screen seems to almost taunt you as it closes in on your doom, the numbers getting closer to the designated floor until it slowly pauses and shone brightly the number 21 in stippled red.

The doors slowly open and the light seeps itself back to your vision, white flooding your senses again. You carry yourself carefully down the hallway whilst taking your time to admire the many framed pictures of past magazines, multiple runway models, and scraps of newspaper articles. One specific piece catches your attention, however; it was large, almost half your body size and framed in a gilded black frame. It was a picture of a mannequin wearing a tawdry gray-black robe with the kanji characters of “summer” painted with purple messily atop. Layered was a loose, but well-fitted piece of thick green and gold cloth that looked much more refined to the messiness of the other materials.

You stare at it for what seemed to be forever whilst admiring the contrast and beauty of the work before your name is called out.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

Your trance breaks from the voice approaching you. You turn to see a short and young woman with dark blue eyes staring at you with a raised brow. “That’s you I presume?” she asks.

“Oh! Uh,” you nod furiously and smooth out your trousers again. “Yes… yes, that’s me. I assume you’re Manami Suda? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

She nods slowly, her eyes going to study your outfit which was a rather stark contrast to her own attire that highlighted an emphasis on shades of opal and navy. Her eyes have a similar glint in the way that Ino’s and the taxi driver’s had, further enunciating the message that your attire was rather… something.

“I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion,” she murmurs. Sarcasm going undetected by you, you grin as a response and think that a compliment from her was a sign you did something right. Her eyes go to rise back and meet yours again before she turns and redirects you to the end of the hallway where some rooms belonging to subordinal editors sat in, clacking away at the computers. There was one singular room that held the only door on the floor and it doesn’t take you long to assume who it belongs to considering the large letters of GS frosted onto the glass.

Two desks stood on each side of the door, one completely devoid of life and decorations. Manami guides you to the empty one and patted the top of it. “This will be yours if you manage to miraculously pass.”

Manami taps on her clipboard a couple of times, listing off a couple of requirements that you were most likely going to need in the future: efficient time management, ability to fight for what Geto wants, sharp memory, quick feet…

“And uh…” Manami flickers her eyes to you and the details (or lack of, in this case). She mutters under her breath quietly, “... a good wardrobe.”

You turn to her, internally wondering if you were going deaf today. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“A good, warm…” she squints, obviously finding the right word to keep that ignorant smile on your face. “... welcome to start off his day.”

She succeeds in her task as you merely nod with the same blatant grin attached. “Got it!”

Manami tours you around the floor of the office, letting you say hello to your future coworkers that work in the cubicles that send you worried looks behind your back. They obviously seem too pitying of you, knowing that your fate would be sealed as Geto’s potential right hand man the moment you signed that employee contract.

“This is Human Resources,” Manami gestures over to a room filled with chattering employees who seemed to be getting their gossip out before their day started. “You’ll contact them if you have any—” her phone dings suddenly. Casually, she pulls it out, only for all of her resolve to disappear in an instant. Manami then abruptly blows a whistle with her teeth, alerting everybody in the radius.

“Everybody! His morning facial was canceled!” Manami hollers. “Geto is coming in…” her phone pings again with another notification, and you can tell Manami’s heart instantly drops. “Oh God… he’s in the lobby! Everybody, places! You,” she snags the sleeve of your blazer and drags you along with her, your clunky loafers nearly tripping you. “Come with me.”

Manami takes back to where you first started and orders you to stand in the front of the blank desk with a look that screams both fright and anxiousness all in one. She lists off too many tasks that you need to do before he comes, but you’re so frazzled with trying to remember how to act in front of your future boss that you can’t even remember the first thing she told you.

“Help me arrange the drafts of the magazines from most recent to least recent before he—”

The elevator dings and all goes quiet; Manami tosses the magazines over her shoulders and positions herself firmly in her place, gesturing for you to do the same. The doors open and unveiled from two bodyguards is a man—a tall man, around six feet or perhaps even taller—dressed in noir fitted pants and a matching button-up closed only halfway to reveal a silk navy turtleneck. Caped behind him is a black velvet trenchcoat that you’re sure is worth half your rent and a watch plated on his wrist that is well over your life savings. He’s slightly sunkissed, with blue-black tresses of hair with a soft bang sneaking through and large plated earrings to match. His eyes, however, show a tint of color—a sharp dark amethyst that you think could cut through you like crystals.

But he’s almost hauntingly attracting—like a spirit. Something about him was an enigma and his aura was nothing less than powerful.

“Good morning, Geto,” Manami chants with an artificial happiness to her tone.

Geto doesn’t reply, just merely giving a silent blink before he sheds his coat off and tosses it aimlessly towards Manami. It proves to be heavier than anticipated, giving how she fights to groan from the weight of it. He’s handed his briefcase from one of the bodyguards and begins to open the door to his office until he pauses and turns and glances at you, the stranger.

“Hello,” you state with a slight bow. “I-I’m one of the interviewees for your junior assistant. My name is—”

“(Y/N),” Geto murmurs; his voice is soft and low. It’s all knowing, with indigo eyes boring into your own. “(L/N) (Y/N), I know. The one that graduated from Jujutsu University recently, yes?”

Adjusting your glasses to wave away the blurriness, you nod with anticipation. “Yes, that’s me.”

Geto turns back and opens the door, to which he only replies back, “In my office.”

You glance at Manami for confirmation, only given back with a jut of her head towards the door. All the unease you felt in the elevator comes hurdling back to you in an instinct and you feel as if you were no more than a peasant to someone that was essentially royalty in the fashion world.

Geto turns his chair to face away from you, shuffling a few papers over each other that appears to be your resume, before he spins it slowly towards you. He kicks his feet up lazily on his desk.

“It’s nice to have another Jujutsu alum to join us,” he says. His voice is still the same—a little baritone with a wisping edge of a whisper to it, but it almost sounds… bored. Unamused even. “A bachelors in print journalism… same as mine, hm. Tell me, is Professor Tengen still as loose as ever with their practices?”

You fight to fiddle with your glasses as you watch as Geto tangibly toys with his own, with his focus angled on the papers in front of him rather than you. “Um, I assume so. Though I believe they’re actually retiring this year.”

“Good,” he sighs in what seems to be relief. “Shame that the university had wasted time and money by hiring them. Truly, I hope they can find someone much better suited for their position.”

“Really?” you quietly question. You had only taken their class a few semesters ago and thought despite their rather… all too lenient disposition… you did learn quite a lot in their class. “I thought they were a rather alright teacher…”

Regret pools in your mouth from the moment you have finished your sentence. Geto finally goes to look at you from the edge of his glasses with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“Tengen was merely a sorry excuse for a professor. They were rather nothing but a nanny who gave their students too much leeway,” Geto declares. “Though, I’ll admit, I am pleasantly surprised that you managed to take something out of that class.”

A laugh that’s just dripping with nothing but nervousness leaks out of your lips. “I suppose I had learned just a few things…”

“Mmh,” Geto nod nonchalantly, eyes drawing back to the papers. “Well. Let’s start with the basics. Why exactly do you want to work here?”

Geto already feels the cliche comments erupting. Had the person in front of him say at least one of them, he was ready to insert the papers he was holding into the nearby shredder. Or maybe out the window this time, he wonders—something nice for a change.

“I was inspired by your work.”

“It’s been my dream to work at Kaizen.”

“Fashion is my absolute passion.”

“I want to—”

“I’m just in need of a job, really,” you say lifelessly.

He goes to raise his head slowly from the packet and turns to you slowly. Geto doesn’t say anything, but his facial expressions indicate a blend of confusion and intrigue. A slithering tongue darts out to slick his lips, indicating you’ve piqued his interest. “Well, obviously. But why this job specifically? What about it stood out to you?”

You clear your throat. “I had learned recently that Kaizen is a rather prestigious mag—”

“‘Recently’?” Geto repeats quietly. “You hadn’t heard of us before?”

Lips thinning, you shake your head slightly. His eyes go narrow again to your dread, serpent-like. “My specialty is more in newspapers rather than magazines, I-I’m not too knowledgeable in that area.”

Geto goes quiet and the silence makes the air go thick. It’s then that familiar glint sparkles in his sullen eyes when they go to examine your choice of clothing—it confirms Ino was truly right in the end, as he lets out a smile-less chuckle that doesn’t do much to ease your brain.

“Continue,” Geto gestures and takes off his glasses to look at you, or you suppose your outfit, more properly. He folds his hands and places his chin on top of them. “You said you only learned about us not too long ago?”

“Yes, and I realized that perhaps working here for a while would, at least I hope, grant me access to other media houses,” you explain. It’s only then you realize that your declaration sounds absolutely ludicrous and almost disrespectful to the editor-in-chief of the most iconic fashion magazine in the nation. “Connections are quite powerful in this day and age, haha…”

“I suppose,” Geto mumbles with not much interest in your poor humor. “What about me? I do hate bragging but surely, you know about my name or at least my fashion line?”

Your hesitant countenance and silence tells Geto all he needs to know. He thinks that it’s almost some sort of marvel that no one has heard of him or his works before.

He sighs. “Do you have any experience working in any fashion-related activities at least?”

“Well, I once worked in a department store for a few months back in high school,” you say thoughtfully (and ignorantly).

Geto gives you a blank look. His blinks are apathetically slow.

“Um,” you clear your throat again and shake your head, timid. “N-no…”

“Then tell me,” he continues smoothly. “Why exactly should I hire you? You obviously have no taste in fashion and you hadn’t even heard of my name, let alone my magazine, until recently. What is there within that makes you want to work here other than you just… what was it that you said?” He air-quotes mockingly, “‘needing a job?’”

Your throat runs dry and limbs go stiff. A heat rockets to your face when you seemingly can’t get any words out to excuse yourself, much too caught up in the same of your ignorance towards Geto’s profession. And that’s all the response he needs to make his decision.

His hand takes the packet again and to your horror that you fight to keep in, inserts it into the paper shredder. The groan of it rumbles through the room agonizingly and you realize that Ino is going to have the time of your life planning your doomsday.

Geto gives you the mercy of breaking the thick silence first. “You may go.”

With a swift flick of his wrist, Geto dismisses you with a slight edge to his murmuring as he puts back on his glasses to examine the morning newspaper to not waste any more incessant time in the day.

You don’t even attempt to fight back with any poor excuses. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the sting of them frustrating you to your wits end. Instead, you gather the last of your resolve and bid him through a strained throat good day and make your leave, humiliation and disappointment trailing not too far behind.

You hope that Ino will give a nice eulogy, at least.

Out of all the miracles that await you in life, you do not expect the one that comes in the form of an early morning phone call that wakes you at the ass-crack of dawn. When you pick it up with sleep still very much embedded in your eyes, it dissipates in the instant you hear Manami’s voice. It’s only then that it hits you why on earth she was calling so early and why she was demanding to know your whereabouts, claiming you were going to be late on your first day of work.

You think it’s some sort of cruel joke maneuvered by Ino, especially with how his comforts from last night were mixed with taunts. But when Manami’s voice finally registers in your brain, by some sort of miracle or stroke of luck, you have gotten the job as Geto Suguru’s junior assistant.

You don’t know how, but you don’t waste any time questioning how on earth you landed in such a position because you leap out of bed at 7:23 a.m. and manage to do your morning routine in the matter of what you think is a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Your ruckus manages to wake up deep-sleeping Ino, who, when you excitedly tell him to postpone your funeral, gives a groggy thumbs up before drooling back into his pillow. It’s 7:38 a.m. when you shove on your shabby coat and you realize you only have a mere twenty-two minutes left until you have to officially clock in for work.

At 7:40, you’re out the door and sprinting to the located coffee shop that thankfully wasn’t too far from where you lived.

At 7:47, you’re at the designated cafe whilst attempting to swim through the crowds of morning bustlers to pick up Geto’s coffee.

7:50, you’re sticking your hand out waving desperately for a taxi and tip extra to make the driver speed through as you attempt to make sure the coffees don’t spill out of their containers.

7:58, you arrive at the building and just barely make it into the narrow gap of a tight-fitting elevator, earning stares from the others from your rather… frazzled appearance.

At 8:02 a.m., you dash out the elevator and officially clock in for your first day at work at Kaizen Magazine amidst a birdnest of hair, clothes that were plucked out of your hamper, and what you pray to the heavens above are hefty layers of deodorant and perfume since you were given no time to shower.

When Geto comes in that day, all suave and composed, he takes one good look at you before sighing and focusing his attention to the more refined Manami and lets her take the gears for the day. The only attention he gives you that morning is the rough toss of his heavy coat—a cashmere pearl peacoat today—flung at your arms that nearly makes you tumble from its weight.

You quickly learn that working for Geto requires high demand and maintenance, as he is not one to skip over any details in his day. Not even three hours in your first day, you already have to plan out his future meetings, reschedule one with a rather feisty and insistent client, edit a forest of emails, finishing by dashing out five blocks on foot to the two michelin star restaurant to retrieve Geto’s weekly steak for lunch. Had this been your old corporate job, you only would’ve gotten half the tasks you had completed by the end of the usual eight hours, but you realized early on that you had barely scratched the surface of your future in Kaizen.

You think that after plating his steak with the shakiest of hands, you finally have time to relax during lunch time when you see the small hand of the clock finally hit 12:00 p.m. , especially since you and him were left alone in his part of the office together. But the moment that Geto saunters into the office again, he tends to you once again with a final task by himself.

“(Y/N),” he calls from the office, the scrape of his fork against ceramic cluttering your ears agonizingly.

You fight the urge to cringe from the sound as you scurry to the doorframe, hands stiffly intertwined together. “Yes, Mr. Geto?”

“No need for such formalities,” he remarks with the dab of a napkin to his lips. “They make me feel old, and I’m surely not much older than you are…” you think that’s the longest he’s spoken to you since the day had started. “Did Leibovitz confirm?”

Blinking, you tilt your head ignorantly. “D-did who confirm?”

He pauses and does that taunting slow rise of his eyes from his steak to you. “Leibovitz. Did she confirm?”

Silence fills the office, much like the silence that drowned you back at the interview. He clicks his tongue and dismisses you with a disappointed shake of his head. “Just go on your lunch,” he mutters, sighing.

Manami, the savior that she is, is called into the office after her break and is asked the same task and you watch with humiliation whilst packing your things to go on your lunch as she picks up the telephone and speaks to someone over the line before confirming to Geto that, “I’ve got Annie!”

“He hates me, Taku!” you cry out whilst flopping onto the dinner table. It’s ten in the evening and you’ve just come home after what was supposed to be an 8-5 shift. You suppose you should be used to this already after two months of working for the Lucifer donned ritually in white in the building, but you don’t know how much your sanity (and body) can take.

Normally, Geto is usually cold to those who he wasn’t familiar with, but you think that his distaste for you sours everyday. You notice that he’s beginning to pile you with the more urgent and busier duties and that he often stares you down more menacingly in the morning with those piercing purple eyes of his, like you were gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. You thought it was just him being normal Geto Suguru, the man with the expectations higher than the clouds, and that you just were still adjusting to such a high-intensity environment, but it was today that your world came crumbling down when you overheard him muttering to his associates about you, tone icier than ever.

You were on the other side of the door, a fist going to rap on the glass with the other holding his afternoon coffee pick-me-up when you heard it.

“... can’t even do the most miniscule things right,” Geto had groaned. “I ask if Lanvin’s models are all good to go for next Thursday’s shoot and somehow, they have the nerve to ask ‘How do you spell Lanvin’? For fuck’s sake, I can feel my goddamn conscious just wither away by the second.”

You hadn’t heard Geto swear since you had started working there, but something about his venomous tone enunciating such words had made your blood run cold from the other side of the door. Not having the courage to face him after that, you left his coffee on Manami’s desk for her to tend to with a post-it note saying a sorry excuse for yourself before letting your eyes sob frustratingly in the bathroom, isolated from others.

The last time you had cried that hard was way back in childhood, where you had broken your arm from falling down a tree branch. But you think that Geto’s words had twisted through your skin and bone much harsher than that pain ever will.

“It’s a miracle how I haven’t been fired yet… I don’t even know why he hired me!” you wail.

Ino sighs from across the dinner table and you can’t tell if it’s a sigh of pity or a sigh of criticism. You learn that it’s both when he rolls his eyes at you whilst simultaneously pushing a plate of much needed food towards you.

“First off, you need to eat,” he presses, staring at your gaunt features. “The way your face is swallowing is making me feel like I’m living’ with a ghost. You’ve lost some weight, I’ve noticed.”

Awareingly, you touch your cheekbones and realize he’s right, for you feel the small disc of sharpness from them prick your fingertips. They’ve never been so cavern before. You suppose it’s because of the lack of proper meal time between your days and how you often eat small and very late dinners back at home, truly not enough needed fuel for you.

“Secondly,” Ino chews his tongue, wondering if he should really say what he’s about to say because of your current disposition but goes through with it anyway. He might as well rip the bandaid off now to let more time for the wound to heal. “You won’t like what I’m ‘bout to say, but you need to up your game. Severely.”

An aching body rises up from the table. You go to stare at Ino through glazed eyes and a pouty lip, asking him what he meant.

“Ah nope! Don’t give me that face and don’t play coy with me,” he hisses, looking away to not give in to your helpless puppy eyes. He can’t—he shouldn’t give you the easy way out and just say to quit—not when you’ve been earning so much bank that rent isn’t a problem for either of you anymore. He wonders, though, for a moment if so much money is worth your rationality.

He drags a hand down his face before placing his chin on it, examining your haggard appearance. “What I mean is that you need to see through Geto’s eyes. See what he sees when he looks at you. Tell me, if you had an assistant that showed up wearing things that looked like they were plucked from the clearance bin at a thrift store and didn’t show any respect for your brand, which just so happens to be a fashion magazine out of all things…” Ino eyes you with a raised brow. “You startin’ to follow me?”

Your fingers fiddle with each other. “... sorta.”

“Now listen,” he raises his hands up lazily in surrender. “I already know what you’re ‘bout to say about me not knowing’ how to dress in shit other than black and more black, but even I know that you should put in more effort into your appearance. That’s the first step.”

“But I have—!” you exclaim helplessly, “I-I swear, I’ve been trying to… but it’s not my fault that it isn’t up to his standards.”

Your roommate groans and rubs his forehead, not really knowing what else to do for your situation until an idea pops in his head. “Free up your weekend,” he demands with a sly grin that makes you a little uneasy. “I’m no fashion connoisseur, but you know who is?”

“And remember, we never touch anything with chevron on it, especially in today’s fashion world,” Yuki chimes as she slaps on a navy blue pageboy cap on your head and she prances about your bedroom that’s been littered with spare clothes from her very own closet she graciously gifted to you for the past weekend. “I’m so utterly relieved that the trend has dug its own grave.”

The past weekend had been filled with endless shopping trips and you shuffling in and out of clothes every minute, practicing how to pair items and colors together by Yuki’s teachings. Of course you should’ve known that Ino was going to contact the one person that he was within reach that was essentially a walking encyclopedia when it came to fashion. You’ve met Tsukumo Yuki before, found her to be quite delightful even, but you never anticipated she would be this giddy, especially about clothes of all things.

And she used her brain to good use for not only clothes, but the entirety of yourself. You never knew how much just a simple haircut could do your face along with small hints of makeup to emphasize the best parts of it. Dared not your hands go to a lash curler, but here you are now, making sure your powder compact and lipstick for the day was in your bag before you went out.

“Uh, I don’t think I ever mentioned this before yet, but thank you for helping my wardrobe out, it really means a lot,” you say just before she slides on a pair of gold bangles on your wrist. “Are you sure you wanna give these clothes to me? I’m okay with just borrowing them.”

“Nonsense, babe,” she wavers off before shuffling through your now-hearty closet, a closet that’s now bursting with many clothes given by her. “I needed space in my closet anyway, so take as much as you need.”

So (Y/N)’s closet is basically her trash can, a particular shaggy brunette thinks with a roll of his eyes. Ino fiddles with the piece of toast in his mouth as he leans on the doorway, watching as Yuki essentially treats you like her very own Barbie doll at such an odd morning hour.

“(Y/N)’s not a doll, Yuki,” Ino lazily calls aloud through a tired yawn. “You better get ‘em out the door soon or else they’ll get late for work. Especially need that money since the landlord’s been on our ass about increasing our rent…” he mutters, sniffing. “Damn bastard.”

She snaps at Ino to be quiet and let her work before she shuffles on a regal blue overcoat over your shoulders that completes your look. When you look at yourself finally in the mirror, you almost think there’s a stranger in your house from the way you look so dignified compared to the you just three days ago. It’s a simple outfit with not much layering, but it’s still enough to ooze charisma and elegance to wandering eyes. You’re adorned in a white weaved sweater with flared, light-wash jeans and white boots to match. Over the outfit lies the coat that drapes almost like a king’s mantle behind you and the pageboy cap as your crown.

Yuki creeps up behind you, her manicured hands on your shoulders affirmingly. “How’re you feeling, hun?” she asks quietly as she shares the same sight with you in the mirror. “Don’t you look wonderful?”

You know that it was all her work, it was all her creativity that made you into the artwork that you are now, so breathlessly laugh with a smile on your painted lips and thank her quietly once more before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Her eyes study you for another minute, going to stare at the glasses still atop your face. Yes, they were new and much more modern considering she quite literally called your old pair atrocious, snapped them in half, and tossed them over her shoulder, but she was still quite dissatisfied when you told her about your hesitance about using contacts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give contacts another chance?” she sighs.

You shake your head with a small smile, “I’ll feel completely naked without them,” you murmur, “Besides, I think they actually compliment this look, if I’m being honest.”

Her lips stretch out into a grin, too absorbed in her fashion education finally being used.

“Well then!” she begins to drag you by the sleeve out your room. “We wouldn’t want you to be late then for your first day as the new you, right? Let’s get you a cab!”

Somehow, you think you really are at your first day at work again from the way you feel that same fluttering in your stomach and from how the people you’ve once grown accustomed to seeing in the early mornings are not merely passing you with mundane nods of their heads but instead, greeting you with wide-eyed gawks and open-mouthed smiles. Some of them, a few who you knew but never spoke a word to, even do a double take and compliment you aloud on the new look. Even the cute barista in the lobby that never bothered to spell your name right at last did after finally taking a good look at the holder of the card.

When you exit out of the elevator, Manami nearly drops the pile of magazines she’s holding when she spots a refined and refreshed you. You offer a bright smile to her and you watch as her gasp slowly forms into an affirmative grin when you round your desk.

She laughs softly. “And who might you be?” she asks with a tease in her voice. “‘Cause last time I checked, that’s my coworker (Y/N)’s desk.”

“I murdered them,” you shrug nonchalantly, earning another chuckle from her. You take it as a good sign, great even, considering up until now, Manami had been rather stoic and a little indifferent towards you because of your amateurism; but now, you suppose that ditching that Plain Jane from just two days ago is finally beginning to do you good by finally grounding a proper relationship with her. “Shame, isn’t it? Poor thing.”

“Truly,” she nods. Her eyes trail further down until they spot something that makes her gasp. “Don’t tell me those are—”

“—the new calfskin gold studded Louboutin boots?” you finish for her. You flex your ankle and show off the ravishing red bottoms of your shoes. “Oh yeah.”

Manami squeals in excitement and rushes over to your desk, begging to take a look at them. “How on earth did you manage to get your hands on these?! I’ve been looking for them fo—”

The elevator dings again but with a tone that makes you and Manami flinch. Both of you stiffen and straighten out your posture, falling into a thick silence when out comes Geto traipsing out like he usually did—his aura being nothing less than dominating. You and Manami chime out in sync a good morning to him as he saunters towards his office as he begins to shuffle off his coat as usual to toss to you until he looks up and catches you in his field of vision.

He stops all of a sudden with his eyes dancing about your figure, a stark contrast to the rest of his paralyzed body. Geto’s lips thin all of a sudden, and so do his eyes when they scan your outfit. He takes in a sharp breath and opens his mouth to say something to you, yet nothing comes out, even as your eyes glisten with anticipation.

It merely instead zips itself close and he finally whisks himself into his office, coat still on and briefcase still in hand, and slams the door shut.

But not without glancing at you one last time.

Much has changed in the past month for the better.

Yuki was a godsend—she had been your guardian angel, your fairy godmother of sorts—because you swore your career life had taken a complete 180° the moment your closet was revamped. Ever since that makeover, you had felt so much more confident in your actions, so much lighter on your feet. The price of your efforts was beginning to pay off as well, as Geto began to slowly thaw his icier sense of self when you began to actually put effort into your appearance. His thrusts of his coat towards you began to become less aggressive, was significantly more lenient when it came to more of the impossible tasks, and had at one time actually muttered a ‘good morning’ to you and Manami after months of greeting with silence and judgemental glances.

She’d occasionally check up on you every once in a while, usually to offer new clothes that she didn’t want anymore. And by offer, it actually just meant packing them in a box from her place to yours with a post-it that’d usually read “With love, YT ❤” in neat cursive. Along with forming a close bond with Yuki, your relationship with Manami improved significantly, especially when you gave her those white Louboutins she was eyeing. She often invited you to lunch with her other friends, Larue and Remi.

The iconic John Galliano once said that, “The joy of dressing is an art.” A month ago, you would’ve never believed what you would think is a rather tacky statement, but now, you can truly see it to believe it. It never occurred to you to actually look at your surroundings closely, but you often would sometimes take a few seconds out of your day to admire the many colors and materials that would adorn your coworkers. Whether it be admiration for their sense of style or mild jealousy over luxurious pieces, you were finally understanding what makes fashion, fashion.

And your epiphany was awarded today with the task that you thought would never come into the light of your days working for Geto—being tasked with dropping off The Book.

The Book was a collection of pieces that were needed for the upcoming edition of the magazine, regarding it as being the most important item in the entire company. It was a duty that usually Manami tended to, but she hypothesized that you managed to finally get on Geto’s good side after a while and congratulated you. Manami spoke to you briefly about how trivial The Book was to both Geto and Kaizen. She told you about how you must guard it and Geto’s key to his penthouse with your life, and that you were to remain absolutely invisible to him if he was in the apartment. Manami told you because it was usually the hour he needed most concentration—it was during the later hours of the day that he usually mended last minute edits to the edition or he was working on his latest fashion collection since he was only able to work on it during the weekends as Kaizen took too much of his time.

Manami told you he would most likely be found on the second floor of his penthouse, and you were to remain on the first floor at all costs.

“The editors will finish The Book around 10:30 or 11:00 at night, wait in the office until then. Then, drop the book off at his penthouse at no later than 11:30 with his dry cleaning, too.”

Her words echo in your mind as you tiptoe out of the cab and look up to see a gleaming, glamorous building sitting in the heart of the city. It’s one you’ve passed a plenty of times—hell, you pass it on your way to work—but it never occurred to you that it’d be this antique white, Parisian-styled building that would be the abode of your boss.

“Take the elevator to the top floor and enter his apartment. Do not call out his name, don’t wander around, don’t even make a single sound. You are nothing more than a ghost when you step foot into his house.”

The only doors that are on the very top floor of the apartment complex are two large metal doors that sit before you. You enter the key into the keyhole and push them open with controlled force, closing them as quietly as possible with Manami’s whispers still floating about your head. You knew that Geto was certainly a man of luxury, but to see that wealth exempt in a form other than fashion was a sight that you weren’t sure if your eyes deserved to feast on. Sculptures and paintings decorated the foyer and hallway, adding occasional splashes of color to the ivory-adorned apartment. After hanging the dry cleaning in the designated coat closet, the first room you enter - and perhaps the only one you’ll ever be in - is the said living room with the glass coffee table sitting in the center of it.

“Place The Book on the coffee table in the living room. That’s it. Do not toddle any longer in his house and get out immediately. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and just simply go afterwards. It’s for your own good.”

But oh, how curiosity is just a little devil of temptation that sits far too easily on your shoulder. A house holds the most of a person, and Geto is just an all too mysterious enigma for you not to at least dip your toe in. The doors at the end of the hallway are waiting for you, but so are the picture frames that sit atop the TV stand. You suppose… maybe another minute wouldn’t hurt.

Your feet carry you slowly to the stand and you crouch, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the pictures. There’s only two of them—six by fours, both in oak brown frames. The first one is a picture of a smiling young girl with short chestnut hair sporting a smile with a cigarette between her teeth. Beside her are two boys taller than her, both making similar faces at the camera. One of them, the one that’s a little taller with silvery snow hair and opaque black sunglasses, throwing a forced, all-too wide grin that almost looks maniacal. It doesn’t require much brain power to know the other figure in the photo is a younger Geto Suguru, his hair shorter in a tight bun with a rare, but soft grin on his face, his gaze affectionate to the others.

The other picture is of the same two boys arm in arm with each other. Both of them are grinning now, with the white haired boy still smiling a little more largely than the other. It doesn’t take long for you to assume who the other boy was considering that the shade of purple sheathing his twinkling eyes is unique to only one individual in your life.

Best friends, you suggest in your mind as you study the pictures a little longer than needed. A minute, you thought, wouldn’t do much harm, but how utterly wrong your thoughts prove when you suddenly hear the slam of a door from the floor above. The crash of it makes you yelp and breaks you out of your trance from the pictures and your gaze suddenly snaps to the open stairs above you, as well as two voices echoing aloud.

“Y-you can’t—” an unknown voice wheezes. “I’ve been your muse for years. You possibly can’t just abandon me out of nowhere…”

“You say that as if I’m not doing that right now,” a familiar one replies back boredly. It’s Geto, and his voice makes your nerves electrify in fear because it’s in that moment that you remember that you can’t get caught inside of his house. “This is the last time I’m telling you, Shigemo. Get out.”

The man that you assume is Shigemo heaves heavy breaths. “You need me,” he declares.

“Needed. Past tense,” Geto corrects as he almost forces Shigemo down the stairs with an invisible force surrounding him. You can see their figures above you, Shigemo slowly stepping backwards with each step Geto takes forward. “You’ve done me well these few years, I admit, and I do thank you for that. But I suppose your expiration date has finally come.”

“I’m not a food,” Shigemo snivels. “I’m a person. Most importantly. I’m the reason your fashion line flourished, I was the inspiration for almost all your works. We’re essentially a team.”

They’re towards the end of the staircase, towards where you are still present in plain sight. Your eyes scatter about a place to hide in the meantime, but there are seemingly no places to hide that would hide you well without the notice of Geto’s eyes.

“A team?” Geto barks out a sarcastic laugh, one that makes shivers run down your spine from both the rarity of the sound and how utterly intimidating it is. “I work alone and I always have. There is no point on relying on anyone of any kind when my independence obviously pays off.”

“Who will you have then?” Shigemo retaliates with a whimper in his voice. “You know that I’m the only one that will tolerate you. It’s not like you can go crawling to Goj—“

“Finish that sentence and see what happens,” Geto hisses, causing the other man to fall into a forced silence.

Your eyes finally land on the small space between the fireplace and a pillar. It’s a space large enough for you to fill and efficient enough to hide you from sight. Unsticking your feet from the ground, you make a run for the small space, only for you to forget about the obstacle that was the ottoman sitting spitefully on the floor.

The thud that comes from your body almost rivals the volume of the door slamming open moments earlier and just like the door, it attracts unneeded attention. Geto and Shigemo stop their bickering for a moment to search for the cause of the sound, only to see you humiliatingly face first on the floor. Geto narrows his eyes at the sight of you, an unwanted visitor in his home.

A pained groan slips from your lips accidentally. You silently curse yourself for not taking the time to properly break into the tantalizing loafers Yuki bought you the day prior and wince at the pain blooming from your knees and chest. When you finally get up, you can’t help but notice that everything around you seems rather… hazy.

“Who is that…” Shigemo mutters.

Geto bites back a sigh and instead, pinches the bridge of his nose. He supposes that despite your improved mannerisms, your clumsiness still has yet to dissipate. Annoyed, he grunts out, “One of my new assistants.”

Shaking his head, Geto decides to deal with you later. His home is already suffocated with one individual, he doesn’t need another clogging the atmosphere up. He returns his attention back to Shigemo. “I thought I told you to leave,” he states, shoving his bag towards him.

Shigemo’s face paints a horrified expression once again. “Geto, please rethink this,” Shigemo pleads.

He lets out a chain of pleads and excuses for himself as Geto essentially escorts him out with just walking towards him, his face still icy. Shigemo ends up on the other side of the door to his penthouse and it’s there where his patheticness exudes the most—he falls on his hands and knees like a beggar, claiming he’d do anything and everything just to be by his side.

But his voice is suddenly cut short when Geto finally slams the door in his face, the thickness of them guarding him from Shigemo’s whines. He lets out another sigh and locks up the door securely before dealing with the other parasite in his house.

“I don’t think dropping off a book should take longer than thirty seconds,” Geto drawls as he saunters towards the living room, where you’re still on all fours on the floor, your hands tapping around. “So tell me, why are you still here?”

At the sound of his sharp tone, you freeze. You’re sure you looked utterly stupid and a mess right now, considering that you had just lost a fight to an ottoman out of all things, but you couldn’t let Geto see you in such a state. It didn’t take you long to realize that the reason why everything around you looked so blurry was because of your now-missing glasses that you attempted to look around for. But you pulled a Velma, and just like her, you can’t see without your glasses.

Everyone thinks it’s an exaggeration when you state that you felt utterly naked without them, but you truly did. You’ve been wearing glasses ever since childhood and you really didn’t appreciate the looks you had gotten when you were younger when at times you’d take them off. Some complained that your eyes were too small, too big—others mentioned you looked “off” and “weird” without them. Either way, comments from the other children stuck with you like scars, and ever since then, you refused to be seen without them.

“I a-apologize,” you stutter, shuffling your body to hide behind the recliner so Geto wouldn’t see how much of a clutter you are. You’ve humiliated yourself too much already in the office and the last thing you truly need is for you to get fired merely because your curiosity got the better of you. “I was about to head out and th-then I heard your voice from upstairs and—”

Your words fall deaf on Geto’s ears. He lets out another groan while stretching the aching muscles in his neck as he closes in on your disorderedness. A hand goes to shield your face—you don’t want him to see the bareness of your face, especially since you didn’t bother wearing makeup today. You can’t even bear the thought of him looking at it. In a rushed state, you wander around for your glasses with your head tucked in, using the remnants of your hair to curtain your face.

A jumble of excuses tumble out of your quivering lip, but Geto is too preoccupied with the gleam of something catching his eye. Laying flat on the floor are a pair of glasses that doesn’t take Geto long to presume who they belong to. He plucks them from the ground and examines them for a brief moment before holding them above you.

“I assume these are yours,” he asserts with a cocked brow.

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice directly right above you and through your foggy field of vision is the seraphic figure of Geto holding what seems to be your glasses. Lips escaping a relieved gasp, you hurriedly scramble to your feet. Your eyes are too poor to see it properly, but Geto also shares surprise, but for an entirely different reason.

He doesn’t give you the sanity that is your glasses right away, because he’s much too preoccupied studying your face. It’s so… fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. The way your eyes are wide open, pupils blown with a touch of singularity makes him even more intrigued because of how they’re uniquely placed onto your face along with the rest of your features. Your lips, plump with a natural sheen to them—your cheekbones, perfectly rounded. The slope of your nose fell just right. Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space—wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

When his eyes stare at you in what seems to be bewilderment, you swallow thickly and look away. But you can only glance at your surroundings for less than a second before Geto takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your face toward him again. It’s then that you realize that Geto isn’t staring at you, but your face as a whole. His eyes flick with small movements, dancing about as they go from eyebrow to lips, freckle to lash, examining each and every single particle that your face has to offer.

You feel a heat creep onto your cheeks. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the closeness you and him share or the fact that you can’t detect his opinions on the one thing you’ve been disclosed about for years, but either way, you feel weak in the knees; it only worsens when Geto’s thumb brushes over the entirety of your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it on his the pad of his finger.

“Has your face always been this open…?” he murmurs softly as he studies the various angles of your face.

You aren’t sure whether it’s a compliment or insult, either or neither. Geto’s tone always had a sort of bleakness to it, but in this very moment, you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“My glasses…” is all you manage to squeak out, fighting the urge to squirm in his grasp. Another gulp goes down your dry throat when Geto’s face contorts to an irritated confusion before he realizes his other hand holds the one thing dear to your heart.

“Oh,” he mutters and hands them back to you. His opposing hand finally goes to release your face. “Right.”

Shaking hands go to put them back onto your face again. Sighing internally of relief of your now crystal-clear surroundings, you dust yourself off with your head once more, tucked into your chest.

“I’m so sorry for this,” you whisper. The heat on your face has now spread to the entirety of your body, your nerves alight with the rush of adrenaline. “I-I’ll make sure this never happens again… good night.”

With that, you scurry yourself out before Geto has the chance to falter. All words to urge you to stay to either scold you or excuse you evaporate on his tongue. He can only watch in a strange silence as your figure rushes down the hall and out the doors, the click of them ringing out in his penthouse.

After moments of self-paralysis, an unknown feeling boils inside the pit of Geto’s stomach. He thinks he’s seen your face before with the familiarity of it unsettling him. The ghost of your face prances about in his mind as he slowly climbs the stairs to his sewing room, ignoring the shattered wine glass on the floor thrown by Shigemo. He instead, refills his own glass again with the nearby bottle of merlot wine and savoring the thickness of it running down his dry throat, embellishing in its warmth.

A single, large window faces the busy nighttime street and Geto walks and stills near it, watching carefully as the speck of your figure on the street below calls for a cab. He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it’s a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he’s picked up) before you shuffle yourself into a cab that speeds off into the night.

Geto lets out an annoyed click of his tongue. Something about your face seems haunting and he doesn’t enjoy it. The last thing that he needed for today was even more plaguing thoughts in his head after the loss of his muse not even just ten minutes ago, but now with your face staining the back of his head, his jaw grits in irritation. In a poor attempt to take his mind off the excursion of today and the future, he shuffles about his many sketchbooks to look for any designs he could pluck out for his latest collection.

It’s an hour in, two glasses of wine later, and somehow, he still hasn’t found a single piece to begin working on that fits into his theme. Miraculously, through the vast array of what is thought to be thousands of sketches, Geto hasn’t found one that stood out to him until he gets to the last sketchbook. It’s an early one—he thinks it dates back to his early college days, when he was just beginning to peek into the world of fashion. A pang of nostalgia hits him all of a sudden when he flips to a specific page that was the start of his history.

It’s the very design that had the attention of many designers. The sketch featured a gold and red embellished outfit, a sheen of glittering flickers adorning it. The shirt features a mosaic of gold and small flecks of color here and there, imitating the many church mosaics he’d often admired as a child. The skirt and collar of the shirt were the same shade of blood red, crimson gems bespeckling them.

It’s not the outfit, however, that makes his eyes harden. Why would it? He’s seen it many times before. It’s been brought up over and over again—in interviews, in magazines. It’s one of the staples that made Geto the pillar that he is. He knows every detail of it, much like his other designs, so it isn’t the design of the outfit that made him appalled. It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it.

Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model’s face that he had drawn years ago…

… somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

a/n: first jjk fic in forever! wowie it's been much too long... also if u need a refresher on who shigemo is, he's the guy with the ponytail that nanami pulled kekeke

10.2k is hefty i know but i couldn't help myself my bad lolol T_T currently just a test run of what i hope to be is a series that some may be interested in because clearly this barely scratches the surface of what i want to embed haha so please let me know how you like it so far :))

continuing, i hope you enjoyed and thank you for taking time out of your day to enjoy my craft, whether it be your first time or your hundredth! once more, likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and are always appreciated (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!!

418 notes · View notes

belokhvostikova · 11 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Following Friday’s events, Eddie Munson was on a mission to apologize to you, though everything fell short when your life began to crumble in a matter of hours.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, self-deprecating thoughts, violence, experienced anxiety and panic attack, mentions of childhood abuse and neglect, and brief mentions of blood, body shaming, and non consensual touching.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | For the sake of my sanity, I'm going to need all of you to ignore the blatantly unrealistic process of making a book in this story, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡

Whatever mantra of the Munson Doctrine Eddie had been feeding himself to believe about the highest of the social hierarchy embedded within Hawkins High was really starting to fall short, specifically when your pretty face started monopolizing every one of his thoughts imaginable.

As much as he’d like to admit otherwise, Eddie Munson liked staring at your face, and it was really starting to piss him off just how much he really liked doing it. And the situation only became worse when he steadily watched your wonted bewitching smile fade into a disheartened look of dejection, because that following weekend after your impromptu photo shoot with Hellfire, became the worst week of your life.

And Eddie Munson watched it entirely unravel right in front of him.

It never really occurred to Eddie just how much he’d casually gawk at you prior to said photo shoot. I mean, you were the face of the school, of course, you were hard to miss when you practically lit up the halls with your smile. And that’s merely what Eddie had chalked it up to; your popularity involuntarily placed you at the forefront of his attention. It wasn’t the small strands of baby hairs that perfectly framed your face, whether you decided to keep your hair natural, or styled it for the fun of it; it wasn’t your enthralling eyes that seemed to almost squint close because your cheeks became so full of delight with your spellbinding laugh; and it definitely wasn’t your apologetic reassurance that everything was okay to the kid from the drama club who accidentally bumped into you, causing you to drop your books, and you gave Andy McAvoy a stern talking to when he tried to defend your honor with violence against the poor kid.

No, it was none of that that caught Eddie Munson’s attention to you (he forced himself to believe).

But now, things are different.

He’d actually gotten a chance to talk to you—yes, that cafeteria instance was the first time Eddie Munson had ever actually spoken to you, and he berated you with dehumanizing comments—and he blew it with his rash decision to automate you into a box of prissy cheerleaders that had nothing better to do than gossip with their friends- ah yes, that box, that was formulated by sexist losers who used it to justified their mean actions against innocent teenage girls. Oh, fuck, Eddie cringed to himself at the sudden self-realization.

He had to fix this. He didn’t even have to confess his feelings—which, he didn’t have *cough* *cough*—he just had to apologize for his mistakes. What he wanted to believe to be patronizing was actually sincere on your part, and you didn’t deserve any of his degrading tirade. And his conscience was letting it be known. Resuming the campaign had been a shit-show that Friday, when all he could focus on was your crying face. It became even worse when he realized that he’d never actually seen you drive—always painfully third-wheeling with Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham, or silently pleading to Patrick McKinney to control Andy McAvoy when he felt entitled to nonconsensually feel you up in his convertible when they drove you to school—meaning you were probably left crying alone at night waiting to be picked up, or worse, walking home. And you did it just for him. For his friends. To be included in some stupid fucking yearbook, because he made a big deal out of it in the first place.

Oh, shit, he was an awful fucking person, Eddie thought.

So, come Monday morning, he would apologize. He had all weekend to find the right words, rehearse his apology to perfection, and plan when to actually say it to you.

But Eddie Munson never got to correctly apologize to you on Monday.

Because aforementioned, Monday was the start of the worst week of your life, and he got scared and simply watched everything happen.

“No running in the halls, young lady.” Mr. Long sternly reminded, as you zoomed past him.

“Sorry, sir.” You weren’t sorry. The second he turned the corner, you picked up the pace and ran to the newspaper room, frantically attempting to shove the slender key into the slot with shaky hands.

Earlier on Saturday, the Yearbook Committee had worked to finish the final draft of the Hawkins High 1986 Yearbook, and with the team’s effort, you all concluded the first official copy that held the recognition of all staff and students intertwined with a school year’s worth of memorabilia, squished between the glossy green and orange cover that encapsulated Hawkins High.

And now, you were about to destroy it.

Sixty minutes. You had sixty minutes. You managed to wake up early that Monday morning, practically running to school, and situating yourself within the newspaper room—sweaty and exhausted—an hour early before the bell rang to commence the school day. In truth, you’d like to say you were a badass, and demolished the yearbook with no regrets, but reality had quite literally sucked, and you were panicking for a solid five minutes before you came to a consensus.

It had to be destroyed- well, not destroyed, just unbinded. God, you were such a dramatic coward.

See, that Saturday afternoon with the Yearbook Committee, you had done your part, you really did. You gathered photos, helped have them printed, assisted Nancy Wheeler with the placement of pages, and took over binding the book together when Fred Benson’s scrawny hands cramped into oblivion. You also may have—very discreetly—had Hellfire’s picture printed, created an entirely new page to fit them between the Glee and Math Club, and it was then you realized you didn’t even know half of their names. It had never occurred to you on Friday night that—with the exception of Eddie Munson, Lucas Sinclair, and Mike Wheeler—you never caught the names of the other four members, prompting you to lose precious time after having to locate their stupid names in the student registry for identification—they weren’t stupid, you were just really frustrated at that point.

And now, on this fine Monday morning, you persevered through blistering callouses, contracting muscles, and sore knuckles to unbind and bind back the yearbook with an additional page within the “Hawkins High’s Clubs” recognitional section.

Hellfire’s page.

And it was perfect.

The pages were still intact with their crisp stiffness of that of a newly unopened book, and you cleaned off any smudges that impaired the quality of work within the creation. You stood back. You couldn’t help the soft giggle that left your lips at the mere sight of Hellfire sticking out like a sore thumb against the formality of the other photos—in true Hellfire fashion. But there it was. Their title, their photo, and their names that gave them the minimal ask to simply be acknowledged in a school that consistently disregarded their beings, and you were happy they finally got it. They deserved it. Even if Friday’s event left you crying alone in your bed feeling awful. It was worth it. Your thumb gently caressed the smooth page of their photo—Eddie’s photo—and reminisced on that night.

Had you actually done something terrible? Was Eddie right to call you out on your actions? You certainly knew you hadn’t caused this entire commotion out of pitiness, though you understood where he may have interpreted it as such. I mean, even though you never did anything, your friends made his life a living hell, villainizing his differences, casting him as a danger to society, affecting his life beyond just a superficial high school social life. It was true torment.

You understood the facade which Eddie Munson had to put on to protect himself, but what you didn’t understand was the sudden shallowness that appeared when you thought you proved yourself to be more than just a ditzy cheerleader. Why were you even trying to prove yourself to some guy? Eddie Munson was an awful person. Right? He yelled at you, judged you, degraded you, and all for nothing- well, as far as you knew. So yeah, Eddie Munson was an awful person. You may have understood him, but he was still an asshole. You’d done your part, adding Hellfire to the yearbook, and that was that. That was all you needed to do. You no longer had to think about his stupid feelings, his stupid hair—which you totally didn’t want to run your hands through—his stupid brown eyes that made you shutter as they bore into yours, and his stupidly beautiful smile. You also kinda wondered how his hands might feel on your-

“What are you doing here?”

Jesus Christ, how long has Nancy Wheeler been standing there? You didn’t even hear the door open.

“Uh, um, j-just looking at the, uh, yearbook?” You mumbled. You wished you had better control over your facial expressions, because right now, Nancy Wheeler was eyeing the fuck out of your worried guise.

“You came to school early just to see the yearbook?” She questioned.

“W-well, yeah, I mean, isn’t that why you’re here early? …Right?” You prayed.

Nancy blinked. “Yeah, I guess, just had to make sure everything was correct before Fred takes it to make copies.”

“Oh, Fred’s here?” You piqued with interest.

Fred Benson didn’t actually pique your interest all too much—though, it was quite fascinating seeing how fast his slender fingers would cramp after just a couple minutes of working—but he did give the perfect escape from Nancy Wheeler’s captious glare.

“Uh, yeah, he’s out front waiting for the book-”

“I’ll hand it to him!” You interjected, watching her face scrunch with confusion. You could only awkwardly laugh, “You know me and Fred,” you zoomed right past her, “just always so, uh… tight.” And you left without further explanation.

Shoving Mr. Long’s word of chastisement right up his ass, you ran down the empty hall, yearbook held tightly in your tired hands, as you rejected any of Nancy’s calls for you to come back. Reaching the double glass doors, you spotted Fred mindlessly tweaking with his camera in the front seat of his car.

“Fred!” You could visibly make out the bewildered “huh” that fell from his gaping mouth from your sudden appearance. “Fred, here take this and go!” You shoved the yearbook past the small crack of his window.

“W-wait, didn’t Nancy want to che-”

“No, she sent me to give this to you!” You urged. “And she said go now, or else the copies won’t be done in time!” My god, the entirety of this situation had you lying more than you ever had in your life.

“But the distributors don’t close until six-”

“Fred, I don’t care!” You whined. “Do you really want to make Nancy upset?!” If your calculations were correct, Nancy Wheeler’s flats were currently speed walking—she was one to follow the rules—past Mrs. Durberry’s science classroom, meaning you had ten more seconds until she appeared.

“Well, n-no-”

“Then drive! Now, please!” He scrambled to turn his car on, and luckily, the old piece of junk managed to roar alive with a heavy blow of carbon dioxide, and you heaved watching Fred Benson skirt past the incoming wave of students on bikes and cars, leaving tire tracks on the cracked pavements. When he came back, you’d be sure to apologize for demanding him so aggressively.

Nancy Wheeler screamed your name.

Turning around, she came pummeling towards you with a might of pure irritation. “What the hell was that?! I didn’t even get to check the book!”

You huffed with exhaustion. It was only 8:18 a.m and it had already been a long day. “Nance, come on, I’ve been on the Yearbook Committee for the last three years, don’t you trust me by now?” Admittedly, guilting Nancy probably wasn’t the best option, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I don’t care how long you’ve been in the committee, I have the authority to make final calls, not you!” Gee, you really had an act for getting people to yell in your face. Were you actually the problem?

“Look, I understand, but I promise everything was perfect with the yearbook. I mean, come on, you saw the finished product on Saturday when we completed it.” You reasoned.

Nancy took a deep breath to regulate herself. “This is your only strike.” She pointed a finger at you like a child. “You pull something like this again, and you're off the committee. Understand?”

You swallowed thickly. The trouble you went through just for Eddie Munson- his friends. Just for his friends. “Yes, I understand.” You submitted quietly. “But I promise, the book was fine, everything is going to be perfectly okay.”

Everything was not perfectly okay.

Because unlike your little white lie of being “tight” with Fred Benson, he actually was with Nancy Wheeler, and, boy, did he rat you out when he paged through the printed copies of the yearbook and found the seven believed satanic cultists mischievously smiling right back at him, tainting the committee’s precious work.

It was in the midst of your A.P U.S History class when the staticy call of your name over the intercom interrupted Mr. Whitney’s lecture of the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, and prompted you to the principal’s office at 10:57 a.m. Now, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Principal Higgins to often call you down as you were a valued student representative of Hawkins High, though you quickly knew your visitation had nothing in relation to an honor medal or scholarship award. No, it became quite evident that such subject matter was beyond any congratulations to you, because upon entering, you were faced with a choleric Nancy Wheeler, displeased Principal Higgins, and timid Fred Benson. You were fucking screwed, I mean, Principal Higgins quite literally had a yearbook in his hand. Crazy part of it all is that a good third of your being actually believed you may have gotten away with it, but they managed to find out in a matter of two fucking hours. Who were you kidding?

There was only so much nonchalant-ness you could mask, though your previous revelation of being unable to control your facial expressions was really biting you in the ass, and your insistent cracking under pressure was palpable.

Your wide eyes flashed between everyone as they stared you down. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t even manage to speak. And they didn’t speak. Why wasn’t anyone speaking?

“Aw, you miss me already, Higgy-”

Everyone’s attention snapped at Eddie’s sneering voice as he strutted his grand entrance, though he was quick to flinch back in surprise when he saw everyone looking at him. And you, shit you were here! You were here looking at him. He’d been searching for you all morning just to apologize, and now you were here… with everyone… why was everyone here?

“Now that I have everyone situated,” Principal Higgins cleared his throat, “I’d like to clear up a matter that has been brought to my attention. I’m sure as you all are well aware of, an unauthorized change has been made to our yearbook and I’m looking to get to the bottom of it.” Higgins turned to you, “Ms. Y/L/N,” he spoke with such care, “this is a safe place for honesty. Did Mr. Munson subject you into making these changes?” With a dramatic slam to his desk, the yearbook was turned open to showcase Hellfire’s designated spot on the page.

“What?!” Both you and Eddie questioned in unison.

“I didn’t “subject” her to shit!” He was quick to rightfully defend.

“Language!” Principal Higgins was even quicker to yell back.

The atmosphere was taut, and it felt like their judgmental stares were swallowing you into an endless blackhole of utter disappointment and failure. You couldn’t even muster up the courage to meet their gaze, simply staring at the old rug beneath your sneakers, wishing it’d come alive and consume you already.

“Ms. Y/L/N, is that true?” Principal Higgins lectured you.

A part of Eddie actually wished you would have lied and accused him of being the aggressor while you were the helpless victim, because that was the usual reality of Eddie Munson: to be denigrated. It would have justified his previous beratement against you from Friday, it would have supported his initial beliefs about you, it would have cleared him of being an asshole, and most of all, it would have changed the way he viewed you, from a genuinely beautiful person inside and out that took a sincere interest in bringing simple recognition to him and his friends to a cold-hearted superficial bitch that chalked up this elaborate plan as a vendetta with your jock friends.

But Eddie Munson knew you weren’t like that.

Which only made it hurt worse when he watched you pain through the sting of your manicured nails stabbing into your palms and your teeth sinking into your tender lip.

“Y-yes, that’s, uh, true, sir.” Your voice was so delicate, Eddie was ready to jump in and just take the blame. “He didn’t make me do anything, it was, uh, all me. I lied, and made him and his friends take the photo. And, well, I, uh, added the page and told Fred to print it.”

You shuddered at the sudden slap of the book, as Principal Higgins closed it with much despondency against you. “And is there valid reasoning as to why?!” Principal Higgins wasn’t one to be known for his placidness and he was quick to make that apparent. “You are the best student at this establishment, you should not be falling under influence of a hooligan like Mr. Munson! How have you fallen so naive all of a sudden?!”

You were really tugging on Eddie’s heart the way your eyes grew round with panic, completely helpless to the grown man scolding you, just as he did last Friday. And while he may have caused it the initial time, he’d be damned to watch it happen to you again.

“Hey, look, you can insult me all you want, but you don’t have to yell at her like she made some dire mistake!” Eddie lambasted Principal Higgins, far more harsh than any regular tone Eddie used when he was regularly being reprimanded.

Higgins could only scoff in disbelief. “Vandalizing school property isn’t a mistake to you, Mr. Munson?! Well, given your grotesque track record of uncivilized activities, it seems as though I’ve answered my own question!” He sneered back with intended offense.

“Please, ‘vandalizing school property?!’” Eddie mocked. “She fucking put our picture in the yearbook, and for good reason, too. You’re the one at fault here, excluding students from recognition!”

The thudding sound of your heartbeat was completely muting you from the onslaught of shouts that was suffocating you in the tight room. While Nancy Wheeler was beginning to contemplate if telling Principal Higgins was too far, Fred Benson was merely watching with joy that none of the blame was being casted on him, and you, well, your body was racking with stiffness, as it suddenly felt like your airway was tightening every breath out of you. Your hands began shaking by your side, unable to control the instantaneous wave of trepidation, as everything was beginning to blur around you.

And no one was noticing.

“I have rightful reasons to exclude your gang of misfits from my yearbook!” Principal Higgins walked from his desk, standing against Eddie with pure spite in his eyes. “You and your posse of cons and aberrations have done nothing but taint the reputation of our school and town, running around like imbeciles who have nothing better to do than waste their lives away! And I will not stand to have you be associated with the work I’ve done to correct this school from delinquents like yourself!”

Chest heaving and nostrils flared, the Eddie Munson from the cafeteria instance was back, though angrier, and he was two seconds from actually gaining an assault charge from hitting Principal Higgins square in the face. But the older man was quick to turn, and eject his dissonant castigate towards you.

“And you, missy!” Your eyes were blinking posthaste with fret to control the swell of tears that were burning your eyes, at the clashing outburst being directed against you. “How did you even gain the facilities to take such picture?!”

Your mouth was dry with consternation, unable to formulate words, and simply quivering your mouth open.

And unlucky for you, Fred Benson spoke for you.

“After our yearbook meeting on Friday,” heads snapped at his gravelly voice, “she said she was going to stay after to work, and that she would lock up herself. She must have taken the key, and stolen a camera.”

Higgins scoffed with great disgust as he judged you, before turning to Nancy. “Ms. Wheeler, as president of the Yearbook Committee, had you permitted her to do so?”

Nancy looked at you with guilt. She hadn’t anticipated the situation to blow up this much, though she spoke honestly to the authoritative eyes of Higgins. “Uh, no, I didn’t.” She meekly answered.

“And Mr. Munson,” Eddie rolled his eyes, trying to control his frustrations before doing something he wouldn’t be able to take back. “When did Ms. Y/L/N enforce these photos?”

“Why the hell does that even matter?” Eddie gritted with a clenched jaw of tension.

“Mr. Munson, you choose not to answer me, and I will not hesitate to place you as an accomplice, and you certainly cannot afford another detention or suspension if you’re planning on finally ending this school year as a graduate.” In a perfect world, Eddie Munson would have lied for you and lessened whatever punishment you were about to receive, but Hawkins, Indiana was far from perfect, the threat made him budge under the pressure of his potential future and your distraught eyes.

“It was, uh, after her cheer practice. After school.” He sheepishly murmured with regret.

“Ah,” Principal Higgins turned to your shaking stature. “So, not only did you make unauthorized changes to the school yearbook, but you stole school property, used our equipment prohibitively outside of school hours, and actively unsubordinated my authority. I have to say, I am awfully disappointed in the person you have become, Ms. Y/L/N, and I am ashamed to have valued you so highly when you simply choose to go down the path of delinquency.” Everything about Principal Higgins words were humiliating and slammed you into a vicious cycle of believing the worst about yourself. “Finish the rest of your day,” he sighed, “but you’ll be suspended for the rest of the week for your actions.” Your heart sank at his news, and Eddie stood dumbfounded that he contributed to it.

Your visions grew blurry under the swell of tears, and your breath was becoming sporadic with panic, and everyone just kept fucking staring at you. “N-no, sir, p-please!” You choked, “I-I have scholarships, a-and acceptances that I-I’m still waiting to hear back from, this could ruin that for me, p-please, sir!”

While your pleads were being disregarded, everyone stood stun watching your fate unfold in front of you. Eddie Munson didn’t know what to do. Nobody did. On top of being berated by him from Friday, you were now facing the worst possible consequence for something so trivial, and he watched it happen. Granted, there was quite literally nothing Eddie could do to fix the situation, but seeing you stand there, panicked about your future and trying to conceal your incoming sobs through the ache of heart palpitations, it was fucking excruciating for him to witness.

“You should have thought about that before you made your choices. Everything is on you.” His words were ringing in your ear like a loop confirming everything you’ve ever hated about yourself. “I’ll be sure to let your father know of the news, and as for your spot on the committee, it is up to Ms. Wheeler to determine where you stand. Now go, everyone back to class.”

Fred Benson was first to leave, giddy to have been cleared from any trouble. Eddie Munson should have left, but he couldn’t stand to leave, simply watching you turn to Nancy Wheeler in a flash. Your round eyes were pleading to her to let you stay, but her previous words of “This is your only strike,” was tormenting you. She sighed, “I’m sorry,” and the shake of her head answered everything before she could verbalize it.

You were off.

You stormed out of the room, bumping shoulders with Eddie, though with no malice intent, just simply needing to get out. The second you reached the clearing of the empty hall, your tears were drowning your cheeks, your sobs so unbearably hard your breathing staggered for release. Suddenly, your little cashmere sweater felt like it was sticking to your skin, giving you hot flashes that brought dizziness to your pounding head. The blood battering your ears cleared out any noise, including Eddie’s calls of your name. He reached out to hold your arm, causing you to severely flinch in hysteria, and he appeared devastatingly concerned for your state of being.

“Sorry! Ar-are you okay?” He winced at the loud sob you choked out, as he felt stupid for even asking you that question. “Look, everything, uh, everything’s gonna be fine.” He rushed to reassure. In truth, Eddie Munson was completely talking out of his ass, he didn’t know if everything was going to be fine, your panicking was just causing him to panic, and all he wanted was for you to be okay. “J-just, uh, breathe for me.” He offered.

“I-I c-can’t! I’m scared, Eddie, help me!” You pleaded with frightened eyes.

Your beg hit too close to home. Suddenly, Eddie was a little boy curled up in the corner of his trashed living room, as he watched his parents abuse one another with words and fists. He pleaded the same words to his parents, who merely ignored his shaking little body. Such horrific events disfigured Eddie Munson’s belief of healing. No one cared for his emotions, no one cared for his feelings, and no one cared to make sure he was okay. So, yes, Eddie Munson yelled at you Friday night because he was petrified. Petrified to be hurt, just as everyone else had done, because to Eddie Munson, that was his fate. To be hurt and to be forgotten. Maybe that’s why he cared so much about being excluded from the school yearbook. While anyone would have rightfully been upset, being excluded cemented the notion that Eddie Munson was disposable. His father spoke it, the townspeople spoke, his teachers spoke, and his peers spoke it. But you didn’t, and that fucking scared him. It’s why he yelled, it’s why he panicked, and it’s why he’d try anything to help you right now.

“I-I know, sweetheart, just listen to me, please.” He quietly spoke. “I’m not gonna touch you or anything, I just really need you to listen to me.”

You fervently nodded your head, and he sighed with relief, because though minor, it was progress, and progress was incredible.

“I, uh, I want you to focus on my voice, okay?” His wide eyes connected with your red ones. “I wouldn’t lie to you, and I mean it when I say everything will be okay. I-I’ll make sure of it.”

Could he physically do that? No. But would he try his damn hardest, putting his being through anything to make it happen? Yes. For you.

“Okay, I want you to-”

“What are you doing to her?!”

Eddie’s eyes screwed shut with disappointment.

Jessica fucking Lewis.

“Get away from her!” She charged past him to get to your hysterical figure. “Did you do something?!”

“No, no, I’m trying to fucking help her.” Eddie implored. “Stop yelling, she’s having a fucking panic attack.” He gritted through his teeth.

“Don’t fucking come near her ever again, you freak!” Eddie watched as you tried to get your words out, but your shrinking throat made it impossible to get your voice out, and he recoiled, watching the fear in your eyes as Jessica held a tight grip in your arms.

But before he could stop her, Jessica was dragging you into the girls bathroom, and he stood frozen doing everything in his power to not rip out his hair in frustration.

Aside from her fault-finding comments against Eddie, Jessica Lewis had actually been a fairly good friend to you through the years of cheer, connecting with the girls through the pact of lifelong sisterhood, as she insisted. Though such pact also came with unwarranted advice when she felt one of you was “falling out of line” with a pristine, perfect image. That being said, when she found you panicking at the hands of Eddie Munson, she was actually concerned, impetuous, yes, but concerned, nonetheless. She’d sat with you, decisively skipping the rest of Mrs. Otis’ home economics class, to console you, bitching out any innocent girl to leave as they attempted to alleviate themselves, while you sat heaving with the back of your thighs sticking to cold tiles of the bathroom. When you did finally manage to catch your breath and calm your heart rate to a healthy status, Jessica had petted your hair with care, constantly asking what was wrong and what Eddie had done. Through your tremored voice, you hoarsely clarified that “He didn’t do anything,” and “He was just trying to help.” That revelation had actually baffled Jessica Lewis, honestly, some part of her believing you to be lying, but she gave it a rest when you assiduously shook your head in response to her asking what was actually wrong. By then, the bell had rung to signal the start of third period.

And it was during said third period when your situation only worsened completely unbeknownst to you.

While you were in the middle of trying to focus on your quiz—which proved damn near impossible after today’s events—Fred Benson was seemingly trying to get back at you for nearly inducing him into a heart attack after your actions almost cost him his spot on the Newspaper and Yearbook Committee (In reality, Nancy Wheeler had only yelled at him for not previously checking the books).

See, once Fred had informed the rest of the Yearbook Committee of what you had done and how you were being punished, the news had spread like wildfire; nerds, geeks, punks, jocks, everyone knew one version or another. “Perfect Cheerleader Falls Under Satanic Cultist’s Influence and Vandalizes School Facilities,'' small town high school students sure had a talent to dramatize any given situation. You’d only taken a picture, that’s all it was, but the students of Hawkins High had conspired together to formulate you into a freak slut who allegedly got fucked by the Eddie Munson after cheer practice in exchange for putting his club in the yearbook.

As the students of your class hurtled to mitigate the dreaded boredom of the school day with the clashing laughter and stale food of lunch, you sighed in your seat, head pounded and anxiety still churning in your mind and stomach, slowly packing up your belongings before handing over the quiz—quite literally the worst you’ve ever performed on one. Lunch seemed like the worst possible thing to conquer, right now. Despite the horrid grumbling of your stomach, you felt no need to satiate that hunger, as your appetite was long gone for the afternoon. In addition, you’d known Jessica Lewis long enough to know that she had informed all your friends of your panic attack, and if you chose to call her out on it, you knew you would only be met with a “I’m only trying to help,” as if you needed an intervention. She’d done it to Paige Semore when the girl healthy gained a couple pounds over the summer and got ridiculed by Jess.

But when you entered the cafeteria, you quickly wished you were subjected to Jessica Lewis’ harmful “advice”, rather than the reality you got.

The sound of the heavy double doors announced your arrival, and suddenly all eyes were on you. No, like quite literally, all eyes were on you. No greeting smiles from acquaintances, no shying-away looks from crushing students, no bright wave hello from Chrissy Cunningham from across the cafeteria, in fact, she was heavily avoiding you, seemingly finding the table more interesting as Jason Carver glared at you. Everyone was staring at you as if, without notice, you had become the town pariah. Because you had. Your perturbation had bombarded you like a missile hit, as quiet whispers flooded your senses. Peering around you caught his eyeline. Eddie. His brows had severely been furrowed with much worry, because he knew. He knew how quickly it went around, and he knew just how bad the news got twisted. Now, he was no stranger to the onslaught of destructive rumors, but you weren’t, and with the day you had, his chest was pounding with dread for you.

Chalking it up to merely being in your head, you swallowed the lump in your throat, and with quick steps, you sped to your usual lunch table. But everyone kept staring- your friends were staring. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” You whispered, as they genuinely looked at you with disgust.

“Why don’t you tell us?” Jason scowled. “Seems like you’re the one who caused all of this, you desperate slut.”

Your mouth dropped incredulously. “What did you just call me?”

“You fucking heard me!” Jason stood from his chair, rejecting Chrissy’s quiet ask to not cause a scene. “It’s exactly what you are.” He laughed.

Eddie Munson’s residual anger was fueling. Hard. He stood from his chair all the way across the room, metal legs scraping the floor with a deafening screech. But his presence only caught the worst attention. “Oh, would you look at that? Your little freak coming to help you?”

Eddie faltered at your watery eyes, begging for everything to just stop. If he spoke, nothing would help you. “What are you talking about?” Your voice stung with pleads to just understand what was happening to you.

“Stop acting like you don’t fucking know!” Andy’s booming voice startled you. “You wanna choose some gross freak to fuck, then fine by us, go right ahead, but don’t think that you’ll be able to with us!” Andy McAvoy was taking it far more personal. He liked you. That was obvious. But hearing the rumors simply led him to believe you chose Eddie Munson over him.

“What?” Your voice cracked in distress.

Eddie had had enough.

“She didn’t fucking do anything!” He marched his way over. All the boys of the basketball team stood in preparation for a fight that Eddie Munson was known to love to finish. Finish, not start. “Your bland lives got that fucking boring you all have to go around making shit up to make things interesting?! She didn’t do anything!”

“Aw, defending your precious little fuck toy, isn’t that cu-”

Chrissy Cunningham's shrilling scream startled the entire cafeteria as Jason Carver’s blood stained her powdery skin. You flinched at the bone-crunching punch that busted Jason’s pretty face, and everything felt heavy in your chest. Your hands were beginning to shake beyond your control, as everything was horrifyingly disfiguring in front of you. It was happening again. Before your mind was about to shut off from the assault of today’s events, your instinct had elicited all rash decisions, and you had to leave. All you could comprehend was the diffusing sounds of students instigating the fight before everything fell silent and you trudged down the hall to escape.

Staff were quick to call Eddie’s name before another detrimental hit was casted upon Jason. It was only then, Eddie’s judgment was left unclouded, and he noticed you were gone. “Did she leave?” He hadn’t necessarily asked anyone in particular, moreso questioning himself, but Chrissy Cunningham had ardently answered him with a swift nod of her head and bulging eyes of fear.

Eddie broke through the doors with force, catching you near the end of the hall. “Y/N!” You didn’t turn, though. Every repeated call of your name fell with no response, and he chased you down, following you into the zephyr of the afternoon weather outside. “Y/N, c’mon, wait!” He’d grabbed your arm.

“What?!”

Eddie staggered at your biting tone. Not once, in the four years he’d known of you—freshman to senior year—had he ever heard your voice so malicious, yet drowning in urgence to make everything stop. Your inconsolable state devastating him helplessly.

“I-I’m sorry.” He sighed so softly.

“‘Sorry?’” You affronted. “Now you’re sorry?! After everything that’s happened! Why, is it out of fucking pity?!” Internally, Eddie was begging you to stop, because if you kept yelling at him like this, his defense mechanism was going to lash out, especially when he was already angry from everything that’s just happened. “I don’t want some stupid apology, not when every time you appear, my life gets worse! I just want you away!” You cried.

Eddie scoffed in disbelief. Were you actually blaming him for all this? No, you weren’t. But after the day you just had, you were not looking to be comforted by someone who partially hurt you. But Eddie Munson couldn’t understand. His judgment had a habit of being clouded; his cynicism about anything good happening to him had protected him from a lifetime of hurt, and now, unfortunately, your rightfully pent up polemic about him was believing his suspicions to be true.

“This isn’t my fucking fault, you’re the one who wanted to take our picture in the first place!” He shouted, shielding his vulnerability.

“Because you made a big deal out of it!” You screamed with frustration. “You yelled at me first, you said mean things to me first- why- why were you so mean to me?!” You blubbered through drowning tears.

“Because- be- ugh,” Eddie pained with vexation. “You fucking terrify me, okay?! You terrify the living shit out of me!” Guarding his tearing eyes from your shattered being, he groaned realizing you weren’t going to understand unless he opened up, but he couldn’t bear to, and maybe that was the best solution to move on, run away. “It’s just fucking hard when, you know, you look like that and you’re fucking you, and I’m just me, and you have a great life-”

“‘Great life?!’” You derided through tears. “You know nothing about my life!” You shoved him. “You know nothing about me!” You shoved him again. Eddie was quick to retrain your wrist in a tight grip, preventing you from touching him again, no matter how hard you tried. “Stop acting like you know everything about me when you know absolutely nothing! I’m not going to stand here, and let you say mean things to me, when you know nothing, do you understand?! I have never done anything to you, and I never will, because unlike you, I’m not some sulking asshole who can’t handle their fucking emotions, and uses their sorry life to lash out at people because they’re too pathetic to deal with their own problems!”

And maybe your rash psycho analysis of Eddie Munson was too much, or not harsh enough, but either way, your critical comments derailed him off the edge of sanity. He aggressively dropped your wrist, and got into your face with a full might of fury. “You are such a miserable bitch!” He shouted, invading your space with intent, causing you to wince and step away from him, but he wasn’t relenting. “For once, you got a fucking taste of what your bullshit friends have been doing to me, and now you can’t fucking handle it?! God, just love playing the fucking victim, don’t you?! Maybe they are right, maybe you are just some fucking desperate slut craving fucking attention?! Is that why you did all this shit in the first place?!”

The way your face flashed with sudden dejection had him biting his tongue. Oh, fuck. He regretted it. He fucking immediately regretted it.

Eddie began furiously shaking his head in denial to what he just uttered, he couldn’t believe it. “No,” he heaved out. “No, I-I didn’t mean it, I’m s-sorry.” He could only muster a whisper.

You didn’t even have the energy to fight back, merely accepting his words as truth with a silent sob that burned your being. “Yeah,” you shakily sighed with a sniffle of sobs. “I’m sorry, too, Eddie. I would have loved being your friend, and now I just want nothing to do with you.” His heart dropped at your calmness. When he first spoke those words to you, demanding you to stay away from him and his friends, he knew a deep part of him didn’t mean it. Why would he, you were fucking perfect? But you, the stillness and tranquility of your words cemented them to be the final verdict. You were done. “So please,” you wiped your drenched face from tears, “just leave me alone and stay away from me.”

No malice, no anger, no fury.

Just pure defeat.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | This is my first time making a tag list, and I got overwhelmed—in a good way—that I simply tagged anyone who commented. If you were not looking to be tagged, I’m so sincerely sorry, and please let me know to respect your wishes and remove you!

(Big, fat kisses to all of you) @televisionboy @batkin028 @lostdreamingwallflower @cevais @myfavoritesareproblematic @btbabyy @married-to-the-music01 @super-nova-03 @deathnote6666 @cherrytc @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @averagestudent03 @freakymunson @princess-eddie @imagine-a-world-blog1 @negativity4you

@nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64 @redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @pixiepaintt @ericasdumbworld @animechick555

@gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

(I’m so sorry, some blogs are not popping up when I try to tag y’all, if it’s an issue on my part, I’ll try my best to fix it as soon as possible)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #mean!eddie munson #the yearbook: club pictures

2K notes · View notes

chereus · 5 months

Text

Oblivious Boyfriends | D. Winchester

Summary - Dean had been neglecting his boyfriend bedroom duties and you were getting frustrated [set in season 10ish, they’re fully moved into the bunker]

Pairings - SoftDom!Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings - Dom Dean, daddy kink, if you squint there’s angst before the blinding smut, spanking, choking, hair pulling, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink, hot angry Dean, sexual tension, talk about love and marriage??? Kinda??? It was done tastefully though I promise!!!

Cherry’s notes: Whew! That was spicy—in honor of my new phone I decided I’d post this as a thanks to people who’ve supported me throughout my writing journey <3. I’m still getting used to this writing format that tumblr has so pls be nice!!!

P.S ~ This may have been sorter than intended due to tumblr deleting half of this while I wasn’t looking. Still upset about that. Also sorry for the time delay because of said tumblr issues, had to rewrite most of it + an ending -_-.

Word count: about 1.2k

You were kind of being a bitch today. But in your defense, your boyfriend Dean had been so busy with work that he hardly had time to satisfy your in the bedroom needs. When you’d try and communicate that this was becoming an issue you’d been brushed off every. single. time. So naturally you started to get frustrated and decided to take control into your own hands for the time being.

“Y/n, have you seen my gun?” Dean announced himself as he stumbled into the library. You just continued to sit there and do your research without so much as a morsel of acknowledgment.

He cleared his throat and tried again, “Y/n have you seen my gun?” only this time he got a small clench of the jaw and a silent flare of the nostrils. Still with no response he decided to try a third time when you suddenly just got up and left leaving him completely alone in the library.

Wondering what he did he promptly followed you, but once he realized he wasn’t getting far by just following in your footsteps he bravely spoke, “Okay, seriously, is this how we’re acting today?”.

This immediately caught your attention but you showed no signs of making a huge scene so you quickly and calmly stopped while turning around to face him while replying with, “I don’t know Dean, is it?”.

He really didn’t like the passive aggressiveness in your tone. It hadn’t helped that you’d quickly spun around and once again resumed ignoring him. Being ignored was one of his top ten pet peeves and you knew it. That’s exactly why you chose this method to piss him off. Get him all worked up, he’d have to take his frustrations out on you then.

“What the hells’ that supposed to mean?” He countered, following you into the kitchen.

“It means that if you don’t know then it’s not worth talking about.” You said truthfully. Suddenly Dean found himself recalling the days to see if he’d missed a birthday, a dinner, an anniversary, anything that would constitute this type of treatment and he came up empty.

As you noticed Dean sitting there dumbfounded you took it upon yourself to grab one of his beers from the fridge and march back out successfully initiating phase one.

You’d been toying with the idea for quite some time but never had the means or justification until now, you were going to go around the house and dump all of the alcohol.

This was seemingly easy considering after your and deans little spat, he’d decided to give you some space to cool off seeing that you were angry with him. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do what you needed to do. This was phase two.

Phase three was to just sit back and watch the anger seep from deep within Dean Winchesters veins until he couldn’t see anything but red.

Sam had been on a hunting trip for the last couple of days and you were thankful because the things he would’ve heard…

“Y/N! Where is all the beer?!” Dean hollered as you passed him in the kitchen.

“I dumped it.” You simply said. Deans face went slate.

“You-you…dumped it.” He said as both a statement and a question. You could see the vein on the side of his neck start to pop and you knew he was close to blowing a gasket at how he had been treated.

“Yup. I dumped it. Decided that we’re now alcohol free. Have fun with your green juices and detox tea.” You were beginning to walk away when he grabbed you and spun you back around so that your chests were touching and he was holding your wrists on both sides of your head.

“Is there something that needs to be sorted out? Cause’ I’m getting’ real tired of the way things have been going around here.” He seethed. He probably just wanted a nice cold beer after working a long hard case all day but you weren’t about to let that happen. You were horny and determined to do something about it.

You got closer to his face and begun to look into his eyes while simultaneously brushing your lips together with his. Nudging your nose against his you whispered, “if there was a problem you’d know.” And you ripped yourself away from him and swiftly dropped out of the room beginning to feel yourself getting wetter by the instant.

Not even ten seconds later Dean came marching out of the kitchen behind you demanding that you work this out by pushing you against the hallway wall. You responded by grabbing him by his belt loops and smashing his hips against yours. He’d finally gotten the hint.

“Is this what you wanted? Was my pretty baby just horny and desperate for her daddies attention?” He said as he grabbed you by the throat and kissed you. You whimpered at the gruffness of his touch, desperate and craving more.

“I need you to answer me, y/n. You know daddy doesn’t like it when you go silent.” Dean enforced. You let out the tiniest little ‘yes’ lost in your own world of pleasure and fulfillment.

“Louder, y/n.” He commanded putting slightly harder pressure onto the sides of your throat that were sure to bruise later but you didn’t care. The feeling of his body on your body was enough to drive you wild.

“Yes!” You deeply moaned wrapping your hands around his hips and flushing your pelvis’s together. Dean leaned down and planted an earth shattering kiss on your lips, tongue swirling around with your own while he still held the position of holding your neck firmly in place without making you dizzy from the lack of air.

“Up.” Dean forced. Slipping his hand under your thighs and wrapping your legs around his torso. When you were situated your hands found their way to his hair to gently tug at the roots.

Hiking you up by your ass you were looming over him with every adjustment. Your hands made their way to either side of his face while you ferociously kissed him. He started to stumble his way down the hallway, careful not to drop you. You moaned as his grip on your ass got tighter the more aroused he was getting.

The warm smell of cinnamon from your hair, the combined scent your vanilla bourbon perfume and your honey body lotion, it reminded him of home. Although you’d been getting in spats and arguments all day you’d still somehow made him feel loved and cared for by the way you’d responded to his touch.

It was at this very moment he decided that he wanted to marry you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, or hell— maybe not even next week, but someday If you’d let him.

Finally stumbling into your shared room dominant Dean was back in action. He gently put you down and then shoved you back onto the bed signifying the fact that he was done playing the game you’d been playing all day.

When you adjusted yourself on the bed he immediately ripped your pants off annoyed at the extra fabric keeping the two of you apart. Dipping down he gently put his right hand to your jaw and repeated what you had to him earlier. Brushing your lips together your noses tenderly touched and he gave you one last affectionate kiss before looking down at your tank top and ripping it in two.

Your eyes widened with desire, you’d never seen Dean like this and it was extremely sexy. The mix of softhearted kissing and rough manhandling was driving you insane. Kissing down your stomach the torn shirt was quickly discarded never to be seen again.

Only in your bralette and underwear you start to feel cold with Dean still fully clothed. Grabbing him by his hair you pull his head up from your panty line. Giving him a single peck on the lips you start to peel off the layers of flannel and cotton until his top half was fully nude.

Reaching down to undo his belt buckle he stops you with a questioning glare. He shoves your hands away and moved away from the bed and to the closet where a medium sized black box was laying on the top shelf. Getting that box down you knew that something freaky was about to happen.

Pulling out four long black ropes he looks back at you with a smirk. You gulp and back away slowly, however he was faster and started tying your left wrist tightly to the headboard. Positioning you in the middle of the bed he ties your right to the other side of the headboard.

Deciding to discard the last two ropes, he resumes your playful foreplay now teasing you at the fact that you can no longer touch him in the way you wanted to.

“M’ gonna fuck you in this pretty little bra. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Been walking around all day getting on my nerves so I’d have no choice but to fuck the aggression out. Well, you should be careful what you wish for.” He says menacingly pulling off your underwear.

Leaving your bare pussy in the cold Dean jumps off the bed and begins to slowly undress. And I mean slowly. You thought you were about to combust when you finally saw Dean unbuckle his pants and slowly drop them.

Getting back on the bed Dean slides his hands up and down your curves on your sides, trailing down to your hip bones and finally your throbbing heat. It really was no surprise that you’d gotten worked up so easy considering you and Dean hadn’t had really any sex in almost four months. Orgasms, yes. Sex, no.

It was killing you not being intimate with Dean like you used to. So when he finally put his cold hands on your warm aching pussy you could’ve cried in relief even though it was only through your panties you could feel his fingertips rubbing up against your clit causing you to softly moan in delight.

Gripping the tightly tied ropes Dean tormented you by pulling off your panties and just sat there. Staring. It would’ve made you insecure had you not known that Dean would’ve loved you no matter what you perceived your vagina to look like.

“Would you let me put a baby in you?” Dean asks out of the blue. Your eyes widened and your breath hitched, “In the future of course. Your still on birth control, right?” He thought out loud. You were speechless so all you could do was nod and let out a small ‘uh-huh’.

Dean could tell you were now really tense after that question so he took his hands and smoothed them over your stomach and said, “Don’t worry. Not until your ready. But until then, I’d like to practice.”

Your muscles were slowly untensing as Dean assured you there would be no baby making until your ready. “If we’re practicing, do you mind going in raw? I’d like to be closer with you.”

Dean was now blushing but tried to hide it through dominance. He spread your knees apart and quickly dove in licking and sucking your clit. Pulling at the ropes, you moaned and groaned until you were so close to cumming that you could cry.

Dean could tell how close you were so he sped up his tongue motions and hooked his arms around the base of your thighs so you couldn’t move anywhere.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned as your first orgasm took over you. Dean wasted no time in sliding his manhood into you with great force.

Putting his hands at your hips he began roughly thrusting into you at an angle that kept hitting your g-spot over an over again. As you were getting louder and louder with your moans Dean reached down in between your legs and rubbed your clit. He was fucking you so hard at this point you were seeing spots.

“Yeah. Your such a good girl. Taking it so good for me. Gonna be doing this to make a baby one day, huh sweetheart. Look at me.” He said as your eyes were starting to droop. Your eyes tiredly opened and you seen Dean look at you like your the queen of the world. His world. With adoration and love.

“Gonna let me fill you up, hmm? Gonna let me take care of you while your carrying our child? Gonna let me go out at three am to fill some ridiculous request of bread and butter pickles from that grocery store half an hour away?” Dean asks with a fond smirk on his face. Like he’d be so excited to be able to do those things for you.

Just hearing how happy it would make Dean to be your caretaker in your time of need makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Not just because he’s still fucking the life out of you.

Once you get close enough to the edge Dean starts to get greedy. He wants you to cum and he wants it now. “Give it to me y/n. Now.” He says wrapping his hand around your throat and pounding into you like there’s no tomorrow.

Seconds later it felt like fireworks had been let off in your stomach with how hard you were orgasming. At one point you were certain that you were seeing stars.

“Fuck! Dean!” You moaned as you made other noises that you had no idea you could even make. Before you could even come down Dean slipped out of you and was undoing the ropes.

“All fours. Now.” Was the command. Still a little dizzy, you comply wanting to see where this was going.

Upon getting on all fours dean was already behind you thrusting upwards at a new angle. Letting out a deep groan you dropped to your elbows and grabbed the sheets.

“Having that attitude all day really drove me nuts all day, y’know that? Now I get to fuck it out of you and I couldn’t be happier.” He said slapping your ass hard. You yelped and tried to go forward but his hands at the crease of your hip and thigh bone wouldn’t let you.

“Your not going nowhere. Your gonna sit here and let me breed you like a good little slut.” You couldn’t deny hearing those words made the sex ten times hotter. When you leaned your head back to moan deans hand was there to grab you by your hair and continue fucking your pussy until you exploded.

Pulling your hair was the final step in your third and final orgasm. Pulling away slightly at the overstimulation Dean speeds up, chasing his own climax. With one last grunt Dean came spilling into you with force.

“Oh God,” you shuddered, suddenly very cold. Goosebumps lining your skin, you get off the bed leaving Dean to fend for himself.

After you cleaned up you got back in bed with Dean. “Did you really mean what you said? Do you really want kids with me?” You asked as you lifted up the covers where Dean currently resided.

“Well yeah, I’d also like to put a ring on your finger too whenever you’ll let me.” Dean said shyly playing with the edging on the covers.

You quietly smiled and kissed Dean as you settled down. “I love you, and I want to marry you. But kids are out for a while. At least until I’m sure one of us isn’t going to end up dead with the shit we deal with on the daily. I won’t put another generation of kids what we went through. I just won’t.”

Although Dean was disappointed, he understood. His childhood sucked and he’d do anything to make sure that his kid didn’t live the same life.

“But we can still practice though, right?” Dean asked cheekily. You laughed, “yes Dean we can still practice.”

You both chuckled when you heard a voice booming from the kitchen, “Dean, where is all the beer?!” It was Sam.

“You were kidding though about the beer weren’t you?” He asked and you laughed harder.

“No, I wasn’t. I was committed. I really dumped all the alcohol in the house. Sam will understand given his healthy lifestyle.” Dean groaned and sunk into the mattress. You were still cracking up at the whole situation now that you felt better after your release.

#dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #jack kline #team free will #sam winchester #spn crack #the empty #sam and dean #kevin tran #deancas #dean and cas #castiel winchester

603 notes · View notes

lingerina · 6 months

Text

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝓛𝐄𝐆 𝐂𝐔𝓡𝐋𝐒 ／ park jihyo

➛ g!p jihyo x fem!reader ➛ 2.8k words ➛ smut ➛ public setting, spanking, squirting, creampie, praise ➛ part of SWEAT&TEARS. ➛ you thought going early meant you would be the only one there. you thought wrong.

4:30 A.M.

It might be insane to willingly be at the gym at this hour, half-asleep and dreaming of being in bed again.

But here you are, dumbbells in hand while staring at your reflection in the massive mirrors, wondering how you were able to do this before.

Once upon a time, you were an avid gym goer who was on top of her nutrition (and honoring her cravings) and an inspiration to her friends for maintaining a well-balanced lifestyle.

After getting laid off, you had all the time in the world to work harder. To cook for yourself, for your friends who were heavily reliant on takeout, and to dedicate more time to the gym. You didn’t think you’d get back into the workforce so quickly but you did, and this job was going to consume much of your time and energy.

Just cooking right after work was exhausting for you. The few days that you intended to take a break from the gym became a week.

Then, it became two weeks.

Three weeks.

Three months.

If it weren’t for incompetent management, you would’ve been able to manage your work-life balance already. You wouldn’t turn to freezer meals and fast food for sustenance. You wouldn’t have to rely on caffeine to get you through the day. It took some mild threats and a long, colorful discussion with the directors to hire more people but now that the new hires have been trained and settled, you could focus on getting your life back on track.

The avid gym goer is still in you somewhere. She just needs to be lured out again, and what better way to make a comeback at the gym than to resume your journey at an all-women’s gym that just opened down the block last month?

Having a safe space accessible to you is enough encouragement for you to pick up your gear again and return to the active life you once knew. You had to reason with yourself to get up this early and you were fortunate enough to still have some level of self-discipline to do so.

While you don’t mind working out with other women, you would much prefer to be alone. Not only is the crack of dawn the only time you have to fit in your workouts, but it’s also when it’s not crowded. You hoped you would have the gym all to yourself until you walked in and discovered one other soul on the premises.

You weren’t in the mood to interact or be perceived so early in the morning but upon making eye contact with you, she beamed and greeted you with a quick wave. Of course you had to wave back, even with how obviously dead you looked. It would be rude to ignore a pretty woman, and you weren’t that rude.

At least until you realized how often you were sparing a her a glance (specifically at her behind) while you were warming up on the treadmill. That was disrespectful.

You shake your head and assume an exaggerated wide stance, your feet planted a fair distance apart. You adjust them while observing yourself in the mirror to ensure that you won’t strain your hips. When your legs are wide enough to feel the burn but not a straining pain, you hold both dumbbells in front of you at waist level. Your eyes close, your head lowers, and you drop down into a front squat.

You steadily drive back up while squeezing your core and proceed with the next several reps of sumo squats, unaware of the only pair of eyes in the building skimming over you.

Jihyo is no longer performing her routine. Her headphones are now sitting around her neck, and she’s more focused on the glorious view in front of her than on finishing her workout.

It’s not like she’s never seen a woman squatting before. She has.

Dozens of times.

And it gets her rock-hard every time.

She notes that today must be leg and glutes day for you due to the various squats you’ve done, and how you barely targeted any other part of your body. It’s a blessing (and a curse) for her since it’s been a week since she last got some action. That may not be long but as someone who has a decent roster of friends (and patrons) with benefits, a week without pussy is far too long.

And she’s not going to let this opportunity slip up.

She approaches you when you pause for a water break, forgetting that just because other people are up at the same time as her doesn’t mean they have the same energy as she does. “Hi!”

You crane your neck to look at her as you hydrate and greet her with a small nod. “Hello.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you new?”

You nod. “I am.”

She clasps her hands with a grin. “How lovely! Welcome aboard. I’m Jihyo. Do you need any assistance or guidance?”

With pursed lips and a second to think, you slowly shake your head. “No thank you. I appreciate it though.”

She nods. “Let me know if you do. I’ll be happy to help!”

You’re lying face down on the leg curl machine, your mind slowly polluted by the images you didn’t think you’d see.

With how courteous Jihyo is with extending a helping hand, you had asked her to spot you at the squat rack. As you were performing your barbell squats, you didn’t miss her intent gaze on your behind as you were going down. You didn’t miss the way she licked and bit her lip. How shameless and disrespectful she was with staring, in comparison to the polite gesture of her hands only hovering over your hips.

Not touching you at all.

What had really seared into the back of your mind was the view that you came eye level with when you bent down to pick up your water bottle: the massive tent in her joggers.

Jihyo’s boner has occupied your mind since then. You have been laying still for the past five minutes wondering just how big she is, how friendly she has been, and how innocent her intentions may (or may not) be. You’re not one to stare and ponder the strangers around you, but she caught your eye the very second you set foot into this gym and she now dominates your thoughts and fantasies.

It’s sorely obvious that you made her horny, and now you’re aching because the effect is reciprocated.

“What’s the matter?”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when Jihyo’s voice snaps you out of your trance. You turn your head and, once again, come face-to-face with her pelvis. She’s standing too close to you. So close that you can make out the outline of her erection through her black joggers.

Face heated. Core clenching.

You let your head drop back down, your grip on the side handles tightening at the thought of this woman taking care of you in.. other ways. “Nothing. Just resting.”

“Oh?” She chuckles. “But you were doing very well.”

“I just need a little rest,” you whine.

A light smack on your rear surprises you, but her laughter insists that this is all in good nature. “Don’t slack off now.”

Another smack, and now you’re the one laughing. “I’m not. I promise!”

The empty gym reverberates with laughter and squealing.

You don’t recall when, but it quickly echoes with solid thwacks as her playful smacks have progressed to full-on spanking. You’re no longer giggling. You’re gasping, moaning, and tensing up with each slap that targets your sore ass. Jihyo’s playful jabs have morphed into something darker and more threatening.

It’s exactly what your pussy is aching for.

Being in a lust-filled haze, you don’t budge when your leggings are yanked down. Its compression and tight fit takes your panties down with it, and both garments sit at your ankles, exposing all the intimate parts of you to her–and whoever will stumble through the doors.

As much as you want to be ruined by an insanely attractive woman at this very moment, you’re still in a public place. It would be shameful to be banned on the very first day.

“W-Wait,” you pant as you grab her wrist. “What if someone comes in?”

“They won’t.”

“Doesn’t the manager come in early?”

You’re confused by her hearty laugh.

“Oh darling,” she coos, her fingertips tenderly tracing your slick folds and spreading your arousal. “I’m the manager, and I’ll make sure no one else gets to see you like this.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as two of her fingers dip inside you.

They shove deeper in the second time. Deep enough for her knuckles to graze your hole. You were always keen on being spanked and manhandled, and she is proving just how drenched it can get you.

The squelches of her fingers being suctioned by your aching walls fill the silence. It should be embarrassing to be turned on by so little, but you barely feel any shame. You barely feel the shame of dripping all over the padded surface, dirtying the machine with your juices as Jihyo fucks you with her fingers. You barely feel the shame of allowing the manager to ruin you like this.

And she doesn’t feel an ounce of it either.

“Such a pretty thing,” she mutters, her slow but calculated thrusts doing a splendid job at making you feel full somehow. “It would be a shame to not get a taste.”

Much to your dismay, she withdraws her fingers and leaves you clenching around nothing. “On your back.”

The machine offers little real estate for you to move significantly but with your raging hormones and a rush of adrenaline, you manage to do as told. Jihyo wastes no second getting down, spreading you open, and flattening her tongue on your slit.

The immediate touch of heat on skin is all that you need after months without action. She knows how to use her mouth, just like how you know where to grab to stay balanced as she eats you out. You didn’t think you’d ever find yourself in this exact position again at another gym, but you’re glad you do—and with someone attentive.

Your eyes roll back as her fingers fill you up again. You clutch tighter on the edge of your seat as your engorged clit gets catered to by her mouth, the sharp tugs between her teeth creating even more tension in your limbs. You don’t feel the burn of your core clenching from holding onto the machine, but you’re guaranteed to feel it later when it’s all over and you’re left yearning for more.

The lethal combination of her fingers buried in your cunt and her mouth spelling out filth on your clit is enough to rush you to your brink. You arch your back, colorful words threaded through breathy moans and pitched cries as her deep and steady thrusts work their way up in momentum.

The lewd squelching of her knuckles brushing over your slit is deafening. It reminds you of the strength that you lack. The strength of keeping your head straight and not falling into the palms of a pretty woman. You don’t think your wet pussy can be any louder until she’s working quicker through you. For a stranger, she knows how to navigate your body a little too well.

“Fuck,” you pant, your grip on the sides of the seat squeezing tighter.

Jihyo replaces her mouth with her thumb on your clit, and you fall apart. She watches your drenched cunt cream her digits and make a massive mess on the seat. Your release streams down the surface and puddles to the floor, and the filthy view only makes her cock swell more.

She has waited long enough.

You fall limp when she removes her fingers. With your head spinning, you intend to recuperate from the ecstasy. Not a minute later, however, is your peace compromised when a massive intrusion slides inside you, prying your slick walls open and earning a loud cry from you.

You scramble to look down and find Jihyo’s cock stuffed inside you. You peer up at her with wide eyes, gulping at the smirk on her face. She slowly pulls out.

Agonizingly slowly.

You discover just how big she is before she drives it back into you. You fall back with a moan, once again reduced to a mess as your body is at her mercy.

Your tits, confined in a low-impact sports bra, are squeezed together by her hands before she yanks the garment down to free them. Though she’s still and snug inside you, pleasure continues to surge through your limbs as she sucks on your nipple. Lips clasped and teeth nipping at the sensitive peak, she suckles and pulls and gets you flowing even more.

“Please,” you exhale. “Please move. Please!”

She chuckles and releases your nipple with an obscene pop. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Very nicely.

Nice enough for her to prop your legs over her shoulders, bend you in half (unearthing the flexibility you didn’t know you had), and fuck you.

Her pace varies between quick and mildly painful, to slow and deep and intoxicating. Your pain threshold can carry you through the phase of her drilling your aching cunt. When she suddenly slows down and her thrusts are drawn out, the brunt of the pleasure hits you.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby,” she coos.

Another thrust, and she grunts. “Just a little more. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

She fucks the words out of you. What you intend to say is disrupted by the lewd noises that leave your lips. You muster a stiff nod to acknowledge her and she responds by leaning forward, forcing your thighs up to your chest, and picking up her pace.

She’s so deep inside you with this new angle. You were going to bruise and stagger for days to come, but you can only focus on how this woman’s strict fitness regime is showing in the unforgiving momentum of her hips and her effortless grip to keep you balanced, Since you barely had a breather from your previous orgasm, you’re quickly driven to that brink.

As your eyes roll back and your body arches, Jihyo smirks. She digs her fingertips into the softness of your thighs, panting as she drills you. “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.”

The machine is slick with your overflowing arousal. With how hard she’s fucking you and how much you’re dripping, the obscene squelches of her cock pounding your poor cunt echoes through the empty facility. If you weren’t so lost in lust, you would feel embarrassed about dirtying the equipment.

“Oh, fuck!,” you cry out, thighs trembling violently as you gush all over her.

The force of your release pushes her out, allowing all the room you need to spatter and spill all over the seat. She vigorously strokes your engorged clit while pumping her pulsing cock as she is just as close. She drains you of all you have before sliding back inside you with ease, courtesy of your ample wetness.

“God, yes,” she hisses as your slick walls immediately tense around her.

Your thighs lock around her neck from the sensitivity as you’re subjected to her endurance. Her persistence. Your stamina is nowhere near hers, and you wonder just how quick it’ll take for her to break you.

To destroy you.

Loud moans erupt from both of you as she bottoms out, stretching you with her girth and filling you with her load. She weaves a tight embrace on your thighs, draws out, then pistons back into you, pushing her cum deeper inside you. Your hips lift just slightly from her hold on your legs, and the feeling of her dick buried inside you is now burned into your memory.

You were going to crave it more than ever.

When she pulls out of you, you lay lifelessly on the machine.

Sweaty, ruined, and filthy.

Jihyo, on the other hand, has already straightened herself up. You assume she’s about to tell you to hurry up and clean the equipment before people start coming in. Instead, she lowers to your eye level and strokes your hair.

“You did so well, pretty girl,” she praises with a grin. “Go hop in the shower. I’ll clean up for you.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Let me know if you ever need assistance with your… workout.”

You giggle, and proceed to slide off the dirtied seat. You feel the impact of Jihyo’s strength now that you’re on your feet, and it’s even worse as you amble to the shower.

If you’re feeling this now, you’re certainly not ready for the full soreness tomorrow.

#girl group smut #girl group imagines #twice smut #twice imagines #jihyo smut #jihyo imagines #SWEAT&TEARS #sorry this took so long LMFAOOO

722 notes · View notes

hcuyk · 15 days

Text

OUR INFERNO | CHAPTER ONE

SYNOPSIS ✧ despite being your greatest archnemesis/rival/enemy/frenemy/whateverthefuck he was, hyunjae had always been by your side. that changed when your boyfriend was brought up, creating a newfound rift in your whateverthefuck relationship with hyunjae

PAIRING ✧ rival!hyunjae x fem!reader

GENRE ✧ high school au, enemies to fwb, angst, smut, fluff(?), humor(?) (these mfs bicker a lot), pining

WARNINGS ✧ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT — cheating, profanity, mentions of physical fight/bruises, underaged drinking, obsessive/possessive hyunjae : NSFW TAGS : outdoor/semipublic sex, dubcon recording, spit/drool/tears, oral and fingering (fem receiving), penetration, scratching/ripping, humping, minimal praise, degradation, sub!hyunjae for 0.002 seconds, petnames (princess, good girl, babe/baby, slut)

WORD COUNT ✧ 19k

⋮≡ [ OUR INFERNO EXCLUSIVE ] @deoboyznet @flwoie @sanaxo-o — fill out the form or comment/send an ask/dm to be added!

. . . . . . OUR INFERNO M.LIST ✩ next [ TWO ]

⋮≡ [ PERMANENT TAGLIST ] @armysantiny @stealanity @zzoguri @nyujjan @tinisprout @the-kpop-simp @sunwoosberrie @winterchimez — fill out the form or comment/send an ask/dm to be added!

THE BOYZ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

AUTHOR'S NOTE : in honor of my three years of officially stanning the boyz on this very day, let's celebrate with my smut debut and writing comeback 😋 enjoy my loves

PART ONE: CHASING THE SPARK (THE FIRE TETRAHEDRON) — fuel, oxygen, and heat | CHAPTER ONE

“Genuine question.”

“Shoot.”

“Who the fuck does Hyunjae actually think he is?”

Unphased by your up-and-coming rage rant, Kevin resumed snacking on the protein bar he had brought with him. He tossed his free arm over the camera equipment and backpacks sitting next to him on the bench, watching you stride back and forth within one of the many hallways in the recreational center.

“Well, he is your boss.”

“No, he’s the student executive producer,” you corrected, your legs unwavering as you kept a consistent pace to release your frustrations. Kevin shrugged and tossed one leg over the other, staying relaxed despite the hot fumes emanating from your upright and angered figure. You paused momentarily to look him in the eye.

“Emphasis on the student,” you clarified.

“Emphasis on the executive, Y/N.”

Baffled at how he was defending your greatest archnemesis (well, more like your greatest frenemy), you ignored his rebuttal and started pacing again. Your steps slowed as you envisioned the sensations you experienced just minutes before, back when you, Kevin, and Hyunjae were at the indoor pool to report for your school’s broadcasting channel. Technically, you were the one reporting and filming while Hyunjae was the subject of interest, and Kevin was there for physical support.

Chills latched onto your skin as you remembered what it felt like to have Hyunjae’s bare torso looming over you, his eyes peering over your shoulder to glance at your footage. While staring at the camera, his gentle, irregular breaths would continuously hit your skin. Water from the pool would trickle down his hair and into your shirt, reaching your backside. When it happened, you could barely comprehend Hyunjae’s ‘advice’ and instead focused on feeling every cold droplet travel through the crevasses created by your spine. You winced at the thought of that happening again, yet somehow you could still hear his irritating voice near your ear, telling you all the reasons why your B-roll of his lap swimming was ‘trash’ and ‘unusable.’

For a moment, you stood there in the hallway frozen, unsure of how to move, before realizing you were just reliving a moment from earlier and that Hyunjae was still in the locker room changing.

“I’m going to make a complaint,” you declared, turning back towards Kevin for his encouragement. Alternatively, you were met with the sight of your best friend completely failing to conceal his judgment and disapproval towards your suggestion.

“Against Hyunjae? You gotta be kidding, right?”

“Yes,” you answered confidently. “Wait, I mean no, I’m not kidding, but yes, against Hyunjae.”

Kevin eyed you skeptically, trying to decipher why you felt threatened enough to report someone like Hyunjae. You may not have spent all your previous years in high school with an affinity for Hyunjae, but it wasn’t like you hated him either—not in the way you truly loathed others. If that were the case, you wouldn’t spend nearly every day with him, bickering until the sun chose to set.

“Sure, maybe my B-roll was trash, I can attest to that, but that does not give his bitchass the right to not only shit on how ‘awful’ I was doing, but also yank the camera out of my hands and delete all the footage I got because they weren’t ‘perfect enough.’ What kind of psycho is that?” You glanced over at Kevin, trying once again to get him to back you up, but the most he gave was a slight nod. Everything you were spurting was half-mindedly being decoded because he had ended up placing more significance on inhaling protein. Regardless, you continued.

“And you would think, hey! As the student executive producer of a high school broadcasting team, he would understand that no! I indeed do not record half-naked people swimming in a pool, whether it be for a career or a hobby. He should also at least have the decency to not swim seven hundred miles per minute while I’m recording. Of course I’m not going to catch up, especially when he barely told me how he wanted things to be recorded? Isn’t he fucking insane for that? Not to mention all the goddamn splashing because of how fucking long his limbs are—”

“You’re explaining this like I didn’t witness the whole exchange,” Kevin grumbled.

“And you would think he knows, right? That Mr. Executive-slash-Captain-of-the-Swim-Team should either be more considerate when, A, he’s kicking water in my direction when he’s swimming or, B, station me away from the edge of the pool? Just a thought, but fuck me, I guess.”

“Well yeah, but the—”

“Also! Not to mention the camera has the fucking ability to zoom in, so why was there even a need for me to stand by the pool anyway?” You scoffed at the absurdity, almost tempted to cackle like a villain because of it. “The least he could do was tell me how to record it or find a way to adjust and compromise without occasionally soaking me with water on purpose, which I know damn well he was—”

“That’s just how-”

“We have a tripod, for god’s sake!” you exclaimed. By now, Kevin had given up on providing you with his input. He opted to rest against the wall, finishing up whatever he had left of the protein bar, and occasionally would roll his eyes.

“But even then, who the fuck wants to see him swim anyway? We’ll probably only need like…what? A minute of the footage for the B-roll? So why the hell is he treating it like it’s about to be nominated by the goddamn Oscars for Best Picture? He just loves to nitpick and control me like a fucking puppet—”

“Keep talking and you’ll potentially strain your throat,” a new voice interrupted.

You jerked around to find Hyunjae, the culprit of your rant, exiting the locker room with a small duffle bag that contained both his swim gear and his school clothes from earlier in the day. His brown hair was only halfway dry, some strands still stuck to his forehead as he approached where you were pacing.

You halted in your path and stared him down. Hyunjae immediately caught onto the mood you were in, and instead of being shocked or hurt, he grinned.

“You.”

Your attempt at threatening him with one word made Hyunjae laugh.

“Hey, I’m just looking out for you.”

“Oh here we go again,” Kevin mumbled, tossing the wrapper of the protein bar to the side. He pulled out his phone and went on TikTok, deciding it was more worthy of his attention than listening to you two banter—something he had been experiencing for well over five years.

As a mutual friend of yours and Hyunjae’s since middle school, Kevin understood the frenemy dynamic better than either of you. Eventually, over the long years he had known you both, he learned to leave you two be.

“What about me, though? Are you going to try and tattletale on me?” Hyunjae feigned sympathy as he gave you an exaggerated pout, tilting his head like a puppy’s. “C’mon. I’m just doing my job.”

“Sorry, but I don’t remember ‘being a dick’ being listed under the requirements for your oh-so-important position of power.” You huffed at him and crossed your arms, choosing to face elsewhere as you rooted the soles of your feet to the ground.

Hyunjae furrowed his brows, his eyes never leaving you, as he addressed the third party within the shared space.

“Kevin, was I being a dick, or is Y/N exaggerating?”

Kevin glanced up at his phone and scrunched his nose at Hyunjae in annoyance.

“Don’t even try to bring me into whatever…this mess is.”

“No, tell him,” you demanded, now looking at him. Your glare was enough to burn Kevin into ashes, but it was nothing compared to Hyunjae’s gaze piercing into your back. Knowing that he never looked away made you shiver, hating how fixated he seemed to be—and seemingly without reason too.

“Listen, I wasn’t being a dick. I was treating you the same way I treat everyone else. I’d honestly argue that you’re just narcissistic and think everything is about you when—”

“Oh wow, thank you for admitting that you’re a dick to everyone else!” You tossed your hands up for dramatic appeal as you spun back around to look at him. He scoffed, but his demeanor was quickly shadowed by a smirk that appeared on his lips, testing you with the arch of his brow.

“Oh really? Do you see anyone else complaining?”

“I’m complaining,” Kevin muttered.

“People don’t complain because they’re scared of you, Sherlock,” you retorted. At this point, Hyunjae had already caught onto your bullshit of making evidence up, and it was why this exchange ended up lasting for as long as it did. Nevertheless, his ego continued to build the more you spoke.

“You’re not scared of me?”

And you keep falling for the bait.

“Why should I? You’re nothing.” You approached him and pressed a finger into his chest, taunting him as you stared straight into his eyes.

Suddenly a competition seemed to have materialized because now you both were locking eyes, too stubborn to look away.

“One day you’ll wake up and realize your position doesn’t mean shit. You take it too seriously and make everyone’s job your job when this should be a learning experience for the rest of us.”

“And who exactly is ‘us,’ babe?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Don’t call me that–”

“And it’s also starting to sound like jealousy to me.” Hyunjae’s eyes finally shifted, but instead of looking away from you like you initially wanted him to, you trailed his line of sight down to your lips. He eyed them shamelessly—technically making you win the unspoken eye contact competition, but at what cost? “I won’t believe you until I receive firm evidence and testimonies from the other students in the club, then maybe I’ll consider your concerns. Deal?”

What you despised most was how well Hyunjae knew and provoked you to get under your skin. He was a raging flame, making your blood boil from both irritation and excitement. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but after nearly six years of banter with Hyunjae, you knew damn well you enjoyed every second of it. It was like a nonstop competition, and you were always on the edge of winning.

Maybe it was also because you were so used to him constantly being above you. He was the president of the student council, the swim team’s captain, and specifically the one who snatched the executive position away from you in the broadcasting team, yet somehow you were still able to compete at his level of arrogance and egotism.

Even though you may never be able to top him in the foreseeable future, you at least knew how to match his fury—his fire, with your own.

“You’re pathetic.” You took a few steps back to gain some distance while his eyes flickered back up to yours. He bit his lip playfully, his smile only growing even wider.

“Woah, Y/N. Exposing my degradation kink so soon?”

“I-...you- w-what?!” you sputtered, your jaw falling slack as Kevin’s head snapped up, staring at the two of you in disgust.

“Get a room—!”

“I’m going to make sure you get degraded from your position, you freak!”

“Not exactly how that word works, princess, but I’m glad you’re at least passionate.” His cooing made you want to slap the living shit out of him, your eyes protruding from their sockets are you glared.

“Are you fucking bricked up or something right now—?”

“Hey guys,” a woman’s voice called out. Your heads turned to look at the end of the hallway, catching one of the recreational center’s workers waving in your general direction. She pressed her lips together and smiled, attempting to be as professional and understanding as possible. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but is it okay if you guys turn it down a notch?”

You and Hyunjae both nodded and whispered apologies, feeling like kids who just got scolded for shoving paintbrushes down the drain. Fortunately, the worker’s smile radiated genuine warmth and consideration, providing you some sort of reassurance that you guys weren’t too much of a disturbance (even though you guys totally were).

“You two are the most childish fuckers I know,” Kevin deadpanned, finally shoving his phone away as he switched between looking at you and the man by your side. His eyebrows bunched up.

“And apparently horny too.”

“I would move across the country if it meant I never had to see him again,” you grumbled, striding back to the pile of equipment to pick up your backpack and the bag with all your reporting necessities (boring script, stationary, and a couple of notebooks shared with all the broadcasting students to collect notes and inspiration in).

“Hello? I’m still here.”

“Look at that. He already misses me.”

“I’m going to hurl,” Kevin unnecessarily announced, and Hyunjae’s face soured.

“Ew.”

“Exactly. That’s how you two make me feel whenever you guys are together.” Kevin got up on his feet and grabbed the wrapper to shove into one of his pockets (no littering, kids) before outstretching his limbs dramatically.

“I swear I developed back pain from always listening to you guys bicker.”

“Or, hot take,” Hyunjae interjected, “maybe it’s because you’re always sitting with your back arching forward like it belongs in the Arches National Park–”

“Yeah yeah, shut the fuck up.” Kevin waved him off with his hand and rolled his eyes. “I came here to help carry stuff, not listen to your bullshit.”

He picked up the bag that contained the camera and passed it to Hyunjae. He offered to hold one more thing, but with only his backpack and the tripod left, Kevin didn’t see much need for his friend’s assistance.

Kevin then faced you, his face stern and rid of emotion.

“You too, Y/N,” he stated seriously. “None of this ‘he said this,’ ‘he said that,’ ‘please fuck me’ bullshit from you either.”

You gaped at him, arms wrapped tightly around the crew’s bag.

“Now why the hell do you think—”

“Zip it.”

Without giving you much of an opportunity to continue, Kevin sped off in front of you, ready to leave the building. You couldn’t even look at Hyunjae as heat rushed to your cheeks, struggling to trail after Kevin’s speedy steps.

Despite carrying heavier items, Hyunjae caught up to you with ease. You wanted nothing more than for Hyunjae’s feet to either slow down or speed up tremendously, but of course he purposely chose to walk by your side, attached to you by the hip.

“He sees it,” Hyunjae sing-songed. “Everyone sees it.”

“Sees what?” you snorted, oblivious to what he was indicating.

“That you want me,” he replied nonchalantly.

The moment you two stepped outside the doors of the center, you stopped to face him, trying to confirm what exactly he was implying.

“You can’t be serious.”

Hyunjae, who also stopped with your steps, shrugged.

“You’re the one in denial.”

Realizing that he was serious, you felt every muscle in your body tense up.

“Hyunjae,” you stated firmly. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

Instead of receiving something witty from Hyunjae like normal, his relaxed facial features suddenly scrambled into one that expressed remote shock. His lips were slightly parted, eyes searching yours for any hint that indicated you were lying or messing around with him, but you were serious.

The aggressive playfulness from earlier had evaporated faster than boiling water, and you watched as he became stilled. Your heart started pounding, anxiety creeping up within you due to not being able to read Hyunjae like you normally do.

“Since when?” he asked. His voice was quiet, his tone firmer, and by now, Kevin was already by his car, too far from the two of you to understand what was going on. Hell, even you could barely understand what was happening.

“Earth to Hyunjae?” you joked, nervously laughing in an attempt to eliminate the newfound tension looming in the atmosphere. “It’s always been Jiwoong, remember?”

For a moment, Hyunjae could feel his mouth drying up. All his thoughts were held captive in his throat, and his lips remained parted as if they weren’t meant to collide at all. He stared at you like you had just teleported in front of him.

“Y/N,” he stated calmly, “he cheated on you.”

Your initial response was to get defensive, claiming that you already knew that because hell, it was your relationship, but then your brain acknowledged the true elephant in the conversation.

“How-...how the hell do you know about that?”

“I- You know word just-…That doesn’t matter. What matters is why in the world—”

“It was a mistake, okay?”

“A mistake?” As Hyunjae’s brows raised, so did his tone. “You know, people—decent people, don’t make mistakes like that.”

Seeing how Hyunjae was gritting his teeth, how his eyes were locked on yours, built up a foreign frustration within you. Something about the way Hyunjae was behaving felt like he was trying to control you.

All the rage from before had now returned, yet this time, there was no more leniency from you—not when Hyunjae was being more condescending than he had ever been.

“You know nothing, Hyunjae, so frankly, I really don’t care about what you think about my relationship with my boy-”

“You’re still with him??”

“Look,” you snapped. “Just because you have the luxury of crushing my hopes and dreams on a daily basis, it does not give you the right to dictate what’s wrong or right about my love life and my decisions. Understood?”

And just like how you always are, Hyunjae refused to shut up.

“How is it dictating when it’s common sense to dump a shitty person?” He dropped the bags onto the ground, and not once did he look away from you. “He’s never treated you well either, and you know that—”

“It’s not your decision to make,” you repeated. You could feel the three key elements of creating a fire stir up within you. You had the fuel, the oxygen, and the heat, and Hyunjae was the chemical chain reaction that would set it off. “How dense can you fucking be to not back down?”

“He cheated on you,” he reasserted, and there was a rage in his eyes that you had never once encountered. “He’s done so many shitty things, and he hasn’t changed–”

“Again, none of your fucking business–”

“And I’m pretty sure I saw—”

“I am not going to repeat myself-”

“Can’t you just listen to what I-”

“Drop it.” You were seconds away from yelling at him, ready to unleash all your anger because never once has someone threatened your love life—Jiwoong, the man you considered your soulmate. Your flame had officially engulfed his, and all Hyunjae could do was stare at you in disbelief and disappointment.

Turning to look away, you gazed up into the sky and scoffed, not understanding why tears had begun to pool up in your eyes. At the end of the day, Hyunjae meant nothing to you—you didn’t even consider him a friend.

After moments of experiencing what it was like to be suffocated by a tension so unbearable, you eventually found a way to ground yourself.

“I can’t blame him, you know,” you whispered, using the back of your hand to wipe away your tears. “We were angry. He just–...he needed an outlet, and at that time, that outlet happened to not be me, okay?”

Hyunjae stared at you, his mouth desperate to say something, anything, to make you see what he sees—a relationship that isn’t meant to be. That you didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Maybe you were no more than an acquaintance to him, but he knew you have always deserved better.

“He isn’t someone worth fighting for.”

“And that’s none of your business,” you scowled.

“It isn’t right—”

“Stay in your fucking lane, Jae.”

Hyunjae clamped his mouth shut, and the sight of you completely breaking down tore him apart. Possibly it was all the years you spent together growing up, constantly arguing, yet he knew he was always one to look out for you.

You sucked in a cheek, gnawing at it as your chest urged for you to forgive him, to apologize for lashing out without much notice, but in the end, you prioritized your pride over him.

Not only was Hyunjae’s persistence a stab to your heart, but you suspected that Kevin was the one who told him. By spilling your secrets, it was as if Kevin saw the knife that impaled you and yanked it out of your chest, causing you to bleed to your death.

“I’m done with this conversation,” you muttered, dropping the bag in your arms to the ground by his feet. Your plans had changed to you walking home alone, wanting nothing to do with the other two boys for the next hour or so.

When you turned around to walk away, you knew Hyunjae was going to try and say something. You knew him best whenever he was at his worst, so you spun around to face him for the last time that day to cut him off.

“Never fucking cross that line with me again, got it?”

And with that, you left.

Kevin apologized to you the morning after.

He normally drove you to school, and you debated getting into his car when he showed up. Thankfully you chose to do otherwise because the second you stepped inside, Kevin was apologizing profusely. He talked about how anxious he was all night when Hyunjae told him what happened, and he wouldn’t have known what to do if you didn’t forgive him. Obviously you did, and the rest of the car ride was spent with him explaining his side of the story.

According to Kevin, he only told Hyunjae about how you got cheated on because it seemed like Hyunjae already knew. As Kevin recalled the whole scene, you two assessed the signs, such as how Hyunjae didn’t provide any sort of reaction when Kevin dropped the news. In fact, it had seemed like Hyunjae had brought it up to Kevin instead.

Regardless, it became the last of your worries because all that mattered was that you were back to being on good terms with your best friend.

But avoiding Hyunjae felt like lighting a match in the rain.

It was your agonizing reality for the next two months, and although you could argue that you had gotten closer to your boyfriend during the supposed ‘Hyunjae Drought,’ you were still plagued with him being everywhere around you.

He was in all your classes, and you never truly processed the extent of how involved Hyunjae had always been throughout high school with you. You weren’t on the swim team, but you were stuck with him during meetings for both the broadcasting team and student council.

Yet it all felt so different.

Unless he was called on, Hyunjae would talk much less unprovoked and would never look at you during meetings. When he would address the entire team, he would glance at you for a split second before looking elsewhere, no longer watching you like a hawk.

You had also gotten quieter because without Hyunjae to banter with, you recognized that you barely had friends in any of those classes either.

There was no longer a fight between your flames, and you two kept as much distance as possible. You were thankful that there hadn’t been an instance that interrupted that, such as being forced to record more B-roll with him, and you could only hope that the rest of your senior year would remain the same.

Then you would never have to see him in college.

Now you were back to being the mediocre student that faded into the background. People knew your name at best, but none have ever tried to become your friend aside from Kevin. No matter how involved you tried to get, the closest you were to anyone was a classmate.

Hyunjae had always overshadowed you too, and for the first time in years, you were detached from his fumes—yet somehow, some way, the smoke from his fire would remain in your lungs, continuing to suffocate you even more than it had before. It didn’t give you that breath of fresh air of new friends or a better life; instead, it helped you realize that you didn’t matter. It was a miracle that you even scored Jiwoong as your boyfriend.

But then that begged the question: why did Hyunjae bother spending his time ridiculing you?

From the very beginning, you had always meant something to him, and you couldn’t pinpoint how or why. When there was no competition in academics, he treated it as if there was. Every time you ranted, he would listen, whether it be about him or something else. Even when you talked about how your chicken from the cafeteria was burnt, he would give you his own before calling you stupid for not noticing until you sat down.

He never shrugged you off like you were nothing or shut you down because your emotions were invalid. He entertained you each time with ease, and most importantly, he knew when to respect your boundaries. Hyunjae was probably the most mindful person you knew and could often tell when you were distressed or needed another form of reaction from him.

He knew when to stop.

Yet when it came to the one instance involving Jiwoong, he crossed the line multiple times. Why?

“Hyunjae isn’t here today.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t show up for a single class.”

Kevin watched you play with your food with a fork, rolling the cold, barely spherical peas around and into the stale rice.

“That’s not like him,” he replied.

“Yeah.”

“I wonder why.”

“I wonder too.”

After the driest possible conversation in existence, you sighed and dropped your fork into your tray.

“I need to stop forgetting to pack myself lunch. This shit makes me lose my appetite, I swear. We should call the police and tell them the food they’re serving is illegal and a disgrace to this country.”

“Keep it away before I lose my appetite too.”

You didn’t react nor respond to what Kevin said, letting the conversation rot as you pouted at your food. The cafeteria was unusually louder today, making it easier to space out into thought.

Kevin took out his sandwich with a wide grin and started eating, grateful he never had to deal with what the school was feeding thanks to his mom, but eventually his eyes shifted over to you. You were unmoving with your gaze locked onto an empty spot on the table, so after moments of debating between asking you what’s wrong and ignoring you to devour his lunch, he opted to set his sandwich aside and stared straight at you.

“Why are you thinking about him?”

That was enough to garner your attention, your head snapping up to stare at your best friend like he was the craziest person you knew for mentioning Hyunjae, much less suggesting that your mind was wrapped around him.

“What?”

“Hyunjae. With his perfect attendance, a day without him should be a blessing, yet you brought up how he didn’t show up today and then moped harder than anyone I’ve ever seen mope. You should be over the moon, dancing on the tables and stealing people’s food, not-...” Kevin waved a finger at you, “whatever this is. You seem out of it.”

“Well it’s not because of Hyunjae, I’ll tell you that,” you snorted. Your eyes fell back down to your tray, and the more you looked at it, the more nauseous you got. You scrunched your nose. “If anything, it’s probably because of this shit food.”

Kevin rolled his eyes before tearing his sandwich into halves. You perked at the sight and ogled the half Kevin taunted you with. You were about to thank him and take it into your possession before Kevin jerked back his arm, making you whine.

“Throw away your food, then I’ll give you it.”

“Fine,” you grumbled. As Kevin returned to his delicious, most scrumptious, packed lunch you had ever seen, you picked up your tray and walked it to the nearest trash can. As you dropped the whole thing inside, you heard your name being called.

“Y/N!”

You whipped around to check to see who it was and smiled at the sight of Eunseo waving at you. You wouldn’t consider her a good friend, but you knew her well enough since she was the vice president of the student council.

She ran over to you with a stack of paper in her arms, relieved to have caught you.

“Y/N, hi! I’m so glad I found you. I was scared I wouldn’t because of how packed it is.”

She flashed you her usual glowing smile, and you noticed that she was a bit more giddy than usual, making you question why she was choosing to talk to you in the first place. All your conversations normally took place before, during, and after student council meetings, so this was slightly out of character.

“What’s up?” you asked. As you looked at her, you noticed how her outfit was slightly more put together than it normally was. She had on a cute top that suited her chest perfectly and a skirt that you had never seen her wear.

“Your outfit’s really cute today.”

“Really?!” Her bright demeanor then faded into concern. “Wait, is it too noticeable or out of the blue? Is it bad?”

“No, no. Not at all!” you reassured. “It’s just the right amount of perfect.”

“Great! God, that means the world coming from you. It’s because!...” She stopped to glance around, making sure that no one was eavesdropping, before taking a step closer to whisper. “It’s because I was finally asked out on a date by my crush!”

She could barely contain her excitement, holding back a squeal with her bottom lip latched between her teeth. Her sunshine-like energy made you grin.

“That’s great! I’m glad you’re making progress.” Your eyebrows pinched as you tried to recall the last time Eunseo had updated you about her crush. “You’ve been pining after him for so long—whoever ‘him’ is, anyway.”

The question of who Eunseo liked had always gone unanswered. She never told anyone, not even the ones who knew her best, but she loved gushing about her mystery crush to everyone she knew. All people really knew, you included, was how down bad she was.

A part of you wondered if it was someone you knew—someone pretty like Juyeon or well-known like…Hyunjae.

“Oh, I wish I could tell you, and maybe I will if things go really well and we become official!” She squealed and hopped in her spot, unable to resist giving you a half-hug with her free arm. “This is so exciting, Y/N!”

“I’m really happy for you.” Your smile was genuine until you thought about why she was looking for you, starting to doubt that she called you over just so she could tell you about her date.

“I’ll let you know how it goes, swear. But! That aside, I also have something for you.”

You knew it.

Your brows raised, and when you didn’t catch on, she gestured to the papers in her arms with guilt.

“I know this is kind of a dick move, and I’m really really sorry, but I promised to put up fliers for prom today. My date is right after my last class.” Her frown had deepened, and for a split second, you found yourself sympathizing with her because who wanted to let down such a cheerful personality, especially when this was life-changing for her?

“So you want me to do it?”

“Exactly! Please, that would be great. It shouldn’t take too long, too.”

You thought about how you would have to give up an evening of playing on your switch or extra time to study for an upcoming exam, but you knew it was your duty as secretary to help out whenever needed.

Not to mention that it would also make you a decent friend not to hold Eunseo back from her soon-to-be love life despite her poor date planning. If you were in her shoes, you would have wanted her to do the same for you too.

“Sure,” you accepted. “Why not?”

“You’re the best, seriously!” She handed you the fliers as she began to fill you in on the extra details.

“I already told Mr. Barajas that I wasn’t feeling well and that you were going to do it, so he said it all worked out and to not worry about it,” she rambled, happy to give the extra weight (both literally and metaphorically) to you. “I just printed these out, so everything should be perfect to go. Oh, and don’t worry about any extras! Just set them on Barajas’s desk when you’re finished. Hyunjae will also be in 142 with tape ready for you.”

The mention of the forbidden name nearly made every cell in your body halt.

“What?”

Eunseo tilted her head at you, confused, before finally realizing.

“Oh crap, I forgot! I’m so sorry, I really did forget you guys weren’t on good terms. I hope it’s okay that he’s helping you out. I mean, he’s supposed to, but it was meant for him and me to do it together, not you two, so…God, I’m really sorry Y/N.”

Before you could even react to the newfound information, she continued.

“I really have to go now. Thank you again! I promise I’ll make it up to you!” And with her rosy pink cheeks and a stunning shade of red on her lips, she basically skipped away and waved goodbye to you with a smile, so you reciprocated it with an awkward one of your own.

When she turned her back, your smile immediately dropped and you sighed heavily.

“Have fun on your date,” you mumbled, your eyes falling to fliers in your arms. As you skimmed the one on top, you noticed it was to promote going to prom while also including a big QR code to vote for who should be your school’s prom king and queen. You expected it since it was the last meeting’s topic of discussion, but what you weren’t aware of was who were listed as nominees.

There were eight names listed under ‘Prom Court,’ and while you expected Hyunjae’s, Eunseo’s, and your boyfriend’s names on it, your jaw nearly hit the ground at the sight of your own.

With every passing class period, your anxiety would kick up a notch.

The dread of talking to the face you had been avoiding for two months engulfed you, and it caused you to develop the urge to ditch your current class to go hunt for Jacob, the student council’s historian. You wanted nothing more than to dump the stack of fliers into his arms, and knowing Jacob, he wouldn’t ask any questions. Hell, you were certain that if you asked him nicely, he would do it for you because of how naturally sweet and endearing he was.

But the guilt of ditching your secretary duties kept picking at your skin, and besides, all you had to do was treat Hyunjae like a colleague. That should be easy, right?

As you suffered through the last few minutes of class and your teacher’s incessant ramblings about the upcoming exam, your thoughts drifted over to what would happen the moment you stepped into room 142.

Hyunjae hadn’t shown up to a single class all day, yet he was expected to set up fliers after school. As your thoughts snowballed, you arrived at the baseless conclusion that maybe Eunseo wasn’t aware that Hyunjae was absent today, therefore someone else (like Jacob) would take over.

Suddenly, your back had straightened with feigned interest in your teacher’s last few words. Something about Jacob being there instead of Hyunjae had excited you; it felt like you were free and that the universe was listening to your prayers. The gamble of seeing whether it would be Hyunjae or Jacob (or literally anyone else) had your right leg bouncing, eyes on the clock, and when the bell rang, you shot up from your seat, backpack over your shoulders and fliers in your arms, before dashing out of the classroom.

You sped down the hallway to 142, Mrs. Zhang’s room for Chemistry, bug-eyed, before having your delusions crushed at the sight of Hyunjae’s stupidly large height leaning against one of the counters. Your feet stood glued to the ground by the doorway, your eyes locked onto him.

Covered from head to toe in sweats, Hyunjae was immersed in whatever was on his phone, scrolling through something as his brown curls peeked out from inside his hood. Without any hint of him acknowledging your presence, your shattered hopes slowly began to rebuild.

Maybe if you were quiet enough, you could sneak out with the tape and do everything on your own, avoiding him at all. Actually, scratch that. You didn’t even need the tape. All you had to do was go to another teacher’s room, steal their tape for half an hour, and then return it with ease.

The plan was effortless, and you mentally smacked your forehead for not thinking of it earlier. Right as you were about to execute it, your backpack slammed against the doorframe as you turned on your heels.

“Nice try.”

You groaned out of embarrassment (and slight pain) and forced yourself to turn around. Hyunjae’s phone was now face down on the counter, and his arms were crossed over his abdomen. His face remained stoic as his eyes met yours, wielding a tension you didn’t recognize.

Now that you could properly look at him, you noticed a few details that you hadn’t before, such as the small tear on his lower lip and the bandaid on his cheekbone. If you looked long enough, you could catch light patches of purple across his skin, and the sight hindered all your thoughts, your brain too occupied with piecing together how he ended up like this.

“What happened?” you blurted, your gaze shooting up from his lips to his eyes.

Hyunjae staggered at your suddenty, but he managed to keep himself stilled, his brows pinching.

“What do you mean?”

Even if Hyunjae didn’t mean to, his question became an invitation for your unfiltered thoughts to spill out of your mouth.

“You didn’t show up for any of our classes today,” you began, “but now you’re here? For some stupid fliers? You’re barely dressed properly like you normally are, your hair isn’t straightened, you look pale, Jae, and what’s up with the bruises or the bandaid on your cheek–”

“Are you seriously psychoanalyzing me?” he asked with a scoff. There was no humor in his tone. Instead, it looked as if he was irritated, perhaps even more than you were.

Hyunjae barely met your eyes, and his arms closed himself off from you.

“What–?”

“You’re evaluating me like I’m some sort of lab project, Y/N.”

“No, no I’m not,” you rejected. “I’m just saying things are a little off.” You kept your eyes firm on his, even as he pushed himself off the counter with his phone and made his way over to you. “And you know, you really can’t blame me for being somewhat worried when one, you don’t show up, and two, you look like a whole mess—”

“Just hand over the fliers—” he interrupted, gritting his teeth as he outstretched his arm in your direction. You dodged him by turning your body 180 degrees and stood your ground.

“What happened?” you repeated, this time more firmly.

Hyunjae looked at you, a blank expression on his face, before turning back around to grab the roll of tape left on the teacher’s desk. When he returned, he shoved it into your arms while simultaneously stealing half the stack. You protested with an exclaimed ‘Hey!’ yet he didn’t bat an eye and skimmed over the contents of the flier on top.

Bothered by his lack of response, you frowned and made sure to block the doorway, refusing to let him leave until you received answers.

“Why are you acting like this? Pretending that I’m not even—”

“I’ll do upstairs, you do downstairs,” he muttered.

“Did you get into a fight? Why weren’t you here today? Why are you here now—”

“You’d think you’d know,” he finally answered, pushing past you like you weighed none less than a feather.

Your brain had fully malfunctioned at that point, unable to decipher what he meant as Hyunjae walked off to the nearest staircase. As his footsteps echoed down the hall, you thought about what he was implying yet came to no resolution. Did he assume that you were caught up in your school’s latest gossip? Or that you were the main admin for his biggest fan page on Instagram?

The idea made you snort, and you scowled bitterly at his childish attitude. It wasn’t like you were a complete stranger intruding on his personal life—hell, you felt like you deserved an explanation because of how you were forced to do this with him.

As you stormed off past the remaining lingering students to the nearest bulletin board, you questioned how you were going to do this on your own.

You had put up fliers countless times in the past few years yet never alone. Luckily, you had a general idea of where the fliers should go when it came to the school’s hallways, but as you approached your first destination, you struggled with ripping off pieces of tape while holding the stack at the same time. It would’ve been easier with a partner by your side, one who either did the tape ripping or placing of the fliers, but you weren’t desperate enough to fall into the role of a helpless princess in need of her pretty (useless) prince.

After some trial and error, you found a method that consisted of setting the stack on the ground occasionally so you could rip off pieces of tape. Then you would slap said pieces of tape onto your wrist, having them readily available as you put up a few fliers at a time.

Although slightly time-consuming, it was working well and kept you at a steady pace until you heard crashing footsteps behind you from afar. Without paying any mind to it, you bit back your curiosity in order to focus on the wall in front of you, but then you made the mistake of taking a step back, bumping into the person who was sprinting.

You lost your balance and fell forward before catching yourself shortly after. However, the fliers had already flown out of your arms, scattering across and down the long hallway.

Ready to curse out the offender for running down the hallway, you were surprised when you saw that it was Eunseo behind you, pouring out apologies while a loopy grin was smacked onto her face.

You steadied your anger and told her it was okay, getting down onto your knees to collect all the fliers. Her ‘sorry’s could only go so far with her smeared lipstick, a dazed gaze, and her hair holding the mold to someone else’s (presumably her crush’s) hands in them, but you still excused her, knowing that she was over the moon right now.

“It’s okay, Eunseo, I promise.” You forced out a chuckle as you crawled to scavenge for the ones that flew a few feet away.

“I really didn’t mean to,” she pouted, but it was shortly followed up with bubbly giggles. “God, Y/N, can you believe this? Oh, it’s going so well! I think I love him, I do.”

“Good for you,” you grumbled, hoping that she didn’t hear it as you continued to move down the hallway, hating how far the fliers had escaped from you. You also hated how she just stood there without intent on helping you at all.

“I have to really go now. Got volleyball practice soon, but I think I’m seeing him tomorrow too!” She waved you goodbye.

And just like that, she continued running off.

You stared at how you were only able to collect half the mess, hating how Eunseo had somehow managed to delay you even further from being in the comfort of your bed. You were also salty at how her date was taking place at the school, wishing she could’ve dragged him around while she taped stuff up before getting dick-downed of some sort.

Deciding that she and her business weren’t worth your time, you continued to pick everything up as quickly as you could, wanting nothing more than to go home.

When you finally finished collecting every last flier, you were prepared to get back into the groove of things before feeling your phone vibrate in the side pocket of your backpack. Wondering if it was something important, you took it out and beamed at the idea of it being a new message from Jiwoong.

Dating him felt like falling in love with him all over again whenever he texted. Your heart would pound in your chest when you thought about him and explode whenever he gave you his attention and time. You were addicted to him, especially knowing that he was yours after liking him since middle school.

So to say you were disappointed was far worse than an understatement. It was from a number you hadn’t saved yet always recognized and undoubtedly remembered by heart.

Of course it was Hyunjae.

You had Hyunjae’s phone number due to previous class projects and group chats, but you had never once saved it because you thought he was undeserving of being a contact in your phone. Nonetheless, with how the years have passed and how much his number infiltrates every group chat you were in, it was only fair that your brain had unintentionally memorized all ten digits.

The message he sent consisted of him saying that he was done with the fliers, and you rolled your eyes. Even after the way he treated you earlier, he still chose to let you know and brag about how fast he was.

You shoved your phone away vigorously, ready to return to your slapping-fliers-on-walls duty, before perking at the sound of footsteps behind you once more.

Automatically assuming it was Eunseo or another student staying after for a club or sport, you were stunned when you heard his voice.

“You’re not even halfway yet?”

In no fucking universe are you turning around; not for him.

“Go gloat somewhere else,” you snapped. The next flier you taped up was nearly slammed onto the wall, but Hyunjae was left unphased by your sudden outburst. He stood next to you and remained quiet, even when you left to place the next flier a few feet away on the opposite wall.

When he didn’t follow, you sighed out of relief, yet somehow you couldn’t help but peek at him, eyeing his hands that were tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants. He was staring straight at the lopsided flier you had put up, and when you decided you had enough of peering at him, he was back by your side.

“What are you doing?” you grumbled. He was the one who pushed you away, yet now here he was, glued to your side like how he was two months ago.

“You’re taking too long.”

“I had a mishap,” you explained, “but that’s none of your concern.” The lines on your forehead bunched up, and you waved him off, bending down to place the stack on the ground. Figuring it wasn’t weird at all, you continued your method of ripping off pieces of tape and slapping it onto your wrist.

And Hyunjae was totally judging.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Just go home.”

Despite being on the ground and sitting on your heels, you could physically feel the heat on the back of your head due to his eyes burning a hole into your skull, and for a split second, you knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I can do it myself,” you explained.

“What are you even doing?”

“Can you just go?” You picked up the stack once again as you rose to your feet, doing your best to avoid whatever look was on Hyunjae’s face. He was probably stifling a laugh or keeping his expression smug, but when you did cave and peek, his face was still solemn, his eyes on your wrist with concern.

“You’re struggling.”

“Thank you for your observation, Mr. Obvious,” you retorted.

“Let me do it.”

Taken aback, you whipped your head over to his direction.

“You’re kidding.”

“You don’t even want to be here,” he reasoned through gritted teeth. “Just go, and you can thank me later.”

“Thank you?!” Appalled at his audacity, you couldn’t help but laugh out of disbelief. “Seriously, Hyunjae? You want me to thank you for stealing my job? Again? You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Because you can’t take any criticism ever, or in this case, any form of help, so just let me do it.”

Hyunjae was eerily calm about the whole ordeal, his energy far from matching yours.

“I do take help,” you refuted. “I just don’t take yours, and neither do I need it, too.”

“You’re so goddamn stubborn.” And within a blink of an eye, he had managed to snatch the stack of fliers from you.

“Hey!” you yelled, feeling as if it was deja vu from earlier (you really needed to step up your defense), and reached out to take them back, but he was quick to turn his body, shielding them from you.

“Give me the tape and go,” he urged, emotionless. The Hyunjae in front of you now was someone you truly didn’t recognize because the Hyunjae you knew would have made fun of you and held the fliers above your head, teasing you for being so weak.

Yet he stood still, creating a barrier between you and the duty that was forced upon you. You didn’t want to be here anyway, yet you were so insistent on making sure Hyunjae wasn’t stealing your work again. You weren’t incapable, and you hated how he always managed to be faster.

Even now, he was miles away from being playful with you, and yet he still had a way to shove it in your face.

“Hyunjae, I swear—”

“Give me the tape, and you can run off to your little boyfriend waiting for you by the entrance.”

Your lips parted at his words, eyes wide as you worked to comprehend his words. You questioned how he knew about Jiwoong’s whereabouts, how he knew that Jiwoong was waiting and that you didn’t, but knowing that he was serious, you reluctantly gave up and dropped the roll of tape on the ground, forcing him to pick it up.

You were sick of constantly arguing with him, and even if he was lying about Jiwoong, at least you would be away from Hyunjae. There was no point in fighting for your dignity anymore, not when Hyunjae’s narcissism was insufferable.

By walking away with heavy and quick strides, you hoped he felt humiliated by how poorly he was treating you—how he had always treated you like this.

As much as you wanted it to be true, you hoped Hyunjae was lying just so you had more evidence against his self-absorbed and shitty personality, but alas, you found Jiwoong standing precisely where Hyunjae said he was.

Regardless, all stress and frustrations had lifted from your being, and you called out to your boyfriend with a smile that would make your cheeks ache in minutes.

“Woong!” You waved your hands with a small bounce in your steps as you rushed over to him.

Your boyfriend’s head shot up, surprised to see you. His utter shock quickly switches to one of sheer happiness, tucking his device away before opening his arms for you.

“Hey, baby!”

You tossed yourself into his embrace, hugging him tight after pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“What are you doing here?” With your face in his neck, your voice came out muffled, and it made Jiwoong laugh.

“Had to stay after to discuss my grades with a teacher, then I decided to stay back a bit for you.” He cooed and kissed the top of your head, holding you incredibly close. When you pulled back, his hands had moved from behind your backpack to your hips instead, holding them as you stared up at him.

“You were waiting for me?” you asked, eyes wide with stars in them.

“Of course I was, baby.”

You were radiating, feeling happier than ever. The last time you saw Jiwoong was a week ago, and with your clashing schedules, you two very rarely get the opportunity to make plans. Your hands rested atop his shoulders, and when he pulled you in for a kiss, you smiled.

But then it fell.

Something felt off.

If someone were to inquire Hyunjae about who his heart belonged to, your name would be his answer—whether he intended to say it or not.

Hyunjae had always been considered the school’s favorite. His intelligence may not be up to par with others, but his authority was what made him a prominent member of your high school. Some blame it on his looks, but most were aware enough to know that wasn’t the case.

Hyunjae knew how to think on his feet, and his problem-solving skills outwitted everyone within his grade level. Reaching tranquillity had never been an issue for him, allowing him to be levelheaded while making decisions. He emitted an aura that made classmates truly listen to him and the ideas he shared, and overall, it made him a great contender to lead every group and organization he was in.

Additionally, Hyunjae’s heart was what won over most people. His lack of vulnerability seemed to be his only flaw, but it was an obstacle he could overlook when it came to empathizing with others. By actively being involved in the community through volunteering and holding fundraisers, everyone could recognize Hyunjae’s devotion to hope for humanity.

All these traits were what led Hyunjae up onto the pedestal and the public eye, a household name for all families in the district. Titles and awards naturally gravitated towards him throughout the years, resulting in him winning the vote as president of your school’s student council and enough scholarships to provide him a full ride at most universities.

It was safe to say that competition against Lee Hyunjae was sparse, and you were no different.

Your grades would teeter around his standard, hence how you two collectively ended up in the same classes, but aside from that, you had nothing else that could compare to what he was capable of.

Except for one thing; your fury.

There was an inferno inside you at all times, and instead of your body shielding off your heart with steel, people around you would come to find out that your heart was the reason for that large blaze of fire, possessing a passion unlike any other.

Hyunjae had never once seen a peer with as much fight as you. It was a trait only you encapsulated, one that you weren’t afraid to express. You stood up for yourself and your beliefs, and it was easy to pick fights with him when he had been troubling you from the very moment you two were assigned to sit next to each other in seventh-grade algebra.

Hyunjae yearned for you ever since, his only want being your attention. You gave him the drive to succeed in high school and thrive in his senior year, and he was positive that he wouldn’t be doing this well without a reason to show off in front of you. He wanted your praise, your acknowledgment, but he loved the chase the most.

Unfortunately, that was the exact reason he ended up here.

The chase was what made him fall for every part of you, wanting nothing more than your lips on his and the ability to have you by his side at all times, but it was also what landed you with your current boyfriend.

It was like his life was a video game with God giving him the hardest difficulty setting by making sure you were obsessed with someone undeserving of all that he wanted. There wasn’t even a chance of you two possibly being friends in your eyes. Meanwhile, Hyunjae would argue that you two had more chemistry than any other couple in your class, but that hope was crushed, shredded, and stomped on when he found out you still devoted your love to Jiwoong.

Regardless, it didn’t change who you were as a person. Your heart was still just as large and beautiful, and your drive to succeed hadn’t lessened. The bickering never faltered, and it wasn’t like Hyunjae was opposed whenever you expressed disgust at the thought of him being turned on because of you (and that was because he found the idea of you thinking about him hot—yes, his expectations were that low).

So it was why after two months of almost zero to no contact, you treating him as if those months didn’t exist created the largest dilemma he had ever faced. He spent the next week thinking about your intentions and why you seemed to care so much, specifically right after when Hyunjae had willed himself to believe that he meant jackshit to you. You effortlessly toyed with his heart, leaving him in everlasting misery, while you seemed to do completely fine.

What was a typical and ideal lifestyle for you was a nightmare and tormenting hellhole for Hyunjae. He didn’t just crave the warmth and comfort from your undying flames.

He wanted to burn.

Insanity engulfed him on the days spent without you, leaving him to wonder why you had to make things extensively worse by pointing out his absence or how he had put less effort into his hair. Why did it seem like the concern you expressed was genuine? Why pretend that you cared for him as much as he cared for you?

He was going insane—so insane that he drove to a college party with three other friends in his sedan on a Wednesday night.

It was being held by a fraternity he and his friends were far more than familiar with thanks to Jongin, an upperclassman he met in his sophomore year and remained friends with since then. The beginning of the senior year marked the origin of parties and hook-ups in weak sporadic attempts to get over you.

At this rate, Hyunjae could argue that he was more experienced than half of the current college freshmen class. Getting girls in bed was the easiest part; the hardest part was forgetting about you. From what was a method created to move on from you became one that prepared him for when you wanted sex with him.

But with your constant longing for Jiwoong, Hyunjae made sure that this party would be different.

Although accustomed to having sex with various women, Hyunjae had never been one to drink. This was a fact about him that raised brows, specifically Jongin’s when he first tried urging Hyunjae with a drink, but tonight he vowed to change that. He was normally their designated driver, but when Hyunjae informed Sangyeon of his plan, the elder was more than delighted to remain sober so Hyunjae could get a taste of alcohol.

“Hey, man! It’s about time!” Jongin exclaimed the instant he found out about Hyunjae’s willingness to drink, pulling a fresh bottle out of the cooler specifically for his friend.

“That’s what I told him!” Sangyeon projected his voice over the music, giving Hyunjae a supportive pat on the back.

Hyunjae rolled his eyes at his friends’ remarks and thanked Jongin for the beer, hanging around by the counter as the three conversed and caught up. The two laughed at the way Hyunjae’s face scrunched up at the taste, Sangyeon shoving him lightly with the claim that Hyunjae was being overdramatic.

With his earlier mindless decision of tossing on a mesh long-sleeve shirt over his black tank top, Hyunjae had attracted another partygoer by his side momentarily after his first sip. She wrapped her arms around one of his and inserted herself into the conversation with hopes of getting Hyunjae in bed by the end of the night, and crazily enough, he considered it for a moment before feeling his phone vibrate in his back pocket.

Normally it would be something he’d ignore, but it remained persistent, signifying that he was receiving a call. He didn’t know who would be calling at this hour—well, aside from Minghao and his usual complaints about Hyunjae partying as a high schooler on a school night.

After setting the glass down on the counter to grab his phone, any urgency to intoxicate himself as quickly as possible vanished the very second he saw your name glowing on his screen. With an awkward retraction of his arm and a forced cough, Hyunjae excused himself and answered the call.

“Hello?”

With music pounding inside his ear canals, it was expected that he couldn’t hear anything you were saying. He navigated through various crowds to reach the entrance of the house, his heart replicating the booming vibrations from the loudspeakers as he prayed that you wouldn’t hang up on him.

“Okay, I…I should be free now,” he stammered after stepping outside. The sudden stillness of Mother Nature was a drastic change from the party scene, coercing him to focus on his racing heartbeat and the anxiety accumulating in his tightening chest. He was breathing heavily, both from pushing through people in a rush and also because of you.

You never failed to render him weak and helpless, leaving him like a puppy longing for their owner’s guidance.

There was a silence, but he could hear your gentle breaths hitting your phone.

“I need a ride.”

Hyunjae blinked, his body tensing up, as the many thoughts in his brain scrambled to make meaning of what you meant. However, it didn’t matter because you hung up shortly after, leaving him alone to revel in your words.

Your bluntness and suddenty made Hyunjae malfunction, his thoughts leading him to question if he had even heard you correctly. Rarely did you ever reach out to him, and what could you need him for? Especially after lashing out at him and ignoring him for two months? Of course, there was that one day a week ago when you two were forced to talk together, the day he was given a one-day suspension, but you two returned to treating each other like strangers like it was natural.

He stared at his phone in hopes of receiving more information, that you’d perhaps call again to reconfirm or say you had the wrong number. He felt like he was dreaming—that the person he had wanted for so long needed him for once, but he couldn’t help but also believe that this may be the beginning of another nightmare.

But it was you, and Hyunjae was willing to risk it.

After checking his call logs to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, he rushed back into the fraternity house, thankful he didn’t proceed with drinking any more than he did.

He found everyone exactly where he had left them (the girl included) and announced his departure. The girl made sure Hyunjae knew how disappointed she was, but that was his last concern as he grabbed the beer bottle and handed it to Sangyeon, giving him a pat on the back.

“Drink up and find an Uber.”

“No fucking way you’re leaving us this soon, man.” Jongin shook his head in disapproval, his forearms resting against the countertop.

“Another time, I promise, yeah?” Hyunjae started walking away, waving to them as his heart continued to thrum in his chest.

“He’s lying,” Sangyeon snorted, taking a swig before bidding Hyunjae a bitter goodbye. “You owe me!"

Hyunjae ran out of the house, his legs making quick and long strides as he ran to his parked car down the block. His newfound adrenaline made him think about what he was sacrificing to be with you. Was leaving the party and betraying his friends worth spending even a second with you? What if you were asking him to drive you and your boyfriend somewhere? Could his heart even deal with being used like that?

But as much as Hyunjae hated it, he knew he was making the right choice. The self-respect he had for himself was buried six feet deep beneath the surface of the earth when it came to you.

God, he really hoped he wasn’t hallucinating.

For a split second, Hyunjae truly debated what he was doing after getting into his car. He was already driving, but he didn’t know where to go. Luckily, it didn’t take you long to send him a text with your location, and it was a place he was familiar with.

It was a park that he often frequented as a kid since it resided by his old neighborhood, and he was thankful he knew exactly where to go because he knew he would’ve definitely crashed the car while pulling up your location on his GPS. Hyunjae was doubtful it was the alcohol in his system making his fingers shake and his mind uneasy. He blamed you for his hysteria, one that had developed over years of endless longing.

Luckily the drive wasn’t long thanks to the roads being mainly void of other vehicles (and maybe he did speed a few times, but he considered it justified). Before pulling into the parking lot, he spotted a lone figure curled up on a nearby bench. A small weight had been lifted off of him, relieved it was just you, and he parked aimlessly while his eyes rested on you.

You seemed unphased by his added presence, your arms unmoving as they stayed wrapped around your legs. The bench you were sitting in was facing away from the parking lot, but with his headlights illuminating the view in front of you, you certainly had to know he was there.

In an ideal world, Hyunjae would leave his car, join you by your side, and, if he was lucky, he’d pull you into his arms and hold you close against his chest. He wanted to be there for you in whatever way he could, but he ended up being a deer in headlights, too afraid to make the wrong move and lose you again.

He sat there for a minute, watching you, and as soon as he received the confidence to reach for the handle of his door, you were up on your feet. His fingers paused midair as he traced your movements, his arm eventually falling to his side as you approach his car.

Despite how slow his mind was working, Hyunjae knew to unlock the car right as you opened it (he would’ve died out of embarrassment if he had forgotten), and neither of you greeted the other.

Without any explanation from you, Hyunjae refrained from staring at you like he normally would, but your outfit made it incredibly difficult. It wasn’t much, just an oversized long-sleeved shirt that reached your thighs, but it was far from the usual clothes he’d seen you wear, like jeans and a nice-fitting blouse. For a moment, he believed you had no pants on, but then he knocked some sense into himself, realizing that you were probably wearing shorts that were hidden.

While Hyunjae attempted to keep his composure and respect your boundaries, you were eyeing him shamelessly, once again analyzing every detail about him. Beads of sweat pooled up on the back of his neck, and his hair was straightened yet fuzzy. As your eyes trailed downwards, you noticed how the mesh hugged his biceps, catching every crease that defined his muscles. He was quiet, his index finger resting against his lips.

Where did he even come from?

And why was he so quick to listen?

You held back your tongue from dumping out your thoughts, knowing your questions would end up unanswered like before. Your body instinctively rested against the divot between the car door and your seat, keeping your distance from Hyunjae. He was meant to be a stranger, perhaps someone you loathed, yet there was an odd comfort that encased you from him just sharing the same air as you.

You cleared your throat, turning your head to look away when he flinched and snapped his gaze towards you.

“Drive.”

Your demand was no louder than a whisper, but Hyunjae picked it up effortlessly and was already backing out.

“Where to?”

“Anywhere.” Hyunjae raised a brow at your answer, and you buried yourself further into his seat, directing your gaze out the door. “Just-...anywhere, Jae.”

The nickname had his throat tightening and his chest leaping, nodding in your direction as he drove on autopilot. With no destination in mind, he strolled through familiar roads, his fingers tapping against the wheel.

You stayed silent, creating a tension that was unbearably thick, yet none of you felt the need to leave; neither of you wanted to leave the other, even if it meant having to deal with the looming elephant in the room (or in this case, Hyunjae’s car).

After spotting the recreational center from afar and its empty parking lot, he instinctively pulled in. There wasn’t a proper explanation for why he decided it’d make a great destination, especially when it was the place that created a rift in your relationship with him, but it felt right.

It was empty, open, and serene—a perfect place to stay as the moon shined.

Hyunjae stepped out of the car after parking in the middle of it, and when you didn’t follow, he moved to your side and opened the door. He was hesitant but took the risk of offering his hand to you, a warm, nervous smile on his face. He wanted you to know he was there to listen, to be there for you, because, Lord, he would hand you the world if he could.

“I’m not in the mood for walking,” you mumbled, but Hyunjae shook his head.

“We’re not going to walk, I promise.”

Your eyes flickered up to his briefly, skeptical of what he had planned, but ultimately caved. You ignored his hand, and he pulled it back with regret. When you stood there, your eyes on the sky, he closed the door behind you and guided you to the hood of his car.

Without a second thought, he sat on top of it and gestured for you to do the same.

“I sit here all the time. Helps me think.” He leaned back against his windshield, his hands holding the back of his head as he kept his eyes on the sky. When you didn’t move, he started to feel stupid, wondering if you two were better off in the car, but then you joined him.

You copied his position, staring upwards as your hands rested over your abdomen.

Hyunjae opted to keep to himself, deciding that he didn’t want to make this worse for the two of you. Instead, he fixated his thoughts on the stars in the sky.

There were only a few, but it was a rare sight due to the constant air pollution in your city, so he considered it a miracle. You, on the other hand, were spacing out in thought, and Hyunjae could tell through his occasional peeks. Without much control, his eyes started tracing down your arms. They then landed on where the hem of your shirt rested, now looking at your bare thighs.

Feeling as if he just reverted back to being the shyest virgin in the country, he gulped and immediately looked elsewhere, trying to get you off his mind despite you being right next to him. His racing heart was all that he could hear, and now he wondered if you could hear it too—if you knew how much you affected him.

And your voice broke the silence.

“How long have you known?”

Okay, maybe his brain did fall out of his skull because Hyunjae had no idea what you were talking about. He turned his head and caught how you stared up at the sky. Your eyes were glossy, holding the reflections of the whole galaxy within them. They sparkled, and for a beat, Hyunjae had forgotten your question, too infatuated with your beauty.

His silence resulted in you turning your head, gaze meeting his, and that was when he noticed the tears.

“About Jiwoong and Eunseo.”

Your light, your flames, his burning desire; all were gone in a flash.

Your voice was delicate, and Hyunjae knew that with one move, he could break you.

Directing his gaze heavenward, Hyunjae sighed and brought his arms down to rest over his chest. Somehow he was able to feel all the pain you were experiencing, his heart twisting while his stomach churned and sloshed around in his body. He thought about how to respond as he chewed on the inside of his lip, questioning if he should answer at all to avoid hurting you.

But you asked, and as always, Hyunjae delivered.

“I don’t think I ever really knew until last week,” he explained, “but I could always tell.” Suddenly, the fight from a week ago had resurrected, and Hyunjae was forced to relive it all.

The hallways were empty when Hyunjae left the broadcasting room, a backpack strap slung over his shoulder while the other dangled behind him. He was in the middle of scrolling through his emails when he picked up on the sound of Jiwoong’s voice around the corner.

His footsteps halted, and Hyunjae caught Jiwoong’s fatal words.

“How does tomorrow sound?”

Eunseo’s squeals followed after, and Hyunjae stood motionless.

At first, Hyunjae had no thoughts circulating in his brain, but after hearing their lips collide, he started coming up with solutions, such as interrupting or taking a video to send to you. Unfortunately, before he could act on either of them, he heard footsteps dashing off, practically skipping, as the two bidded one another goodbye.

Hyunjae couldn’t pinpoint the reasoning behind his upcoming actions, but he knew how to describe how he felt.

Anger was the first and only emotion to surge up within him, his fingers instinctively balling up into fists. His muscles had tightened while a forest fire ran rampant through his veins, causing his blood to boil.

Then with quick strides, Hyunjae shoved his phone away and made a sharp turn around the corner, tossing his backpack on the ground after spotting Jiwoong against the lockers. The latter had a dazed look on his face, his lips curled into a smirk as he typed away on his phone, but that was changed once he looked up at the sound of Hyunjae’s backpack crashing against the ground in front of him.

There wasn’t a second in between Jiwoong’s face of surprise and Hyunjae’s arm being raised, and before Jiwoong could react, Hyunjae’s fist had slammed into his jaw.

It was a blur from there, but Hyunjae knew he had won even after authorities dragged him off Jiwoong’s body. He had received a few jabs in return, but it was nothing compared to the black eye Hyunjae gave him.

The fact that Jiwoong managed to cover it up with makeup the day after was a miracle, and no one in the school knew about the fight since it happened after school. Hyunjae wanted it to stay that way, but a selfish, cruel part of him wished that everyone knew how sick your boyfriend was.

Well, now he was unsure if he was still your boyfriend.

Hyunjae turned his head back towards you, his cheek meeting the cold metal of his car.

You pursed your lips at his response and nodded slowly. If it were any other day, you wouldn’t have believed him. There was no universe where you’d choose to listen to Hyunjae over Jiwoong, but after a week of investigating and getting your head out of your ass, you found out on your own terms, and all the pieces made sense.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Hyunjae’s voice jerked you out of your thoughts, and as you adjusted to look back at him, you were surprised to still find him staring at you.

“I’m not a violent person, Y/N,” he whispered, an enduring hope lingering in his eyes. He wanted you to believe him, and for once, you did; you truly understood the man you hated most.

“I know, Jae.”

Hyunjae eased at your words, and the two of you fell back into a more comfortable yet aching silence. His fingers drummed against his abdomen, and after a while, he got sick of looking at the same four stars, so he closed his eyes, focusing on enjoying the light breeze instead. His heart was still racing, but it was less alarming. Regardless, he hated knowing that he potentially contributed to how much you were hurting right now.

Maybe if he had done something to prevent it earlier, whether it be telling you as soon as he found out or keeping completely out of your business so you could live in bliss, or, if he wasn’t so scared, he could’ve asked you to be his far before Jiwoong had. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed much, but Hyunjae would never know since he never tried, and now he was going to beat himself over it because now you’re devastated over losing your boyfriend and it was potentially his faul—

You laughed.

Hyunjae snapped his head towards you, his brows raised at your sudden change in mood—but it wasn’t the type of laugh he expected. Your laugh was one filled with pain, and he watched you shake your head, trying to refuse the tears that were rapidly welling up in your eyes once more. You sniffed and wiped the tears away with the back of your hand, choosing to look in the opposite direction because the last thing you wanted was for Hyunjae to see you vulnerable.

“It’s stupid,” you murmured. “This entire thing is stupid. I’m so fucking dumb.”

His lips parted to interject, to tell you that you were, in fact, ‘not dumb,’ but he clamped his mouth shut, knowing that his words probably wouldn’t help. From what he’d learned in the past, you liked it least when he tried telling you otherwise, no matter the situation.

“I should’ve known. I did know. The whole world knew. Even you knew, but it makes me think, was Eunseo just flocking around, flaunting to everyone that she had a crush on my boyfriend and managed to win him over? I just—I…I don’t know-...” You paused to catch your breath, beginning to choke on your tears as your chest shook, “I don’t know what I did wrong, you know?”

You shut your eyes, allowing the pain to engulf you. You knew fully well that your punishment was to deal with the pain, but you felt like you didn’t deserve it—that you deserved none of this. Why was this a penalty for being in love?

It was humiliating having everyone witness the reality you shielded from yourself, choosing hope and love over the truth.

“I just never felt more stupid in my life, and I feel even more stupid knowing that I still love him.”

Hyunjae sucked in his lips, gnawing on them as he bit back all his feelings, from his brain shredding to his heart weeping.

“I love him so much that I would let him do it to me all over again because I keep thinking he’d be better. I know he can be better, so why-...It’s just- Why do I do this to myself?”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks, each one leaving behind a trail for others to fall. They started pouring out of you rapidly, soon sobbing at the heart-wrenching pain of being betrayed by everyone in your life, Hyunjae included, because why, out of everyone, was he here for you when he should be the last person who cared?

You always wanted Hyunjae to be the antagonist of your life story, to have him as your biggest enemy and threat, so why was everyone else but him hurting you? Why was the villain of your fantasy taking the role of your knight in shining armor?

And yet, as much as it pained Hyunjae to process all your emotions, his mind wasn’t running correctly; he had you alone for the first time in months. He wanted nothing more than to pull you in his arms and whisper words of comfort in your ears, knowing you deserved it more than anyone, but he also wanted to shake you awake and slap you out of your misery, praying that you’d forget about Jiwoong; that right now, you being vulnerable was his chance to swoop in, to set whatever you wanted him to into flames, as long as if it meant you’d end up okay.

You sat up because if you lied down any longer, you would’ve started drowning in your own tears. Your sleeves were soaked, and he sat up alongside you, figuring that he should do something about it.

Hyunjae got back onto his feet and stood in front of you. He barely knew what he was doing, but that didn’t stop him from replacing your sleeves with his cold, clammy hands over your cheeks. There wasn’t a time that Hyunjae could recall where he had been this gentle with someone, and when you didn’t push him away, he tilted your head up to look at him.

Even with tears running down your cheeks, you looked angelic as ever.

Each droplet mirrored a star from the sky, and your eyes sparkled as they stayed locked on his.

“Take me,” you whispered, and Hyunjae’s whole world stopped.

“...What?” Hyunjae had only intended to wipe your tears away with the pads of his hands, perhaps whisper something along the lines of him being here for you for the night (and the rest of his life, let’s be honest), yet your first words were—no, he had to have been hallucinating.

Your hands trembled as they reached for his wrist, and although you were severely broken, the grip your fingers created was firm.

“Please.”

Like a moth to a flame, Hyunjae admired how pretty you looked, your lips plump and eyes wide, and he wanted nothing more than to take you into his backseat and treat you the way he’d always wanted to, especially after hearing your pleas, but he knew better. You both knew better.

“What exactly are you implying?” he asked, feeling like you had just inhaled all his oxygen and left him breathless.

You released his wrist and opted to hold onto his sleeve, tugging on it as you tried to get him to understand you.

“I want it to hurt, Jaehyun.”

Your tears were gone, and there was a hint of dominance in your tone that would’ve had him dropped to his knees in front of you. You were also one of the very few who resorted to calling him Jae, and now his actual name. He favored Hyunjae, but after hearing ‘Jaehyun’ from your lips, his preference had completely made a turnaround.

But Hyunjae worked to collect his thoughts, fully aware that this was wrong and he’d have to be the bigger person here. As much as he hated himself for giving up the perfect opportunity to have the girl of his dreams, he couldn’t ignore the large concern over your current mental state.

“You’re not thinking straight, Y/N,” he reasoned softly, his fingers reaching up to brush your hair out of your face, and for a second, Hyunjae swore he felt the alcohol kicking in—or perhaps it was you instead. The thought of being able to have you right now, to touch you and press his hands over your skin, to have you as his for just this night, was so intoxicating that he was seconds away from foaming at the mouth.

“I don’t need to think straight. I don’t want to think at all.”

Everything felt hotter and tighter, but he kept his composure, though with his eyes dropping to your begging lips and then your delicate fingers, he knew he was beginning to lose whatever was left of his sanity.

But he also knew you were using him; you had to be. There was no other explanation. It was only minutes ago when you professed how you continued to feel about Jiwoong—that your heart still belonged to him, and Hyunjae was allowed nowhere near it. He was your backup, your second option, yet that happened to be better than nothing, right?

Especially when he could have you right here, right now.

“You’re using me.”

Your expression didn’t falter.

“Then say no. Make us go back into your car and drive me home.” Your hand dropped from holding onto his sleeve but that was so you could wrap your arms around his neck, slowly bringing yourself closer to him. His cheeks were flushed as his mind flooded with possibilities of what could happen. Never had you ever wanted him, and he’d been dreaming of a moment like this for years. Your tear-stained cheeks, your pouty red lips—he wanted all of you.

“But you won’t,” you whispered, your breath hitting his skin. Your eyes landed on his lips, now craving him as much as he craved you. You needed a release, an outlet, to justify Jiwoong being better than Hyunjae. Hyunjae was worse in every way possible, and you wanted him to prove that to you. “You’d do anything I’d say, wouldn’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” Little did you know Hyunjae was crumbling inside, completely melting as his fingers grew weak at the idea of your lips on his. His hands, although wary, traveled to your waist, feeling your curves before trailing his hands down to your hips to grip them.

“You love me, don’t you?”

His heart stuttered, all words caught up in his throat, but he knew there was no defending himself—not when he was practically drooling at every move you made; he was hyperaware of the hand playing with the hair on his nape, the way your lips nearly hovered over his, and how your tears glistened under the moonlight.

His entire existence was confirmation of your words, and you knew it.

“You’d do anything for me, Jae. What’s stopping you now?”

There was a stillness as you two stared at one another. He swallowed and pulled slightly back.

He knew better.

“You don’t want me.” He was brokenhearted, a part of him understanding that you’d never be his, yet he wanted you in so many ways, wishing to have your mewls fill his ears and the smell of sex staining his clothes. The bulge in his pants was forming and pressing up against the tight confinement, making him groan.

He dropped his head downwards, his forehead leaning to rest against yours, as he closed his eyes and did his best to regulate his breathing—repeating in his head and out loud, again.

He knew better.

“You’re using me.”

You both knew better.

Yet with your lips ghosting his and your eyes half-hooded, you were prepared to give into the dark side.

“And I say take advantage of it.”

Hyunjae dived and pressed his lips onto yours, hunger driving his every movement. There was no stopping when he felt your lips curling up into a grin, his hands shifting to wrap around your torso to drag you closer. His heart burst at how perfectly his lips molded with yours, and it seemed as if there was fire shooting up into the sky and exploding—they weren’t fireworks, and the explosion was far bigger and more dangerous. It lit the entirety of the sky, the moon and stars included, into flames, a desire unlike any other.

Your left hand pressed firm against the back of his neck while the other traveled through his hair. Meanwhile, his hands had snuck beneath your shirt and felt for your lower back. Heavy breaths left the two of you as desperation crept through your veins, dictating your every movement.

The cold touch from his hands ignited your nervous system, every sense activated and overstimulated by Hyunjae as you released a breathy moan into his mouth.

You didn’t want him, but fuck, you needed him.

When you would pull back, his lips would chase yours, and you two fell into an endless cycle. He couldn’t even fathom how you were pulling away for air when you were his oxygen. Maybe you weren’t oxygen itself, but the fumes you emitted had already replaced his need for air, deluding him into believing that you were what he needed to stay alive.

You were suffocating, toxic, and destructive, and he wanted more.

After retracting from the kiss for the nth time, you turned your head to hold Hyunjae back from continuing. You both were panting, your cunt soaking, and he stared into your eyes like a puppy awaiting their next direction.

“Good boy,” you praised, and he laughed lowly and sheepishly, dropping his head as he processed what happened and the idea of it being potentially over.

“You’re lethal,” he breathed out.

“And you’re pitiful,” you spat. There was a playful grin on your lips, but those words ignited something within Hyunjae. He raised his head and cocked a brow at you, questioning your genuinity.

Just minutes ago you were crying over a guy that treated you terribly, and yet here you thought you had the authority to call him weak.

Perhaps he was; he was falling deeper into your pitless trap, enticed with every movement of yours, but he knew for a fact you weren’t any better than him.

You both were sick in the head for falling for people that treated the other like shit, yet your drive, your fuel, to win over the hearts of the people you loved was so strong, and it made you two unstoppable.

Hyunjae would punch Jiwoong all over again if he could.

Without a second thought, Hyunjae ducked his head down and ruthlessly attached his lips to your neck, eliciting a gasp from you. He kissed your skin fervently, his fingers teasing the rim of your shorts, and your hands shifted to hold onto his shoulders for support. You found yourself tossing your head back, providing him more room to do as he pleased, that if Jiwoong were to see you with marks on your neck, then maybe he’d want you back.

“Bold of you to call me pitiful,” he grumbled, sucking onto your neck until a blot of purple began to form.

“But it’s true, no?”

“You’re just as bad, Y/N.” He licked a stripe up your neck and over the mark, and the sensation made you cringe, disgust itching at your skin due to being covered in his saliva, but you wanted more of it. You wanted Hyunjae to treat you like you were nothing, to treat you worse than Jiwoong ever had, so you could direct your blame over to Hyunjae instead of your unknowing boyfriend.

You turned your head and slotted your lips with his again, already addicted to how perfect they were for you. Hyunjae knew the exact way to kiss you, to keep you on your toes, as your slick pooled up in your underwear at the mere thought of Hyunjae touching you.

The kiss was eager, a fight for control, and when Hyunjae didn’t surrender, you raised your knee, forcing your thigh to brush up against his crotch.

He gasped at the sensation and pulled away, bangs hanging over his eyes as he looked down at the sight. You teased him by keeping your touches gentle, but you made sure to keep your leg moving. Nothing intrigued you more than seeing Hyunjae beg or rut against your thigh, further proof of how pathetic he was for you. You gained a sense of ego knowing that he could have any girl in the world, that he has had every girl, and yet he would always come back to you. Now that you had him, it would be harder for him to return to a life without you under him, moaning his name.

You wanted to be his downfall.

Your nails latched onto the mesh, taking note of how easy it would be to rip the material, before pressing your thigh firmly up against his dick, making him jerk.

“You’re-...oh my god, Y/N,” he gasped, breathless. His eyes meet your devious ones, how you were basically Satan himself, and somehow, someway, he wouldn’t ask for anything different. “You’re playing a losing…a losing- game.”

“What more do I have left to lose?” There was some truth in your words as vulnerability struck you. Your leg then lowered as you regained a slight sense of reality, realizing that you were forcing Hyunjae into being your selfish source of relief. You hated Hyunjae, sure, but you knew this was the last thing he deserved—to use him when he’d been nothing but accommodating to you.

And your sick and twisted plan was that after this encounter, you’d leave him to rot.

Hyunjae didn’t deserve that at all.

But Hyunjae was already too far gone, too intoxicated, to even consider the repercussions of how he’d end up after this. The loss of contact with his crotch was what had him picking you up from his car, the tips of his fingers digging into your thighs, as he led you to the backseat.

Your eyes widened, your senses fully back, but you made him like this, and you were going to pay for it. Although scared for about what’s to come, the anticipation had you drooling, your lips pressing fierce kisses onto his skin while he opened the door with you in his arms.

He laid you down gently and crawled over you, keeping you trapped between his arms.

“This is what you wanted, right? For me to tear you apart until you can run back to Jiwoong and justify how poorly he treats you?”

Your brows bunched up at his words, your legs getting antsy being under him. There was no answering him, not when Hyunjae already knew how you were going to respond.

He brought one of his hands into your shorts and made the aggravating decision to slide his fingers over your underwear, depriving you of contact with his fingers.

Yet even with your underwear being a divider, he found your clit with ease and immediately started rubbing circles into the bud, making you buck your hips with a whine. The friction of the cloth was something you were unfamiliar with, and lord did it mess with you.

“You want me to treat you how he sees you? Worthless and undeserving of respect?” He flicked your clit and kissed your jaw. “If that’s what you want, that’s exactly what my princess is going to get.”

“Fuck,” you moaned, using your hands to push onto his shoulders and force him down. The drive to ride his tongue was strong, and if he kept teasing you, you would have lost it.

“I know you inside and out, Y/N. I know you better than him, and this is how you treat me.” He sucked in a cheek but ultimately decided to comply with what you wanted. He pulled off your shorts yet left your underwear on, and his brows raised. He wasn’t sure how his fingers had missed the texture of lace, but what you were wearing was certainly lingerie.

You looked down to see why he stopped, and when you realized why he froze, heat rose to your cheeks.

“I wanted to feel pretty,” you whispered, shutting your eyes after turning your head. It was embarrassing, now that you thought about it, but Hyunjae’s heart soared, and he wanted nothing more than for you to know how ethereal you looked.

But he shoved the feeling away, allowing his frustrations to get the better half of him.

When he pulled off your underwear, he cooed at how your essence oozed onto the material and raised the undergarment into the air, waiting for you to look.

“Did I do this?”

His mocking tone kept you from looking, but your curiosity got the best of you. You were met with the sight of a large wet, dark patch on your underwear, biting down on your lip as you looked at him with wide eyes. If you thought about it, you couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this, or if there ever had been a time when you craved someone this badly.

He tossed it to the side and his hands massaged your thighs, keeping them spread open so he got a proper view of your core on display for him. The sight truly stunned him, reminding him that this was you he fantasized about and replicated with other girls—no one else.

“Do you normally take this long?” you rasped, tossing your head back against the seat, and Hyunjae rolled his eyes.

“I do you a favor, and this is how you treat me.”

“A favor is a stretch—”

Hyunjae plunged two fingers into your mouth, having them press firmly down against your tongue. He latched onto your jaw and pulled your head forward and up towards him, having your eyes meet his.

“Remind me, Y/N, who was begging for this?”

He dropped your head back down against the seat before you could even respond and used whatever saliva accumulated in your mouth as temporary lube, figuring that your slick would help him with stretching you out. You grunted at the impact, feeling helpless, as Hyunjae finally inserted his fingers inside of you.

Hyunjae’s fingers were enough to have your eyes rolling, but it was the ring that he wore that stimulated you the most. You weren’t aware that he was even wearing one, yet the cold band against your raging wet heat made you whimper and desperately grasp for his hair.

“Jaehyun, please,” you begged.

He chuckled and kept his movements slow, forcing you to fuck yourself onto his fingers weakly. When you did, he was in awe at how stunning you looked, how you seemed to be in your own world, and how you were enjoying him. By curling his fingers, a moan was pulled from your throat, making your eyes open as you looked at him. You continued to pool around his fingers, your voice weakly begging for so much more than his fingers and the cold air that brushed against your skin.

Never had you felt more vulnerable, but Hyunjae never once made you feel like you were doing something wrong, making you cling desperately to him. You forced his face down into your crotch and jerked at the feeling of his nose brushing up against your clit.

“Shameless, aren’t you?” he commented, laughing lowly, but you were too out of it to care.

“Shut the-...F-fuck, oh my god.”

Your whines had gotten more incessant the more useless he became, his fingers now completely stilled inside of you as he watched you roll your hips with a cheeky grin. He wanted to drag this out for as long as possible, knowing fully well that he could last all night.

When he took out his fingers, you were yanked out of your bliss and nearly begged for him to put them back in, but before you could get a word out, he had replaced his digits with his tongue. Your slick was dripping onto his lips, and as he dragged his wet muscle up and down your folds, he made sure to collect a small puddle of you onto his tongue to eventually swallow, wanting to savor you.

“Oh-...Oh my god, Jae—” Your orgasm was approaching, unsure of how it was here so soon, but you recognized the signs from the coil in your chest tightening to losing every sensation to the man beneath you. You rocked your hips continuously onto his tongue, and his thumb attached to your clit, making you see stars with how rapid his movements were.

He pulled his face back and forced his fingers back into you, and the final curl was what made you reach your peak, your hips in the air as you cried out his name.

As you came down from your high, you caught a glance of the way Hyunjae was looking at you; to him, you were otherworldly, and it was a sight he’d never forget. He wondered if Jiwoong ever saw you like this, if he ever made you feel this way, and suddenly his admiration had soured and contoured to something of darkness, rid of any empathy as he now looked at you with some form of disgust.

“All this for me, and you still have the fucking audacity to choose him.”

The mention of Jiwoong had your eyes wide open, tears reappearing at the mention and while being in your most vulnerable state. Your legs shook from the aftermath, feeling too weak to continue, yet Hyunjae seemed to have other plans.

Instead of shoving his fingers back into either of your mouths, he hovered over you and made sure you saw the way he dragged his fingers around your abdomen, drawing aimlessly over your skin with your essence before dragging a hand up to your breasts, massaging one of them as his other hand rested by your waist.

“Tell me, Y/N, did you buy this for him and never got to use it? That’s why you’re wearing it now with me? Am I your sloppy seconds?”

There was a slight growl under his tone, and while you shook your head subconsciously, he worked to remove your shirt, wanting a better look at your bra, before being met with a necklace you had been hiding; one with Jiwoong’s name.

And Hyunjae took no time breaking it from your neck.

Your jaw dropped, and you snapped out of your daze by sitting straight up, yet as you were about to yell at him for breaking your necklace, he shoved three fingers back into your pussy, shutting you up by having you moan at the intrusion.

“It looked cheap, anyway,” he muttered, forcing his mouth against yours momentarily to nip on your lower lip, tugging on it so your focus remained on him.

“That was—he’s mine,” you forced out, gasping at every thrust he made with his fingers, your sweet spot being abused as your hands latched onto his shoulders. You made sure your nails dug into his skin, wanting it to hurt, before pulling onto the mesh, wishing for it to tear.

“He’s not yours, princess. Tell me, how can you say that when his dick has been up other girls?” With his free hand, he grabbed your face and made sure you were staring straight at him before shoving it to the side.

“You need to fucking wake up and realize that you can dream all you want about how he’d react if he saw you hopping on my dick, but guess what? He wouldn’t care.” Hyunjae pulled out his fingers and left you alone in the backseat.

You sat there, a wreck and vulnerable, as you tried to catch your breath. You lay back on your forearms, curious eyes following his every movement.

“There’s a reason he hasn’t left you yet,” Hyunjae explained, opening the front door to his car to grab a condom and his phone. He tucked both into his back pocket before returning to you, bringing your lips to his before continuing to talk within the kiss.

“He’s stringing you along so you can boost his ego. He knows you will always be there for him, and you allow him to use you like that?”

You wrapped your fingers around Hyunjae’s neck, squeezing it before pushing it away to keep your distance, your frustration starting to grow.

“I’m beginning to think you’re all bark and no bite, Jaehyun,” you muttered, and with whatever strength you had left, you pushed him against the seat and got into his lap. Without hesitation, you started rocking your hips over his clothed dick, hoping your slick would seep in so he could feel you.

He hissed but allowed you to do as you pleased, his grip tight on your hips.

“I-...I think…if you asked me, you’re the one who’s projecting. I’m the one in a relationship, and you’re just a side piece.”

The speed of your hips increased, and Hyunjae felt ecstasy on the tip of his tongue, the confinements of his pants physically paining him the more you continued.

“You’re jealous, Jae. Just admit it.”

You pulled at his hair, loving the absolute control you had over him at that moment, but in one languid motion, Hyunjae managed to push you back down, this time with your stomach against the seats. You could feel your bodily fluids sticking to the nylon, and with how hard Hyunjae was pressing down into you, you were barely given a chance to move.

With one hand on your lower back, he kept you still as he took out both his phone and condom, making sure to place both on top of your bare skin.

“What’s there to be jealous of when you’re here under me? You want to be fucked stupid? Fine. Don’t fucking complain when you want me to be the villain.” You lurched at his words, refusing to let him win, but you were completely unable to do much damage as Hyunjae kicked off his pants and boxers while still keeping his weight on you.

He then picked up his phone and pulled up the camera, making sure to take a photo of you in his car before clicking record and tossing the phone onto the ground, hoping it was close enough to pick up on your sweet noises.

“Make sure to be loud for me, yeah? I’m sure Jiwoong would love it if I sent that video to him.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” you bit back, your hand reaching out in an attempt to grab the device, but Hyunjae was quicker to grab your wrist, pinning it behind your back.

“I wouldn’t because I know how to appreciate what’s mine.” Hyunjae released his hold on you to roll on the condom, giving you the opportunity to move and take his phone as you pleased. To your dismay, there was no more effort left within you, only an ache to feel Hyunjae inside you.

“He appreciates me,” you mumbled, trying to convince yourself otherwise as you waited.

“Does he record you? Jerk off to your moans every night? Because I would, Y/N, just for you.” His voice was now by your ear, and when you turned your head to look at him, he pulled you into another hungry kiss, his dick now grazing against your hole.

“You’re fucking insane,” you bit back into the kiss, and he grinned against your lips, guiding his dick into you as he spoke.

“Psychotic, just for my princess.”

Venom laced his voice, dripping menacingly, and the insertion of his tip had you grasping for something in front of you, anything, and it was only then that you were able to process how thick his cock was.

“Can you take it?” he asked, his voice slightly softer than before. When you gave him a curt nod, he continued pushing in further. Maybe lube should’ve been an option, but you were so wet for him that it didn’t matter, knowing that the stretch probably would have hurt regardless.

“Fuck, fuck—he really doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Hyunjae gasped, his head resting against the back of yours. It was better than anything he’d dreamed of, better than any girl he imagined, because it was you, and your body was made for him.

“When was the last time he fucked you?” He was fully inside of you now, and when you didn’t answer, he decided to take it as a sign to move. With a firm grip on your waist, he pulled out just to slam back in, making you yell as you clawed at the seat, wishing there was something to bite on as you endured the pain that was quick to morph into pleasure.

Every glide pushed you further into the car, your forearms occasionally hitting the door, as his hips moved vigorously, working up to a pace that had you moaning without pause. Tears were flowing down your cheeks at the overwhelming pleasure of being manhandled—of being Hyunjae’s rag doll when he was meant to be yours, and your body seized up, being worked up to your orgasm once more with how precise each thrust seemed to be.

He adjusted to raise one of your legs to his hip, giving him a new angle to pound into you as he worships you with his dick, and you shook out of pleasure, whining as you saw white and reached your second orgasm for the night. You pulsated around his cock, strangled moans ripping from your throat as tears mixed with your drool by your chin.

And Hyunjae showed no signs of stopping.

He made sure to press your face down against the seats, wanting every liquid to fall and stain his car, giving him something to remember you by.

Oh, and there was the recording too.

While kneeling inside of the cramped car, he slowed his movements and inclined his torso towards you. In one swift motion, he wrapped his arm around your neck and pulled you up, locking you inside his elbow as he forced you to look into your reflection in the car window.

“Look at you, the school’s favorite slut. What happens if the recording drops? The whole school would know you’re mine, wouldn’t they?” He pressed his chest against your back, the mesh rubbing against your skin as his lips remained near your ear, forcing you to listen to every word.

You limped against him, your flames completely burnt out, and your fingers tugged onto the mesh around his arm, successfully ripping it after some time, but Hyunjae seemed unphased. In fact, it turned him on even more knowing that he had you locked in, that you were his.

“Look at your pretty cunt taking me in so well. It was so wet for me, wasn’t it? It still is. And guess what? You’re in my car. You belong to me, and my good girl is only now just finding out about it, isn’t she?”

“I-I’m…I’m not-...not yours,” you retaliated, creating red angry marks into his skin with your nails as you endured being used, stifling your moans as you looked at how wrecked you were, how bare you seemed to be compared to Hyunjae. You were much more of a mess, from your hair to the bruises on your neck. Your pussy kept tightening up around his dick, convulsing occasionally with every hit toward your g-spot, and you held onto Hyunjae each time.

Your head drooped down, thinking about how your heart ached for Jiwoong, yet the rest of your body was meant for Hyunjae.

“Whose fucking dick is inside of you right now?” He scoffed and pulled on your hair, forcing your head back up so he could directly speak into your ear. “Wake up, Y/N,” he demanded. “You’re mine.”

He dropped you back onto the seat like you were nothing, leaving you completely helpless, your throat void of any words as your eyes closed and met the back of your skull, too fucked out to communicate. You tried reaching for the door handle, just something to hold onto, yet you couldn’t.

“You tell me I’m pitiful, that I’m basically delusional when you’re going to be the reason my car will smell like sex for weeks.”

Your face was forced back into the puddle of liquid you created earlier, being shifted back and forth against the seat as if you were made for his dick and not vice versa.

“It’s crazy how pathetic you are, how willing you are to break yourself down in front of everyone just to have him. That-...fuck…that you’re so convinced he wants you and you two are soulmates.” He dragged his fingers through your hair and grabbed your roots. “You called me, you wanted me, and I have you right now, moaning my name, and you have nothing.”

Something about his words kept bringing out your orgasms, each thrust adding to the pleasure immensely. You didn’t know how much you could handle—afraid you may pass out from how much he was using you, from his tight grip around you to his dick hitting inside of you mercilessly.

Hyunjae whispering ‘I won, Y/N’ was what had you losing it, your high this time ending up stronger than the rest. You were fully crying now, and yet he continued as if you were nothing.

He peppered your shoulder with kisses and had the slight decency to slow his pace, but he also took note of your sobs.

“Don’t tell me you still want him,” he began rambling, his lips still on your shoulder. “Don’t tell me after this that your heart still belongs to him, because if that were the case, I’d make you call him right now. Say you wish it was him instead of me, and that he’s the love of your life while you’re stuffed with my dick. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You could no longer think, and what you hated most was how reactive your body was—how you were just able to come for the third time, but Hyunjae’s dick solely being inside you snapped some other straw you weren’t aware you had, finding that your last high was incoming.

Hyunjae had picked up the pace by then, and by knowing your body incredibly well, he reached down to your sensitive clit to relieve you. You both knew your fourth was arriving, and you held on tight to his arm.

“J-Jaehy- hyun, I’m—”

“Mine.”

You cried out, your entire body shaking, and Hyunjae pulled out, immediately releasing onto your back with a guttural moan after yanking off the condom. He was forced to catch his breath, watching you float in and out of consciousness.

Your eyes were closed, struggling to breathe through your sobs, and Hyunjae consoled you with a kiss on the back of your shoulder.

“You’re mine, Y/N, whether you like it or not.”

He then pressed a kiss to your cheek before leaving to grab paper towels from his trunk. You were heaving, still shaking, and left alone as a mess in his backseat, yet with him gone, you felt even more useless, wanting him back by your side instantly. You weakly cried out for him, your nails dragging against the seat in hopes of being in his arms soon, and maybe he was right.

Maybe you were his.

OUR INFERNO [ M.LIST | TWO ]

NAVIGATION — THE BOYZ

187 notes · View notes

i-hate-accidents · 13 days

Text

i hate accidents: the ball

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary: the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections: I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n: bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings: classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, nondescript mention of gagging (not related to self-image) in [III.iii], sexually charged 18+ interactions in middle to end of [III.iv]—minors dni, please stop at the end of the paragraph that begins "you repeat his words with sped up mockery"; you may resume at "you jut out your hip"

word count: 15.7k (of 38.8k)

story context: everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons. this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season.

additional notes: this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2! she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits. they have not yet watched queen charlotte. the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note: this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years. :) it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens. additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years. the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @stvrdustalexx @bedobeeeee @crazymar15 @kahhorri @mayalopes @benedictbridgertonss @athensflower @02wrldz @queerlavalier @merlslrem @pillsbury-doughgirl @lamourdure3ans and all who have read either/both sections one and two—thank you. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“you look like a princess, y/n!” hyacinth squeals in delight.

“i regret not being of age yet to attend balls,” gregory sighs. “i would have been honored to ask you for your first dance.”

you beam at the youngest bridgertons with all the fondness in your heart. judith, an elderly maid of number five, had attempted to dispel hyacinth and gregory from the room as your hair was done, but you had asked her to please allow them to stay. the two kept you at ease throughout the foreign process, and their sweet sincerity kept you grounded amidst the anxiety that still floods your veins.

“you are both too kind. and fear not; tomorrow morning we will have a ball all of our own,” you lean in for a whisper, them following suit to listen. “and perhaps we will need the talents, and bravery, of a young sorceress and a young knight to save the guests from the intrusion of an unruly wyvern.”

“you promise?!” hyacinth and gregory yell at the same time. you hold out your pinky finger, just as you used to do with your siblings, and the two young ones wrap their pinkies around yours.

“i promise.”

“you are all done, miss y/l/n,” says alice, placing the last pin into your hair. she steps back and curtsies. her formality towards you renders you uneasy; she treats you as above her but you are of the same world. you school your facial features from showing your unease; you do not want to upset her or have her wrongly think that she has done something wrong.

“no need to call me ‘miss.’ i am simply y/n!” you grin at alice. “a friend.”

she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly.

“of course, y/n. are you ready to see yourself?”

you shudder in a breath. you had asked not to be prepared in front of a mirror. to have seen your transformation so readily reflected at you at every point of this process—

you exhale frantically. the maids and genevieve had graciously accommodated your wishes, both going so far as rearranging this room and her fitting room to avoid any lines of your sight with a potential reflection; you were, and are, utterly grateful.

but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.

standing up and squaring your shoulders, you give alice a feeble nod. she bows her head in response, a small, encouraging smile on her lips, and leads you to the mirror as hyacinth and gregory turn in their seats to watch you cross the room.

it is just a dress. it is just a tiara, and just some jewelry, and just some gloves, and just some shoes, and just a bit of makeup. it is just you. it is still you. be the courageous person you are, y/n.

or—

just before you see even a miniscule bit of your reflection in that accursed mirror, you shut your eyes tight.

—be a coward.

you continue step by agonizing step, approximating where the mirror is, and shudder in another breath.

perhaps i am being too dramatic. perhaps i can faint and feign illness. perhaps i shall run away by way of the nearest window. perhaps i—

“the mirror is to your left, y/n; whenever you are ready,” coaxes alice.

you exhale once more.

or perhaps, i should open my eyes.

and so you do.

oh.

“oh,” you say aloud.

the person you see in the gilded full-length mirror is, somehow, a complete stranger and entirely you.

the one time you’ve worn makeup before was for your elder sister’s wedding: a bit of your mother’s rouge on your cheeks and lips to have some color to your otherwise dull face. now, your cheekbones glow with a blush much more complimentary to your complexion than a mere red as your lips shine with a gossamer of a similar shade. entirely new to you are the glimmering minerals on your eyelids that magically bring attention to your eyes and make them shine like starlight.

your eyebrows have been plucked (much to your initial pain but your current appreciation), maintaining their shape and fullness but now without strays.

soft tendrils of curls frame your face, and your hair—normally worn down when not working—has been pulled back into a loose coiffure and styled with sprigs and small blooms, the crown of your head graced with a silver tiara.

“this,” violet smiled fondly when she first set the tiara on top of your head, “is the tiara i wore to my first ball after my presentation. i had insisted on keeping it, thinking i could pass it on to my daughter when her first ball had come. but daphne was resolute on having her own tiara, and eloise was resolute on not wearing any,” violet laughed, her eyes shining when they connected with yours, “i see now, though, perhaps it was always meant to be yours.”

“violet, i— i cannot wear this. it is too— it’s too—”

sumptuous? opulent? regal?

no.

well, yes, the tiara is all those things. but those were not what had concerned you then. it’s too—

“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

something as beautiful as that surely does not belong on the head of someone like you.

“well,” violet smiled, “then you are merely proving my point, my dear. it perfectly suits you.”

you hold out your hands, flare out your fingers, and stretch out your arms, examining the dark forest green of your long satin gloves, mesmerized that a muted color with such depth and richness could be achieved through dyes.

moving your hand, you touch one of the small rosewhite pearls adorning your earlobes and, with your other hand, touch the inky oblong pearl that shimmers violet, indigo, and green as it hangs from the thin, black velvet choker around your neck.

“my dear,” mama appeared in your doorway one evening as you wrote at your table, “do you require jewelry for your occasion?”

“oh. i suppose i do? i hadn’t given it much thought.” jewelry had been the last thing on your mind of things that terrified you of the impending ball.

“well, if you have not been offered anything by the bridgerton family yet, i thought— i thought perhaps you might like these.”

she approached you, a small wooden box in her hand, and placed it on your table. taking the box into your hands, you looked at it and then up at mama. she smiled at you but something of her countenance seemed strained. nervous. you offered her a smile in an attempt to assuage whatever concerns preoccupied her mind and, turning back to the box, unclasped it open.

“these are the earrings and necklace i wore when i married your papa. they were gifts from your grandmama that were gifts from her mama. i had tried giving them to your sister when she was to be married, but she thought… they are plain, nothing like what those fashionable people wear, i am certain; but if you have nothing else, i—”

you shot up from your seat, throwing your arms around your mama, feeling how she reeled from the ferocity of your sudden embrace, as you clutched onto the box of her wedding jewelry.

“they are beautiful, mama,” you said quietly but emphatically as the vehemence of your emotions tried to trap your words in your throat. “they are the most beautiful things i have ever seen, and i am so— i am so honored to be bestowed with the blessing of wearing them, and of wearing them proudly. thank you.”

you heard how mama sniffed her nose, and how she tried to hide it, as she gently rubbed your back, as she always had in your moments of vulnerability.

“i love you, my child.”

“i love you, mama.”

you then touch your exposed shoulders. the neckline of your dress, nowhere near your neck, follows the curved peaks of your breasts to meet and form a small v-shape in the crevice of your bosom.

“where is the chemise?” was the first thing you had said when you first tried on the gown at the modiste.

genevieve grinned.

“there is none.”

your jaw dropped.

“then what of a stay? what sort of stay would be worn with this?”

turning slightly, and noting your rather bare upper arms in the process, you angle your exposed back towards the mirror. another v-shape, its furthest point down a third of your bare spine.

“my dear, both you and i know that you already know the answer to your inquiry.”

“oh, my good g—”

never, in your life, has the expanse of your upper body been so naked and on display than in this ball gown.

“i do not mean to doubt your artistry, genevieve; truly!, the dress is magnificent, but—” you turned to kathani, who had exclaimed and clapped with immense delight upon seeing you in the gown, “is this—— permissible?”

the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.

“y/n y/l/n, concerned with the rules of society? and of high society, at that?”

“no— no!” you yelled all too loudly as genevieve chortled and placed pins for final alterations into the dress. “i just, i just do not want to embarrass you and your family, is all.”

you had not meant for your voice to come out so quiet and small. the older women’s faces softened immediately.

“you could never embarrass us, y/n,” kathani stated with such tenderness. then she smiled. “you look beautiful.”

the off-white base layer of the dress feels luxurious against your skin, the fabric hugging your upper body, puffing out at the sleeves, and, from the underbust, flowing and falling into a cone silhouette for the skirt—but what truly awes you is the artistry of the outermost layer. a cream translucent silk, the piña seda (you recall genevieve proudly naming it as) of the outermost layer glistens while you sway and turn your body, light shifting and transforming the ever beauty of the dress, the swish of the skirt moving like how waves are described in the passages of your books and in the reminiscing of your parents’ memories. lined at the underbust begins the intricate thicket of embroidered foliage, painstakingly threaded with innumerable shades of greens and blues, a shimmering teal threaded throughout to gleam in tandem with the sheen of the fabric. the embroidery of foliage then grows and thickens as it cascades down the middle of the dress and comes to an encircling end a few inches above and around the floor-length hem. in the negative space of the piña seda are spread out, small ivory embroideries of floral motifs.

it is a dress deserving of someone most beloved in titania’s garden court.

“indeed,” genevieve affirmed, a smile on her lips akin to kathani’s. “those in attendance will not be prepared. you will look the most beautiful of all.”

and perhaps…

perhaps you should be unnerved by how different your dress will be from the others’ of the ton. perhaps you should be unnerved by how easily you will stand out from the crowds. perhaps you should be unnerved by the attention, the whispers, the stares you will inevitably receive with your dress, with your appearance, with your presence, with your very existence. but, instead—

“i do look like a princess,” you say finally. quietly.

you do look beautiful.

like you could belong amidst the ton.

like you could belong with the bridgertons.

like you could belong with him.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“are you anxious, y/n?”

you turn to gregory at your side and see the swell of worry in his eyes.

“what gives you that impression?”

“you are shaking terribly,” hyacinth comments from your other side, replacing her usual pluck and wit with a worry akin to her brother’s.

the two had volunteered to escort you from the dressing room that you had been prepared in to the grand staircase of number five. with their arms hooked around yours, gregory on your left and hyacinth on your right, the youngest bridgertons have been walking you down the corridor. your heart aches with anguish: you know you have failed when the children are the ones to care for the adult.

“i am sorry to have concerned you both. yes, i— i am anxious.”

“it is reasonable to be anxious. but there are a great many cakes at these balls, or so i’ve heard, so you can eat one, and then another, to help ease your nerves!”

“how is that of any help, gregory.”

“it is plenty of help!”

“to eat and eat when she is already uneasy? the last time you were uneasy, you nearly—”

“do not recount that in front of y/n!”

“why not!”

“it is not— it is not proper!” gregory’s voice jumps in pitch, causing a swift blush to form on the apples of his cheeks. hyacinth snorts.

“why does your voice do that?”

“i do not know! kate said it is natural for bo— for young men to experience such a thing!”

“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”

“i am an inch taller than you now!”

“you are not!”

“i am too!”

you laugh. the youngest bridgertons halt their dispute and look at you.

“i must say, your usual squabbling is keeping me much at ease,” and you offer a sympathetic smile to gregory. “i am sorry that it seems to be at your expense, however.”

his eyes shine.

“you need not worry about me! i am glad to see you smile.”

“i as well,” hyacinth adds. you turn to her and see how her eyes shine too.

“i am most grateful to you both for being at my side on such a night.”

“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”

“that is something, and probably the singular thing, hyacinth and i can agree upon.”

you plant soft kisses on the tops of their heads, just as mama and papa and your elder sister had done when you were their ages. gregory and hyacinth nestle their heads into your upper arms and only part from you when the three of you reach the top of the first set of steps.

“are you ready?”

though you wish to say ‘no,’ you brace yourself with a deep inhale and nod.

your heart quickens with each step as time around you slows. your mouth has gone dry, and your body feels entirely numb, sensation only returning to you when you feel hyacinth and gregory unhook their arms from yours. turning your head, you see them stepping backwards, away from you, leaving you at the center of the landing to the rest of the grand staircase. you face forward once more, and ahead, below, you see the gentlemen and ladies of bridgerton house, waiting for you, looking at you.

you swallow.

for the very first time, in your dress, by yourself, you take a step forward.

breathe, y/n. shoulders back; tilt your chin up, but not too much; just as kathani had taught you. and just, breathe.

but it is hard to breathe with all eyes on you. with—

i must control myself. i must not seek him out. i must not seek out his face. i must not seek out those o—

you step on the hem of your dress and feel yourself start to fall forward. thankfully, god, for whatever reason, has blessed you with enough dexterity in this very moment, and you manage to catch yourself from tumbling down the steps as you hear gasps from above and below you. you mumble an apology (you don’t know why; it is not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear) and offer everyone a smile. upon seeing their relaxed shoulders and reassured expressions, you continue to descend the staircase.

stupid benedict. distracting me in remembering how to walk, and how to breathe, and how to—

oh.

i am doing it again.

shit.

goddamnit, stupid benedict!

somehow, you reach the landing of number five’s entrance hall without any additional accidents and, approaching the bridgertons, immediately look to the viscountess. as if knowing you seek her approval, kathani nods her head; a beam illuminates her countenance. you feel yourself ease, your shoulders relaxing (that you promptly square again; you are, after all, pretending to be a lady for the night), your heart racing less, if only minutely, and manage a smile. you feel someone take hold of your gloved hand and, turning to face the source, see violet gazing at you.

“beautiful.”

it is all she says, but with such tenderness in her voice, it makes your heart swell.

“the importance of appearance,” rasps eloise, causing you to turn to her, “and the lengths gone to achieve so-called perfection of such, especially for those of feminine disposition, is an entirely antiquated, offensive concept that must be eradicated from our, and all, societies—— but you do, look, beautiful, y/n.”

you grin.

“we’ll eradicate it together; and with help along the way, i am certain.”

when she responds in kind, you turn to the gentlemen, and, to your mortification, colin and anthony bow at you. the high society etiquette directed towards you from your friends overwhelms you with an embarrassment that you cannot even begin to fathom; they haven’t performed such formalities towards you since your first meeting all those months ago. but, in spite of your horror, the sincerity of their intentions, as well as their countenances, touches you deeply.

“madame delacroix and the maids have outdone themselves,” remarks anthony. “as mother and eloise have said, you look beautiful, y/n.”

“indeed,” colin beams. when he turns to benedict, however, his smile transforms into an expression befitting of a fairytale creature; one with mischievous intentions. “what say you, brother?”

you follow his line of sight and connect with ocean eyes. the flood of self-consciousness and the tempo of your heartbeats magnify hundredfold under his gaze, the butterflies within you fluttering the most violently they ever have, and you feel as though your entire body has been set ablaze.

anthony, with what looks like a smirk, nudges his brother with his elbow. as if suddenly aware of where he is, benedict hastily bows at you and, returning his ocean eyes to yours, says,

“you look— well.”

you hear eloise snort. turning your head towards her, you see she has completely sucked in her lips. to her left, kathani smiles massively. to kathani’s left, violet remains ever poised but with wide, sparkling eyes. you still feel self-conscious but are infinitely amused by whatever is happening to the bridgertons and, with a playful smile on your lips, return your gaze to benedict.

“thank you, mr. bridgerton. i had felt uneasy with an unnerved stomach earlier, but i am glad to know that my health appears to be in proper order.”

and you deeply curtsy at him.

from above you hear the sweet giggles of the youngest bridgertons. ahead, in your periphery, you see how anthony closes his eyes as he sucks in air through his nostrils and how colin, with an unabashed laugh, clasps his hand onto benedict’s shoulder.

“well!” anthony booms, attempting to control his smile on what ought to be an authoritative expression. “i believe we have a ball to commence. shall you lead the way, viscountess?”

and with an expression both equal in authority and warmth, kathani declares,

“i shall.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you had grown ease of mind knowing that you would not be asked to dance. not only were you a stranger to everyone in the ton aside from the bridgertons and penelope, you were also not handsome like the debutantes flitting about the room, swishing prettily in their gowns, strategically but delicately fluttering their eyes at a gentleman with which they wished to dance. with anonymity and a plain face, you enjoyed the haven of people observing, snickering at the artifice and smiling at the sincerity. kathani chatting with her guests. anthony standing by her side. penelope dancing with colin. eloise hiding behind a plant. violet beaming at her family. (you tried to convince yourself that you had not noticed the absence of a particular person.) your nerves have finally begun to calm, finding content in your station at the margins of the dance floor.

when colin bridgerton approaches you, hand outstretched in your direction, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“miss y/l/n, may you do me the honor?”

“i’m sorry, what?”

he laughs.

“will you dance with me?”

you gape at him.

“you’re mad.”

“my mind is perfectly intact.”

“this is unwise.”

“this is the best decision i have made this night.”

“i shall surely step on your toes.”

“i have worn my sturdiest shoes for the occasion.”

the corners of your mouth tug down into a moue at the third bridgerton’s stubborn charm. his grin merely widens as your eyes narrow to slits at him. penelope approaches from behind the beguiling imp and smiles warmly at you.

“it will be fun,” she encourages. “i promise.”

penelope! no!

“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.

she shrugs.

“what is a ball without dancing?” penelope offers. sweet innocence colors her voice, but the delighted glint in her eyes reveals her true duplicitous nature. she knew exactly how to play the game of this conversation, no doubt a devious plot concocted between her and her beau.

you sigh.

“fine,” you huff, slapping your hand into colin’s palm. “i would be honored, mr. bridgerton.”

the diabolical duo laughs at the sarcasm that drips from your words as colin leads you to the lineup on the dance floor.

–

“how is the dance treating you, miss y/l/n?”

“i hate you.”

colin guffaws. (you see in your periphery how heads shift towards him and how eyes narrow at you. the partner you had just left looks at you with particular scrutiny.)

“if your hatred towards me is the cost of you enjoying the ball, then it is a burden i shall carry, and happily so.”

“has anyone ever told you how infuriating you bridgertons are?”

“no, but we very well know that we are,” he grins, “and we take immense pride in it.”

you groan, throwing your head back. (you hear murmurs around you. not ladylike.)

“are you truly not having fun?” the gentleness in his voice makes you look back at him. his expression is soft. sad. guilty. “we can leave the lineup, if that is what you would like.”

you consider his words and his offer.

“i am having fun,” you reply truthfully. his eyes light up at that and your heart warms at the sight. “it is just— being in a circumstance so wholly unfamiliar— it’s overwhelming, is all, i think. but…” you feel a smile form on your lips, “knowing that you all—as infuriating as you bridgertons are—are here with me, by my side, wanting me to enjoy myself, wanting me to be happy, it makes all the overwhelming feeling worthwhile. i am happy. you all make me happy.”

colin doesn’t say anything. he just stares at you as the two of you dance still. you are about to inquire—

“i am grateful to call you my friend, y/n. becoming your friend has been one of the greatest blessings to have been bestowed upon me and my family.”

you suck in a breath.

as is becoming yours has been one of mine.

but another thought also lives in your mind. so, on the exhale of your breath, you smirk.

“only second to falling in love with penelope, yes?”

he laughs, an uncharacteristic shy smile forming on his lips as he looks at his feet and then back at you, eyes shining incandescently.

“i hope you do not take offense to being second.”

“being second to penelope is truly, sincerely, still a victory in of itself. you are very blessed, indeed, to be her premier.”

you did not think colin’s eyes could shine brighter than they had mere moments prior, but you suppose— no, you are certain that this is the effect that the love of penelope featherington has on the third eldest bridgerton: the light in colin’s eyes is absolute radiance.

“‘very blessed’ is to put it very lightly.”

with unabashed grins, you and colin continue to dance. you have to walk most of the steps, often keeping good on your promise and stepping on his toes, but your partner is deterred neither by your incompetence nor by his injuries. the two of you laugh (drawing leers from the other guests, you notice but brush off) and end your dance with exaggerated flourishes of a curtsy and a bow to one another.

“you underestimate your dancing skills, miss y/l/n,” colin remarks with a beam.

“see if you feel the same after tending to your bruises, mr. bridgerton,” you beam back.

“colin bridgerton!”

you both whip your gazes to the call of colin’s name and see a man fastly, eagerly approaching.

“hastings!”

hastings? why does that sound familiar?

colin and the absurdly handsome man embrace, smiles broad and sincere.

“i was uncertain you would be joining us on this occasion.”

“we would have seen to arriving early, as we had intended, but augie is proving to be quite unpredictable with his tantrums as of late.”

“he must take after his uncles,” colin smirks with odd pride. that makes the other man chuckle.

“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”

he then shifts his gaze onto you. his expression is curious and— sweet? kindly. you feel yourself become rather self-conscious as you notice, in your periphery, colin assuming a posture of gentlemanliness.

“my apologies for my dreadful manners. simon, this is miss y/n y/l/n. y/n, this is simon basset.”

simon bows most graciously at you.

“good evening, miss y/l/n. it is a true pleasure to finally meet you. i am simon basset, daphne’s husband.”

daphne?

as in daphne bridgerton?

you recall the day you and benedict toured the art gallery: a portrait, a fairly recent one, it seemed, of a beautiful young woman and a beautiful young man—the duchess and the duke of hastings, the plaque read.

your jaw drops.

“you are the duke!” you remember the etiquette kathani taught you. “your grace!” and you sloppily curtsy.

simon laughs.

“that is hardly necessary. please, if you feel comfortable in doing so, call me simon.”

“yes— of course!, your— simon,” you compose yourself. “and you may call me y/n; i would prefer it, actually.”

simon grins.

“then, y/n, may i have the honor of having your next dance?”

your jaw drops again, your composure completely falling away. you look at simon, who is utterly amused by your reaction, and then to colin, who is utterly delighted by the turn of events, and back to simon.

“that is a mistake.”

that earns guffaws from both of the men. (you feel stares falling upon them and, once again, scowls falling upon you.)

“i am more than willing to make that discovery for myself, if you will allow it.”

you throw back your head (ignoring the additional glares shot your way) and, with a sigh, whip it back to look at simon with a fatigued, but earnest, smile.

“i shall allow it.”

colin bows his head at you, his grin having never left his countenance since the end of your dance together, and steps to the side as you place your hand into simon’s outstretched one and are led to the next lineup by the duke.

–

“has the duchess accompanied you to the ball this evening?”

“while it is poor courtesy to speak on behalf of my wife when she can speak for herself, i can say, with confidence, that she would much rather you call her daphne.”

“kathani had taught me your society’s etiquette in preparation for the ball, in the event it would be necessary,” you roll your eyes. “while i find it all utterly ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary for me in particular, i want to honor the knowledge that my teacher has bestowed upon me as a way to honor her.”

simon grins.

“you are a dedicated student. indeed, she is in attendance. the last i had seen her, she was tending to benedict.”

your heart sinks.

oh no.

“tending to benedict? is he unwell? did something happen? is he all right?”

you hear how your voice rises in pitch and grows louder and more frantic with each word. (you try not to care for the stares that you feel on you. they are not of importance right now——or ever.)

is that why i have not seen him all night? because he is in poor condition? shall i leave the ball? shall i see where he is being tended to? shall i—

“y/n?”

oh. yes. you were having a conversation with simon.

“sorry, what did you say?”

“i had said that i did not mean to worry you,” simon says sincerely, but there is something in his smile. not suspicious, neither mocking nor teasing. it is as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotion. “i simply mean that she is speaking with him and— encouraging him, is all.”

you feel the entirety of your body, mind, heart, and soul ease; but now, you are perplexed.

“encouraging him? whatever for?”

“i had not stayed with them long enough to hear the details of their conversation; i had sought you out rather immediately.”

“me!”

the dance had timed perfectly that upon receiving such information, you are forced to turn to another partner (who is unnerved to have you as a temporary companion). when you reunite with simon, his chuckling has mostly subsided.

“indeed. the viscount had encouraged me to ask you for a dance. the viscountess then stated that you required the practice.”

“i—— am utterly lacking in words in how to respond to that.”

“if it is of any comfort to you, it was something i had already intended on doing.”

“that is, rather strange?”

he grins.

“i can see how that is so from your perspective, yes. but from mine,” and it surprises you how suddenly simon’s countenance softens, “i had to find out for myself how wonderful this y/n y/l/n is to have so easily won the affections of all the bridgertons at number five. daff and i, as well as francesca, were becoming quite jealous that we did not have the good fortune to spend time with you as the rest of the family has had.”

“the family has… spoken of me?”

“in these past months of knowing you, you have become their most beloved topic of conversation. hyacinth and gregory idolize how resplendent of a storyteller you are. eloise adores being challenged by your intellect. colin aspires to your ferocity of quick wit. kate cherishes every discussion you share together. anthony reveres your unwavering resolve. violet becomes overcome with delight at every recounting of a memory in which you are involved. and benedict…”

you swallow.

“yes?”

you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.

“never stops speaking of you; so much so that it would be impossible to abridge what he loves in you.”

you shut your eyes closed at the words “he loves” and attempt to control the tears that threaten to flow at the word “you.”

the love he has for you is not the love you have for him.

“i— i did not know that they held me in such high regard,” you whisper.

you flutter your eyes open, grateful that no tears have fallen, and are greeted by the gentlest of smiles from simon. it assuages your soul.

“the highest of regards. they care very deeply for you.”

“and i care very deeply for them,” you declare softly. you then feel yourself break out into a smile. “i cannot say the same for you, yet, but i can see it forthcoming.”

simon throws his head back with a loud laugh, your smile transforming into a large grin (as you ignore the scowls that fall upon you). simon whips his head back to you, and he too wears a large grin.

“i am honored that you see the potential within me.”

with a final spin, you and simon release the other’s hand, ending the dance in a curtsy and a bow, both of your grins non-faltering.

“thank you for bestowing me the honor of dancing with you.”

you snort. (you hear scoffs and other suppressed noises of disapproval.)

“i fail to see how much of an honor it is to have someone incessantly knock into you, but if such is your feeling,” you curtsy with much theatricality and, upon your rise, let out a sigh of relief. “now, i shall retire to the margins once more.”

simon, once again, looks as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotions, but in it you detect— delight? you narrow your eyes.

“what?”

“you are not meant for the margins, y/n; please forgive me,” and with that, simon bows, his smile still non-faltering, and turns to leave you in the middle of the dance floor.

you are about to call out his name, curious and agitated by his vagueness—

“y/n?”

you turn around to the familiar voice and are greeted by a smiling anthony.

“oh no. are you going to ask me for the honor of having my next dance?”

the viscount looks as if he is about to howl with laughter and attempts to mask it, poorly, with his absurdly elated smile.

“is the idea of dancing with me truly so appalling?”

“the idea of dancing more is what i find so appalling.”

“i shan’t force you to do anything you do not want to do.”

“but how will your pride take it?”

this time anthony fully howls (earning looks of confusion at the host and their looks, predictably, turning to glares when they trace the impropriety back to you).

“i am always working on humbling myself,” he says, his expression softening. “i assure you that i, as well as my pride, can manage your rejection if it means that you are happy. you need not worry about my well-being.”

these damned bridgertons, and their damned charm, and their damned sincerity.

despite your internal accusations, you smile. you offer your hand (hearing a gasp or a few around you), and beaming, anthony takes it.

–

“you look like a princess, y/n!”

the saccharine words of hyacinth echo in your mind. with the transmutative magics of your fairy godmothers in mama, violet, kathani, genevieve, judith, alice, and the maids of bridgerton house, the impossible was made possible: you look like a princess. but it is not until this very moment, after descending a regal staircase, after entering this enchanting ball, after dancing with two dashing gentlemen and now a third, that you feel like a princess. you recall how you and your siblings played imagination; how you often asked to be the princess; how you did it so often that mama sewed you a dress from scraps of fabric and papa crafted you a crown out of discarded branches and your elder sister announced you as princess y/n whenever you played and your younger sibling waltzed with you around the first floor of your home. it makes you elated with childlike wonder how fortunate you are to be here and how lovely it is to be here, how strange and wonderful it is that imagination has become real life; as if it is all a wish for which you did not know you had wished, a wish that you did not know you had wanted to come true until it came true.

but—

“is there something on your mind, y/n?” you hear anthony ask, sometime after returning to him as your partner. “you seem pensive.”

“ah, yes. despite my gripes with you, and your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—”

“i gave you an option not to do so!”

“i am not finished speaking!”

he huffs out air through his nostrils, waiting with what seems to be a morsel of patience for you to continue.

“despite my gripes with you, your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—” anthony gives you a tired look that of an older sibling; you grin, “i am enjoying myself. i just wish, i just wish my family could be here with me, to enjoy it too.”

anthony’s expression softens immediately, and it makes your heart tighten. you know with what gravity, duty, and love he looks after the entirety of his family; you have witnessed it at every given second since becoming his friend. if someone were to be with you as you navigate this pain, you are glad that it is anthony.

“we shall invite them to the next ball we host,” he declares. your jaw drops. “it was a lack of foresight on my part for not doing so for this occasion, and i shan’t make that error again.”

you try to do rough estimations of what costs that would entail for the bridgertons— dresses and coats and shoes and four to six sets of two abstained days of work at least.

“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”

“you did not ask,” he grins. “i offered. and i do so wholeheartedly. it shall not be a trouble for us, just strategic planning as kathani and i work the books. and before you protest—” you frown, both disappointed and flattered that anthony could sense your retaliation, “it is something i—as well as the rest of the family, i am certain—wish to do. if you won’t consider it for yourself and your family, then perhaps consider it as a gift to us selfish bridgertons.”

that makes you laugh loudly as you feel tears form in your eyes (whispers of you be damned). expression turning gentle once more, anthony continues,

“it would be an honor to finally meet your family. if they are even an inkling like you, then they must be truly wonderful, indeed.”

with a small sniffle of your nose and all the gratitude in your heart, you smile.

“they are. they are truly wonderful. i love them so much.”

anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.

“then it is settled.”

“you are a good brother, anthony.”

you have wondered often if that is something anthony knows. while the bridgertons’ love for one another is apparent in all that they do and say and breathe, you haven’t heard them say very complimentary things to one another, particularly to the eldest. it is typical of families to tease and to jest, you know that intimately, but you also know how important, then, it is to tell your family what you truly think of them, how you truly feel of them. they ought to know just how much they are loved.

though his overall demeanor is composed and dignified, the softness in anthony’s eyes reveals his true emotion.

“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”

< their dance eventually comes to an end. someone approaches them. >

“good evening, brother,” benedict turns his ocean eyes to you. “good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.”

you vaguely hear something in your periphery. you turn to it and see a brilliant grin lighting up the viscount’s countenance.

“huh?”

“i had said that the viscountess is calling me over to her. i must pardon myself.”

“oh. yes. farewell, anthony.”

his grin broadens, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bows. you see how, as he brings himself upright, his eyes shift towards his brother, the delight in his grin never leaving but something in his eyes… softening? before you can fully process it, he has turned and now walks towards kathani.

you turn back to benedict.

“i—— good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict. though, we have already greeted each other this night, just moments ago.”

“ah, yes— that—— that would be correct. and— is… correct.”

he is anxious. your heart aches at the sight, and you want to reach out and touch him, comfort him, ease whatever his concerns are—but you refrain.

benedict clears his throat.

“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”

while heavy by benedict’s current state, your heart cannot help but glow brighter at his question.

“yes, tremendously so. the dancing has been plenty fun, despite how horrendous i am at it.”

that makes benedict laugh, and relief floods your body, mind, soul, and heart. it is good to hear him laugh. to see him smile.

“i do not think you are as horrendous as you think you are. your form has been quite good.”

you cock your head, feeling the scrunch of your eyebrows and the smirk on your lips.

“you have been observing me?”

his jaw drops, his body stiffening again. suddenly shy, he looks at his shoes and, with a cough, looks back up at you, and you attempt to hold in your gasp.

how.

how is that, after all this time, he makes these butterflies within me flutter still.

“i— i do not have a clever diversion for that. yes; yes, i have. i suppose i have been building the— the courage within myself.”

“‘the courage’? the courage for what?”

he swallows.

“to ask you to dance with me.”

oh.

“oh.”

he looks… he looks scared. exposed. vulnerable.

you feel them within yourself, too.

he offers his hand.

“may i dance with you, y/n?”

you place your hand in his.

“yes. yes, you may, benedict.”

i am terrified of nothing else and would love nothing more than to dance with you.

benedict leads you to the floor, his ocean eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.

the quartet starts up, and you detect how it is music for a waltz. of all the dances you were taught, even you can admit that you were best at learning the waltz.

…

you curtsy as he bows. benedict places his hand on your waist, and you try not to elicit your gasp from feeling his touch.

< their dance commences. they are silent. a lot of staring and shit.

< notably, y/n is not cognizant of the ton’s perception of her while she dances with benedict as she had been with her previous partners. it seems her sole focus in this moment is dancing with benedict, being with benedict. her heart, mind, body, and soul is with him.

< y/n’s mind goes Rampant when benedict places his hand on her exposed shoulder. >

do not close your eyes, you reprimand yourself. if you close your eyes, you will indulge. you will indulge in this sensation. in this touch. in his touch. in benedict’s bare hand on the expanse of your exposed skin. in imagination. in fantasies. in thoughts. in other thoughts on other parts of your body that you so, so very much want him to—

“i had not spoken properly.”

you try not to shudder a gasp upon hearing his voice.

“pardon?” you say, a bit breathless. the dance calling for it, benedict twirls you, and you are now face to face again.

“earlier; when i had commented on your appearance, i had said you looked well.”

you snort, recalling the peculiar word choice, and that earns a smile from benedict.

“what i had meant to say is—“ he swallows, “you look beautiful, y/n.”

“i think,” you respond perhaps too swiftly, “that is testimony to genevieve’s skill and not to my appearance.”

“i think genevieve only enhances what is already there.”

you want to change, you don’t want to change— you do want to change the topic. you cannot handle whatever— whatever benedict is insinuating. the indecipherable, intense, attentive gaze of his ocean eyes on you. it is so much; it is too much.

“she spoke of you.”

shit. why did i say that?

his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.

shit.

“genevieve spoke of me? with you? why?”

“kathani had accompanied me to the modiste, and i had shared with genevieve how i became acquainted with penelope and the bridgertons,” you half-truth. “talking about the family, and then you, was a natural consequence.”

“what did she say? about me?”

you try not to wince at the urgency in his voice.

“she shared how you and she had— an intimate and passionate acquaintance,” you divulge, using the words your friend had to describe the artists’ relationship. perhaps you imagine the sensation, but you feel benedict wince as you dance. “and that it was brief and no more.”

“she said that? ‘brief and no more’?”

“indeed.”

he sighs. you detect relief in the exhale, but perhaps you had, once again, imagined it. you always had an active imagination; trying to bend what you perceive to what you wish was real.

“i see,” is all benedict says.

“do you care for her?” you inquire. it is truly masochistic, what you are doing. but you cannot help yourself. it is something you often do when benedict is near. when you and he are so close.

there is a small silence.

“i did. at least, i think i did,” he shares. “i was hurt when our— acquaintance came to an end, but i was not heartbroken. i had known nothing of heartbreak, not until—”

and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.

“until?”

“nothing. nevermind. forget i had said anything,” he says all too quickly. you laugh, and he scrunches his face in adorable disapproval at you.

“well, that only makes me the more curious, benedict! the mystery of it, and your very clear blush, indicate it must have been quite the event.”

“i am not blushing!”

“you cannot lie about something i can literally see.”

“you are infuriating.”

“and what do you think you are?”

benedict just pouts at you, though you see the twinkle in his ocean eyes. you want the twinkle to be of affection, but you will settle for amusement. for friendship. you take pride in how you can elicit this reaction out of him. you take joy in how he can elicit this reaction out of you. you love him, and you are grateful that is something you can say and know and feel. even if he does not love you as you love him.

“the first time i felt heartbreak,” he begins, finally giving in. you perk up in anticipation. “was when— was when you had walked out of the house after i had crumpled the paper to the floor.”

you nearly stop in your tracks, halting your waltz with benedict entirely, until you find a way to recover and continue the steps with him. he is looking intently at you, waiting for your response. you inhale a breath and on the exhale say,

“oh.”

it is a pathetic response, but it is the only one you can muster at this moment. breath has entirely left your lungs, your heart palpitates at a maddening rate, the lightning of benedict’s touch and proximity magnifying at every passing second.

“i had hurt you, this person whom i—” he swallows, “whom i care for, deeply and completely. i was, and am, ashamed of my deed and the arrogant thoughts and beliefs that led me to do it.”

“i have long forgiven you for that, benedict.”

“it is something of which i am not deserving.”

“you cannot tell me what to think or do,” you challenge, arching an eyebrow at him to add levity to the conversation. benedict smiles, despite himself, and it makes your body flood with relief and joy.

“i would never dare.”

“as you shouldn’t,” you grin, then inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils. “you need not flagellate yourself for what you did. that accomplishes nothing, and guilt is entirely useless in the structures that be,” you say resolutely. more softly, you continue. “my forgiveness is something i gave you willingly because it is what i truly wanted. because i knew, and know, how you wish to do better. i see that in everything you do; in your art, in your character. it is something i admire in you.”

benedict simply stares at you, his ocean eyes impossible to decipher again. his gaze is overwhelming, but you refuse to break it.

“i was about to say how undeserving i am of your compassion,” he says, “but then swiftly realized you would have just admonished me.”

you laugh.

“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”

he looks at you still, his expression still impossible to decipher, but there is something soft about it.

“thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies within you flutter once more.

“and if you ever wish to discard your paper again,” you diverge from your feelings, “simply hand it to me. i am always in need of more.”

he laughs fully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and you feel the flutterings violently rage within. perhaps diversion was not the wisest choice (or perhaps it was, if it meant that you were the one to make benedict laugh like that).

“i have gotten quite good at maximizing the amount of negative space on a sheet, but nothing would delight me more than to support your writing.”

“i am most grateful for your patronage, mr. bridgerton.”

benedict makes something of a gagging noise, and you snort loudly.

“you are making it strange with the master-servant relation, y/n.”

“ah, so you are learning,” you comment with a sagacious nod of approval. it is now benedict’s turn to snort.

“what can i say?” he grins. “i have the greatest of teachers.”

“they have done quite well; please give them my regards.”

“i shall.”

and with the music coming to an end, you turn to face one another, wide and wild smiles on your faces. you curtsy as benedict bows.

“may i fetch you a drink?” he inquires after you are both upright again.

“is alcohol served at these occasions?”

benedict laughs.

“champagne it is.”

he gives you one more bow, lingering a moment more with one more smile, before taking off to retrieve your drink.

you try to bite back your smile, but it’s entirely useless. you twirl in your spot, feeling the swish of your dress in the spin, for you cannot help yourself. you cannot help how much joy radiates off of you in this moment, how giddy you are. it feels like a fairytale. you look in the direction benedict took off and feel your smile widen.

it is dangerous what you are doing— indulging in this. but you do not care.

this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.

“so you’re the pauper that the bridgertons have invited to their ball.”

you freeze.

“how else would you have been asked to dance by the host—the viscount and a bridgerton, nonetheless; his two brothers; and the elusive duke of hastings? it is an endearing sight, really.”

her posse snickers.

“the bridgertons have always been so kind and thoughtful in that way, extending their hands to the less fortunate. why they chose you, however, remains a mystery. if it were a pretty face that appealed to them, i perhaps could have understood, but you are simple at best.”

“you are cressida cowper,” you state.

penelope and eloise had warned you about a cruel creature amongst the ton, and the young woman before you matches all of the criteria they had described: icy platinum hair, draconian eyes, and a haughty disposition that ought to be reserved for the royals.

cressida daintily gasps and smiles at you with what seems to be all the mockery she can muster.

“i see that my reputation precedes me! though, only those of my standing can refer to me as such. cannot have my name tainted by the mouths of the lowly.”

you feel the gazes of other guests on you. you hear muffled sneers.

this is entertainment for them.

you should say something, stand up for yourself— against cressida, against her posse, against the ton— but you don’t. you can’t. your mouth has gone dry, your mind has gone silent, your body has gone numb. you have never, ever felt more powerless.

“your dress— did the bridgertons pay for it? of course they did. pity, though, for their wealth to go to waste on such an offensive thing. allow me to assist you—”

and she pours her drink onto you.

you try not to gasp at the chill of the liquid making contact with your skin. looking down, you see a reddish purple stain seep into the cream fabric of your ball gown as it continues to travel downwards.

you hear cressida giggle. you look up.

“better,” she simpers. “beautiful at last.”

her posse sneers with delight. the guests who had tried to suppress their laughs do nothing to hide their mirth now.

this is entertainment for them. my humiliation— it is entertainment for them.

you step into cressida’s space, eliciting a stunned gasp from her as the others follow suit, and shove your face as closely to hers as possible.

“if we were not in your domain, i would rip out your delicate hair and strike my hand across your pretty little face. but i am a lady—not in blood nor in title, but in character. and with your words and your deeds, you have shown just how utterly undeserving you are of such a title with your complete void of morals, compassion, and integrity. i do not care what you think of me, cressida, or what drinks you pour on me because i can rest easy in my sleep and waking hours knowing with perfect certainty that i am nothing like you. i bid you good night.”

and maintaining the ferocity of your glare on her horrified eyes, you muster up the most mocking, deep curtsy you can, turn, hitch up your skirt, and run away. you cannot care for the booming silence from that creature and her posse, for the murmurs and glowers of the ton thrown your way. you cannot take time to process what words a flutters-inducing voice snarls at cressida.

no.

you must simply run away, quickly and efficiently, because you refuse to give into these monsters’ satisfaction of seeing your tears.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

the cool air of the night whips your face as you run as far and as deep as you can into the gardens. you curse your damned shoes, for they are slippery and nothing like your sturdy boots, and they make you realize even further how much you have fucked up in allowing yourself to get this far. in allowing yourself to go to the ball, in allowing yourself to dance, in allowing yourself to fall in—

feeling your shoe catch on something, you fall forward and throw your hands out in front of you, your gloved palms digging into the bark of a tree trunk as you attempt to steady yourself. you attempt to control the staggered rhythm of your breath, the sobs that choke out of your throat, the palpitations that threaten to collapse your heart.

why did i allow myself to get this far?

“y/n—”

you snap your gaze over to the call of your name as your stomach knots, somehow, even now, with flutterings upon hearing his voice.

“benedict, no— just— no,” you manage to croak out, stepping away from where he approaches. you hold up your hand, as if it is a magical force that will push him away. it does not. “just go, please, just go.”

“i refuse to leave you, y/n, you are hurt—”

you cackle, sniffling the snot that tries to escape your nostrils. you push your remaining hand off the tree and turn towards him.

“hurt? what gave you that impression? is it the tears? they are just water, benedict, they will dry.”

“this is not the time to jest!”

“then what do you want of me!”

“to allow me to help you!”

“why! why do you care! why do you care for some, some low status person like me!”

“that is not how i see you!”

“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”

he freezes. you feel yourself clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms through the satin of the gloves that were bought for you.

“you are the son of a viscountess, a brother to a viscount. i wonder every day if my family will have enough food to eat at our one meal. we—” you gesture between the two of you, “—are not of the same world. and maybe, maybe it should have stayed that way. to, to have stayed in our own worlds. we should have stayed in our own worlds!”

“and is that what you want?” he shoots back.

“what?” you snark.

“is that what you want? for us to stay in our own worlds?”

you fall silent, words suddenly failing you, breath suddenly leaving you. he huffs out a breath and continues.

“if that is what you want, i shall stay away from you. i shall never bother you. i shall never hurt you as i have. we shall—” benedict swallows, “we shall forget each other. if that is what you want, y/n, i shall give it to you.”

you do not respond to him. you stare into him as he stares into you.

“is that what you want?”

you shake your head as you feel fresh tears rush to your eyes.

“then what do you want?” he softly asks.

you flutter your eyes closed and breathe in. on your exhale, you open your eyes to the tear-blurry sight of benedict still looking at you with such tenderness in his ocean eyes.

“i want you,” you whisper.

you barely have time to process anything else when benedict surges forward and wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace. tears fall even harder than before as you cry into his chest and wrap your arms around him.

benedict pulls back from the embrace to look at you, to cup your cheek, to wipe away the tears that fall so quickly from your eyes.

“i want you, y/n. i want to be yours. i want to be in your world, i want our worlds to be one. i want to go wherever you go. i want to make you laugh and to make you smile every day and every night; i want to do everything with you. i want to be with you, to share this life with you. from the moment i met you, from the moment you intended to shake my hand, i have wanted nothing more than to share all the time i have on this earth with you. i do not care for balls, i do not care for the ton, i care— i care for you, y/n. these are not the circumstances in which i wanted to confess this, with you crying and us yelling at one another, but i must be true with you. i—”

“benedict?”

“yes?”

“may i kiss you?”

benedict’s jaw drops and you laugh at his shock, sniffling your nose as you beam at him. he quickly recovers, breaking out into the smile that has always made you flutter with butterflies, the smile that you always secretly hoped, dreamed, wished was reserved for you. and you begin to think that, after all this time, perhaps it is.

“good god, please, yes—”

he barely completes his ‘yes’ when you jump forward to crash your lips into his. benedict practically trips backwards with the force of your eager leap, the two of you laughing into your kiss at the messiness of it all, as he holds you both steady.

this is your first kiss. you are so glad that it is benedict.

and somewhere within you blooms the hope that he is your last first kiss.

you have no idea what you’re doing, or what you should be doing, but you are far too much enjoying having benedict’s lips on yours, your hands on his cheeks, his hands on your waist, and your bodies pressing more and more into each other to give the slightest care. and the smile you feel against yours makes you think that benedict doesn’t mind—at all.

you pull apart to breathe, but your lips do not move far from one another.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

“and i am sorry.”

“for loving me?”

you feel benedict jump back as he holds you, his face absolutely crestfallen, panic flooding his eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when you giggle and peck his parted lips with yours.

“i’m teasing you, my love.”

benedict’s eyes soften but quickly glint with mischief. you’re curious about the expression when you feel him tickling the sides of your waist.

“okay, okay!” you gasp with laughter as he tickles on. “i— i yield, i yield!”

benedict grins victoriously, his tickles fading into him softly rubbing circles on your waist.

“i am sorry for saying that is not how i see you, when you spoke of your social standing. i had not meant it that way, but i understand now how it was understood, and i should not have said it as i did. i know that i have lived a life of unfathomable ease with the wealth and circumstances into which i was born. the privileges i hold are not things i had reflected on, really, until— until i met you.”

you soften at his earnestness, by the way he humbles himself before you. but you cannot help the giddy mischief that bubbles from within.

“did you only reflect on your privileges as to win a femme’s favor?”

benedict’s jaw drops again, but you see how his ocean eyes shine with like-minded playfulness.

“do you truly think so lowly of me?”

you grin.

“perhaps.”

you feel benedict teasingly threaten his hands into tickling position onto your waist, and laughing, you shoo them away. he grins and softens his gaze once more.

“what i wanted to say to you earlier is— i wish you did not speak of yourself so harshly. as if you are unworthy of care from me because of your status. i care for you, i love you, y/n, as you are. as you were, as you will be. with all your circumstances, all your experiences, all your deeds, all your words, all your thoughts, all your feelings. for your heart, for your mind, for your soul. i love you because you are you, and i wish for you to see that, for you to see you as i see you. as so many of us see you.”

“i— i do not know what to say.”

“you do not have to say anything; just to, if i may ask of you, seed my words into your heart and mind and soul and know them to be true, wholly and completely,” a playful smile forms on his lips. “though, i must say, i am rather pleased with myself for rendering a writer with ferocious conviction speechless.”

you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.

“you have had that effect on me for quite some time, benedict.”

benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.

“i love you, benedict.”

“i love you, too.”

< y/n and benedict, hand-in-hand, start to walk towards the house; they are taking their time. >

“are you certain you want to return the ball?” benedict inquires. “we can stay here in the gardens and wait until the last of the guests have gone.”

you hum.

“i would like to dance.”

“ah, was there a gentleman or a lady who caught your eye, miss y/l/n?”

“oh, loads. i hope it won’t make you terribly jealous, mr. bridgerton.”

“it will, but i shall simply stare at them maliciously if their hands are to roam.”

“yes, my form is reserved for your hands and your hands alone.”

you exchange grins.

“indeed.”

benedict nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you laugh. he lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on your temple.

“are you certain? i do not mean to doubt you or your wishes to dance. we can dance out here, under the bright light of the moon. i want you to feel content and safe.”

“i do feel content and safe. with you. with the family. within myself. i shan’t let the ton or cressida ruin my first ball. though, the idea of dancing in the moonlight is quite enticing. perhaps another night?”

“you have my word,” and bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses your knuckles. a serene silence falls between you two until benedict makes some sort of a noise in his throat, as if to clear his voice.

“i, uh, must say,” benedict begins, “your confrontation with cressida was, uh, quite— alluring.”

you stop, letting go of his hand, and stare at him.

“alluring?”

a delicious blush colors your love’s face.

“indeed.”

a newfound bravery blooms in you.

you step into his space, not breaking eye contact with his blown out pupils, the ocean of his eyes mere outlines. you sneak your lips towards his ear and hear a soft whimper emit from his lips.

“is that something of interest to you, mr. bridgerton?” you murmur, your bottom lip barely grazing his earlobe. you feel him shiver and inhale. “when you see someone be put in their place?”

he exhales frantically.

“it is something of interest to me when— when you do it,” he admits, as if out of breath. you smile, pressing your bottom lip softly into his earlobe. he does nothing to hold back his moan as you do everything in your power to hold in yours.

“that is good to know,” and quickly rip away from him.

in your step back, you take in benedict’s state—flustered, expectant, ruttish—and wink at him. you turn and walk away at your leisure, putting on a performance of superiority as you hide your own arousal.

it is only a few moments later that you hear benedict follow you.

“you,” he says, voice still fraught with desire but full with love, “will be the death of me.”

you look back at him and grin.

“and what would you like me to put on your epitaph?”

“benedict bridgerton, he who, in life and in death, loves the best soul to have ever existed.”

you cannot help your giddy self and close the distance between the two of you once more, grabbing his face and pressing your smile into his. benedict happily obliges as he places his hands at the low of your waist and pulls you closer into him.

< they get into it!

< y/n takes off her gloves so that she can touch benedict; she is about to throw them on the ground. >

“wait—”

and he takes your gloves.

“hm?”

“your gloves. they were costly to make,” benedict states as he stuffs them into the inside pockets of his jacket. “i don’t want to be flippant in letting them be discarded to the ground.”

you gape at him.

“you concern yourself with the cost of my gloves?”

“why, yes, of course, it is something i—”

you clutch onto the lapels of benedict’s jacket and push him backward into a nearby hedge, his mouth now agape and his pupils dark with a desire you very much want to satisfy.

“i find your consideration quite alluring.”

in the midst of his apparent arousal, benedict giggles, and that makes you grin.

“what is it?”

“a hedge, y/n? of all things to anchor me against?”

you roll your eyes.

“it was this, benedict, or the bark of a tree.”

“ah, so i should be grateful then.”

you repeat his words with sped up mockery, making him laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the adorable way that is so very distinctly benedict, and you capture your love’s lips again to shut him up, smiling and laughing into the kiss.

…

“what do you want?”

“you. whatever you want, benedict, i want it. please.”

“are you certain?” he breathes into your ear.

“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”

“then—”

benedict positions his head downward, burying his face into the crevice of your bosom, and before you can even begin to tease him for his absurdity, you feel the wetness of his tongue flat against the curvature of your right breast. your gasp of surprise quickly transforms into an ungodly guttural wail, feeling yourself dig your fingernails into benedict’s back, arching into him to steady yourself, as he painstakingly drags the flat of his tongue from your right breast against the expanse of your exposed chest to the length of your right shoulder. dazed and euphoric, you feel how benedict sneaks towards your ear, hovers it, panting ragged breaths,

“i’ve wanted to do that since you descended the stairs in that dress. and—”

taking your left hand, benedict pushes your middle finger and forefinger fully into his mouth. he methodically works his tongue against them as he guides your hand to pull and push in him, his blown out pupils never once leaving your intoxicated stare. you feel the desperate urge to throw your head back at the incandescent eroticism that throbs from your fingertips to the rest of your body, but may god smite you if you willingly tear your eyes away from the divine sight of benedict’s almost oceanless eyes gaping into you as his gorgeous mouth sucks on your fingers. just before you feel as though you are to fully blank out and ascend into the heavens, benedict rips your hand out of his mouth, the action creating an obscenely delicious ‘pop’ sound, and, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulls you back into him, your face finding respite just below his shoulder.

“i’ve wanted to do that since first drawing your hand.”

you laugh-cry into his jacket.

“shit, benedict.”

your love laughs and nudges his head into yours and rests it there as he softly rubs circles on your back with his thumb.

“please—” good god, breathe, “please remind me to ask you more frequently what you want.”

“did you enjoy it?”

“no, benedict, i quite plainly hated it.”

“i’d be glad to accept your critiques.”

“i know you would,” you smile into his jacket and, lifting your head, are greeted by your favorite sight: benedict, with his soft smile and his gentle ocean eyes.

“i have never felt like that before,” you admit in a whisper.

“nor have i,” he whispers back. that shocks you, and you must have made your reaction visible because benedict emits a laugh through his nose, soft smile and gentle ocean eyes unfaltering.

“but you have been with others before; you’ve had similar experiences, yes?”

you had assumed that your exhilaration must have been, apart from it being benedict, rooted in your lack of experience in such things.

benedict brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his hand moving down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing it.

“yes, but those were different.”

you cock your head in response. he smiles, as if it is apparent.

“because they are not you.”

the sweetness of benedict’s ocean eyes are quickly replaced with shock then delight and then you don’t know what because he closes them as you crash your lips into his. whatever you had just felt before, you want it again. you want benedict. all of him. and you want all of him to feel what you just had.

you lick his teeth, and granting your wish, benedict opens his mouth more, groaning, bringing his hands to the curvatures of your ass, pushing your bodies even closer together though no space left exists between the two of you. you move your hand to the back of his head and, gripping a tuft of his hair, pull it roughly just as you capture his tongue with your mouth and suck hard. the sounds that benedict produce in reaction are entirely inhuman, but you vaguely deduce he is trying to say your name, and you’ve never attended a concert but, my god, nothing will ever sound as harmonious as the symphony that is your name gutturally trapped in benedict’s throat.

continuing with the work you’ve done to undo benedict thus far, you take your other hand and start to rake it against his body, starting at the base of his throat, taking time and leisure to explore, lowering and pressing into his chest, wondering wildly what beauty exists behind his damned shirt, lowering and feeling the firmness of his stomach and trying not to completely undo yourself with the sinful, transcendent thoughts of putting your tongue there, lowering and lowering and touching something curious and unfamiliar and hard and—

when he pushes you off of him.

“benedict, i— i am so sorry,” you panic, “please, what did i—”

“no, no,” he swallows, “you did— you have nothing to apologize for, my love, you were— uh— you were doing quite——” he clears his throat, “you were doing quite well; very well, actually…”

you continue to frown, still concerned.

“then why are you so tottery?”

“because— because if we were to continue, i do not think— i know i would not last for— um, for very much longer.”

you jut out your hip, putting the knuckles of your fist on it, and furrow your eyebrows at him.

“benedict bridgerton, i still do not understand what you are trying to convey. speak plainly.”

“we should stop.”

your jaw drops, as does your hand from your hip.

“why?” you practically whine. you should be embarrassed by your desperation, but to be entirely frank, you couldn't care less. benedict huffs out a laugh, still breathless, and, stepping towards you, lays a tender kiss on your forehead.

“as much as i would love for us to continue, i think being in the family gardens with a ball being held a few meters away is hardly an ideal location for the more— involved aspects of such activities. the aspects i’d like to explain to you,” he takes another step into your space, lowering his voice to an unfamiliar but enrapturing gravel, “the aspects i’d like to show you.”

you swallow your whimper.

“i—— i would very much like that,” you manage. and then you grin, “though, exploring such aspects in the family gardens sounds like it would be quite the adventure. a calculated risk, if you will.”

the alluring tone of benedict’s voice is completely replaced with a giggle, and your grin broadens as you press even closer into him and nudge your nose against his. benedict rests his forehead against yours and flutters his eyes closed.

“what did i do to have you love me back?”

you flutter your eyes closed.

“you were you. you are you.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< ahead, y/n sees kathani. she makes the connection that kathani must have accompanied benedict as a chaperone so that y/n wouldn’t be “disgraced” by having a man by himself chase after her.

< as the two approach the viscountess, kathani recognizes how disheveled y/n and benedict look and promptly fixes them to look more presentable. she takes some hedge leaves out of benedict’s hair. >

“i see that you are well, y/n?” inquires kathani.

“never better, actually.”

she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.

“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”

< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >

“you are fortunate that it was not anthony who volunteered to chaperone. he would have not reacted well to his loved one being dishonored, as he would say, particularly on family grounds.”

“oh dear,” you say, nervous and suddenly self-conscious. you do not want to be the target of the eldest bridgerton’s wrath. “what have i done to dishonor—“

kathani laughs.

“i wasn’t referring to you, chellam. i was referring to him,” and she juts her chin out at benedict.

“me!”

“anthony will be furious when he finds out that you have been— private,” she says, gesturing to his newly tidied appearance, “with y/n in the gardens. not very gentlemanly of you.”

“he won’t find out!” benedict pauses. “he won’t find out— right, kate?”

kathani just makes a face of feigned deep thought and you chortle.

“kate!”

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict.”

“but what if it’s for love?” he implores. he says it facetiously, but you feel with what conviction he exudes his true feeling.

kathani’s expression softens as she looks between you and benedict. you offer a small nod and a smile, confirming her thoughts. she beams at you but then narrows her eyes at benedict. there is no heat to her gaze; she is, however, having the most sublime time making her brother-in-law squirm.

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict,” kathani repeats. benedict groans, throwing his head back like a disgruntled child, and you belly laugh at him.

“i hope you are ready for gregory to be your second,” she continues.

you almost double over as benedict snaps his head forward to look at his sister-in-law.

“gregory!”

“indeed. it is a shame as well— anthony’s accustomed second being the one he has to duel,” she sighs dramatically. “oh well. colin will make a fine replacement.”

“this family is ridiculous,” you declare, grinning like mad. “gregory seems a tad young, though. what about eloise? i am sure she would be a more than suitable second for benedict.”

“oh, i have no doubt,” grins back kathani, “but i would not dare involve a woman in the idiocy of men and their ludicrous concepts of honor.”

you and kathani laugh loudly, delighted by how much you are enjoying yourselves, untroubled by benedict’s moping.

“it has been wonderful being in love with you, benedict,” you state simply. “it’s a pity that it has to come to an end so soon."

kathani snorts. benedict stops in his tracks and gapes at you.

“you think i would lose the duel!”

“anthony is more stubborn; he would let it fuel his will to live.”

“i think you underestimate how much i love you and how that fuels my will to live.”

you smile. in your periphery, kathani smiles. despite his current displeasure with you, your love smiles.

“i suppose i do.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< upon returning to the ball, y/n, benedict, and kathani see how anthony and violet are ensuring that the cowpers are leaving. before the family leaves, y/n approaches cressida. >

“i do hope to see you at another one of these events. if you find a way, of course, not to have yourself kicked out.”

and you curtsy. you turn to your love, his mouth in a wide smile and ocean eyes sparkling, and offer him a wink. you hear the quartet start up.

“i believe it is time for another round of dancing. care to be my partner?”

“i would love nothing more.”

< they dance. it is sweet, silly, romantic, and delightful. both y/n and benedict touch each other beyond what is considered proper, like hands laying too low on the waist or eliminating the space between their bodies, but they truly do not care. their unabashed joy is abundantly evident to everyone in the ballroom, but they are only focused on one another. they are in their own world. they giggle, they grin; it is the happiness they both deserve.

< they dance the next set.

< after her and benedict’s third dance together, y/n makes eye contact with violet, who is at the margins of the dancefloor, eyes wide with joy. >

“as much as i love dancing with you, my love,” you beam, “i think i am in need of a new partner.”

< y/n approaches violet and with a bow asks her for the honor of being her next dance. though delighted, violet remarks how she is too old, and y/n says that the youngsters can learn a thing or two from her wisdom and skill. >

“we would need permission from the host,” offers violet.

“from anthony! you birthed him! you granted him permission to exist!”

that makes violet laugh.

< violet agrees, and they walk hand in hand to the dance floor. in this dance, y/n and violet are partnered, benedict partnered with penelope, kathani partnered with anthony. >

…

“you’ve told each other."

“has anyone remarked how keenly insightful you are, violet bridgerton?"

“no,” the dowager replies with twinkling eyes, “but it is something of which i am well aware, and take great pride in. i am happy for you both.”

“i am so glad to have your approval.”

“oh tosh! as if a mother’s approval or disapproval can get in the way of real, true love.”

“perhaps so, but it is affirming to have the blessing from someone you so dearly love in a matter such as this.”

“you make it easy to love you, my dear.”

< the dance calls for a switch in partners. y/n becomes partnered with penelope, and violet becomes partnered with benedict. >

“thank you, pen.”

“whatever for?”

“for bumping into me at the markets.”

penelope laughs.

“accidents are quite good, are they not?”

“i despise them, actually,” you declare with a grin.

< penelope reveals that benedict shared with her why he was not seen for the first three dances of the night. >

your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.

“is that why i didn’t see him! because he was lurking in the crowds to prevent men from approaching me?”

“it has been my discovery that the bridgerton brothers do not handle their jealousies well.”

“do you think gregory shall be the same?”

“oh, i am entirely certain. he shall likely be the worst of all.”

the two of you snort as you are sent back to your partners, penelope with benedict and you with violet.

“and what has you and penelope in such giggles?”

“making barbs at your sons.”

violet laughs.

“they make it awfully easy to do so, do they not?”

< the dance comes to an end. violet plants a soft kiss on y/n’s head.

< turning, y/n connects eyes with benedict who wears an incandescently happy expression. >

how could you not see it before? how in love he is with you.

< tired but elated, y/n takes a break from dancing. she reunites with the rest of the bridgertons at the ball. y/n finally meets daphne, who remarks that she has heard so much about y/n. eloise shares how the family wished to check in on y/n when she had returned to the ball to see that she was well; in a rare smile rather than a smirk, eloise shares that, upon seeing her dance and dance again with benedict, that she looked quite well indeed. at some point in the conversation with the bridgertons, y/n inquires when she can meet francesca.

< time passes, and joy is had amongst the bridgertons, penelope, simon, and y/n. y/n cannot believe her happiness.

< the last dance is called. benedict approaches y/n. >

“may i have the honor of being your final dance of the night?"

“you aren’t tired of me yet?”

“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”

upon taking your hand, benedict twirls you once then twice as he leads you towards the dance floor. giggling and grinning, you decide to do the same to him, causing him to giggle and grin right along with you.

< they dance a fourth time. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the guests have made their leave from the bridgerton ball. colin, eloise, and violet have gone to their respective bedchambers.

< anthony, benedict, kathani, and y/n walk up the steps of the grand staircase. anthony has his hand clamped on benedict’s forearm and pulls him up the steps with particular determination and quiet fury. >

“i know where i sleep, brother! i have slept there since we were children!”

“i am well aware of that, benedict, and i am also well aware of how you— roam when enticed.”

benedict looks at anthony, to you (you just shrug as you look on at the exchange with excitement), and back to anthony.

“do you people really think so little of me!”

“i do not think little of you, brother, i just know you.”

benedict’s shock deepens incredulously, though you see the smile underscoring it all.

“i am a man of honor! i am a gentleman!”

“yes, as am i, as is colin, as was father; all bridgerton men are, and all bridgerton men are idiots around the persons for whom they have affections. now, go into your bedchamber,” anthony finishes as he shoves his younger brother into the room.

“you are a nightmare!” you hear your love shout from within.

“and you are to stay here for the remainder of the night!” he shouts back, leaning forward to grab the knob to benedict’s bedchamber and pulling the door shut with a loud thud. he turns to kathani, composure returning to his senses.

“my dearest, may you call samuel and lawrence, please? i shall have samuel stationed here and lawrence stationed outside benedict’s window. they will be paid double their wage for these extemporary responsibilities.”

you laugh with your whole stomach and feel tears sting your eyes. you have no concern in hiding your howls until you remember hyacinth and gregory are asleep and promptly clamp your hand over your mouth. your hand succeeds in muffling your laughter, but marginally.

kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.

“i shall,” she replies, smiling at her love’s antics.

pleased with her answer, anthony right about turns at benedict’s door, places his hands behind his back, and stands up tall, taking his temporary duty as guard with the utmost gravity. something then eases in his posture, and he turns to you.

“i hope you have enjoyed your night, y/n.”

your heart swells.

“it was wondrous, anthony. thank you.”

he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.

“i wish you good rest.”

and with a bow of his head, anthony turns away from you and assumes his station once more, gravity and perfect posture and all.

the viscountess turns to you, her smile having softened, and says, “let me escort you back to your bedchamber. i shall help you prepare for bed.”

–

“despite his many flaws,” kathani says with all amusement and fondness in her voice as she removes the pins from your hair, “anthony is, indeed, a man of honor and honesty.”

“i never had my doubts, but—” you snort, “that has certainly proved it.”

“it is because he thinks so highly of you,” she shares, looking at you in the mirror. you turn around in your seat and connect with her eyes, eyes that are filled with so much warmth. “he cares deeply for you, y/n. anthony is only that overbearing and overly protective when it comes to his family, and he sees you as our family. we all do.”

you suck in air through your nostrils, feeling the swell of your heart. how did you get so fortunate as to be so loved by this family?

though, you detect something in kathani. her words are sincere, of that you are not doubtful, but they do not seem complete. it is as if she wants to say more, if the blossoming twinkle in her eyes is indicative of anything. but kathani does not elaborate.

instead, she picks up the brush on the vanity and gently brushes your hair. it reminds you of when your elder sister used to brush your hair before bedtime. you close your eyes, humming.

“i see you all as my family, too.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the next morning, late morning. the dining room. >

“you are infernal,” benedict deadpans to anthony, staring at his brother and taking his seat next to you.

“you are incorrigible; i was correct,” anthony responds, his eyes not leaving his paper.

“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.

despite their current rivalry, benedict and anthony both freeze. kate speaks on their behalf.

“your eldest had deemed it necessary to have lawrence stationed outside below benedict’s bedchamber window in the early morn and was proved correct in doing so; your second eldest had attempted to escape by way of that route.”

“stationed outside his window? why would that be necessary?” gregory inquires. he turns to benedict. “and why were you trying to leave through your window?”

in his periphery, benedict sees you whipping your head. you seem to have suddenly found some interest in the painting on the wall faced away from the current scene. he notices how you hide your smile behind your fist and how you attempt to suppress the convulsions of your laughter. kate, on the other hand, unapologetically laughs.

“i am certain you will learn in due time, gregory. it is something of a tradition, it seems.”

“will i get to participate in this tradition?” hyacinth enthuses.

“NO!” benedict and anthony shout in tandem. they look at each other, and the elder gives a ‘see!’ face to the younger. benedict just rolls his eyes.

his eyes eventually land back on you: you have now totally hidden your face in your hands with elbows perched on the table for support, any attempts at hiding your laughter now entirely gone. your entire body vibrates as you somehow squeak and guffaw into the palms of your hands.

“ugh, why do adults always speak in such vague statements!” hyacinth grumbles as she slumps in her chair and crosses her arms. she then suddenly shoots back up and looks at you. “y/n, you only speak in riddles when we play! may we play now?”

“yes! may we play now?” gregory pipes up.

“please!” the two youngest plead in tandem. benedict looks to you, and wiping away your hands to reveal your face red from laughter, you say,

“i would be— i would be delighted to do so,” you take sharp breaths in between attempts at controlling your laughter. “perhaps—” you full on snort, and it makes benedict break out into a grin, “—perhaps, after the young sorceress and— and the young knight slay the wyvern, they— they will save the— the—” you laugh hard again, “the princess, captive and forlorn in her tower.”

gregory and hyacinth shout their joy and take off from the table.

“you haven’t been excu!— oh, nevermind,” anthony grumbles in an uncanny, childlike resemblance to his youngest sibling.

benedict watches as you use your forefingers to swipe at the corners of your e/c eyes, fits of laughter still bubbling out of your mouth.

i love her, and she loves me, he thinks in awe. it has been on repeat in his mind since you confessed to one another in the gardens just the night prior. she is mine, and i am hers.

“your lordship,” you giggle still as you look at anthony, and benedict snickers, “may i be excused to play make-believe with your youngest siblings?”

anthony rolls his eyes with much theatricality, but his smile at you is sincere.

“you are not my sibling,” he states, but benedict catches how his elder brother quickly glances at him with eyes that say ‘yet,’ “you need not my permission, but yes, you may.”

you bow your head in dramatic gratitude, causing kate to titter and anthony to look to the ceiling, and you lift yourself up from your seat.

before you follow after his siblings, benedict reaches out and gently takes your hand. you look at him, and he feels how his stomach flutters when his blue eyes makes contact with your e/c. just as it did the first time, just as it did every time after.

benedict feels you softly rub three circles on his hand. he softly rubs four circles on yours.

“good day, princess,” you say with a wink at your love, slowly slipping your hand away from his and then turning to walk out of the dining room. benedict stares at you as you leave.

i love her, and she loves me. she is mine, and i am hers.

“when do you intend on proposing, brother?” anthony smirks as he puts his teacup to his lips.

benedict smiles, looking off at where your laughter is heard.

“later this afternoon.”

anthony chokes on his tea, and kate, patting her coughing husband’s back, arches an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“without a ring?”

benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.

“who said i don’t have a ring?”

“you are joking,” anthony says matter-of-factly. “we all are excited at the prospects of y/n officially joining this family, but you just confessed your love for one another not even twelve hours ago. we are still breaking fast! there were guards at your door and your window! how could you have already procured a ring?”

benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.

“i do not jest, brother.”

and, with pride, he holds up a thin band made of twisted paper.

“now, if you will excuse me,” benedict announces, lifting himself out of his seat, giving a kiss to the top of kate’s head, and ruffling anthony’s hair. “i must be going.”

“and where are you off?” anthony demands as he straightens out his hair.

“do you think i am going to propose to y/n without asking her family’s permission first? would not be very gentlemanly of me if i did.”

“how do you know where she lives!”

“that is what you were asking penelope last night,” kate answers. anthony looks at his wife, incredulous and in awe. benedict grins.

“exactly so, sister. i’ve always known you held all the intelligence between you two. i would have seen to it sooner, but—”

an image of e/c eyes and ink-stained hands flashes in his mind, the flutterings in his stomach intensifying. butterflies— that is what he will paint next, he decides.

after he finishes his portrait of you.

“—i was held captive in my tower.”

194 notes · View notes